#you brought her down from the pedestal

[lyss-butterscotch]

Is this the same person or...?

[whimsyfinny]

How to Avoid the Love of Your Life

Dean Winchester x F!Reader

Summary: (Y/n) had spent the last four years of her life avoiding him, but when her and Dean inevitably cross paths again it could go one of two ways - either really good, or really bad.

Warnings: Language, angst (so much fucking angst I'm sorry), Smut, PinV, Fingering, Oral (F receiving), Overstimulation, Dean being a sex God, reader being anxious, bad breakup, reader having a gun

MDNI! 18+

Word Count: 8200 (wtf I'm sorry I got carried away)

A/N: Here it is! I'm sooooo sorry @jackles010378 that this took so long. I would've had it up last week but my kid got sick and I had to learn how to solo parent hahaha. Anyway, this is the final competition oneshot, and I hope you enjoy it!

“Well well, what do we have here?”

A voice that I knew all too well reached my ears through the crowd of people in the bar. The deep tone of his voice immediately brought goosebumps to my skin and a small smirk to my lips. I straightened where I stood besides the pool table, lowering the cue and leaning on it lazily as I turned to the direction the voice had come from.

“Dean Winchester,” I let my eyes travel over his rugged form; taking in the faint new scars on his face, his weather-beaten jacket and distinctive choice of plaid and denim. He looked virtually the same as he did when I last saw him four years ago - just older. His eyes now holding more haunting memories than any man should ever have to keep locked away in the depths of ones mind.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” I asked with the tilt of my head as he took a step closer, ignoring the bustling of people trying to get past him to order more drinks.

“You know why we’re here,” he pushed his hands into his pockets as he took another step, slowly creeping closer.

“Hmm,” I hummed, reaching for my beer and taking a sip, letting the bitter bubbles sit on my tongue for a moment before swallowing them down.

“So, I take it this has nothing to do with coming for that falsely promised personal visit, and all to do with the pack of werewolves that have moved in across town?” I jabbed the beer bottle in his direction, feeling the smile on my face lose its warmth. Dean sighed and looked at his boots, and when he’d pondered on his answer, ready to verbalise it, I cut him off.

“Jody has been doing her fucking best to keep shit safe around here with the skills you taught her. The least you could do is check in a couple of times a week - visit once a month.”

“Listen sweetheart-”

“I don’t need to hear how you saved the world five hundred times this week. I don’t need to hear it second hand from other hunters. I need to hear it from you. She needs to hear that you’re ok. We all do.”

Dean looked up, his eyes meeting mine, clouded by a regretful shadow.

“(Y/n) I’m sorry. Life has been so fucking messed up and sometimes I don’t even know what fucking month it is. I’ll do better. Me and Sam - we’ll be better.”

I stared at him intently, reassuring myself that he wasn’t saying ‘he’d be better’ if he didn’t mean it. He’d fed me empty lies wrapped in colourful silk in the past and I’d unwrapped every one with a hopeful heart, disappointment following every single one of them. People live and they learn, and I was no exception.

“If you’re not better, for Jodys sake - for Claire and Alex and even Donna - then I will never forgive you.” I stared at Dean long enough to feel the frustration towards him start to simmer in my veins, reminding me why I did what I did all those years ago. I was willing to endure him for my family’s sake despite hating that stupid pedestal they’d put him on - hating how in their eyes, he could do no wrong.

If only they could see him through my eyes.

The sound of long-strided footsteps and a familiar voice exclaiming “oh shit” snapped me from my festering thoughts, and I looked up to see Sam walk up and stand next to Dean.

“Sam!” I smiled, his face the picture of apprehension as he nervously smiled back.

“H-hey (Y/n), it’s been a while. I’m surprised to see you.”

I raised an eyebrow and looked around the room incredulously before locking eyes with him again.

“Surprised to see me? Drinking in a bar, in my hometown? Where you guys know that I live? I know, right? Who would’ve thunk it.”

Sam shifted nervously, like he wanted to whisper something to his brother or simply whisk him away to a booth where they could sip beers, work a case and ogle waitresses. I sighed out a mentally exhausted breath - the presence of the Winchesters flooding my mind with memories of a better time - a simpler time. Dean was right about one thing - that life was messed up.

“Look, I’m clearly keeping you boys from your secret club meeting. I promise to behave if you do too,” I eyed them, waiting for them to accept the proposal of peace. Sam nodded, offering a few lacklustre words of poor convincing whilst Dean just stared at me, his lips twitching into a slight smirk, his eyes swimming in defiance.

“You’ve never been one to behave yourself, have you? Let's see how long this lasts.”

“Fuck you, Dean.”

Sam pulled Dean away before any more weaponised words could be fired, Deans lips forever holding that slap-worthy grin as he eventually turned his back and headed to the other side of the bar.

For the whole evening I could feel eyes on my back and a prickle on my skin. No matter what I did or how much I tried to distract myself - I was so hyper-aware that the Winchesters were sitting at a table just across the room. Every time I turned my back or walked to the bar, I could feel myself scrutinised under an unwanted observation. As I politely turned down the offer of a drink from a handsome stranger, I felt my phone buzz in my pocket. I reached to answer it, my palms growing sweaty when I saw the name flash on the screen.

“Hey Jody,” I fought to keep my voice steady, my previous frustrations starting to bubble to the surface again.

“Hey (Y/n)! You’re never going to guess who’s in town!”

My teeth immediately clenched and I shot a glare over to where the brothers were sitting, watching Dean tuck his phone back into his pocket and drop his head into his hands.

When I failed to utter a single word at Jody’s excited proclamation, she instantly caught on.

“Oh shit, you know already, don’t you?”

“Yeah, I do.”

“You at the bar?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you spoken to him?”

“I feel like I spoke at him, which counts I guess.”

Despite knowing my inner conflictions, she chuckled slightly.

“You give him a piece of your mind?”

“Yup,” I sighed, running a hand over my face, “I think I’m going to have to keep my distance from him, Jody. Just seeing him - looking at him after all these years - it hurts. It fucking hurts and he doesn’t realise how much he messed me up with everything that he did and said,” I could feel that all too familiar burn in my eyes as I fought desperately against the tears; biting my lip to stop it from trembling. When I gave my emotions away with a not-so-discrete sniff, Jody’s more sympathetic side emerged.

“Aw sweet girl, I know it’s hard. Do you want me to come and get you?”

I shook my head despite knowing she couldn’t see me and wiped away a rogue tear.

“No it’s ok, I think I just need to be alone. Plus I know you - you want to spend some time and catch up with them, which is fine and I get it. It’s just not something I can be there for right now,” I lifted my head and looked through the crowd of people, watching how Sam talked to Dean and Dean fiddled with his beer bottle again. I looked down before he could see me, though I knew he would be able to pick me out of any crowd anywhere within a matter of minutes. I hated that he knew me so well.

“If you’re sure, you know where we are if you need anything.”

“I know, thanks Jody. And… I’m sorry for making this so complicated for you. I know you have no reason to hate him, and I don’t like putting you in the middle like this.”

“(Y/n) I get it sweetheart, you have nothing to apologise for. Just…” she paused, as though debating if her words were worth saying.

“Just what?”

“Just don't do anything stupid,” I could hear the slight amusement in her voice despite her words of caution. I chuckled slightly, wiping away another tear.

“You know me - I can’t make that promise. Bye Jody, see you later.”

After the farewell I hung up the phone, deciding some fresh air would help me to cool my head.

I'd barely taken five steps out the bars entrance and into the parking lot when the harsh sound of rowdy chatter drew my attention. Snapping my head towards it, cold blood filled my veins at the sight in the shadows - the gut wrenching sight of a small group of men huddling together and attempting to steal a car.

To steal Baby.

The cold sensation of dread quickly transformed into the heat of fury as my blood started to boil at the sheer audacity of the thieving group, now doing their best to stay out of the glow of the street lamp. They were lucky it was me that had found them and not Dean, as the latter would have dropped every single one of them by now and not left a soul breathing. I know Dean and I no longer had any sort of relationship, but when we did, this car had been witness to every moment. Baby saw every smile, laugh, and happy tear shared between Dean and I, along with petty lovers quarrels and raw moments of lust filled passion. I'd lost count of how many times we'd steamed up those back windows since we were teenagers and Dean stole the car from his old man for our first date. Then there were the long rides from case to case - Sam and I arguing over who rode shotgun - with Metallica blasting from the speakers, windows rolled down and the wind wisping every worry away as we belted our lungs out. Those were the best moments of my life. In that car. And I'd be damned if I let some dive bar fuckheads steal her.

With zero hesitation I pulled out the gun tucked into my boot and fired three warning shots to the sky before aiming my piece at them, wary that they might also be packing.

“Get away from the FUCKING car - NOW!”

The anger in my voice was a deadly warning as the group turned to me like rabbits in the headlights before turning tail and bolting - one of them dropping a hefty crowbar in the process. As I lowered my gun when they fled, I turned around at the sound of hurried footsteps thumping on the gravel behind me.

“What the hell is going on?” Dean had arrived at my side before Sam and he reached to rest a hand on the small of my back; guided by muscle memory. I turned to face him, a small crowd gathering outside the bar to witness the fleeting commotion. As Sam arrived I explained, my voice harbouring a slight tremble of adrenaline and frustration.

“Some assholes tried to steal Baby-”

“WHAT?!” Deans voice filled with horror, yet his hand remained on my back.

“But you- you're ok right? They didn't hurt you?”

“What? No, I'm fine.”

With my confirmation he withdrew his hand and doubled over, resting his palms on his knees and dropped his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Ugh thank fuck - you scared the shit out of me.”

Sam, who appeared shortly after Dean, patted him on the back and flashed me a split-second grin, the glint lingering in his eyes.

“Yeah, I don't think I've seen Dean move so fast - like… ever.”

I couldn't stop the soft, airy laugh leaving my lungs, a memory flooding my mind.

“I think the fastest I ever saw him move was when we used to hunt with your dad, and Dean took the car without permission. John ended up stranded at that god-awful motel for six hours after we accidentally fell asleep in the layby-”

“Oh god, was that the motel with those raccoons?” Dean stood up straight, the memory seeming to light up his face as he looked me straight in the eye, the corner of his mouth twitching into a grin.

“Yes - oh my GOD those raccoons were awful,” I started to chuckle and I could tell Dean was holding it in.

“Raccoons?” Sam asked, looking between us with a raised eyebrow. I opened my mouth to explain but Dean beat me to it.

“In every corner of each room there was a taxidermy raccoon, however the person who taxidermied them obviously had no idea what an actual raccoon looked like.”

“Most of them had eyes that were too close together and their bodies were way too long - like some sort of ferret-raccoon hybrid,” I chimed in, the memory bringing warmth to my chest at the comical idiocy of it all.

“I remember dad turned his so they faced the wall and away from the bed,” Dean let out a small laugh, managing to pull one from Sam as well as we slowly made our way over to the car, my gun returned to the holster in my boot.

“I'm pretty sure that was the first and last thing that ever gave John Winchester genuine heebie jeebies,” I looked up at Sam's disbelieving expression.

“And your brother hid his in the bottom of the closet.”

Dean grimaced before chuckling again.

“They had tiny little ferret-raccoon buttcheeks.”

“Oh god yeah, they were so prominent.”

“So prominent.”

Stepping up to Baby, Dean gave her a thorough once over, running his large hands gently over the places most likely to have laid victim to the crowbar. After three laps and continuous scrutiny, he deemed her unharmed.

We stood together for a moment in silence, the conversation having bled out, leaving nothing but our prior heavy tension and my own dwelling sorrow. I looked up at them both, my gaze lingering on Dean.

“Look, I need to go. I can't- I can't be around you right now, Dean. I'm glad Baby is ok and I…” I sucked in a breath, steadying my voice, “I wish you all the best. Both of you. Stay safe out there.” with my final words I spun on my heel and left.

The motel room was pitch black save for the small box TV flickering in the corner, the original Ghostbusters playing through blown out speakers. I sat in the middle of the couch rocking baggy plaid pj pants and an old band t-shirt (likely Deans, much to my own dismay). With criss-crossed legs and a bowl of popcorn in my lap, I attempted to wallow, Rory Gilmore style, over a man who I would never fully get over. Mine and Deans relationship had ended years ago, yet here I was, the wound still as fresh as the day it was inflicted. Most days I get by, and sometimes even forget the pain he caused me, allowing me to feel light and almost normal. But seeing him in the flesh, catching the scent of him and hearing his voice had turned my defences to ash. I felt exposed and raw, my heart practically on a silver platter ready for another round of being ripped to pieces. I thought I would be able to handle it if I ran into him. I knew deep down in my gut that it would happen eventually, that it was unavoidable given my living arrangements. That he would likely come and visit Jody and the others, and I would have to pretend that everything was ok - that my heart wasn't still breaking over him. I'd avoided him for this long, always able to find the perfect excuse to not be around when he showed up. It was about time the avoidance streak ran it out.

The sound of his laugh earlier this evening had tightened every muscle in my chest, reminding me of every blissful moment we'd spent together - obsessed with each others company and craving nothing else on this fucked up Earth. His smile had made me want to weep, knowing I no longer got to wake up to it every morning or let it be the last thing I witnessed before sleep. The smile that got us both into so much trouble, both as teenagers and adults alike. The smile that always made arguments feel absurd half way through. No matter who I encounter in life or how many people God throws at me in an attempt to fill the void left behind by Dean, it's an incurable hole in my soul that can never be healed.

I shovelled a handful of popcorn into my mouth as I watched the movie unfold - desperate for the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man to reach through the screen and devour me along with my melancholy attitude. Too preoccupied with the film and the strange attraction I seemed to be harbouring to men in boiler suits, I almost missed the low rumble of an engine pull into the motel parking lot outside my room. An all too familiar engine. My ears pricked before reality dawned, the blood draining from my face.

“That son of a bitch.”

I scrambled off the couch and ducked behind it, popcorn flying, knowing all too well that he'd come peering in through the gaps in the blind - which my dumbass had left open so I could watch the rain. Heavy rain and self pity went together like jack and coke after all.

There were a few breaths of silence after the squeak and slam of the impala door, and I thought maybe I'd gotten away with it. Perhaps he was staying in a room further down? Fate was forever against me though when there was a loud knock on the door. I flinched, anxiety dampening my palms as I tucked my knees into my chest and held my breath, praying to Chuck himself that Dean would leave. That he'd convince himself that he was making a reckless decision by being here, or that he had the wrong room. I almost jumped out of my skin when he rapped on the window and his voice boomed through the pattering of rain and static-y TV audio.

“I know you're in there (Y/n), now open the door.”

Even if I'd wanted to move, the ability to do so had fled my body, my muscles petrified at the thought of confronting him. I jumped again when he hammered on the door this time, the cheap wood rattling on its hinges.

“Jesus Christ, (Y/n)! Your truck is parked outside and I can see your hunting gear on the table. Open the fucking door!”

“Go away!”

“Not until you let me speak to you!”

“No!”

There was a loud THUD as his boot collided with the door and I heard him growl in frustration. I could just picture him pacing in a circle, running a hand through his hair.

“(Y/n)-”

“Please, Dean, just… just don't. I can't look at you.” I felt my voice shrink as I pulled my knees tighter to my chest, unsure if he caught my words. He did.

“What- why not?” His voice was a wretched mix of desperation and confusion, cracking between words.

I was quiet for a moment, letting the silence hang thick in the air before I pushed myself to my feet, instantly missing the comfort of the upright foetal position. I wandered over to the door, my fuzzy-socked feet padding on the thread-bare carpet.

“Because,” I leant against the wood, my heart aching at the thought of him being so close yet so devastatingly untouchable, “if I open this door I'm going to undo all the progress I've made with getting over you, Dean.” His name was bittersweet as it slid off my tongue. The quiet sound of Dean sucking in a breath hissed through the gaps in the wood.

“Please, sweetheart. I need you to open this door.”

The softer tone of his voice made him infinitely harder to resist, but I had to stand my ground.

“Dean, you know I can't,” my eyes burned as the tears started to well, my voice objecting to my words with a pitiful rasp.

“Yes you can,” he paused, “you have to, otherwise I'm going to kick this piece of shit down.”

My eyes flew wide.

“No-no Dean-”

“Stand back.”

“Don't!”

“Three…”

“Stop-”

“Two…”

“Dean-”

“One-”

“Fine!”

I grasped the handle and flung the door open, my heart dancing with my stomach when I finally caught sight of him. There he was, soaked through from the rain and giving me that woeful Mr Darcy stare. The water droplets clung to his lashes and trickled down his cheeks, the breathtaking beauty of him erasing the pre-prepared sentence from my mind. Now, all I could think at that moment was to get him warm and dry. The noose around my heart tightened when I reached a hand out to grasp his, pulling him in out of the downpour. As the door closed behind him there was a pause, my quickly dissolving self restraint making it agonising to be in his presence. And Dean seemed to know that, yet he remained.

“(Y/n)-”

“Don’t,” as the cold water started to pool around his boots, I paced over to the bathroom, quickly emerging with a fuzzy towel in hand. I passed it over to him slowly, treating him like a wild, unpredictable animal that could pounce at any moment. He took it gently from my grasp, his fingers softly brushing mine. His skin was cold and damp from the outdoors. We stood in silence for a few moments whilst Dean dried his hair as best as he could, shortly after shrugging off his jacket to hang on the dining chair beside him. As he continued to ruffle his hair dry, I steeled myself, taking a deep breath and crossed my arms over my chest.

“Why are you here, Dean? What do you want?”

He lowered the towel and hung it with his jacket, sighing from the pit of his stomach.

“Me and Sam went to see Jody and the others. I was hoping to run into you again - I wanted to talk to you. But when you didn’t appear, Jody said you’d checked out for a few nights - said you wanted to be away from the house when�� uh…” his voice faltered and something akin to guilt flashed in his eyes. Unable to finish his sentence he leant on the table, staring intently at the pile of hunting gear I'd dumped there.

“When you arrived,” I finished it for him, “Yeah, that’s right. And I told  her not to tell you where I was.”

“She didn’t,” he stood up straight again, holding his hands up, “I knew you wouldn’t have gone far, so I drove around until I spotted your truck,” he admitted, gaze flitting down to the floor. More silence followed, the atmosphere thickening as the seconds ticked by.

“Dean,” my voice was small as my anxiety spiked again, the question ready to spill from my mouth though no matter what he said, I knew I wasn’t ready for the answer. “Why are you here? What do you want from me? You say you want to talk, but you’re the one who ended everything. You ended our decades-long relationship out of fucking nowhere. What could there possibly be to talk about anymore. It’s been four years.” My voice trembled and he clenched his teeth, looking away from me before setting his eyes back to the floor. He dragged his gaze back up to mine, and something burned deep in those evergreen irises that took my breath away. Yet he remained silent.

“You crushed me when out of nowhere you said we were over - that we had no future. That you couldn't imagine growing old with me, like we'd always talked about. You have no idea how much you broke my fucking heart, and then you just expected me to live alongside you in the bunker like nothing was wrong? In my own room, far away from you? Why did you think that I would be ok with that?” I felt the familiar drip of hot tears and they flooded down my cheeks and rolled off my chin, the dam I’d fought so hard to contain now bursting wide with vengeance.

“You think I wanted you to leave?” Dean spoke up finally, his voice deep and gravelly, like it always was when he was upset. “You don’t think that telling you that everything was over wasn’t the hardest thing that I’ve ever had to do? That I was happy watching you pack your bags and walk out without so much as a goodbye?”

“You didn’t love me, Dean, so why would you have cared? You obviously didn’t love me the way that I loved you.”

He flinched, but took a step closer. 

“You think this is because I stopped loving you? (Y/n)... it wasn’t safe- you weren’t safe in the bunker. You weren’t safe with me…” his expression turned to one of pain as his brows pinched and his eyes glistened. He took a deep breath. “I thought maybe if you just stayed in the bunker with little to no association with me, then it would be ok. I mean, I'd still get to see you, talk to you. Be in your fucking presence. I never expected you to- to…” he took another deep breath, his lungs almost stuttering. “I didn’t think you would leave.”

He never took his eyes off mine. I saw the years of hurt and heartbreak intertwine with glimmers of green and gold, the emotions I always knew he’d struggled to cope with were swimming in a pool of desperation and fear. On the outside, Dean Winchester was the strongest there was. He was an undefeated and undisputed leader of men. He was the King of hunters. The Alpha. The man who could make you wish you were dead. Yet here he was, wearing every vulnerable emotion on his sleeve as he stood before me with anxious breaths and fearful eyes. The sight made my heart break all over again.

“Dean,” his name was like a quiet prayer as he moved closer again, “I don’t think you understand…”

“Understand what, sweetheart?” the rasp in his voice pebbled goosebumps on my skin, and when he reached for a lock of my hair to twirl around his finger, I had to fight off every instinct to just throw myself into his arms and bury my face in his chest. His familiar scent floated through the air and wrapped itself around my senses, and when I breathed him in the aroma of old leather and gunpowder went straight to my brain like a hit of cocaine. The pleasant hum from my chest was involuntary. 

“I don’t think you understand that… that…” I sighed a woeful breath, looking up at him and seeing nothing but a warm, expectant gaze.

“That I’m still in love with you.”

The finger Dean had looped around my hair froze in place and I heard him suck in a breath, his lips parting. He remained unmoving, as though every thought racing through his mind had taken precedence over his body. It was a moment before he blinked, coming back down to Earth. When he looked down at me, all of the desperation, hurt and heartbreak dissipated from his eyes and in their place was the blazing heat of hope, accentuated by a small upturned twitch of his lips.

“You do?” 

“Yes.”

“You’re not fucking with me?”

“No.”

“Good.”

Before I could react Dean had scooped me into his arms and crashed his mouth onto mine. The urge to push him away and tell him to get the fuck out bubbled up inside me, however when his familiar taste graced my tongue, a taste that was home, every desire for him to leave evaporated. The years of being apart, of being unable to touch him had made every caress electric, no matter how feather-light. My hands had tangled in his shirt as he pressed his mouth harder onto mine, pulling him crushingly close. His embrace was almost suffocating before he gently slid his hands up and threaded his rough fingers through my hair, and I lifted my own hands to do the same. I took my time with the motion, reminding myself of what he felt like - not that the memory of him ever truly left. I remembered how the muscles across his stomach and chest felt hard beneath a soft layer of skin. I remembered the way they quivered at my touch, and how my touch always pulled soft moans from his lips. My hands crept up to take hold of his face, the familiar feeling of his rough stubble beneath my fingertips ever present, a reminder of how that rough stubble felt when it tauntingly brushed against other parts of my body. I cupped his cheeks, feeling my own tears dampen his skin. He kissed me in a way that said I’m sorry, a kiss that held four years of pent up emotions with a desire to be released. A kiss that I knew was designed specifically for me. Our breaths and lips became frantic, the pace in which we were now devouring each other was still not enough to soothe the wounds in our hearts that were so desperate to be healed. Dean pulled away and held my face in his hands, running his rough thumbs over the soft skin under my eyes to wipe away the tears.

“I miss you, so fucking much,” his voice was low, his words for my ears only - not that anyone else was listening.

“I miss you too,” I sniffled, resting my palms on his chest again and relishing in the heat seeping through his shirt.

He leant down and rested his forehead against mine, taking a deep breath with his eyes closed. The atmosphere shifted however when he dipped down lower and pressed a hot kiss to my cheek, then to my ear, and then to my neck - each press of his lips drawing a shiver from my spine. I gasped when he nibbled my pulse point gently and my hands flew to grasp the short strands of hair at the back of his neck, my nails dragging over his scalp. He groaned against me at the sensation, one large hand moving to grip my hair at its roots whilst the other slid to my hip - squeezing the soft flesh. A moan of his name slipped past my lips and it was like a switch was flipped as he pulled away suddenly. He turned to take a few steps across the room, attempting to put some distance between us. I stood, baffled for a moment, but when he turned back to me and his vibrant eyes were now black with lust, I almost knew what he was going to say.

“Do you really want to go there sweetheart? Do you think you’ll be able to handle it?” he started making slow strides back towards me and I pulled my bottom lip between my teeth. 

“Yes,” my voice was more breathy than I’d anticipated.

“No regrets?” he was almost within reach again.

“No regrets.”

When his hands landed on my waist again, his frenzied kisses on my lips, I was expecting to be able to ravage him equally; but when he lifted me and threw me over his shoulder like I weighed nothing I let out a shocked yelp. 

“Dean!”

He chuckled, the sound low in his chest as he strode over to the bed and threw me down, the impact on the mattress knocking a breath out of me.

“I’ve not been able to fuck you sensless for four years, there ain’t no way I’m going easy on you tonight sweetheart.” I propped myself up on my elbows and watched as he tore his top from his body. I barely got a glimpse of his rugged physique that I’d so terribly missed before he all but pounced, trapping me beneath him. My hands immediately clung to the tight muscles of his back, my nails digging in and drawing a hiss from his clenched teeth before his mouth pressed to my neck right below my ear.

“Do you remember how you used to scream my name?”

I nodded.

“I’m going to make you scream much, much, louder than you ever have before. I’m going to make all past encounters feel like a warm up compared to what I’m gonna do to you tonight.” I shivered at his words as his hot breath fanned over my skin. His hands were fast, desperately tugging on my pyjama pants to slip one inside the soft fabric, not bothering to remove them entirely. There was an urgency to his movements like nothing I’d ever seen, the air leaving my lungs on a gasping moan when his fingers grazed my underwear. He chuckled slightly, pressing a series of searing kisses down my neck to my collar bone. 

“Well, aren't you sensitive? How long has it been, darlin’? Since someone else touched you - since someone else made you cum?” The heat rose to my already flushing cheeks at his words and I tried to cover my face with the back of my hand. My attempts to hide were futile as his long fingers wrapped around my wrist and he pinned my arm above my head. 

“Well?” he pressed, a smirk on his lips.

“Four years,” I all but squeaked. He thought for a moment before his smirk evolved into a widespread grin. “Don't let it go to your head, Winchester,” I did my best to bite out my words yet my voice trembled with a mixture of apprehension and excitement. My head rolled into the quilt and my back arched when he pushed his finger against my clit through my underwear a second time, this time harder, more purposeful. His own breath was shuddering as he continued to plant hot kisses against my skin, the slight dampness from his lips cooling quickly when he pulled back to sit on his knees. My heart didn't know if it wanted to stop dead in my chest or palpitate itself into oblivion when he looked down at me. Dean eminated a dark, primal hunger, glazing his eyes with lust as he gnawed his bottom lip. There wasn't a part of me that he hadn't seen before, and despite my current lack of nakedness it was as if I wasn't wearing anything at all. He made a noise in his chest that seemed to roll up his throat, like a growl of approval as I lay like prey beneath him. Dean may be older now, but he was bigger. Broader. Larger. The years of saving the world and fighting every abomination in his path had forced him to bulk up most exquisitely. With my free hand I traced over the scars adorning his shoulders, chest and abdomen: some old and silver, some newer and pink. There were even a fresh few, still scabbed over, and he shivered at every gentle touch. His gaze, however, was unrelenting. Without uttering a word he yanked my pyjama bottoms from my legs and tossed them into the depths of the room, immediately doing the same with my underwear. Instinctively I attempted to pull my knees together despite him being planted between them and he laughed softly, dragging his dark eyes over my slightly squirming body. He clutched my hand that was touching his chest and pinned it with my other one above my head, leaning down to lift the hem of my t-shirt, to gather above my breasts with his teeth. A shiver tore through me as his hot breath dusted the soft skin of my stomach and ribs, perking my nipples instantly.

“I think your body missed me sweetheart.”

“Definitely not just my body,” I panted. He breathed over my lips for a moment, every possibility of tonight's endeavours flashing before his eyes before he dipped his head to kiss me. His mouth moved slightly slower this time, like he was desperately trying to control the beast inside and make every moment count. To make every moment memorable.

“Do you remember Oasis Plains, Oklahoma? With that fancy house we borrowed?” His voice dropped an octave, eyes hooded as he recalled the memory.

“Yes,” I practically clenched, remembering the late night escapades from all those years ago. In my mind it was like yesterday - the way his lips felt on my skin, how his strong fingers bruised my thighs, and how he brought me to total completion no less than three times. His lips twitched up as he slid down my body and off the edge of the bed to kneel on the floor. He roughly gripped my thighs and threw them over his shoulders before slowly, tantalisingly sliding his hands up the supple flesh to grasp my ass and pull my whole body towards him.

“I’m gonna make you lose your fucking mind, just like you did back then. Maybe I'll even beat that record.”

My eyes could've disappeared inside my skull with how far they rolled back, his mouth's quick descent over my most intimate area - a soft kiss placed just above my clit - had me gasping in anticipation. Without a second to gather my thoughts he pressed his next kiss to that bundle of nerves; the wet heat of his mouth sending a pulse after pulse of fire through my veins as I twitched at his touch. He was an expert. Every flick of his tongue was practised and calculated, knowing which way to swirl, to caress, and how much pressure to apply. It was only a matter of minutes before my hands plunged into his hair and I grasped desperately at the soft strands, feeling that tidal wave build, and build, and build before he daringly grazed his teeth over my clit and it sent the wave crashing down around me, my body arching off the soft mattress as I came undone in his arms at the mercy of his mouth. 

“F-FUCK- Dean-”

My limbs twitched as they relaxed on the come-down, Deans tongue softly tracing up and down my opening. Without pulling away, he spoke in a husky tone:

“Fuck, sweetheart. You have no idea how many times I've reminisced about you moaning my name like that.”

The breath from his words made me shiver, and I moved to prop myself up on my elbows. 

“Ready for round two?” His voice remained low, not waiting for my inevitable confirmation before slowly dipping a finger into my still-clenching walls. The moan that slipped past my lips pulled a groan from Dean, a second finger joining the first as they curled up to push against the soft cushion hidden in the depths of my core. He knew where to find it with zero hesitation - his fingers seemingly acting on muscle memory as he beckoned another orgasm from me. He coaxed it forward, my inner nerves dangerously sensitive as the pleasure began to pool for a second time. With every motion of his finger, again and again, I started to feel the coil twist. I was in two minds on whether to be mortified by how easily he could pull a climax from my very soul, or impressed by it. Either way, he had me teetering on the edge a second time before a single flick of his tongue snapped the coil and euphoria claimed me once more.

His name merged with the endless moans spilling from my mouth, my hazy brain struggling to differentiate the two.

“Shit, you taste so good baby. I could devour you all night.”

“I wouldn't stop you.”

He grinned.

“As much as I would love to indulge you, I need to fuck you. Now.”

He pushed on the backs of my thighs, urging me to centre myself on the bed before he climbed back over me. I could feel myself salivating at the sight of his broad shoulders flexing under his weight, his skin damp with sweat from being trapped beneath my thighs.

He leant down to capture my mouth again, a kiss fueled with raw, carnal desire as he struggled to hold himself back. He shuddered under my fingertips as I trailed them down his torso to his belt, hastily unfastening the buckle and top button of his jeans. It was a joint effort to push them off his hips and down his thighs, but that's as far as they went. The feral need to be inside me had consumed him, and I'd barely withdrawn my hands from between us when he lined up and buried himself to the hilt. 

The burn and stretch was immediate - knocking the air from my lungs as I clutched his solid biceps like a lifeline, my nails indenting his scarred skin. He had the common decency to stay still for around ten seconds before his self restraint diminished yet again and he withdrew slowly. I could feel the divine ridges on his length through the immense build up of my slick and his spit, and as he eased back in he dropped his head into the crook of my neck with a gasp and a groan. A large, rough palm glided down my thigh, goosebumps in its wake as he grasped beneath my knee to rest my leg on his hip. Another moan filled the air between us at the new angle, the top of his cock kissing the soft, sensitive cushion inside. His mouth was hot on my neck as his hips found a rhythm against mine - a rhythm that gradually increased in speed with the intense pleasure unrelenting on my over-sensitive insides. My next impending climax swiftly appearing on the horizon.

“Dean,” I pleaded, my eyes cracking open to look up at him through welling tears, “I'm getting close again-”

He lifted his head, that play-boy grin finding his lips as he saw the mess I'd become at his touch; the mascara-stained tear tracks smudging on my cheeks and the unruly sex-hair was always a good sign of a good time.

“I need you to let go sweetheart - cum for me. Please…”

His words were the cherry on the cake for my undoing yet again and I felt my whole body explode with pleasure and tense up around him. The third orgasm of the night had my vision blurring when he cursed under his breath at my contracting walls, yet he didn't let up. He fucked me through the mind blowing bliss, not letting me catch my breath as a fourth climax hit me out of nowhere, the torturous attack on my g-spot making me feel close to blacking out.

“F-FUCK- Dean- Please- I can't,” my voice was hoarse from the moans and ragged breaths ripping from my throat every other second and my whole body trembled, slick with sweat from both myself and Dean. Despite the death grip I had on Deans cock, every involuntary clench making my knees twitch, he still wasn't finished. His powerful thrusts stuttered slightly before he pulled out, causing me to suck a breath through my teeth. Before I had a chance to query his actions he flipped me with ease, landing me flat on my stomach, my face buried in the soft quilt. Much like before, he didn't wait for an invitation to push back in, the overstimulated nerves in my core sending a jolt through every aching muscle in my body. The deeper angle pulled a cry from my lips when he bottomed out, and if I didn't know any better I would've said that his cock was in my ribcage. Deans large, warm hands took up residence on the supply flesh around my hips, tugging them up so my ass was in the air.

“Shit, (Y/n), with a view like this I'm not gonna last much longer- fuck,” Deans words were strained as he picked up the pace again, albeit this time there was an urgency to his movements. A desperate desire to experience the same Earth shattering euphoria that he had hand delivered to me. With my face in the fabric I snuck a hand down between my legs, finding the pleasure of circling my clit both a relief and an amplifier for the scorching pleasure Dean was inflicting. It didn't take long for him to tear my hand away, only to replace it with his own - pulling noises from my lips that were a whole new calibre of erotic that I didn't know I was capable of. My moans had an effect on Dean, and the hand that was on my hip, that was kneading my soft skin with a bruising grip had shot forwards and planted beside my head, bracing his weight above me. I couldn't see him but I could feel his solid chest against my back, his head dipping down to place rough kisses against my shoulder, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there. I prepared myself for the bruises I'd find on my body in the morning - his firm hold on me would have been almost painful given any other situation. That's not to forget the biting and sucking he was now subjecting my neck and shoulder blades to - the sensation setting my skin ablaze. Deans strained breaths were a tell for his own impending end, with his hips losing their strong rhythm as he panted out laboriously. The sound of him on the verge of bliss, accompanied by every other agonising ministration performed on my body had me unravelling one last time; one hand fisting the sheets whilst the other reached back, my nails brushing over Deans scalp and toying with his short, soft hair. The fluttering of my channel around his cock was all it took to bring him to his long awaited fervid finish. I trembled beneath him as he groaned into my ear, the sound something primal, something almost unhinged. We remained still for a moment, waiting for the post climax clarity to come along and make us regret our decision. He pulled out slowly, earning a hiss from both of us at the loss of warmth and intimate contact. The simultaneous feeling of emptiness and relief was an odd feeling, as I know full well he’d ruined me for anyone else - no one in Heaven or Hell could compete with that. Not that I wanted them to in the first place. Every nerve ending in my lower region fizzled with overstimulation, yet I couldn't have felt more relaxed; more satiated. For the first time in a very, very, long time, I felt complete. 

Dean grabbed the towel he'd left on the back of the chair and used it to catch the evidence of our intimacy, the wetness cooling quickly on my thighs as I pushed myself to sit on my knees. I turned and looked up at him, watching as he stood beside the bed, eyeing me nervously. I raised an eyebrow, a small smirk playing on my lips.

“What's wrong? Regretting the whole ‘No Regrets’ thing already?” 

He shook his head.

“Do you?” His voice held a crackle that equaled his nervous expression.

I shook my head. He looked down at his clothes on the floor.

“No, although I'm getting the impression from you that this was a one time thing,” he must've heard the disappointment when I spoke, his eyes flying up to meet mine.

“Why would you say that?”

“Because you're picking your shit off the floor like you're about to leave, that's why.”

“You…want me to stay? I thought-”

“Did I fucking stutter when I said I still love you, Dean? Because I do, and it's all-consuming and to be totally honest, I never want to leave your side again.” Heat bloomed across my cheeks at my sudden proclamation. Deans grip on his clothes slackened, letting it all fall back to the floor. From the look on his face it was like I'd just declared him King of the world; like a light switched on behind his eyes and a smile threatened to spread across his face.

“Yeah?” 

I fiddle with my fingers in my lap, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

“Yeah-whoa!”

I didn't get the chance to feel bashful or embarrassed when Dean tackled me onto the bed. At first he peppered my still-damp skin with small kisses that tickled with his stubble, before placing his mouth over mine. I couldn't recall a time that he'd kissed me so softly, and accompanied by the gentle embrace of his arms with his fingers carefully threading through my hair, it was enough to bring me to tears.

“I've missed you so much,” my sniffles brought an almost relieved smile to his features as he pulled back and stroked my hair with overwhelming tenderness.

“I've missed you too, sweetheart.

So fucking much.”

----------------------------

Taglist: @roseblue373 @hobby27 @calibootsgirl @suckitands33 @jackles010378 @lyarr24 @autistic-gothic @wattpaduser200 @spndeanwinchesterlvr @mxtansy @libby99hb @magssteenkamp @redmaro86 @slut-for-evans-stan @spookyysinsanity @localjisung @king-of-milf-lovers @xshortputax @jerksbitch @multifandoms-saidwhat @deans-baby-momma @writersxxx

[violetarks]

fooled around and fell in love!

anime: ouran high school host club

characters: fujioka haruhi, suoh tamaki, ootori kyoya

summary: you have enough charm to make even a host fall for you! why haven't you joined the club yet?

a/n: g/n! reader, they/them pronouns used, second person pov, reader isn't necessarily in love with them, they're just unintentionally getting the others to fall for them, but it can be read however you would like

↣ fujioka haruhi:

being the little plaything for the host club was not fun at all for haruhi. she would literally rather do anything else than this.

carrying four bags of food for the hosts, haruhi groans in frustration, "stupid rich people... why do they have to drink so many different brands of coffee?" she reaches into one bag, pulling out an order for hikaru. "he doesn't even like the ingredients in this. he just wanted me to say that long order for no reason..."

people watched the student struggle down the hall towards the host club room. haruhi felt a bit annoyed; didn't rich people have maids or something to do these things? a turn around the corner makes her stop on her tracks, nearly dropping the bags onto the floor.

a hand is held out to catch her elbow, steadying her feet. "sorry, i didn't see you." she apologises, holding the bags even tighter.

"it's okay." you retort, sliding your book bag onto your shoulder. you blink at her, noticing who she was. "oh, haruhi. good morning. you seem pretty busy already."

"good morning, y/n." she replies, nodding her head at you, "yeah, the host club needed a refill on a couple things."

"do you... need help?" you ask, tilting your head at her.

"oh no, it's okay." she spoke, shaking her head with a nervous smile, "i'm nearly there, and club activities are going to start soon."

you shrugged your shoulders, taking some of the bags from her hold. "it's okay, my meeting's been cancelled. i can help." you explain, giving haruhi a smile, "i don't mind spending a little more time getting to know you."

she held her breath for a moment as you led her to the music room that the host club occupied. you were well-known around the school yourself, not as much as the infamous tamaki but still. you shared world history class together and sat in front of her. she knew the sound of your voice by the end of the first month here at ouran academy, and it was no wonder why many of your classmates would seek your help for work. haruhi was good at reading people, so she could tell that you yourself didn't have any bad intentions.

you two became friends quite easily, and you had visited her a few times at the host club. you acted as a cool escape from the strange world of the rich that haruhi had to get used to. you spoke to her as if she was always a friend of yours, sweet and kind. she thought that, if you had tried to, you could knock even tamaki off of his pedestal.

"i heard from hikaru that your theme for this week is the opposite of a 'maid cafe'." your voice cuts through her thoughts, and she drags her eyes to meet with yours. heat rushes to her cheeks at the idea that kyoya had brought up to make a rise in sales. you chuckle at her reaction. "well, i'll have to make sure to stop by to see you."

haruhi rolls her eyes, looking out the window to her left. "please spare me the humiliation, y/n." she huffed out, frown tugging on her lips.

you only grin wider. "c'mon, haruhi, you know that’s the only reason i show up." you say, leaning forward to get a look at her face. she was burning even brighter, and it didn't help that when she glanced back at you, you were staring at her with that welcoming and heart-warming grin you always had for her. "should i switch to always visiting the twins, then?"

haruhi gives you a deadpan look, which makes you laugh. she knows you wouldn't, you literally only asked for her. but she couldn't help the feeling she experienced when you would say her name or look at her like that.

at the host club, you help drop off the bags as kyoya checks everything on his clipboard. at the bell, haruhi escorts you to the door.

"thank you again, y/n, for your help. i'll repay you." she says, knowing full well that all her payments were going to the host club for her initial incident.

you ruffle her hair a little with a smile. "no problem, haruhi. i'll always be here to lend a hand." you say, walking down the hall with your 'goodbye'.

haruhi spares you a wave, closing the door after seeing you turn the corner. when she looks back to her clubroom, she notices kyoya standing a few feet away, back against the wall. "oh, kyoya-senpai. i forgot you—”

“taking a liking to l/n, have we?” he taunts, clipboard under his arm. his glasses gleam with mischief and haruhi gulps. picking it up from the table, he hands her the costume for the day. “is that why they’ve become a regular now?”

she rolls her eyes and grabs it from him. “believe what you want, i’m not doing this out of pleasure.” she admits, hurrying to the change rooms. she passes the other hosts, all standing in the doorway and watching the two interact. haruhi stops on her tracks yet again, furrowing her brows. “what now?”

“what’s this? have haruhi and y/n finally begun dating?” the twins chime, wrapping their arms around haruhi as she begins to heat up, “the love story of the century, two pining young students unable to keep their affections a secret.”

kaoru glances to tamaki, who is fixing up his tie. “what do you say, boss? should we invite y/n to join the host club?” he suggests.

honey jumps up, holding his toy up in the air. “they would be so cute together, right taka-chan?” mori simply nods his head, looking indifferent.

“hmm. perhaps a new addition would spark some rivalry between haruhi and y/n.” tamaki concludes, “many of our guests would love to see the lovers battle to be the best! yes, that is a splendid idea! haruhi—”

turning around, he sees haruhi exit the change rooms in her butler outfit. she huffs back, shaking her head, “i am not inviting y/n to join the host club, you idiots.”

she walks passed them, ignoring the banter they were spouting and the arguments they had for you joining the club. in the end, it was a definite no.

she didn’t know what it was. maybe she just really wanted you to herself.

↣ suoh tamaki:

tamaki, like always, was surrounded by the girls of ouran academy.

if there were any sign that today was just going to be another day, it would be that. the sounds of screams and dreamy sighs, the voice of tamaki swooning them all, and the trail of hearts left behind. another day here at school for you.

but, like always, the club members would make fun of him for his eccentric ideas and whatnot. as they leave to go to class, tamaki stands in the music room with a disappointed look on his face. whenever he would put a frown on his face, the customers would come rushing in! hold his face, cling to his side! why must his friends be so disheartening?

when the door opens to the music room, he expects it to be kyoya to drag him back, and he throws on his frown again. "oh, kyoya! i'm so sad!"

"why is that, tamaki?" you ask, closing the door with your sheet music under your arm and your violin in hand. he blinks at you, obviously not expecting anyone other than the club members. "my apologies, i walked into the wrong room. why are you here by yourself?"

to play it off (although he has never seen you attend any club activities, only ever seeing you in his literature class) he stands up, cheeks burning with embarrassment. he chuckles out, arms thrown to his sides, "o-oh! don't mind me, i'm just a bit down. i didn't expect such a kind student to make themselves known at such a time! how are you on this fine day, mx l/n?"

when you tilt your head, walking closer to his spot at the couch. "a sweet boy like you should never be left alone to sulk." you state, sitting down across from him. he widens his eyes, gulping. "where are your friends?"

"uh... they are in, um, class!" he says as the end-of-the-day bell rings. you only smile. tamaki sighs, dropping his whole get-up and looking to his hands, leaning back against the softness of the couch, "i suppose they left me here while they went home."

"you don't want to go home yet?" you question. he shakes his head. you only exhale, placing your sheet music on the table and your violin next to you. "well, if that is the case, then i'd be happy to keep you company, my lovely."

he widens his eyes as he looks to you. a faint blush paints his cheeks. "you... would?" you nod your head twice. he then smiles. "truthfully, i have no business being here right now. kyoya had called off our club meeting because of exams coming up and the twins failing some classes. and if they fail, they can't be in the club."

"is that so?" you say, making conversation, "well, i suppose you can spend your time with me."

"do you not have a lesson to get to?" tamaki asks, concerned as he glances to your sheet music, "i wouldn't want to keep you—"

"would you like to come to my practice, then?" you offer, smiling softly that it makes him hold his breath for a moment. you were so charming, in such a different way than he was. it was enticing. "i'm sure you wouldn't distract me. not on purpose, that is."

your little joke at the end makes him nervously laugh. "oh, i... i wouldn't want to bother."

"you're not bothering me, tamaki." you honestly say. he unconsciously leans towards you, eager to get closer. you stay where you are, smiling at his actions. "and it seems you just can't resist me."

he catches himself falling. he almost can't believe it, but he then fixes himself and his posture, standing up straight. "r—right, well, i... you...!"

you chuckle, standing up and taking his arm linked in yours, "alright, prince, let's go."

he gasps as you guide him to your practice room, so confident through the halls. he's scared someone will see him in such a flustered state and his cool prince facade will fade. but luckily enough, you navigate your way easily and shut the door behind you.

except, it doesn't take you to the music room. no, in fact, you and tamaki end up on one of the balconies that overlook the quieter side of school — opposite side from the host club.

"i practice here during our breaks and study sessions." you admit, placing a music stand and clipping your sheet music to it. unlatching you violin, you glance to tamaki. "away from all your fangirls, that is."

he raises a brow, catching himself finding his confidence again, "jealous, perhaps?"

"what do you think?" you say, tuning your instrument.

tamaki blinks, staring at the ground as he sits at the bench in front of you. he states, "there is no possible way you could've gotten the wrong room, you know."

you raise your brows, looking back at him. a slow smile creeps onto your lips. "your club passed me in the hallway before i saw you." you admit, waxing your bow, "i just wanted to make sure ouran's pride and joy was okay."

his heart swells at your words. he doesn't know why, but all of a sudden birds sings for you, flowers bloom in your presence the breeze smells sweeter.

"thank you..." he hums, smiling at you sweetly, "may i hear something?"

you lift your bow, nodding your head, "yes, your highness."

his heart explodes at the first note.

↣ ootori kyoya:

if there was one thing kyoya was good at, it was analysing people's strengths and weaknesses. the smart one, glasses-wearing, everything. he was it.

but one thing he couldn't understand was why you were so popular.

you were a part of the school student committee, and as a part of your duties, you hd to do monthly check-ups on clubs to see if they were still eligible to continue. while the host club never failed, you would still drop by without a doubt.

today was one of those days.

kyoya could tell you were near by the increase in whispers and gasps around the hallway. once heard, he excused himself and walked off to grab the folder that held the statistics for their monthly report.

as if on cue, you enter, herd of admirers behind you.

"ah, good evening, mx l/n." he says, offering a bow, "to what do i owe the pleasure?"

"it's good to see you too, ootori." you chime, bowing yourself, "is your report ready for this month? it is the 31st after all."

kyoya can almost hear the agonising tone in your voice, hidden by your politeness. but he doesn't waver, holding out the folder. "indeed. like always, we are right on time." he tells you.

you take it from him, opening it up and falting. kyoya raises a brow. "is something the matter, l/n?" he questions.

you look up at him with the faintest smile. "perhaps you're pulling my leg here, ootori. this appears to be last month's report." you chime, pinpointing his mistakes at its core.

he takes the folder from you and reviews the dates. you were correct, this was last month's report. he scans the room until he locks eyes with the twins, who shrug their shoulders innocently and walk off.

"i... apologise. it seems the twins have taken it into their own hands to file the report for this month." he sighs, fixing his glasses, "if you'll follow me, i will find it for you."

you agree, smiling as those you pass before you enter the side room with kyoya in front of you.

as the doors shut, you click your tongue, "oh kyoya, those two run circles around you, don't they?"

the host rolls his eyes, taking out the box of reports from the cabinet and setting them on the desk. he does miss how his name sounds on your lips. so soft.

"they are a pain, but we make do." he huffs, "must your enterage always follow you when you come see us?"

"oh it's not just when i come here." you state, hand on your hip, "it's everywhere."

you were so smug it made him scowl. he opens the box and notices that they are all out of order. he groans, "we have to look through every individual file, i'm afraid."

"luckily this is my last club for tonight." you sigh, taking out a couple folders, "i can help you organise these."

"but wouldn't your fanclub miss you too much, y/n?" kyoya speaks, doing the same thing and looking through them.

"you're one to talk." you chuckle.

"i truly don't understand how you manage to gather so many followers. you're merely treasurer." he complains, shrugging his shoulders, "do you like being followed around like that?"

you roll your eyes at his dramatic personality. you and kyoya had been friends for ages now, and it seems the popularity you acquire puts a strain on your relationship.

"i don't mind being followed, but i do like all of my friends." you state, flipping through pages, "i speak to all of them regularly."

"so they talk to you and you enjoy it?" he questions, raising a brow at you. the thought irked him. why did you speak to so many people? he could call bullshit. but you shrug your shoulders.

"everybody wants to be liked by the person they have a crush on." you say, knowing tone. every one of your "friends" have or have had a crush on you, which is why they speak to you in the first place. "it just so happens that i like making friends."

"that's preposterous." he huffs back, "i don't understand the severity. i don't feel the need to be liked by you."

"that's because i already like you, kyoya. we were friends since forever, after all." you state, putting one report into the correct folder as you glance at him working, "do you not feel the same?"

"frankly, it doesn't matter to me." kyoya says, ignoring how his chest felt at what you said. it was reassuring to know you still liked him.

"what, are you saying that you don't like me, kyoya?" you say, overdramatic voice on. you move closer to kyoya, tilting your head and jutting our your lip. he swallows his nerves "even after everything we've been through? i'm hurt."

"quiet." he grunts, pushing you away as you laugh. his face grows warmer. "just... find that report and get out of here. it's almost time for club activities to end."

you stare at him for a moment, watching red grow on his cheeks in frustration. your friend has always been this way, even though he acts more familiar with you in private, his embarrassed look never changes. you just see it more than anyone else. that's just how you were.

"okay, kyo." you chuckle, moving to the other side of the table and continuing your work.

kyoya sighs to himself, fixing his glasses and calming himself down. how could you be so... charming? and effortlessly so? is this why everyone fawned over you in a similar way to how they fawn over tamaki?

a few more minutes pass before you've found the file and managed to organise the rest of them. kyoya breathes in relief, putting the box away and silently cursing the twins out.

"thank you, kyoya." you hum out, tucking the folder under your arm, "i'll let you know what we come to."

he puts his hand on the door and before he opens it, he turns to you. "you're welcome. please do. it's the only time we ever... see you." he admits, seeing your raised brows.

your smile drops for a second before you sigh, patting his back, "i'll be sure to come and visit more often then. just for you."

when he opens the door, tamaki is trying to swoon your crowd to leave. he cheers and waves his hands, but to no avail. when they see you, they follow after.

"i apologise for extending my stay, suoh." you say, nodding at him as you stand in the exit, your crowd behind you, "i'll see you all soon."

with a wave of your hand, you leave, smiling at kyoya one last time. the twins turn to him immediately.

"so, how was your date with y/n?" they chime, leaning on his shoulders.

"it wasn't a date, you morons. you do realise how much trouble you caused." he says, a sly smile on his face, "seems like a punishment is in order."

the twins dash out of the room before he can say another word, the other members talking quietly amongst themselves about you.

but kyoya only looks down at his clipboard, once again counting the days til you come again for your monthly report.

[swanimagines]

Hola can i request a Morpheus x f!Reader fic where her son is running over all the palace because he doesn’t want to take a bath?

Sorry English is not my first language

A/N: Ahem ahem, excuse me... this may be the first time in a very long time I'm actually genuinely HAPPY with something I wrote?? If there's a writing deity or a saint, I will pray to them and hope for this kind of skill and motivation and inspiration and whatever hell I need to produce THIS kind of content in the future too, thanks bye!

"Aridus!" your voice echoed through the grand corridors as you chased after your son, who had decided today was not the day for a bath. He turned around slightly, his face scrunched up in anger.

“I don’t want to take a bath!” he declared for the hundredth time, before taking a turn to yet another maze of hallways. You let out a frustrated groan, even though you tried to keep it in.

“I know, sweetie, but after all that playing with Goldie, you’re all muddy, I can’t let you go to bed like that!” You stopped, as you took the turn to where he went. “Aridus, please just—”

“No! I don’t want to sleep either!” His voice echoed through the hallway, it was impossible to know which nook he took as a hiding place. “Daddy never sleeps either!”

It was true, the everlasting bickering with him. Why is daddy able to go around day and night, why can’t he stay up to play all night as well. But the thing was, Aridus was your offspring too, and you were originally from the Waking world — and you needed sleep, so Aridus needed sleep too. Your husband had told you that Aridus may need less sleep than a “regular” human as he grows up, but as a toddler he was just like regular children were. Getting tantrums out of being tired, while the tantrum is about not wanting to go to sleep. “I know sweetie, but he’s–”

“No!” he screamed, and you heard the patter of feet going further again.

You barely heard Morpheus coming to stand beside you, but you felt his presence and turned to look at him. “I can’t catch him. He’s persistent and knows how to tire me out.”

Morpheus's lips had a small hint of a smile. “He is much like you, then.”

You scoffed and crossed your arms. “Me? Are you sure? You’re the one who’s refusing to listen to any other opinions of change when you’ve already decided the ‘best’ way. I think he’s more like you than me.”

Morpheus smiled properly now, inclining his head forward. “True.”

A loud crash interrupted the sound of running, and you heard something rolling through the floor, followed by a soft thud and a whimper from Aridus. You walked forward with Morpheus following close behind, and discovered the source. Aridus had collided with one of the pedestals, which had sent a stack of dream scrolls all over the room. You moved to stand in front of him and brought your hands to your hips, sighing.

Suddenly your son, who had been so angry just a moment earlier, looked more remorseful as ever. “I… I didn’t mean to.”

Before you could answer, you felt Morpheus’s hand on your shoulder. “Allow me, my love.”

Aridus sat there frozen in place, looking at his father kneeling in front of him. Morpheus reached out, carefully tucking a curl of hair behind Aridus’s ear. “Do you know why we need to take baths, Aridus?”

Aridus’s shoulders slumped. “I know, father. Mother doesn’t want my bed to get dirty. But I don’t like to get wet.”

Morpheus shook his head. “It is not only because we get dirty. Every day, all living beings get dream dust on them. If there’s too much of it, it weighs us down. It affects our mood and eventually… it may make us fall asleep and never again wake up. Be stuck in nightmares forever, and not even I would be able to help.”

Aridus stared at his father, his mouth opening slightly before he whispered, “Stuck?”

Morpheus nodded. “Yes. Even the stars must cleanse themselves of the night sometimes.”

For a moment, Aridus stared at the floor, clearly trying to contemplate his options. But eventually, he looked up again and nodded. “Okay.”

You smiled slightly, ushering him towards the bathroom before you looked back at your husband, who was left cleaning the mess up.

—

Later, when you watched your son sleeping in his little bed from the doorway, you felt a slight gust of air as Morpheus appeared to your side again. You smiled at him and whispered, “You’re good at making up stories. I think he’ll be much more willing to take baths in the future.”

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on your son. “I merely spoke the truth.”

You frowned. “Really?”

He turned towards you slightly. “Yes. Well, maybe I dramatised it a little, but much of it was true. Even stars need to be born anew sometimes. They too resist, hang on, but ultimately they yield and give way to new stars. Just like our son did.”

You nodded and let yourself lean against him slightly. "I’ll admit, I was starting to lose hope there for a moment. I didn’t think anything could convince him to take a bath, let alone willingly. He certainly takes after both of us. I thought I'd never tire him out, but you…” you murmured and looked at him. “You have a way with him. Maybe I should let you handle all the tantrums from now on."

Morpheus pushed you away slightly, tracing his fingers against your bare arm. "I would handle them all, if you so wished," he whispered. "But I believe Aridus needs you as much as he needs me. You are his anchor to both worlds. Without you, he might wander too far in the night."

You smiled a little at that. Morpheus certainly knew his way through words, it was in his nature, in how he was created, sure, but you felt like he had learned a thing or two from love since he fell in love with you all those centuries ago.

You sighed, looking at your sleeping son. “He seems to like wandering. He has told me so many times he wants to be just like you, and I don’t know how to tell him that it isn’t possible.”

Morpheus was quiet for a moment, running his hand up and down your arm. “He must learn to walk in both worlds because when the time comes… Waking world may call out to him. In any case, balance is essential. And he must learn to control and thrive, whatever his place will end up being.”

You swallowed, remembering that once your son grows up, he may only be able to visit you at night. You’d watch him grow old year by year, and only get him back once he dies. Which will take centuries, if not even millennials with his Endless blood. And even then, he may choose the Land of the Dead if he has loved ones there. But Morpheus made it sound… like it was natural. Which it of course was, you reminded yourself. “You make it sound so simple. That it will be simple to accept it.”

"Simple, no. But necessary, yes." His hand stilled on your arm. "And you, my love, have always excelled at guiding him in ways I cannot."

You were quiet for a moment again. “I just don’t want him to grow up so fast.”

He was quiet for a moment too, taking in a deep breath. “I wish he did not grow so fast either. But moments like these, they will linger. Forever, if necessary. We need not fear losing him.”

You nodded, finally closing the door and following Morpheus towards the throne room. “I guess I should just remember he’s going to be a half-deity like you. And that hopefully he’s going to make the world a better place.”

Morpheus turned to look at you, taking your hands in his. “He will have both of us with him when he enters the Waking world, and be more than us. He will be a dream, but also a heartbeat. And that, my love, is his gift.”

You swallowed, but then closed your eyes and dropped your face towards the floor. “I know. As long as he has both of us in him, he’ll be alright.”

Morpheus cupped your cheek, tilting your head to look at him again. “He will thrive. He will flourish in ways we cannot yet even imagine.”

You nodded, glancing back towards Aridus’s room and then you turned back to Morpheus. “I love you.”

His smile appeared again, an expression only reserved for you before he kissed your forehead. “And I, you. Always.”

Requests are open! FANDOM LIST | PROMPT LIST(S) | RULES (READ!!!)

[thisblogisaboutabook]

Rainy Season - Part 4

All You Ever

Azriel reflects on his past mistake including the night with Elain. Cassian makes a huge mistake.

A/N: Before reading this chapter please know that I am not condoning cheating or the actions of Azriel or Elain. I do not feel sorry for either of them in any way. I simply enjoy adding a little complexity to the story and selfishly love sprinkling in chaos. Also this is not proofread, I’m exhausted.

And for cauldron’s sake, please just trust the process before yelling at me!!! This is just one chapter from the two biggest idiots involved, not the whole story.

Part 3 Part 5

Warnings: Not proofread, Alcohol, Language, Unintentional ingestion of an aphrodisiac leading to sex

Azriel

He may have been a fucking idiot but Azriel’s self-awareness was painfully acute. His scar riddled hands were forever tainted with the essence of blood that even her plush lips couldn’t kiss away, his angel mate. What a cruel joke the cauldron had played the day that bond snapped between them. She was resplendent in sun shrouded glory and he was the devil who dragged her down. Just selfish enough to ignore the warning bells that he’d one day fuck it all up, just selfish enough to pull her away from her home and covet her within the walls of Velaris. In the beginning, he’d fought so hard to deserve her though she’d never asked him to. She wanted only him and knew he was unworthy of her, he always had been. It was exhausting - the mask. Constantly trying to hide from her that dark, sadistic side of him that was everything opposite of what she was.

She saw through it, of course. She always had. All she wanted was him, all of him. Begging him to show her beyond the good of him at surface level, she wanted all of his self-proclaimed bad too. She’d told him that dozens of times over the years but dropping that mask meant unpacking so much - so much more ugly than even he was prepared to reveal to himself.

At some point he began to resent her and he knew it wasn’t fair. He resented his perfect, pure, untainted mate. Wasn’t it ironic that she’d shown him everything beneath her own surface numerous times, unveiled that she herself was not the Angel he placed her on a pedestal as. She’d shown him everything and he still viewed her through that near-holy lense.

If only he could have put his stubbornness, his self-loathing aside and realized she would have done the same for him. It was too late for that now.

And now I'm without you, and it took distance to see that losing you, means losing everything

————

Something had been wrong for a while. He ignored it assuming that perhaps it was a mental blockade erected by a combination of fatigue and work tensions. He’d slowly distanced himself from his mate. He knew it hurt her, it hurt him too. His intentions were genuine, sparing her the pain of his own inner turmoil by distancing himself while he worked through it. He was simultaneously aware that he was a fucking bastard for doing so, she deserved an explanation but he couldn’t give it to her yet. He justified it as the lesser of two evils.

Unsurprisingly, the mating bond is a fickle thing. As he distanced himself, a chasm of emptiness opened within him that he’d desperately tried to fill with missions and various courtly duties. Training with the Valkyries helped, being there for Elain through her own struggles….

He took his duty to help her seriously, though it technically was not a duty even assigned to him. A distraction. It was a distraction. Ever the spymaster he spent their initial time together observing her, the things that brought a little bit of life back to those once bright eyes.

He’d sun his wings while she gardened and read across from her in the study, little things so she’d know she wasn’t alone. Eventually she began talking again. At first just a comment here or there but then there was communication, getting to know each other, small talk eventually becoming deeper topics. He learned of her resentment of the choice she felt was ripped from her, left with no time to mourn the loss of her mortal life or consider the implications on her relationship with Graysen because of it.

Not to mention the shock that one of the faces she blamed for being damned to the cauldron, one of the first faces she saw coming out of it was her mate and she was just supposed to accept it? Over time, Elain became a friend. A bright spot to the numbness created by the self-imposed gap between he and his mate. His mate….

It had taken some time to realize that he wasn’t feeling her through the bond, when was the last time he’d felt her? It was becoming fainter and fainter, more faint than it even should be with distance. He’d send feelings to her on occasion. A little spark of joy when he saw a lovely sunset or the moments when his desire for his mate heated his blood so thoroughly he had no choice but to excuse himself for relief by his hand.

He needed her to know he cared, he desired her, he loved her. A little time and space to collect everything he needed to bring to the surface, to give her all of him. He left her feeling like she wasn’t enough but she was everything. He just needed space.

Until she gave him space.

The devastation on her face the day she asked him to leave. Gods, damn him and the hurtful things he’d said. They’d be ingrained in his mind for the rest of his days along with the sound of her sobs as she fell apart before him. He’d done that to his mate. He was responsible for those tears. All because he’d been too selfish and prideful to share all of himself with her.

So, he left. She’d allowed him so much space, he could give her this.

I wish I could love you and make you believe it. It’s all you ever wanted from me

———-

The night with Elain

He couldn’t make it through dinner sober. Rhys insisted everyone get together at the River House for a friendly night of debauchery. Pouring himself a double shot of whiskey, he considered telling Cassian to send Rhys his regards and hole up in the house of wind for the remainder of the night. It was either, go to dinner and deal with all of the questions of “Where is y/n?” and “Why isn’t y/n here?” or deal with Cassian’s well-intentioned but annoying attempts of pressuring him into going, followed by a pout when he’d stand his ground on staying in, and then the inevitable intrusion from Rhys inquiring why he wouldn’t come to dinner.

He loved his chosen family dearly but they were busybodies through and through. All he wanted was to pass the time until he saw his mate tomorrow.

Begrudgingly he threw back his glass, poured another double, then headed to the River House.

Time moved slowly when all there was to do was dwell.

What had happened? He flew slowly to the River House. Going out of his way to circle far overhead of his true home, where his mate was. Was she waiting for him inside? Was she in town? Why couldn’t he feel her? Silence. Just as it had been for months. But the emotions he’d seen in her, they were so real. Shouldn’t they have sparked something in the bond?

As Azriel approached the River House he’d come to the conclusion that tonight he’d inform Elain he’d no longer be able to visit with her as he had been. He’d neglected his mate for far too long, this past week had given him the clarity needed to go home and give his mate his all. He could slowly open up to her, he could do it.

He just needed to make it through the night.

The night went by as usual. Good food, laughter, flowing liquor. He heavily indulged himself in the liquor anything to numb the impatience in waiting for tomorrow.

Feyre and Rhys sat closely together on a lounge, Feyre leaning into him, staring up at him like the stars in the sky.

Cassian and Nesta spent the entire time making bedroom eyes at one another, Cassian whispering dirty promises into Nesta’s ear that made even the queen of smut herself blush, Nesta taking any opportunity to brush her body against his in passing.

Gods, they were so in love it made him sick.

“Home.” He told himself.

“Soon.”

As the evening wound down, Cassian insisted everyone do shots to close out the evening. He was drunk enough that he stumbled carrying in the tray of shots and let out a battle cry of victory over the fact that he managed to not spill any of the liquor.

Azriel should have flown back to the House of Wind a while ago but he needed to talk to Elain.

Nuala and Cerridwen had been on duty with Nyx for the evening, compensated well to work overnight in case he awoke, giving Rhys and Feyre the now rare opportunity to go out to Rita’s. Mor, of course, drug Emerie along and went with them. Given that Amren would rather stick pins in her eyes than go out, she and Varian opted to go back to her place.

Azriel should have gone there, gone back to the River House, gone home and slept in the doorway until his mate let him in.

But he was so drunk. There was no way he was flying anywhere tonight.

Cassian and Nesta brought out a final round of shots. Elain winced, scrunching her nose as she threw it back. Azriel thought she’d be able to take her liquor better by now. Cassian and Nesta waggled their eyebrows suggestively at eachother before throwing theirs back. And damn, if Azriel didn’t wince when he took his shot too. That shit was awful. Had they drank through all of Rhysand’s good liquor? Did Cassian dig this out from the bottom shelf?

Once Cassian and Nesta left for the House of Wind, Azriel took the empty glasses to the kitchen, cleaning up a few of the remaining dishes throughout the seating area on the way. He barely made it into the kitchen before his head began spinning. That last shot had done him in. He couldn’t even remember the time last he’d been blackout drunk. Two centuries ago, maybe?

He still needed to find Elain.

The stairs felt longer and far less steady than usual, taking him more time than he cared to admit to make it up them. His hands felt tingly on the banister and damn, it was hot in the River House. No, he touched his face, flushed and hot to the touch. He was hot.

The tingling was simultaneously uncomfortable and pleasurable, spreading over his body with haste as he neared closer to Elain’s room.

He caught a glimpse of her and her scent hit him like a ton of bricks. Had she always smelled this good?

His breathing increased, nostrils flaring as he took in her scent and fuck - he was hard. It was too late to not say anything now as she stared at him expectantly. The stars in his vision cleared and all he could see was her, zeroed in on her fluttering pulse, those delicate features.

He needed to leave.

He just needed to - shit, what had he come here to say?

Azriel’s shadows whirled reminding him of his mate. His mate. He needed to go to his mate.

He needed to tell Elain something. He couldn’t think straight.

“Elain…”

And that was when she lunged at him.

Well is it too late, and are you too far to turn around and let me be

——————————

Elain

There was nothing the Cauldron loved more than Elain Archeron.

There was nothing the Cauldron hated more than Elain Archeron.

A thin line between the two, really.

She’d spend the rest of her life groveling for what conspired on that night. She never intended to sleep with him. She never, ever intended to hurt Y/N.

She remembered drinking more than usual.

She remembered Azriel finding her in the hallway.

She remembered a sudden rush of warmth, first from her chest, seeping outward through her extremities, low into her stomach and lower, lower.

She remembered Azriel having something important to tell her. She could feel nothing but heat. Her heart racing, breath becoming rapid.

Azriel’s pupils were blown wide, his nostrils flaring. Like every single sense was hyper aware of her state. His arousal wafted through the air, his irresistible cedar and chilled mist scent clinging to her like an expensive cologne.

They were so very intoxicated.

They couldn’t do this. If she’d been sober and unaffected by whatever was running through her veins, she would have left. Immediately.

She wasn’t one to wreck a home and Azriel loved his mate so, so much. The way he talked about her, it made Elain jealous. Not of them, not of her. Only jealous that Elain herself had struggled so hard to feel anything toward her own mate for so long. Lucien who played a role in her loss of humanity, Lucien who would do anything to make it up to her, Lucien who never meant for it to happen, who tried so hard to help her, to connect with her, who wanted nothing more than to love her. Lucien.

Then why was it Azriel? Azriel who was standing in front of her clearly affected by her, trying his damndest not to be. Why was she so drawn to him? A mated male.

Was she sweating? It was so hot. Her breasts ached and her blood thrummed through her veins so voraciously that she was certain she’d bleed out at any minute. And if Azriel could see beneath her gown right now, he’d see how tightly her thighs were squeezed together. How desperately she needed release and by the tightness in his pants - she knew he was in the same state.

“Elain…” Azriel spoke. His breath ragged.

And all it took was her name rolling off of his lips for her to close the distance. One kiss. She just needed one kiss to remind herself that this was wrong. To run the other way.

And it only took one kiss to remind her how much the cauldron loved her. How much it hated her.

The moment when she felt the mating bond snap between her and Azriel.

The alcohol, the liquor, the heat, the bond. A lethal combination leading to the biggest mistake of her life.

The night she’d fucked Azriel.

She could never let him know about the bond.

—————————-

Elain woke up with a brutal headache. She would have killed for some headache power. Her room was dark, shadows deepening the onyx black of night as slivers of moonlight lined the edges of her curtains. Still nighttime, then.

Her surroundings slowly came into focus, awareness sharpening as a soft sound caught her attention. Swiftly she turned her head to find Azriel asleep on the other side of her bed.

Oh no.

Oh no, no, no, no, no.

This couldn’t have happened.

What had she done?

She threw on her dress and tip-toed out of the room in a state of panic. She was a sensible female. She knew too well the pain of losing Graysen, a human male, not her spouse, not her mate. But still, his rejection had hurt like hell. Elain would never sleep with another woman- female’s mate. No.

She paced through the library, back and forth, back and forth, praying she didn’t wake anyone up. The walls were closing in on her. This couldn’t be real. It couldn’t be.

Oh gods.

And the mating bond. How?

Her chest was tight, she couldn’t catch a full breath. She needed out.

Before she could stop herself, Elain fled into the empty street with no destination in mind. Anywhere but here, anywhere but the bed where she’d likely obliterated a marriage. She’d certainly obliterated her dignity.

The starlight illuminated streets of Velaris were endless, winding through alleys and lanes. In her panicked state, Elain had no clue where her feet were taking her as she blindly followed her gut. It wasn’t until she was in front of the door that she realized her heart had made its choice. It knew exactly who to go to, she only prayed it wasn’t too late.

She took a shaky inhale and raised a hand to knock but the door flew open revealing a shirtless Lucien, his bare, muscled chest heaving. “I felt you coming.” He gasped. “Through the bond.”

—————-

Azriel

The sun’s rays illuminated the edge of the curtains. Azriel’s stomach was tight, nausea from the previous night’s alcohol overwhelming him. His bed felt colder than usual, more stiff.

He looked around to find that he’d never left the River House. He was…

He was in Elain’s room.

“Oh, fuck!” He sobbed to himself as the previous night came pouring back to him. Setting his face in his palms, he cried. What the fuck had he done?

Azriel bathed, desperately scrubbing Elain off of him. By the time he was through, his skin was an angry red. He snuck out of the River House, flying to a grassy knoll high above Velaris. The spot where he and Y/N had first made love, where the bond snapped, where he’d proposed. He shifted uncomfortably as he tried to get comfortable, the unease settling in. It was blasphemy to desecrate such a sacred spot with his shame.

“What do I do now?” He asked aloud, the only response the whipping of the wind around him. He didn’t understand what had overcome him. He’d never been so “effected” before, even in his drunkest moments. Once Elain’s lips met his, his brain had shut down, nothing else mattered but the feel of skin on skin. His body needed release and acted on pure primal instinct.

And now, he had a decision to make. He could go home and lay it all out, slightly easing the guilt of holding in his greatest sin while completely and utterly destroying his mate.

Or, he could go home. Show his mate all of the love that he had been withholding for too long now, sweep her off her feet, take care of her and start opening up. Give her his all, even the ugly parts that he kept so deeply hidden.

Gods, she’d given him so many chances and he’d let her down at every turn. There were no excuses for the way he had treated her.

All she’d ever wanted was him, all of him, including those sides he’d never wanted her to see.

Now he could only go home and love her. Love her with everything he had and pray she believed it.

———————-

6 months after Y/N left

Azriel looked in a hallway mirror on his way to Rhysand’s study. Dark circles hallowed out his under eyes. The drink he’d had prior to flying down here did nothing to numb the violent ache within his heart. Would it ever quell? Would this puncture wound ever heal?

It wouldn’t. And he didn’t know if he wanted it to. He was a bastard and deserved every ounce of this isolated misery. Trapped in a prison of his own making. The ache in his chest a constant reminder of the love he’d squandered. And for what? A meaningless night with a pretty female. Had he not had enough of those nights in his life?

Not that Elain would speak to him. Though she had apologized, countless times. It didn’t matter. As far as he was concerned, he was the only one to blame. Occasionally he’d catch Lucien’s assessing glare, an infuriating blend of contempt and pity etched into his features. Azriel didn’t know which he hated more, he didn’t deserve pity.

Azriel’s skin had sallowed. Had he ever been this pale before? And the bargain tattoo on his arm. Fuck, he hated it. After his third attempt to infiltrate the Summer Court, Rhysand gave Azriel the option of a cell in the Hewn City or a bargain.

Ironically the bargain served as a prison of its own. He was not allowed to go anywhere near the Summer Court or communicate with Y/N in any way. The only method of communication he was able to find a loophole with was the tugs on the bond. He’d pull and pull, nothing.

If only he could try to explain, apologize, anything.

Breaking his gaze from the shell of a male in the mirror, Azriel stepped toward the study.

Cassian’s booming laugh barreled through the cracked open door.

“Trust me, Feyre will love it. I’m sure you guys could use a little spark at the end of the day. You’ll be rolling in the sheets all night.”

Rhys only chuckled.

Cassian continued, “Tastes nasty as hell though. Here’s an extra vial, just in case. The first time Nes and I tried it, it didn’t work. Not sure why.”

Azriel let out a huff, stepping into the study. Cassian and Rhys ceasing their conversation in his presence. They’d been painstakingly obvious in not talking about their mates or anything relationship related in front of him since his mate had left. He refused to speak to anyone about why she left, too embarrassed to admit to this bed of his own making. They knew it was his fault and that was all that mattered.

Azriel scowled. “You don’t have to stop talking about your mates just because I’m around.”

Cassian awkwardly raised his arm, rubbing the back of his neck. “Sorry brother. We just don’t want to make things harder for you than they have been.”

“Considerate.” Azriel sneered, jerking his head toward the vials. “What are those anyway?”

Cassian smirked, “Oh, just some aphrodisiac potions from a new apothecary in Velaris. Really powerful shit. Nes and I-“ Rhys elbowed Cassian. A warning to not take the conversation too far. They could talk of their happy relationships without absolutely rubbing Azriel’s face in it.

Cassian quieted for a moment before continuing. “It tastes gods awful but the payoff is totally worth it. Remember those shots we took after everyone left dinner several months ago? We mixed it into Nes and I’s glasses and didn’t notice the taste. Didn’t work either though. Must’ve been a dud. Lady at the shop gave us a replacement vial the next time we were in and…. well, let’s just say we keep it in stock at the House of Wind now.”

Azriel went preternaturally still. His shadows growing angry as he ground out, “The night you two did a parting shot with me and Elain?”

“Uh…… yeah?” Cassian replied.

And before Cassian could realize what he’d done, Azriel pummeled him. Hauling him out the study doors and onto the lawn, not even making it to the sparring ring before his fists met Cassian’s face - the two Illyrians disappearing into a frenzy of fists and feet and glowing siphons.

The only sound over the impact of their hits and feral growls was Cassian’s confused, booming voice. “What the FUCK, Az!?”

————————————————

A/N: I am sorry for giving you an entire chapter of Azriel and Elain content but I will make it up to you with fluffy Eris and reader content in the next chapter!!!

@going-through-shit @kalulakunundrum @lisanna2000 @fxckmiup @sheblogs @emryb @one-big-fangirl @historygeekqueen @isa1b2h3 @bigcreatorwombatdreamer @theravenphoenix26 @sidthedollface2 @i-am-infinite @caraaaaugh @evergreenlark @darkbloodsly @piceous21 @anxious-study @chessebookgirl @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @crazylokonugget @mysticalfuncollectorus @starsinyourseyes @b0xerdancer-writes @inloveallthetime

[downwiththemutantnjnjaturtles]

Leonardo's First Love—Splinter's Talk

When Leo realized his heart was being divided, he felt afraid. 

His attention had always been captured by his family and his mission—he knew what it was like to love them. But never had he thought his love was going to be snatched up, split, and taken almost wholly by someone of the race that thought they were monsters. 

When Leo noticed the pull towards something else, something new, he pushed himself away. 

He found himself tonight an observer to soft skin, a vulnerable but inviting form that seemed to master existing as is without striving for status-quo. And it was entrancing, desirable; sparked sensations in him he had put under wraps years ago as a teen. Useless instinct. Basic drive. He had more to expect from the world, and expected more, he did…but every night, went back to the same old scenario. Her. 

"Get out of my head," he groaned as he laid up in the quiet lair when he was supposed to be resting, lost in thought. Smooth curves. A small stature against his. Hands, running down—he paused. Somewhere in the middle of a fantasy, he'd heard the words "I love you". That brought him back to the fact that it wasn't just desire. For that there were things he felt embarrassed to indulge in sometimes; but it didn't help anymore. Because those people in the screens, the words on a page of an R-rated book, were not her. Couldn't be, even if he tried. He wanted to know for just a moment what it was like to be human. To have that possibility of love there for the taking. And to never go for it, with all the permission those men had just for being human, he was disgusted. Feeling bitter over that fact sent his mind into overdrive—because he would feel even worse if some man did go for it with her. Like a walking contradiction, he was fighting with himself every step of the way. From she should stay away, to she should be with me. 

He got up to practice some forms. Maybe do maintenance on his flexibility. Sharpen his katanas. Anything to stop thinking and start doing. Somewhere during his steady training, he heard Master Splinter enter. 

"What is the matter, my son?" asked Splinter. He always knew even when his more stoic child Leonardo was troubled. 

"What's the matter? Nothing's the matter. I'm fine," Leo replied, balancing on one leg. "[Y/N] should head home, it's almost time for patrol." 

Splinter sat cross-legged down on a cushion with a slight smile. "So quick to mention [Y/N], even when you're preoccupied," he commented, "I told her she was welcome to stay whenever she liked. To repay for her generosity." That generosity being, stocking their fridge with things they couldn't get a hold of, to help out the heroes of New York. Something along the lines of making sure they were eating right for all they did. 

Leo paused, "What? I'm not quick, I was just saying…Splinter, it's weird having someone around now." 

"Does not have to be 'weird'," Splinter said. Leo felt his black eyes on him even when turned around. He was flustered, still going through the smooth motions of his kata. "Tell me what is really going on, Leonardo. I know you have something on your mind." 

Giving up his rotations, Leo slumped a little as he stepped off of the pedestal, setting his katanas down as he faced his father. "I don't know what's up with me, Master. I just don't get it." 

Splinter gave a knowing hum. Still, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "It seems like you've been quite bothered over [Y/N], my son."

He knew he couldn't hide anything from Splinter. There was no point in deflecting longer; he was only embarrassing himself. Finally, he admitted, "I can't…you know the way it is, Master, it'll never work. She's cool with us, but she's a human. And I'm a mutant." He sat down before his father on a plain mat. 

"Yes, a very beautiful human, too," the old rat mused, gently stroking the longer hairs of his chin. Leo flinched and opened his mouth to switch the focus of the conversation, but Splinter beat him to it. "Surely a woman like that would not ever spend money on, cook for, and give quite undivided attention to such a mutant when he's training. You are correct, my son, it's over." 

Leo's face flushed cold, blood rushing to his cheeks as he listened to his father. "Master Splinter! I'm being serious!" he fussed as he leaned forward onto his palms. "I don't know what to do, I—" 

"—want to stop feeling this way, yes, I know," Splinter finished for him. "Oh, young love." 

It was quiet for more than a moment. Leo's face softened, his blue eyes studying his father's as he gave Leo a look of acknowledgement. He gathered the courage stuck in his gut fluttering about his stomach, mind bouncing between [Y/N] and what his dad was saying. "I made myself stop thinking about love and stuff a long time ago. Mikey's always going on about it. I know Raph wants to be accepted more than anything, and Donnie, he's got his secrets. I'm supposed to be the example. I was supposed to show them we can live and not care. That our lives are worthwhile even without humans being involved. But now…" 

Splinter raised a brow at him. 

"I'm in love," Leo said. "And—and want it so badly." 

Splinter reached forward to place a hand on his shoulder. As soon as [Y/N] had entered their lives, he knew this day was going to come for one of his sons. It was inevitable, he thought. "Welcome to manhood, my son, this was fated to happen at some point. I've only been waiting since she arrived." 

Leo felt exposed. He felt unsure, and that uncertainty was driving him insane. He was always steadfast in his approach. Knowing he was a fish out of water in this situation disarmed him. 

"Master Splinter, what do I do? Tell me." 

Splinter's idle smile left as the tone turned  more serious suddenly, adding to Leo's growing discomfort. "You must understand that having [Y/N] means that your burden will grow. Not only will it be your brothers you will have to protect, but her, as well. It is your job to defend her from anything that could put her in harm's way. She is not built to fight like you. She is vulnerable, and being affiliated to us will only add to the dangers already present in this world. That is what you must come to terms with. But you must not ignore your heart, either." 

Having another body to look after. He contemplated that before answering. When he thought about defending her, it did not feel like an added chore. He wanted to. What was he so strong for if not to also protect the woman he loved? And what he had said before…could she have felt the same way? 

"You've prepared me more than enough to be able to handle another person, Master." 

He wanted nothing more than to hold her. That was something he could not deny. He enjoyed being an observer to a way of life so different from his; femininity, not always being the one taking care of others. He loved his family, but at times, leading was tiring. He wanted to forget about it for just a little bit, maybe lay down, be with someone he didn't have to "manage".

Splinter would have been lying to have said he wasn't surprised at all. But he knew his sons, inside and out—Leonardo had iron will. 

"It is your choice, Leonardo," Splinter said amiably. 

His choice? He wanted to laugh. There almost wasn't a choice. He felt like every road led back to her. It was either face his fears, or stay awake every night plagued with the possibilities of what could be. And he didn't handle fear well. It twisted his stomach and ate him up inside when he felt uncertain, afraid. God, one word is all I need from her. Just one "yes". One touch. One kiss.  He wanted to feel her hands explore his plastron, run along the edge of his shell. Love what made him, him. 

Overcoming the hesitance he felt, he let out a deep breath, committing to a final answer. " I don't know how, but...I want to try. I can't let this go. There has to be a reason all of this happened. If everything that's happened to us up until now has been destiny...I can believe it for this, too. Thank you, master."

Just felt like writing our leader in blue having a talk with his father 😌 Going to make this a little mini series for all the boys!

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance²

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: not as long as before but still long, murder, violence, death, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, psychological "games," unrequited love, complicated relationships, suicidal tendencies (technically), complex mental health issues, and i make up small details ab smaller characters and some names (pls lmk if i missed anything) Words: 9.2K

Masterlist | Part 3

a/n: i just want to thank you all so much for the support! i was definitely insecure about this, but seeing all the love rlly makes it so worth it! this one is completely catching fire, then the next one is all mockingjay. hope u enjoy! also finnick and y/n's song is def american pie.

“Let The 75th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

Ten seconds later, a cannon fired and you were immediately jumping off the pedestal into the water. Once upon a time, you were a swimmer. This was your edge. You were good in water, as was Finnick, so your worry for him eased. 

You swam until you reached rock, climbing on to it and running along the path like your life depended on it because it did. Once you were at the Cornucopia, you ran for your sword, grabbing it and then swiftly pivoting to stab the person coming up from behind you like it was instinct—and it was.

Your mind didn’t have to fully be there; your body knew what it was doing. You’ve danced this dance already, and you’ve perfected it. You stabbed another man from behind, letting him fall to the ground when you pulled your sword away. You grabbed throwing knives, running to find Finnick, and you caught him at just the right moment.

Katniss had just drawn her arrow when you came up from behind her, bringing your sword up against her neck. Alliance or not, you’d slit her throat if she posed a threat.

“Careful, Everdeen,” you warned, making her tense.

At that moment, Finnick held up his forearm, flashing his bracelet. He smirked, completely unbothered, and taunted, “Good thing we’re allies, right?”

Her breath was shaky but her voice was still menacing. “Where did you get that?”

“Where do you think?” You retorted, still holding the blade close to her skin.

You watched as the amusement on Finnick’s face disappeared, his gaze being directed away from you. “Behind you.”

You quickly moved your sword away from her neck without cutting her, spinning and bringing it down on another guy’s neck instead. You turned back to a gasping Katniss, ignoring her state that was much like the one you were just in. “Don’t trust 1 and 2.”

Cannons fired as Finnick walked around you. “I’ll take this side. You go hold them off,” he told her.

You nodded. “I’ll find Peeta.” You didn’t walk far before you spotted him, shouting, “He’s over here!” All three of you ran over, finding him in the water against a pedestal, fighting off a tribute.

Finnick jumped into the water, swimming over while Katniss drew her arrow, seemingly waiting to get a good shot, but then both boys were submerged underwater. She brought her arrow down, breathing heavily as a cannon fired.

You waited in anticipation, a body floating up to the surface. For a second, you thought the kid died, but then he emerged out of the water, panting, and you both let out a breath.

The look on her face as she thought Peeta died was more convincing than any other performance you watched them put on, more convincing than the kisses, and the engagement, and the sweet interviews. Whatever was going on between them, you knew now that it wasn’t all fake.

Seems that you had more in common with the Girl on Fire than you thought.

You glanced over at the island, seeing the sets of Careers standing together, forming an alliance as they usually did. Katniss noticed this, too, so as soon Peeta and Finnick were out of the water, you all went running in to the jungle.

This was a Quarter Quell. There was more to it than just changing up the reaping; the entire arena was special. The Gamemakers were sick. You knew that you were in for a hell of a ride.

Right now, you just had to keep running. You could worry about food and water when the time came, and you’d find Johanna eventually. She was smart; you knew she wouldn’t be one of the first to die.

You ran and ran until Finnick called for you all to stop, crouching down to make a game plan. It turned out that you were gonna need water a lot sooner than you thought with how hot it was. At least freezing to death wasn’t something you had to worry about.

Katniss stared at you and Finnick quite obviously. You weren’t sure if she was trying to be discreet or not; you weren’t sure if she knew how to be discreet at all. The firing of the cannon made her finally look away.

Even though you were just running for your lives, a smirk still made its way onto Finnick’s face. “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore,” he chuckled. You snorted, but Katniss wasn’t as amused.

“You think that’s funny?” 

You narrowed your eyes, answering before Finnick could. “I don’t know what you think this is, Everdeen, but in case you failed to notice, it’s kill or be killed out here.” You pointed to your ear. “Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. We don’t care about any of them.”

Her jaw clenched. “Good to hear,” she quipped, pulling a machete out of its sheath on her back. You scoffed at her pathetic attempt to threaten you.

“Look, you wanna face the Career Pack alone? Be my guest. It’s your funeral,” you shot. “Besides, what would Haymitch say?”

“Haymitch isn’t here.” She stared straight into your eyes and you stared right back at her, unblinking. In your peripheral, you saw Peeta glancing between you.

“Let’s keep moving,” he interrupted, standing up, but you didn’t look away from Katniss until she stood up first.

Once you were up and walking, Finnick put his hand on the small of your back, probably to calm you down. For some reason, he insisted on working with them, so you’d just have to stifle your urge to argue with her.

Eventually, though, you knew you would be doing a lot more than arguing. If Katniss and you were as alike as you thought, then you knew that she’d stab you in the back for Peeta, the same way you would for Finnick.

The actual tributes in the arena weren’t always what you had to worry about. You were reminded of this when Peeta hit the wrong branches and went flying backward, sending you all with him.

A wall where he hit was revealed, like a glitch, before it was replaced again with the glamour of the jungle. A force field, you realized. Then your attention was drawn back to Peeta by Katniss’ cry of his name.

You shuffled over to them as Katniss panicked. “He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing.” Finnick rushed over, pushing her out of the way.

She instantly reached for her bow, going to grab an arrow, but you shoved her arm. “What the hell is wrong with you? He’s saving his life,” you snapped. Her hand fell, realizing you were right as she watched Finnick give him CPR.

She looked like she took a moment to collect herself and then she crawled over. “Peeta? Peeta?” She cried. Finnick grunted, switching between compressions and mouth-to-mouth, continuously checking for a heartbeat that wasn’t there. “Please wake up. No,” she sobbed, “please wake up.”

For the first time since The Games began, you really did feel bad for her. If you were in her place, you didn’t know what you would do.

Just as you thought Peeta was dead, he gasped back to life. Finnick moved back, letting them have their moment.

“Be careful, there’s a force field up there,” he breathed.

She tearily chuckled, leaning in to kiss him. You and Finnick shared a look. Katniss was kidding herself if she didn’t think she loved him. You tuned the rest of their conversation out. Peeta could’ve died, just like that, and Katniss would’ve probably fallen apart.

You knew that if Finnick died, you died, too. You couldn’t let that happen. You had to protect him.

Little did you know, he was thinking the exact same thoughts about you.

Once Peeta could stand, you were all back on your feet, looking for freshwater while simultaneously trying to spot where the force field started and ended. After Katniss did a little experiment with an arrow, you figured out that the arena was a dome. You just so happened to be at the edge.

Didn’t matter, though, because there wasn’t a sign of freshwater anywhere. Since you couldn’t satisfy your need for water, you’d just have to compensate with your need for sleep.

“It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected. We should set up camp,” Finnick suggested. “Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

Katniss gave a little scoff like he was saying was absurd. “Not a chance.”

You stepped forward, so fed up and desperately wanting to give her a reality check, but Finnick held a hand up, signalling for you to stop. The only reason you did was because you saw the look on his face. As much as you wanted to tear Katniss a new one, you’d much rather watch him do it.

He stood up, sticking the end of his trident into the ground. He was calm, but annoyance laced his voice. “Honey, that thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called saving his life. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would’ve done it by now.” He picked up his trident. “Same goes for Y/N.”

Then he walked off, and you followed soon after hearing Katniss say something to Peeta about taking the first watch. If you were just watching The Games, then maybe you’d feel a little more compassionate towards her, but you weren’t watching. You were in them with her.

Your compassion sort of needed to disappear to ensure your survival, so all you were was annoyed. But she was a pretty good archer, so having her on your team didn’t hurt, unless you were counting how she was a pain in your ass.

However, your annoyance was quick to fade as you fell asleep, tired, hungry, and dehydrated.

When you woke up, it was to the sound of Panem’s anthem, pictures in the sky of the tributes that had died. Most of them were people you previously had conversations with in the Capitol, yet some of them were still people that you killed.

You couldn’t be friends with everyone in an arena.

You counted eight pictures in the sky. So there were sixteen left, including you four. If you were still mentoring, you would’ve probably been reflecting over how quickly those lives could just come to an end, but you didn’t have time to stop and think about the cruelty of life.

Your thoughts were directed away from the dead by a chime. You looked up to see a silver parachute, slowly falling to the ground. Katniss opened the silver casing, revealing some sort of metal tool and a note from Haymitch. You quickly identified the tool as a spile.

The three of you brought it to a tree, waiting to see if it’d work. Peeta came and found you not long after. You were just staring at it, praying for water. If there was a God, they answered, because water came pouring out of the spile like it was a fountain.

You were so relieved that you laughed, drinking and splashing some on your face.

After that, you were the one taking watch as everyone slept. Every year when The Games came, you had trouble sleeping more than a few hours each night. Now that you were back in the arena, you really couldn’t sleep at all. You’d make sure you got an hour every day, just to keep yourself sharp, but otherwise you’d prefer to let Finnick sleep and watch over him, anyway.

You were all startled by a loud banging, almost like an alarm. The only reason you could think of for its presence was to signal that it was midnight, but you were still confused. There were never alarms in any of the other Games. But, like you’d already figured out, this year was different.

Right after the alarm, you watched as lightning repeatedly struck the same tree in the distance. Nature didn’t work that way, and there was nothing natural about The Games, anyway. It wasn’t a coincidence, but you just couldn’t figure out what its purpose could be.

You spent the rest of your watch trying to put the puzzle pieces together, trying to figure out what the catch was with this arena, but you couldn’t make any of the pieces fit. You didn’t have enough. Katniss tried to stay awake, still distrusting of you, but she eventually succumbed to slumber, leaving you to yourself.

She hadn’t been sleeping long when you heard a different sound. You turned your head, seeing grey mist slowly crawl its way over to you. Your brows furrowed.

There were no natural occurrences in an arena.

You reached your hand out, like you were testing the waters, but you should’ve known better. As soon as the fog made contact with your skin, you fell backward, a scream leaving your lips. Your cry woke everyone else up. 

Finnick immediately ran to you, but you shouted, “No, run! It’s poison- the fog is poison!” Either he was stupid or brave, because he ignored your warning and ran to you anyway, helping you up as quickly as possible before you followed Katniss and Peeta, doing your best to run, but the fog was following you, too.

It was harder to run fast in this part of the jungle. All of the branches and plants kept getting in your way, but you weren’t stopping, helping Peeta cut whatever was in your way.

You could’ve been running as fast as humanly possible, but the fog still would’ve caught up to you. It wasn’t nature at all. It was intended to kill.

You had to change directions as it suddenly appeared in front of you, too. It was like it was encasing you. Somewhere along the way, Katniss and Peeta ended up running on the path parallel to you. You skidded to a stop as you heard Finnick scream. Your eyes widened. “Finnick, come on. We’ve gotta go!” You ushered him forward, and then he went running to Katniss and Peeta who came to a stop, as well.

When you got there, Peeta was groaning on the ground, blisters all over the side of his face. “I can’t carry him,” Katniss panted. “Peeta, please, stand up. We have to go.”

If you could carry him, you would, but he’d crush you if you tried. Finnick was in no condition to carry Peeta alone, so you slung one of his arms around your neck, telling Katniss to get the other. “Finnick, go. Get ahead of us.” You motioned for him to go forward.

He looked hesitant, and in any other situation, he wouldn’t, but none of you had the time to argue, so he listened and ran forward, taking Peeta’s blade and cutting the branches in your path.

The three of you cried out as the fog hit the backs of your necks, but then you were all rolling down a hill that you couldn’t have noticed in the state you were in.

You were whimpering on the ground, so consumed by the pain that you almost forgot that you were supposed to be running. You turned over and, to your surprise, the fog didn’t come any closer, travelling upward instead of forward, like it hit a wall. And then it just disappeared altogether.

You let out a shaky breath, resting your head on the ground before you were reminded of where you were. Resting wasn’t an option. You’d rest when you were dead, and you weren’t gonna speed up that process.

So you crawled over to the lake a few feet away from you. This was a gamble, but you had to take some risks if you wanted to survive. Cautiously, you stuck your hand in the water. This elicited another scream from you, but the pain in your hand slowly faded as the blisters were practically washed away. 

“The- the water,” you stuttered, “the water helps.”

As Katniss and Peeta made their way over, you pushed yourself into the water, moaning at the pain. Tears leaked out of your eyes, but after a minute or so, the excruciating pain subsided to just a sting.

When you were both okay, Katniss and you got out of the water, dragging Finnick over. As soon as the water touched his skin, he was screaming, trying to fight against it. “Shh, shh,” you hushed, holding him down. “It’s gonna help.” You ran your fingers through his hair, and a few more tears fell down your face, even though you weren’t in pain anymore.

Not physical pain.

But watching him struggle like this was a pain you couldn’t help.

You and Katniss helped him as he shivered while Peeta went and got your weapons. You stayed in the lake even after all your blisters were gone, just cooling off and getting yourselves together.

In The Games, your physical came first, but you wanted to keep an eye on mental health or at least not let it get to a point where it’d affect your body. Though, you supposed there was no healthy mind in The Games, and there certainly wasn’t after a victor left them.

Annie was an example of a worst case scenario, but you knew this because you lived it, too.

Finnick’s hand found yours as you sat together, holding it tightly. This was his way of making sure you were still there. Your way was putting your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

After a while, though, that steady rhythm was interrupted and his heart started beating faster. This caused you to look up, and when you did, you were met with the sight of apes coming toward you.

Katniss grabbed an arrow while you and Finnick slowly stood up, bracing yourself by readying your weapons. You glanced around, seeing that they were coming in from all directions. Fucking Gamemakers, you thought.

You realized you could see the Cornucopia from where you stood, so all you had to was fend them off and make it there.

Suddenly, one jumped at Peeta, then the rest of them got up from their perched positions. Katniss was firing arrows left and right while you and the boys slashed away. If one got too close, you stabbed it.

Katniss was pulled underwater by one, but you killed it before she ran out of air. There were too many to just kill all of them, meaning you had to start running for the beach.

Peeta and Katniss both fell, so you ran to help her while Finnick went for Peeta. You stabbed the ape in front of her, grabbing her hand and taking her running with you. When you reached them, there was someone lying on the ground that hadn’t been with you before.

“Who is that?” Katniss questioned, but you recognized her by the face paint.

“A morphling,” Peeta responded, pulling her up. “Help me get her!”

You let Katniss help him while you helped Finnick get the apes closest to you, taking off as soon as you could. You both stumbled, rolling onto the beach, but the apes didn’t go farther than the edge of the sand. You held your blades out at them, but it was like you really didn’t need to.

You were reminded of the fog and it how was stopped by an invisible wall, the same way these monkeys looked to be stopped by something. 

A cannon fired, and they retreated into the jungle. You swallowed, turning to see Katniss and Peeta leaving the water, the Morphling left floating dead. Like clockwork, a hovercraft came in, picking her up like she was an object.

You scoffed. Just when you thought you couldn’t think any lesser of the Capitol, you were proven wrong.

When Peeta spoke up, his voice was both defeated and confused. “She sacrificed herself for me and I didn’t even know her name.”

“Her name was Trayne,” you cut in, making them both look at you, but your eyes were focused on the hovercraft taking her out of the water. “Trayne Carter.”

They both paused, absorbing that. It was like, for the first time since you entered the arena, you were reminded that these people weren’t just your opponents. They were people that had lives.

Just like you.

A look then passed over Katniss’ face as she turned to Peeta. “You think she sacrificed herself?”

“Looked like it.”

Your brows knit together while she voiced your thoughts. “That doesn’t make any sense.” It didn’t, but you had a long list of things you had to make sense of and more pressing matters at hand, so you couldn’t busy yourself by thinking about it.

Finnick found fish that was edible, so you all sat in the shade and ate for the first time since before The Games started. This time, you were the one to reach out for his hand, holding on to it like you’d die if you let go.

You were pretty much in silence until a scream sounded from far away but close enough that you could hear it. You let go of Finnick’s hand as Peeta remarked, “That’s new.”

You all stood up, grabbing your weapons. In the distance, there was a rumble. Something was rustling the trees ahead of you. When it got closer, you realized that something was water. The wave came crashing past the trees and into the water, stopping once it hit the Cornucopia.

Like it couldn’t go past it.

Cannons fired, and the hovercraft returned, picking up bodies from the jungle while you all watched, captured by the sight. You were broken out of your trance by Katniss drawing an arrow. “Someone’s here.”

Her and Peeta ducked while you and Finnick waited to see who it was. It took you a moment since they were covered in blood, but you soon realized who it was. You let out a sigh of relief. “Johanna.” You jogged over to them. “Johanna!”

“Y/N?” She laughed as she saw you and Finn. Her tough exterior came down as she went to hug you, like she was just as relieved to see you. Once she let go of you, she even hugged Finnick.

You glanced, identifying that the people she was with were Beetee and Wiress, then looked back at her. “What the hell happened?”

Katniss and Peeta came over just as she started explaining. “Well, I got ‘em out.” She gestured to them. “We were all the way deep into the jungle where I thought it was gonna be safe.” A humourless smile arose on her face. “That’s when the rain started. I thought it was water. It turned out to be blood. Hot, thick blood.”

You narrowed her eyes at her explanation. Fog, apes, waves, blood rain. There was some sort of connection there, you just couldn’t grasp it.

Wiress came over, looking lost, mumbling, “Tick tock.”

“It was coming down-”

“Tick tock.”

“-it was choking us.” She scoffed. “We were stumbling around, gagging on it, blind.”

“Tick tock.”

“That’s when Blight hit the force field.” She exhaled, shaking her head as Wiress continued to mumble. “He wasn’t much, but he was from home.” You reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder.

You understood what she meant. You’d felt the same feeling before, when the male tribute from district 4, Bay, died during your Games. You didn’t always know the person you were going in with, but you became bonded by the experience. That loss was unlike anything you’d ever felt to this day.

Wiress kept going on in the background, making you glance at her. “What’s wrong with her?” you finally asked.

“She’s in shock,” Beetee replied, coming out of the water. “Dehydration isn’t helping. Do you have fresh water?”

“Yeah, we can get some.”

“Tick tock. Tick tock.” You turned to see Wiress had grabbed onto Johanna’s shoulders. “Tick tock. Tick tock.”

Johanna grabbed onto her forearms, trying to get her off. “Listen- stop it!” 

She had pushed her onto the sand when Katniss yelled, “Hey, lay off her!” She went and shoved Johanna, making you rush over.

You shoved Katniss away from her, pushing her hard enough that she staggered backward. “Back off, Everdeen!” you warned as Finnick held Johanna back from retaliating, but she shouted back.

“What’s wrong with you?! I got them out for you!” She struggled against Finnick. “Let me go, Finnick!”

Peeta came over to help balance Katniss. Her eyes were wild, like she wasn’t the one who instigated this. “For me? What does that mean?”

The question wasn’t directed at you, but you responded, anyway. “I don’t know and I don’t care, but you better watch it, Everdeen.” You stepped forward, looking her right in the eye as she stared back challengingly. You lowered your voice. “You’ve played with fire before, but I am telling you right now, I will light your ass up the next time you try me.” She opened her mouth to say something, but you cut her off, “Don’t underestimate me again.”

You walked off before you could hear her reply. If she said another thing to you right now, it was highly likely that you’d do something you would or wouldn’t regret. You weren’t gonna test it.

You decided to take Wiress into the water and help her clean herself up to calm down. She smiled at you crazily. “Tick tock.”

You sighed, “Yes, tick tock.”

“Tick tock.” She repeated herself over and over again, reminding you so much of Annie. Wiress was one of the smartest people you had ever met, yet she was reduced to this every time she was in a bad situation. She won her Games through a loophole, and in turn, that loophole sucked her in until she was too deep to get out.

As you rinsed her hair, she gasped, “Tick tock. Tick tock!” Immediately afterward, lightning struck the tree in the distance, the same tree as the night before. You tilted your head. The tree, fog, apes, waves, blood rain. Wiress looked up at you. “Tick tock.”

“Tick tock,” you echoed, eyes darting around the arena. The tree, the fog, the apes, the waves, the rain.

“Tick tock.”

“Oh, my God.” You cupped your hand over your mouth in shock. “It’s a clock.”

“Tick tock.”

You pulled her out of the water, engulfing her in a hug. “Wiress, you’re a genius!” When you let go, you ran with her to the others. “It’s a clock!”

They all looked to you. Finnick furrowed his brows. “What?”

“It’s a clock!” You pointed to the Cornucopia. “The arena is laid out like a clock!” 

Peeta came forward. “Holy shit.”

You ran your hands threw your hair, all of the puzzle pieces falling into place. “It’s, um- there’s a new threat every hour. They- they can only stay in their wedge, though.” You pointed at the tree. “It starts with lightning, then blood rain, fog, monkeys- that’s the first four hours. Then at ten, that big wave hits.”

Finnick chuckled slightly under his breath. “Wiress, you’re a genius.”

Peeta then cut in, suggesting you all get to the Cornucopia, so that’s what you did. Just as you were getting there, he pointed out, “Look, the tail points to twelve.”

Katniss filled in the blank. “That’s where the lightning strikes at noon and midnight.”

Wiress sat down on the rocks, singing to herself while the rest of you gathered around Peeta who mapped out the clock in the sand and what you already knew.

You crossed your arms. “Okay, what else?” You turned to Johanna. “Did you guys see anything?”

She snorted under her breath, “Nothing but blood.”

Peeta replied, “Doesn’t matter. As long as we steer clear of whichever sector is active, we’ll be safe.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, safe from nature.” As if you jinxed it, Wiress gasped immediately after you spoke. You turned so fast you could’ve gotten whiplash, in time to see Gloss pulling a knife out of Wiress’ neck.

Katniss worked fast, shooting him in the chest, but he wasn’t working alone. Right after, Cashmere came running at her. Johanna pushed Katniss out of the way, embedding her axe into Cashmere’s skull. 

The other half of the Careers revealed themselves, Brutus throwing staffs at you that you narrowly dodged. Katniss’ arrow missed Enobaria as she threw a knife at Finnick, grazing his arm.

“Bitch,” you swore, throwing a knife of your own at her head, cursing again when it hit her shoulder instead. You went running after her, chasing her around the Cornucopia, but you suddenly lost your footing. 

Gamemakers.

The island spun around. You grabbed onto the rock as best as you could, digging your nails into it so hard that they started to bleed. You were determined to stay alive, to keep Finnick alive, but your hold wasn’t strong enough. A scream left your lips as your fingers slipped. Finnick yelling your name was the last thing you heard before you went flying into the water.

Once upon a time, you were a swimmer.

You never thought you’d die by drowning.

And you refused to let that be the way you went out.

You fought hard against the current, using all your force to get above water. You gasped as you surfaced, taking in a large breath of air and coughing as you swam to the rock closest to you.

“Y/N!”

Finnick came running over to you, pulling you up and crouching down to your level. He ran his fingers through your hair, eyes darting all over your body with concern. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, nodding, and then he immediately embraced you tightly. His heart was beating just as fast if not faster than yours. For a moment, you couldn’t hear anything but that beating. You couldn’t hear the water, or the birds, or anyone else around you. You couldn’t even hear the music.

It was just the two of you.

And then that moment ended far too quickly.

Johanna brought you back to earth, heaving, “Let’s just get what we need and get off this bloody island.” You nodded against Finnick’s chest, letting him help you up. You muttered to him that you were fine, but he completely ignored you, helping you walk.

He was good, you thought. You would’ve been good together, in another life. It would’ve been nice to have been loved by this man, but life was never so kind to you.

You made it back to the beach, sitting on the sand under a tree. You weren’t relaxing like before; the time to relax had passed. You were nearing the end of The Games; it was time to plan for survival.

“So, besides Brutus and Enobaria, who’s left?” Katniss asked.

You looked right at her as you answered, “Maybe Chaff. Just those three.” You maintained eye contact with her, knowing that she was thinking the same thing as you. It wasn’t just those three. It was also all of you, sitting here.

Alliances always came to an end in the arena.

You knew Finnick must have caught onto this, but he pretended not to. “They know they’re outnumbered. I doubt they’ll attack again. We’re safe here on the beach.”

Safe for how long? you wondered. Even if the three of them were killed by the horrors of the jungle, you still wouldn’t be safe. None of you would be, as long as you were together.

“So what do we do? We hunt ‘em down?” Johanna questioned, looking to all of you for an answer of some sort, but before any of you could formulate one, you heard a girl scream.

A little girl.

“Katniss, help me!”

Katniss shot up immediately. “Prim!” You remembered that name from the year prior. That was her sister. Your eyes widened, trying to stop her, but she was up and running into the jungle.

You ran after her, hearing the others follow suit. “Katniss! Katniss, stop!”

She was running so far ahead of you that you almost lost sight of her, but you found her stopped, shooting down a bird. “Katniss!” She turned to you, breathing heavily. “Are you okay?”

Before she could even respond, you heard your own name being called. “Y/N!”

Your head shot up, eyes wide. Katniss was trying to talk to you, but it was like her voice was muffled to you. “Y/N-”

“Mom?”

“Y/N, it’s not real-” 

It was almost like Katniss wasn’t there at all. You ran farther into the jungle, screaming, “Mom?!”

Katniss was shouting your name, but the only voice you could hear was your mother’s. “Y/N!” Katniss ran in front of you, grabbing ahold of your shoulders. “It’s not her! It’s just a jabberjay-”

You cut her off, shoving her away. “How do you think they got that sound, Katniss? Jabberjays copy!” Her eyes glazed over at your words, and then a new voice joined the mix, making her shake her head fervently. 

Whatever she was saying now, you could barely pay attention to it, hearing someone else call your name, the voice of a person you never thought you’d hear again.

“Bay?” You gasped. Tears came to your eyes. It escaped you that Bay was dead, that you held him in your arms as he died. All you could focus on was just how real his voice sounded.

Jabberjays swarmed around you, the voices now louder than ever. Katniss grabbed your arm and you, not there, let her drag you away, running away from the voices instead of toward them.

Your mother’s and Bay’s voices mixed together, screaming your name, your mother who you hadn’t spoken to in years and the boy who you let down. You screamed, too, trying to drown them out, but they were too loud.

Soon, Johanna, Peeta, and Finnick came into your vision. They were saying things, but they fell upon deaf ears. You couldn’t hear anything but the screams.

You hit a wall, banging on it. Finnick stood on the other side, trying to speak to you, but you couldn’t hear it at all. The dam in your eyes broke, tears running down your face like a waterfall.

You sunk to the ground, hands on your ears, sobbing.

“Y/N!”

“You killed me!”

“No, no, no,” you wailed, but they weren’t stopping.

“You killed me, Y/N!” Bay.

“You broke my heart.” Mom.

“I’m dead because of you!” Bay.

“I lost my daughter.” Mom.

“It’s all your fault.” Bay.

“You’re a monster.” Mom.

“You killed me.” Bay.

“You’re not my daughter anymore.” Mom.

“You’re a killer.” Bay.

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” Mom.

“You killed me.” Bay.

“You deserve to die.” Mom.

You don’t know when they stopped. You still heard the echoes of their voices in your head when they were gone. “Y/N!” Someone touched your shoulder, making you flinch. “It’s done. The hour’s done- it’s okay.”

You shot up, seeing Finnick right next to you. “My mom? Where’s my mom- Bay. Where’s- where’s-”

He grabbed your shoulders. “They’re not here, Y/N. It wasn’t real.”

You panted, shuffling back away from Finnick, but he didn’t let you get far, pulling you to him. You tried to fight against it, but he wasn’t letting up. Eventually, you gave up trying to fight, letting him hold you. He pet your hair, whispering to you.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You let the sound of his heart calm you down. It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Bay was dead. Your mom was okay. Finnick is alive. That’s what mattered.

After a few moments, you got up, Finnick watching you wearily. Johanna didn’t say anything, shooting you a look. You knew what she meant. You nodded, telling her without words that you were okay. You had to be okay. She nodded back.

You looked over, seeing Peeta still calming Katniss down on the ground. “Okay? They won’t touch Prim. Alright?” She shakily nodded, collecting herself.

“Your fiancé’s right. The whole country loves your sister.” You looked back to Johanna, seeing her standing on a rock. Her voice was both assuring and bitter. “If they tortured her or did anything to her-” she paused, chuckling, “forget the districts, there would be riots in the damn Capitol.”

She glanced to you and you saw the sheer fire in her eyes. Oh, you’d give anything to burn down that city with Snow in it.

“Hey, how does that sound, Snow?” She shouted, looking up to whatever cameras were in the sky. “What if we- what if we set your backyard on fire? You know, you can’t put everybody in here.” She turned back to you, seeing you all staring at her. “What? They can’t hurt me.” She shrugged, her voice was lowering as she looked to the ground. “There’s no one left that I love.”

You knew that Katniss and Peeta couldn’t have known the true depth of her words, but Beetee did. Finnick did. You did. Anyone watching at home- they couldn’t have understood. They must’ve thought she was crazy, but did any of them have even the slightest idea of who you all were? Did they know that she wasn’t always like this, that they made her this way? You were kids and the Capitol stole your innocence like it was nothing. For you and Finnick, they did it by selling you, and for Johanna, they did it by killing her family.

It may not have been fair to call Katniss lucky, she lost a lot, but at least her sister was alive. At least she still had a family. At least she wasn’t completely dead inside, like Johanna. Like Finnick. 

Like you. Johanna ended up walking off, giving the excuse that she’d get you both water. You all made your way back to the beach after that. You sat there, staring off into the distance. This place could’ve been beautiful, you thought. But now blood had been spilled all over it.

What was beautiful about that?

You didn’t have all the answers. Right now, it felt like you didn’t know anything. All you knew was that the man you loved was alive, arm wrapped around you, heart beating. Did he know that he was the only “sure” thing you had? Did he know how much you loved him?

It felt like you were supposed to tell him. You were gonna die soon; The Games would come to end, and so would your life. It felt like he was supposed to know. If you were gonna die, then shouldn’t he at least knew how you felt about him, how in love you were with him?

The answer you came to was no. You weren’t gonna complicate things—God knew this was already complicated enough, this thing you had. You didn’t have time to learn new steps to the dance. You just wanted to let the music play and dance until you couldn’t dance anymore.

You had been sitting there for a little while when Katniss broke the silence. “Who’s Bay?” You turned to her, but she wasn’t looking at you, staring at nothing like you were.

“Katniss-” Finnick tried to interject, but you stopped him, putting your hand on his without looking at him. If you looked him in the eye right now, then he’d be able to tell just how broken you felt. He could read you so easily. You didn’t want him to read you right now when you didn’t have the energy to fake it.

You didn’t want him to see you getting ready to die.

You weren’t exactly Katniss’ biggest fan, and she wasn’t yours, but here you were, sitting together in the same arena. She was you. She was you before everything got bad, worse than it already was.

Soon, you wouldn’t be allies anymore. Soon, one of you would die. So you’d bring down the mask, just for a second. Before you ended up on different sides, you’d show her that you were just like her.

“Bay…” you faltered, “I guess I didn’t know him all too well. Lived in the same district for fifteen years, but I never even spoke to him before we were in that arena, and by then, it was too late.” A burning sensation grew in your throat. “He died in my arms. He- he was gonna take the money from winning and take care of his parents, make sure they didn’t have to worry. He didn’t get to. So I did. I took care of ‘em- didn’t even dent my pockets.” A humourless chuckle left your lips. “You know, my mom and I don’t talk anymore. Says I’m a different person, and she’s right. So, sometimes, I think Bay was just better off.”

Katniss finally turned to you. She didn’t say anything- she didn’t have to. You saw the look in her eyes; she understood. But you wished she didn’t. You wished that nobody had to understand. You wished that Johanna didn’t understand, that Finnick didn’t understand. You wished that you could’ve all just been kids for a little while longer.

That’s when you got up, walking over to where the sand met the water. You wanted to admire this place before you were gone.

You heard someone walk up behind you, immediately knowing it was Finnick.

His voice was quiet, even though you were far from everyone else. “You never told me about Bay’s parents.” If only he knew all the things you didn’t tell him. 

But you didn’t say that. Instead, you just said, “I know.” He didn’t say anything else after that, wrapping arm around your waist and pulling you to him. You stared off into the distance together, just like those cold nights at the Capitol you spent together.

Sometimes, saying nothing with him was the equivalent of saying everything. 

Sometimes, it was better than saying anything.

You hadn’t been standing there for too long when Johanna came over, telling you guys that Beetee had a plan. You joined the others, listening to him explain how he wanted to lure the Careers to the beach then electrocute them as lightning struck the tree at midnight.

It was risky, and it all counted on the Brutus and Enobaria being at the beach in the first place, but you supposed it beat going into combat with them. You could take them if you needed to, but if there was a plan you could implement to avoid that, then you would.

If this plan worked, then the Careers would die instantly, leaving only the six of you in the arena. But only one of you would walk out, and it had to be Finnick.

Despite how the two of you had been at each other’s throats, you didn’t want to kill Katniss. You didn’t want to kill Peeta, the boy who reminded you so much of Finnick. You didn’t want to kill Beetee, who had made you laugh so many times you were at the Capitol. And you certainly didn’t want to kill Johanna, who was perhaps one of the only friends you had.

You hoped it wouldn’t be you, that you wouldn’t be the one to kill them. You didn’t want to kill anymore. You just wanted this to end.

You were so consumed by these thoughts that you missed the looks Finnick and Johanna shared and the look Beetee threw their way.

By nightfall, you were back in the jungle, making your way to the lightning tree. Beetee said something science-y, then you got started, wrapping the wire he invented around the tree.

“Typically, a lightning strike contains five billion joules of energy. We don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when this hits,” he said, finishing one last wrap before walking over to you, coil in hand. “You three girls, go together now. Take this. Unspool it carefully. Make sure the entire coil is in the water. You understand? Then head to the tree at the two o’clock sector. We’ll meet you there.”

You nodded, grabbing the coil as Peeta cut in, “I’m gonna go with them as a guard.”

You snorted, “What, golden boy, afraid we can’t protect ourselves?” Even in the dark, you could see the redness climb up his neck. “Don’t worry, your fiancé’s gonna be fine.”

“She’s right. They can protect themselves just fine. You’re staying here to protect me. And the tree,” Beetee dictated.

You glanced between Katniss and Peeta, spotting hesitation in both of them. It was happening, you realized. They were already moving to the other side of the board.

“No, I need to go with her.”

“There are two Careers out there. I need at least two guards.”

“Finnick can protect you just fine on his own- Y/N and I could trade places.”

Katniss now spoke up, “Yeah, why don’t Johanna, Finnick, and Y/N stay with you and Peeta and I’ll take the coil?”

“You want to face the Careers by yourself?” You narrowed your eyes. Katniss looked to you, trying to maintain an unwavering expression. “You do realize that you’ve only been at this a year, right? Not only that, you’re from 12. These are people who trained their whole lives just to kill.”

Katniss didn’t have a response, just as you expected. Finnick must have caught onto the tension, questioning, “Is there a problem here?”

Beetee responded speedily, “Excellent question.” Katniss looked back to him, and you knew that she knew her fight was over. She was out of her depth here.

After a second, she replied, “No. There’s no problem.” Not yet, but knowing her, there would be one soon. You and Johanna waited for her to say her goodbyes to Peeta before getting ready to go.

You were walking away when you suddenly came to a stop. You passed the coil to Katniss, then walked back to the tree. Finnick’s brows raised as you beelined for him, but then his eyes just closed as your lips met his.

The music was louder than it’d ever been, like it knew that the beat could drop any minute now. This kiss was equal passion and softness. You kissed him like you’d never get do it again, and that could very well be true. He kissed back just as passionately, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to him.

You knew Finnick didn’t love you. You knew he had a girl waiting for him back home, but if you were gonna die, then you just wanted to do that one last time. You wanted one last kiss from your one true love, even if you weren’t his.

When you eventually pulled away for air, he still didn’t let you go, resting his forehead against yours as you both breathed heavily. “I- I need to go now.”

He ran a hand through your hair, opening his eyes to look into yours. “I’ll see you at midnight?” You smiled, hoping he didn’t see how sad you were.

“Yeah, I’ll see you at midnight,” you said, knowing how probable it was that you wouldn’t.

Then you walked away.

The jungle was dead silent except for the sound of your footsteps and crickets. All you had to do was get to the beach, then get as far away from it as possible. You wanted to meet Finnick at midnight.

But that wasn’t gonna happen.

Katniss suddenly stopped. You looked to her, seeing her trying to pull the coil to no avail. “There’s something…” She pulled it again, and then the wire snapped.

You saw Brutus, knowing Enobaria couldn’t have been far away. You pulled your sword out of its sheath while Katniss drew an arrow, but before either of you could do anything, you were falling to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your head spun. You didn’t need to see it to know that you were losing blood—you could feel it. Get up, get up, get up, get up, you chanted, but it was as if your limbs were frozen.

You heard Katniss scream. You mustered up the strength to turn you head, seeing Johanna leaning over her, cutting into her arm. She shushed her, then looked up and cursed under her breath.

“Both of you, stay down,” she grit out, then she threw her axe at targets you couldn’t see, running away from you both. She did this, you realized. For some reason, you were shocked, but didn’t you always know this would happen? Didn’t you always know that you’d end up against each other in the end?

Didn’t you already know this would end in your last breath?

You did, but you still found yourself questioning: was this it? Was this how you died? Did Johanna just leave you to die?

Suddenly, you could hear Finnick, screaming yours and Johanna’s names. You wanted to scream back, to tell him you were right there, but it was like your mouth couldn’t form the words.

This was it. This was how you died.

You’d been preparing for this since the Quell was even announced, but you just weren’t expecting it, not yet. There were still people left.

At that thought, it was like the world stopped. 

There were still people left.

You couldn’t just leave Finnick to fend for himself.

You shot up as if you had just been doused in cold water, reaching beside you to feel that your sword was still there. Your eyes searched for Katniss. She was just right next to you, but now she was nowhere to be seen. You didn’t even know that she left.

You shakily stood up, dots dancing around your vision the same way you were. You still had dancing to do.

A cannon fired, and you started running, screaming Finnick’s name, not caring if alerted anyone of where you were. You ran faster as you heard the sky booming.

Soon, Finnick came into your vision, Katniss not far from him, aiming an arrow up to the sky. 

And then you saw nothing.

The last thing you remembered was being blasted backward, sparks everywhere, lightning.

And then the music stopped.

When Finnick woke up, it was like he almost forgot where he was, and then he remembered what happened. Katniss shot an arrow at the force field.

He ripped the IV out of his arm, pushing past the aching in his bones and sitting up, looking around. Katniss and Beetee were lying down in front of him, still asleep. He furrowed his brows. There was no one else.

His eyes darted around the room, looking for you, looking for a sign that you were here, but he couldn’t find one.

“Y/N?” His voice echoed in the empty room. You didn’t answer.

He got up, calling your name louder. “Y/N?” Still no answer. 

This was impossible. You had to be here, you had to be on the hovercraft somewhere, you just had to. His mind went to the worst case scenario, but that couldn’t be. You had to be here.

He went for the first doors he saw, expecting to see you on the other side, but he was only met with Haymitch and Plutarch. His heart beat faster now. Where were you?

He ignored Haymitch completely, turning to Plutarch. “Where is she?” It should’ve been an easy answer, but the Gamemaker had an expression that Gamemakers rarely had. Sympathy. 

No. This can’t be happening.

He stepped closer, venom in his voice. “Where is she?”

Haymitch intervened. “Finnick, maybe you wanna sit down-”

“Where the fuck is my girlfriend?” They both gave each other a look that infuriated him even further. “Is someone gonna tell me where she is or are you two just gonna stand here all day?”

“Finnick-”

“Where is she, Plutarch?”

The greying man stared at him like he was hesitant to speak, which was saying something, because Plutarch always said whatever was on his mind. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, like he was trying to calm down a rabid animal. “Her tracker was never removed-”

“Okay, so where is she?”

“We couldn’t get her, Finnick.” His ears rang.

They couldn’t get her.

“We couldn’t get Johanna and Peeta, either-”

All of a sudden, Finnick charged at him, but Haymitch quickly went and stopped him, holding him back. “You said you’d get her out! You told me she was gonna be safe!”

“Calm the hell down, Finnick!”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” He pushed himself out of Haymitch’s arms, turning and glaring at him. “Katniss is here! Of course, you’re calm- my person is still out there!”

“She’s still alive.”

“Yeah, for how long?”

Plutarch cut in, “They won’t kill her, Finnick. They know how valuable she is.”

“You don’t have to make someone’s heart stop to kill them, Heavensbee,” he spat. “If anyone should know that, it’s you.” The Gamemakers were creative. He knew that the Capitol would spare no expense to hurt you.

After what they did, rebelling like this, you’d be the one to answer for it. Even though you didn’t know a thing about it.

“Listen, kid, you need to calm down now.” Haymitch looked at him with hard eyes. “You need to pull it together. When Katniss wakes up, she’s gonna be confused and angry, just like you. We need her. If you want any of this to mean something, if you want any chance of ever seeing your girl again, then we need her. So you need to cool it.”

Finnick ran a hand through his hair, mind moving seventy miles per hour. The Capitol had you. They had you. You were supposed to be here, and they had you, and he didn’t even get the chance to tell you. There was so much to tell you, and what if he never got that chance again?

Haymitch was right. If he wanted to see you again, to have that chance, to ever dance with you again, then he had to pull it together. He had to be strong.

For you.

“Okay, what do you need me to do?”

Your death was always expected, at least it was to you. When you pictured an ending in your head, this was it. You knew it was coming. What you didn’t expect was ever waking up again. 

But you did.

Your eyes opened to a dark room, fluorescent lights flickering on the ceiling. This wasn’t the arena, but you’d soon learn that you didn’t need to be in an arena to play a twisted game. 

Am I alive? you wondered.

Your question was soon answered. No, you weren’t alive. You were in Hell.

Because, sitting in a chair across from you, was the Devil himself.

President Snow smiled. “Hello, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“It appears that you and I have a lot to discuss.”

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies

[ruinofchimera]

Please tell us more about Voldemort's relationship with Severus, and why you think it differs so much from Voldemort's other relationships

Whatever it is that lingers between Tom and Severus—power, manipulation, some dark bond none of us can fully grasp—it naturally ignites chaos in the mind of the beholders. And if you’re eager to feel that burn, I’ll gladly embrace you in it. To you brave, reckless souls, I say this: your wish is my command.

So, here we are, picking apart how Severus Snape—mudblood, poor, and bruised from the heavy hand of a Muggle father—managed to land himself a spot at the table with the most rabid pack of blood purists you’ve ever seen. A table, mind you, he had no business sitting at. The Death Eaters, that tight little clique of privileged purebloods, had no real reason to let in this scruffy little outsider. Sure, Snape was useful. Very useful. His skills were sharp as knives, and he could do their dirty work, get his hands filthy so they didn’t have to. But useful doesn’t mean welcome. Useful doesn’t mean accepted. You know who else was useful? Fenrir Greyback and his mangy lot. They brought terror to the doorsteps of half the wizarding world, and did Voldemort’s cause no small service. But did they get a place at the inner circle? Did they get respect? Hell no. They were the dirt beneath the boots of the real Death Eaters. Useful filth. And then there’s Snape, embodying everything these purists claim to despise—a half-blood with a tainted surname, living in squalor, dragged through the muck by a Muggle brute of a father. By all accounts, Death Eaters should have spat in his face and tossed him out like yesterday’s rubbish. But no. Not only does he get a seat at the table, he rises. He’s placed on a pedestal, standing closer to Voldemort than some of the most loyal, purest-blooded lackeys in the room. Voldemort, in all his cold-blooded glory, didn’t just tolerate Severus. He raised him up, right in front of their sneering, offended faces. Now, here’s where it gets really interesting. If you think Voldemort did this out of some sense of gratitude, you’ve missed the point entirely. Tom Riddle doesn’t do gratitude. That kind of sentiment is beneath him, an alien concept. Voldemort doesn’t reward; he uses. Deeds done in his name are expected, not appreciated. You’re not going to get a pat on the back from a man who thinks the world owes him its loyalty. Snape’s service should’ve earned him nothing more than a brief reprieve from pain. A loosening of the noose around his neck, if he was lucky. That’s Voldemort’s way—keep them all desperate, keep them all afraid. So why did Snape, of all people, get raised up? Why did he, the least likely among them, become a favorite?

Mind, it’s not just me declaring Snape as Voldemort’s favorite. That dark, twisted bond is laced into nearly every interaction between the two, as if something unspoken and festering passes between them. But it’s Narcissa Malfoy who lays it bare. A woman born into the highest echelons of pure-blood privilege, the very foundation on which Voldemort’s so-called supremacy stands, doesn’t hesitate when she calls him “the Dark Lord’s favorite, his most trusted advisor.” Let that sink in.

Here is the wife of Lucius Malfoy, a man whose lineage is steeped in the darkest of traditions. But when her family’s future is on the edge of a wand, when her son’s life dangles by a thread, she doesn’t rely on Lucius, doesn’t turn to Bellatrix. No, she comes to Severus, because deep down, she knows. They all do.

It’s something more insidious, something that slips through the cracks in the floorboards of Voldemort’s ideology. He is the one Voldemort trusts, the one Voldemort leans on, the one whose counsel can shift the dark winds of fate. That is real power, raw and untouchable. Narcissa sees it—how could she not? Even with all her aristocratic pride, even with the weight of her name and her family’s legacy pressing down on her, she understands that none of it means a damn thing next to what Snape has. Narcissa, with her family’s long, proud heritage, has to grovel before someone who, by the very logic of Voldemort’s cause, should be inferior. But Snape is different, and everyone knows it. They may not say it, they may not even want to admit it, but they know. He operates outside the lines, above the fray, immune to the very rules that were meant to keep people like him down. Snape, the half-blood, the one with the muddied past, holds a kind of sway that no one else in Voldemort’s ranks can claim.

Oh, there comes the bitter irony of Peter Pettigrew. After years of scraping and groveling, thinking he’d earned his place in the Dark Lord’s favor, Peter is handed over like a rag for Severus to wring out. Peter, one of the smug Marauders who’d gleefully hounded Snape through school, reduced now to something just shy of a house-elf, bowing and cringing under Snape’s very roof. A cruel twist of fate, no doubt arranged with Voldemort’s signature malevolence. Was this some attempt to plant a spy in Snape's house? Maybe, if you take it at face value. But think for a moment—Voldemort, who couldn’t pry Snape's treachery from his skull with all the power of Legilimency, putting his trust in Wormtail to do the job? The rat that couldn't outsmart a dormitory prank, never mind a master of deception like Severus?

No, this isn’t espionage; this is karma. Cruel, twisted karma orchestrated by the Dark Lord himself. You can almost picture Severus watching Peter scuttle about his house, casting him those withering, superior glances—knowing full well that Tom has given him this indulgence, this little taste of vengeance. Snape treats Wormtail with open contempt, because he knows he can. He knows it’s allowed, expected even. It’s as if the tables have turned in the most bitter of ways, a humiliating reversal of fortune. Pettigrew, who once revelled in Snape’s humiliation, now reduced to the lowest of roles, while Snape—Voldemort’s golden boy—sits at the top. Isn’t it delicious? You’d have to be blind to chalk it up to coincidence. Moreover, Pettigrew’s fate is all the proof you’ll ever need that Voldemort’s rule isn’t founded on something as simple or sentimental as loyalty. Loyalty? Sacrifice? Please. Pettigrew’s life was one long, groveling act of desperation to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces. You bring your master back from the brink of death itself, and still, all you get is contempt. Voldemort demands service, sure. But service? Guarantees nothing. And when you set Severus and Peter side by side, the question gnaws at you. Why? Why is Snape the favored one, the exception, the enigma in Voldemort’s otherwise brutal, predictable hierarchy? What makes him different? There’s something between them—something that doesn’t follow the usual logic of power and punishment. Voldemort doesn’t just tolerate Snape’s defiance; he rewards it, bends the system to accommodate it. Something unspoken, something hidden behind the masks they both wear, grants Snape a level of favor that Pettigrew could only dream of.

What’s crucial to grasp here is that Voldemort doesn’t spare anyone. His entire ideology is rooted in cruelty, in domination, in the ruthless obliteration of all who oppose him. He doesn’t just eliminate enemies; he obliterates them, wipes them from existence without a second thought. And yet, here’s the anomaly: Lily Evans, mother of Harry Potter, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a Muggle-born witch, is offered a chance to live. Live. This decision, however, is directly tied to Snape. Snape had begged Voldemort to spare her, and it is this plea—Snape’s plea—that softens the Dark Lord’s otherwise unyielding cruelty.

To truly grasp the enormity of this act, we need to take a step back and consider Snape’s position in all of this. Remember, Severus was just 21 years old when he found himself pleading with Voldemort, one of the most dangerous dark wizard in history, to spare Lily Evans.

Snape wasn’t the imposing, confident figure we often associate with him thanks to Alan Rickman’s performance—he wasn’t a man exuding quiet menace, seemingly capable of standing toe-to-toe with Voldemort. No, at this point in canon, he was barely more than a boy, a young man fresh out of Hogwarts, with no powerful lineage or wealth to protect him.

And yet, despite this—despite the sheer imbalance of power between them—Snape dared to approach Voldemort. Voldemort. With a plea. Not for himself, but for a Muggle-born witch. At best, Snape’s request might have been laughed off, dismissed as the desperate wish of a foolish young Death Eater. But it wasn’t. For some reason, Voldemort didn’t just tolerate Snape’s plea—he actually acted on it.

Consider how critical this moment was to Voldemort’s larger agenda. At the heart of his entire scheme is a singular, consuming fixation: the annihilation of the child prophesied to be his undoing. Harry Potter is Voldemort’s obsession, the one threat he must eliminate to secure his dominion. The Potters were no longer just enemies—they were the key to his future, and Harry was the focus of his most crucial mission. In this context, sparing anyone even remotely connected to Harry was an extraordinary risk. Leniency wasn’t just unnecessary—it was dangerous. By showing mercy to Lily, Voldemort risked undermining his own carefully constructed agenda. And this wasn’t a moment where Voldemort could afford to make mistakes.

This unprecedented act of “mercy,” this concession Voldemort granted Snape, became the very thing that led to his downfall. Had Voldemort simply killed Lily Evans on the spot, as he did James, she would never have had the chance to sacrifice herself for Harry. The protection her sacrifice invoked—the ancient magic that saved Harry’s life and turned Voldemort’s killing curse back on him—would never have existed. Voldemort, the cold strategist, fell because he didn’t bend for anyone—except, inexplicably, for Snape. And that single, dangerous deviation cost him everything. That’s how it’s all started.

And there it is— how it’s all ends. Voldemort’s final words to Severus Snape before he executes him. But pay attention to how he begins. “Clever man,” he calls him. He suggests that Snape might’ve already known the truth of the Elder Wand’s treachery. Tom would never acknowledge someone’s cleverness if it undermined his own intellectual abilities. If he implies that Snape may have already unraveled the mystery of the Elder Wand, it undoubtedly indicates that Voldemort had recognized Snape’s crucial role in the wand’s problems long before. It’s not just idle chatter or casual flattery. No, it’s a bloody confirmation that Voldemort himself had long ago pieced together the mystery of Snape’s involvement with the wand. This wasn’t some last-minute realization that forced his hand. It wasn’t ignorance that delayed Snape’s death, not at all. It was deliberation. Voldemort, for all his cruelty, wasn’t stupid. He suspected, long before that moment, that Snape was at the center of the problem with the wand’s loyalty. He just chose not to act on it until the very last moment.

He held back from executing him, searching for any other way around the wand’s limitations, trying to find a solution that didn’t involve killing Snape. But when it came down to it, when all other options were exhausted, Voldemort finally made his move.

And what does he do? He delivers a speech. A bloody speech, full of regret and excuses—“I regret what must happen.” Does that sound like the Voldemort we know? The Dark Lord who kills without a second thought, who carves his empire from the bones of the disobedient? Hell no. This is the man who thrives on fear, on swift, brutal punishment. And yet, here he is, delivering justifications like some guilty executioner. This isn’t Voldemort’s usual method. This isn’t the whip coming down fast and hard. This is something altogether more… hesitant.

That speech, soaked in rationalizations, tells us everything we need to know. Snape’s death wasn’t just business—it was personal. It’s a messy, ugly end to the unexplainable dynamic between them. Even at the very end, Voldemort is bending, twisting, trying to justify his actions to the one man who had managed to worm his way under his skin. And in that second, we see something rare—a glimpse of the complexity in their relationship. Voldemort’s usual ruthless efficiency is absent.

His “I regret it,” spoken once more, stands out like a blade in the gut, sharp and unexpected, slicing straight through Voldemort’s usual cold indifference. The Dark Lord, who has never spared a thought for the wreckage in his wake, lets these words hang in the air, unnatural as they are. A man who’s never known the weight of remorse now offers something that almost feels like regret. Not true regret, of course—Voldemort doesn’t have the luxury of feeling something so weak, so human. But still, It’s not a sentiment he offers to anyone else. It’s almost as if Voldemort doesn’t know how to process this lingering attachment, as though Snape’s mere existence demands something from him that Voldemort is incapable of giving. Snape occupies some strange corner of Voldemort’s mind, twisted and dark it may be, that not even the Dark Lord himself seems to understand. Despite the fact that I’ve painted a whole canvas of tangled thoughts on the strange relationship between Severus and Tom, I’ve barely begun to tug at the thread of their inexplicable dynamic. There’s so much more I could unearth, layers of intrigue and tension that ripple through every scene between them, and I could easily go on for hours about the small, delicious details woven into their story. But, as it happens, my full-time job is already sharpening its knife and aiming for my back, so I'll have to bring this whole saga to a close with the following quote:

For me, the intensity of this scene speaks volumes about their relationship, capturing the very essence of what makes these two so bloody fascinating. The way their gaze alone can make Death Eaters flinch under the weight of their unspoken understanding. It’s not fear, not exactly. It’s something colder, something deeper. As though they’re witnessing a bond forged in the dark, a grim understanding that none of them can ever be a part of.

That’s what keeps dragging me back to these two. The tension, the labyrinth of contradictions, the complex tangle of manipulation. I want to look away—hell, I should look away, just like the Death Eaters did. But there’s something about it, something that coils around me, tightening like a serpent’s embrace. Can you blame me?

[juletheghoul]

Request for another hurt/comfort the General bit (I'm counting the period chapter in that category). 'Greedy' made me think of other potential lovers that the Reader had in the past, maybe another master who had her before Marcus. Except not so much a lover but a slave owner using his property. And maybe this guy has some fancy job and gets invited to an event at the General's estate. And maybe he sees her and makes comments or approaches her in private. I'd love to see Marcus's reaction to something like that!

okay nonny, I see youuuu! Okay so I'm not sure if this is what you had in mind, but my mind raced and it is what it is - hope you enjoy! 🩷🩷

(thanks @absurdthirst for talking this one out with me!)

Lets get into it:

smut under the cut - 18+ and don't read more if you aren't into exhibitionism (not beta'ed and probably full of errors)

word count; 1.6k (series masterlist)

---

He yawned, despite all of the flesh on display. You, were much more affected.

It had started out like every other gathering, food and soft music, raucous laughter and all manner of delights to draw the eye. Slaves adorned in intricate masks posed on pedestals, their bodies covered in white paint to make them look like living statues. Prominent Gladiators stood sentinel, stock still and oiled to showcase their bodies, breathing weapons, standing at the ready for the pleasure of the distinguished guests filling the halls.

Inevitably, the flesh on display had worked it's magic on the guests, and the lively conversation, had descended into cries of pleasure. The soft music changed from lutes and harps, to the wet, obscene sound of flesh meeting flesh. The liquid squelch of arousal ringing out around you.

It was hard not to think on what it sounded like when your Dominus took you, his lovely sounds in your ear, his cock coated in your desire for him, and it was in you to mount him then and there, but he had not given any indication that he desired this, and so you stood beside him, shifting your weight from foot to foot, ignoring the ache of emptiness between your legs.

Despite his hunger for your body, a thing he indulged in almost daily to your great delight, he was an intensely private person. Anything he did in public, was to send a message, to secure his peace and to remind anyone who showed him disrespect, that he was not someone to be trifled with. For you, there was no difference. Whether he took you here, in front of everyone, or at the villa where you were alone, it made you drip all the same. There was no shame left, only lust.

He was speaking to another, a friendly conversation while your hands fidgeted with your tunic, when you saw a ghost from your past. A former owner, recognition and delight on his face. That Dominus had given you pleasure as well, not nearly as much as your General, and never privately, he liked to be in the middle of it, to be spoiled and shared. He enjoyed the spectacle of excess.

He smiled wide, making his way over to you with one of his girls, and one of his boys in tow, both of them roughly your age.

Marcus saw him approach, and you felt him tense.

"I see you have been blessed by Fortuna, found yourself in the house of General Marcus," He smiled at you, benevolent. "and he has brought you here, much to my delight-" He ran his finger down your arm softly, you felt nothing. "Come, let us move to a private room and indulge as we did-" His words were cut short, when Marcus' hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away and onto his lap.

"I think you have forgotten who she belongs to, I have not given you leave to touch." His hand lands on your thigh, heavy and so welcome where you were draped across his lap. Your hands instantly wrapping themselves around his neck.

"Oh come now Marcus, what is it to share amongst friends-"

"We are not friends." He places a kiss at your throat, his voice like ice despite the petal soft feel of his lips on your skin, "and I do not share."

Your heart raced, and you couldn't help but giggle softly, this was what you wanted, for him to claim you in front of all.

The other man let out a huff, half laughing, half disbelieving.

"They are but slaves, why bring one as lovely as her if not to tempt, I offer mine to you freely, in the spirit of good will." He thrusts his girl forward, the boy too, both of them staring at the way Marcus pulls your tunic to the side to kiss your shoulders, their gaze devouring the path of his big hand sliding under your tunic to caress the wet slit between your legs. His mouth pulls away, but his fingers glide between the lips of your sex slowly, slipping over your clit in soft, wet strokes.

"What I do with what's mine, concerns me, and me alone." He turns to watch your face, how your mouth hangs open, how your breath catches with every delicious swirl, "What say you, girl, should I share you?" He punctuates his words by sliding two thick fingers inside you as deep as they can go and you moan, wantonly.

"No Dominus, please no, just you." You press forward, pressing your lips to his despite not being given leave to have his mouth and he laughs into the kiss, pulling away after a moment and you whimper when he takes his fingers out. He rubs them against your lips like a rich Roman woman would with the juice of a pomegranate, before sliding them into your mouth.

"You may leave us." He speaks to the man, keeping his lust blown eyes on the way you hollow your cheeks around his fingers.

Once the man walks away, tail tucked between his legs, you shift, feeling him hard and heavy underneath you.

"Shall we return to the Villa? Or would you like me to take you here and now?" His lips bite at your ear and your heart races to have him offer this to you, control, choice, luxuries that you have not been afforded in this life. It is such a vast difference from the life you led up until you came to be in his service. Servitude is servitude, that will never change, but you've never wanted anyone as much as you want him, you sometimes think that what you feel for him, might be more akin to obsession, something dark and all encompassing.

You bite your lip, smiling conspiratorially in the strong cage of his arms.

"I would have you take me here and now Dominus, I would have you show them who I belong to." You speak into his ear, sucking a mark into his neck, he rewards you with a deep groan and a heavy palm on your ass.

"Stand." His voice is commanding, and makes your nipples hard as pebbles. "I will take you from behind, so everyone can see how well you take my cock." He whispers it in your ear, turning you so you lean against the lectus, he hands another blow, a loud crack on your backside that makes you jump.

Gooseflesh spreads across your skin as you feel him lift your tunic, rolling it in on itself at your waist so it doesn't fall, and within a heartbeat you feel the blunt tip of him prodding at your seam. His hand slides around, and he puts it to your mouth, palm up.

"Spit." He commands, and you obey. It's filthy, and your heart beats like a hummingbird in your cunt at his tone. Eyes find you, of slaves and owners alike and they smile, enjoying the show and you smile back, the arousal like the teeth of some great wolf around your neck.

His first thrust was like a punch, and your body bent forward, your face pressing to the silky fabric of the lectus both in relief, and on fire.

"No, no girl, you will stay up, and see how they watch you take my cock." He lifted you up, pressing his hand to your throat to keep you upright.

"Yes Dominus." You replied, eyes half lidded in pleasure as he pulled himself out and thrust back in. He was harder than you'd ever felt him, hot and heavy inside and you couldn't do anything but stand there, on the tips of your toes and take what he gave. His breath came out in pants in your ear, his thrusts hard enough to make your breasts bounce, the hardened tips of them tickled by the fabric of your tunic.

Eyes of other slaves watched, and a wave of slick seeped out to find them almost covetous of the pleasure your Dominus so freely gave you, of the way his hand slipped around once more to find your neglected little clit, to pinch it between wet, spit-soaked fingers and pull your world apart. The sharp, starburst of pleasure spreading like a tidal wave throughout the network of your veins and he laughed in your ear.

"Already? just a little pinch and you gush all over me, girl?" He sped up, drawing out the pleasure until you all but wept, his cock kissing something divine inside you. "You like them watching you take it, you like it when I claim you for all to see, you like being mine don't you, girl?" His pace stuttered, affected by his own words and you turned your face to meet him in a misaligned kiss, whispering into his mouth that yes, yes you did, holding one hand on his at your throat, while bringing the other to hold the weight of your breast.

"I want your gift Dominus, please, may I have it? Please?" You begged him, relishing the way he couldn't contain himself, pushing himself deep enough to hit your womb, pleasure and pain mingling together as he ground himself almost too deep and painting your insides with his spend.

"It's yours-" His whisper was gravel in your ear, softer words following and for a moment you can almost convince yourself you’d heard him say I'm yours but you ignore it, your imagination and your arousal running rampant. Instead you wait until he pulls himself out, and turn in his arms ignoring the eyes that follow you and wrap your arms around his neck. You claim a kiss, licking into his mouth with an authority unavailable to you in any other aspect of your life. His seed leaks out of you, dripping onto your inner thighs as he pulls you close, letting you take your fill.

"Can you take me home Dominus?" You press kisses to his throat, running your tongue across where you feel his heart beating there, "I desire for you to take me again." He shudders softly and never in your life, have you ever felt more powerful.

He nods and you smile.

-

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[delfiore]

—MONTAUK.

pairing: alexia putellas x reader

synopsis: you remember how it used to be whilst dealing with how it is now.

word count: 2.1k

a/n: alexia baby come home the kids miss you 🥲 this was the clairo - bags fic i promised months ago but now the premise feels completely different and i've changed the title also lol. a lot happens to one's state of mind in 3 months.

After.

Under normal circumstances—as much as normal was nowadays—the silence in the apartment would feel like a blanket of comfort. It meant you were having a rest from your hectic days training and playing matches, it meant you could finally relax with the love of your life; it meant peace.

Now, the silence was deadly. It was sucking up the life in every room in this apartment, and it was draining the life out of you too.

The door clicked, and you shifted in your spot on the couch, quickly shutting off your phone on which you had bullet points typed out in the Notes app—bullet points of things you wanted—needed—to say, to lessen this inevitable pain. You cracked a smile when you heard tiny feet pattering on the floor, just as the little Pomeranian came to greet you with loving licks.

Nala was oblivious to the cracks that had been forming in her home, that have been left unamended for too long with the thinking that they would go away with time. You dreaded thinking of the day when the little pup came home from a walk and you weren’t there anymore. Would she miss you? How long until she starts to forget you?

“I got us dinner.”

“Cool,” you said, breathing in deeply. “You wanna eat now, or . . . ?”

“Sure.”

You helped her unpack the food without another word, the only sound heard was the clanking of plates as you pulled them out of the cupboard and set them on the kitchen island.

Alexia didn’t say anything either, just gingerly put the food on the plates. You felt her stiffen slightly as you walked towards her and placed a soft kiss on her shoulder.

She offered you a small smile—a forced smile—and brought the food to the table.

You cursed yourself and wished you hadn’t done it.

Before.

“And that concludes the tour of our facilities. Any questions?”

“No, I’m good.” You were way too excited to think about anything else other than the Barcelona crest on your chest.

“Great. Then, how about we go meet your future teammates? Some of them should be in the weight room.”

Patri greeted you initially, first in Spanish, then in English once she realized you weren’t catching on. Jana and Salma followed suit with friendly handshakes and quick hugs. It left the captain to be the last. And there she was; la Reina herself.

You were surprised to find that she was rubbing her hands together, waiting for her turn, almost like she was nervous. As you came to know her, you understood that she was in fact nervous when meeting new people, a polar opposite to the confident leader she was on the pitch.

But you saw the way her hazel eyes fixed on you, and as you approached her, a lingering smile played on her lips. Your heart suddenly leaped in your chest, and your cheeks felt embarrassingly warm, which you hoped she didn’t see.

You had admired her from afar, looking up to her as a role model in the game, but now that you were seeing her up close, something stirred inside you. There was something so endearing about Alexia’s shyness where you had expected assertiveness. It made her feel more down-to-earth, more like your teammate rather than a mythical figure up on a pedestal. One look at her and you understood why people had talked so highly of her—how could they not?

Extending a hand towards her, you had made your greeting, but she pulled you in for a firm and generous hug.

And that’s how they started—the butterflies, the attraction, the yearning—and they never went away.

After.

You decided that you were going to do it after dinner. Doing it during dinner is just tacky and downright disrespectful. You’d hate to be crying into your takeout after telling your girlfriend you wanted to break up.

When you snapped out of your train of thought, you realized that it was way too quiet. Alexia was eating on the other side of the table, scrolling through her phone as she did.

“Did you see Claudia’s banger of a free kick today?” You asked, smiling slightly.

Alexia looked up briefly from her phone. “Si. Really good.”

A curt answer. You nodded, and silence ensued again.

You didn’t talk to Alexia much these days. You used to be able to talk to her about anything, even in the beginning when the both of you were still testing the waters to see where you stood. When did it become like this?

Before.

Practice was going swimmingly. You found yourself catching on quickly with the rest of your teammates. Alexia has made it her mission as captain to make you feel welcome. “Anything you need, ask me,” she would say in English. You wanted to, but every time you thought about talking to her, your hands would sweat and you needed to practice what you were going to say to her. You weren’t scared that she wasn’t going to understand you, but because you knew you’d make a fool out of yourself tripping over your words.

“Hey, Alexia,” you said after practice, “I don’t know the city that well, and—well—since you do, would you be willing to show me around?”

“Si, claro.” She answered and looked around the field. “Maybe I can ask some of the girls to come with? They might know things to do that I don’t.”

Later she would explain to you that she panicked and that she knew she would be weird about it, thinking it was a date when it really was just a little outing between teammates. You wished she had treated it like a date, though, and was slightly disappointed when she mentioned bringing your teammates. Still, you had a great time watching Mapi banter with Lucy and Mariona while Alexia played the role of the disappointing mom trying to restrain her children.

You were grinning thinking back on the day when you came home. Her bashful smile after she offered to drive you home was so unlike anything you had pictured in your head before coming to Barcelona. You loved her calm nature, something that made her such a reliable captain, but also an endearing human being.

After.

You stayed seated by the dinner table and you watched her load the dishes in the washer. The scene was void of music that she would sway her hips to or a hearty conversation about a random fact she learned from one of your teammates. Now it was just robotic, lifeless movements, and your heart squeezed at the thought of what it used to be.

The end is near.

Somewhere, somehow, you gathered the courage to speak up. “Wanna watch a movie?”

And to your surprise, she turned around and said, “Sure.”

For a second, you let yourself hope that there was still something salvageable from this ruin. Then you realized that you had been here many times before, and everything accumulated and led you here to this moment.

Before.

“Really?! You’ve never seen Mean Girls?”

Alexia shook her head and chuckled. “I didn’t watch a lot of movies, Y/N. Growing up, all I had time for was football.”

“Yeah, but . . . I mean, it’s Mean Girls. That’s just a crime,” you clicked your tongue. “We’ll have to catch you up on all the classics.”

The discussion had been prompted by the imminent movie night at one of your teammates’ places. The movie of choice was Mamma Mia!, and you had been most excited to rewatch it. You and Alexia arrived together after an outing in town, and since you did so late, you both were in charge of stocking up the snacks.

“And by that, I hope you mean . . . you and me,” Alexia stuttered, leaning against the kitchen counter, waiting for you to fill your bowl with popcorn.

Your lips curved up. “Yes, I mean me and you. Just me and you.”

Your captain grinned too, like a devious little kid. “Good. Just making sure.”

“¿Qué diablos está tardando tanto? (What the hell is taking so long?)” Patri called from the living room. “¡Más te vale no estar besándote en mi cocina! (You better not be making out in my kitchen!)”

You let out a surprised laugh, as Alexia cursed under her breath, wishing silently that the girls in the living room would just shut up and stop snickering. Once the bowls in your hands were filled to the brim, you turned to her with a knowing look.

“I wouldn’t have minded, you know.”

“Mind what?”

“If we were making out,” you said before leaving Alexia in the kitchen to soak in your words.

She found a seat next to you after taking a minute to calm her racing heart so that you wouldn’t notice how crazy you drove her. She felt like a teenage girl having a silly crush, but there was nothing silly about the way you looked at her. And when you put your head on her shoulder midway through the movie, she knew she was gone. Patri saw it too across the couch apparently, and her knowing grin made Alexia want to bury herself inside a hole. While she wasn’t particularly into romcoms, she was already looking forward to watching Mean Girls with you, her fleeting heart hammering in its cage at the thought of getting you alone again.

After.

The silence was deafening. You didn’t dare to look over to Alexia to gauge her reaction. The screen continued to play the movie, blissfully unaware of an earthquake that had suddenly roared to life in the space on the couch between you and Alexia.

You swallowed. She hasn’t spoken for hours.

Then, she turned to you and said, “Okay.”

Okay.

You drew a sharp breath and nodded with finality. “Okay.”

The movie was still playing, though. It was one of your favorites, but it made you cry every time you watched it because you were so touched by the story and its main characters. It was about a man—grief-stricken with the loss of his relationship—who decides to get his memories of his girlfriend wiped, but during the process, he relives everything he shared with her and slowly rues his decision. You used to enjoy it because their story was fictional, but now it all felt like one big joke, like you were one of the characters in the movie, inching towards a certain endgame that you couldn’t escape.

You wondered if there were a different script written out for you and Alexia.

“Let’s finish the movie though, yeah?” She said, finally looking over to you.

You hadn’t expected that look on her face when you looked back at her—it was something almost like desperation.

Like it meant something to her.

You nodded. It was the least you could do after dumping her. What kindness, after the neglect she had shown you, what kindness.

Before.

Alexia was shaking when she brought the two glasses of wine out to her living room, where you sat. Nala, the ever-excited little puppy that she was, followed her like a personal little cloud.

“I heard it was going to be a sad movie, so wine it is.” She said, handing you your glasses.

“It’s a cult classic, trust me. It’s one of my favorite movies ever.”

“Well, I liked Mean Girls, so I trust you.” The truth was, she would have watched any movie with you, as long as it was with you.

You were right, it was quite sad. When she looked over midway through the movie, she could see a glossy streak running down your face. You laughed it off and wiped your tears away, embarrassed that you had cried in front of her, but Alexia thought you were the prettiest.

With feather-light touches, she reached over and brushed the tip of her fingers over your cheekbone. She knew there was no going back if she went ahead with this. She wondered if there was a script written out for you and her already, and she was just following it on its path.

Her lips brushed against yours softly, and only once she felt that you started to kiss her back was she brave enough to put her hand around your waist and pull you closer.

You were grinning so wide when she pulled away, that she thought it might have been a prank and you were somehow in on it. But you put your arms around her neck and pecked her lips again.

Whatever script it was, Alexia was sure it would be one of fairy tale endings and happily ever after, because that is what you believe when you’re in love.

a/n: the movie is eternal sunshine of the spotless mind btw. made me ugly cry.

[viktoriaashleyyx]

Why do some of us not *hate* Tamlin?

I am pro-tamlin, not pro feylin. I would prefer Tamlin to never have to deal with the NC ever again. If SJM never types his name out again I will be happy.

Tw: light mentions to DV, SA, and Divorce.

Feyre is written in a way that makes it feel like she is intentionally manipulating us against Tamlin to justify her leaving him the way she did, and to put Rhysand up on a pedestal.

The abrupt and sloppy way SJM handled Tamlins' character assassination induced my fight or flight. Let me explain:

My parents divorced when I was 4, and I had to learn, quickly, how to interpret people's true intentions and empathize with where they are coming from vs just blindly listening to someones account of what happened. My father got custody of us and would use the same elements against my mom that Feyre uses against Tamlin. I HAVE to read between the lines or I would fall to the intentional manipulation.

"She left me so she probably cheated" "he trapped me in the house" "she has a new boyfriend so she doesn't care about you anymore" "he hit me [when I was actively TRYING to get him to hit me to sway public opinion of him]"

Everytime Feyre left for the NC, she did so kicking and screaming. Every indication Tamlin could see was that she did NOT want to go with Rhys, until he gets a letter from her saying to not come looking for her that she doesn't want to be with him. Tamlin didn't know she could read or write. Had that been my love I would assume it was a ransom note too, written by someone else. Had she actually spent 1 hr winnowing to Tamlin, tell him face to face, then winnow back (with an escort) he MIGHT have gotten the hint.

A tithe was a weird thing to use to show how cruel Tamlin is, considering how 2/3 of the night court live in constant fear, children's bones are broken for misbehaving, the CoN are trapped there. SJM really showed us that she has no political knowledge what so ever. I barely started ACOFAS and when Feyres talking about the unnatural sum of her money, my first thought is "You don't amass that level of wealth without oppressing someone." Lucien said that Tamlin would be expected to hunt down those not able to pay the tithe, but when we get to Tamlins actual actions he just said "get it together in 3 days or pay double next time". In my initial reading, I interpreted it as another mask (like how Rhysand acts). Tamlin does this due to tradition, he is expected to act a certain way, but *I felt* he had no intention of acting out what he said. It was just a line he was expected to say to send the wraith away without others expecting the same.

Feyre and Tamlin were not right for eachother because they were not eachothers mates. People can exist fine separately, and be incredibly toxic together. From page 1 we see Feyres inherent inability to empathize with anyone, she has it bad, she has to hunt, therefore her sisters don't do anything. But she also can't cook, so who was preparing the meat she brought home? It gave me "housework isn't real work" vibes. Feyre also doesn't communicate very well, which would explain why a literal mind reader was able to help her better than Tamlin was. I saw Tamlin trying but not being able to help her because he couldn't read her mind.

Feyre didn't want to be trapped in a manor for a few hours while she was displaying manic behavior, but she condoned her sisters be trapped in the HOW for 6 weeks immediately after losing their lives. She condones the treatment of the people in Hewn city and supports the literal Jim Crow laws placed against them in Velaris when all they wanted was to leave. She condones and supports trapping Nesta in HoW after the war just to force Cassain on her so Feyre can play matchmaker.

Feyre is an inherently self centered sociopath. She can read minds and still can't develop a shred of empathy.

Just leave Tamlin alone. Damn.

[puppetwoman17]

I’ve been wanting to talk about this but I thought it would sound weird and kinda Mary Sue like! Glad to hear that I’m not the only one.

I’m very adamant on Cap being a pillar in not only the magic community(cause of his Champion role obviously) but the hero community as well. He’s well-known for his heroics and impossible stories about battling sentient worms and being diplomatic with alien dinosaurs.

He’s also loved for the advice he gives. All Billy wants to do is bring smiles to these peoples’ days. He dishes out advice like it’s candy and always sees the good in people. He’s great at looking at situations through multiple viewpoints and understanding everyone’s thought processes. This in particular helps with the Superman and Superboy problem. He tells both of them individually that both of their hardships are valid. Clark is allowed to feel violated because his DNA was stolen and mutated in a way that was against his consent. Connor never asked to be created, always wanting Superman’s love but never receiving it.

They reconcile, and Billy doesn’t think much of it, because it’s what anyone would do, right? No biggie. He even does something similar with Red Arrow, convincing him that he’s not just a clone. He’s his own person. He built his own life. He has his own achievements. He shouldn’t feel bad for any of this because none of it was in his control. And Roy is so damn grateful because it feels like a weight has been taken off his shoulders.

Marvel just shrugs. No biggie.

He talks Leaguers through both personal and professional problems and guides them onto a simple, honest path because adults make everything so damn complicated so why can’t you just sit THE FUCK DOWN—

Ahem.

So he helps with that too. No biggie, right? Just another good deed.

He expands his one-way business to other teams too, like the JSA, the YJ team, the Teen Titans, etc. Spends time with each of them, helps them solve their own problems whether they’re big or small.

No biggie, right?

Fucking. Wrong.

The world of heroes absolutely adores him! The other hero teams look to him like he’s the cool uncle. Despite no one knowing jackshit about his personal life, they trust him wholeheartedly. They know he’s got their back.

That’s actually what hurts, tho. Whenever anyone asks him about his life outside the cape, he gets tongue-tied. Panicked. Silent. Doesn’t say a word until a new topic is brought up and then changes wheels like it’s nothing. It hurts, knowing he doesn’t trust them. They know it’s stupid, he never had obligations to tell them anything about the real him, but it stings. Where does he go when he isn’t Cap? Does he have family? A lover? Hobbies? Pets? Why is he like a brick wall with them? Did they do something wrong?

Things get especially annoying when characters like Booster Gold(from the future) and Doctor Fate(Lord of Order, basically on the same pedestal as the Champion) know his identity and don’t even bother to hide that fact. Leaguers will frequently catch Booster making knowing jabs at the Captain, winking and saying strange things that get the Captain riled up and shaking his head profusely. Nabu is no help either, with Leaguers catching him and Marvel quietly conversing. When someone, say, Barry, shows up, Marvel stops talking.

It fucking hurts. A lot. And Billy doesn’t even notice the looks of jealousy cast at his future teammate and fellow Lord by his coworkers. The YJ team is not taking that shit because that is their den dad. Diana doesn’t appreciate that these strangers know more about her brother than she does. Flash is all confused and slightly annoyed because when are they gonna play another prank on Hal? Is he just gonna keep talking to those weirdos all day? And the next?

Billy’s honestly just happy to be here. He never thought he’d get past the age of ten, so doing all of this, helping these heroes while learning more about himself, is just great. He’s speedrunning his way through every moody, self-righteous, hurt, traumatized hero with no sweat on his back.

So yeah, he is beloved and he doesn’t even know it. You betcha that when Cap’s identity is revealed, everyone goes full mama bear/papa bear/protective older brother or sister on him. No way is he leaving without supervision.

Nabu and Booster are rolling their eyes cause hello? That’s the Champion of Magic. If anything, he’s the one they should be worried about.

Yeah, they are politely asked to leave after that. Anyhow Billy, wanna go get some hot chocolate 😘😍

Excuse the word vomit.

[arthenaa]

a daffodil's camellia— ominis x gn!reader

summary: you think your purpose has always been to love him.

warnings: angst/no comfort, arranged marriage, indirect exclusion, HEARTACHE, unrequited love, reader is kinda a pushover but its bc of generational trauma guys !!! imelda is a great friend, the imelda bias here is unreal so sorry im just projecting, ableism behavior guys bc these mfs are too privileged, i am fr trying to break ur heart ig. NOT PROOFREAD im lazy.

note: HAPPY CHINESE NEW YEAR!!!! i slept on this mb,,,,, the angst ominis fic that i talked abt last time but didn't upload until now .... oc cameo from @localravenclaw and @esolean !! (Ren and Lydia) hope u guys enjoy this! anys have fun reading

All your life, you think that this was what you’ve been born to do.

It’s engraved in years of tradition and history, a role you had to partake in the moment you came out of the womb. It was predetermined that your fate would end up in this situation.

Purity was an important factor for the historical families of the Wizarding world. Those who had come down from powerful bloodlines consider the tradition of keeping the family pure a sacred tradition of their power and authority over society.

A pedestal created from years and years of bloodshed to hone the perfection of wizardry and magic today. You suppose it was only an act of gratitude to be part of a long-lasting dynasty that preserved the sacred power of your ancestors. You know it’s an honor to be tasked with this role—to be given the duty of creating more branches for future generations.

You should know because this was what you were born to do.

Born and raised to be a bridge for other Pureblood families to lengthen their authority and claim over their self-built thrones. They say it’s a privilege—to be part of a family descended from the Great Four or just have connections with them through their ancestors’ relationships.

To be pure is to be great.

To be pure is to live a life filled with luxuries.

Opportunities are immediately given with just a snap of their fingers. Their authority precedes those whose blood is stained with the lesser. You’d think living a life of a pureblood would just entail all roses and gold.

Y/N would beg to differ.

“Keep your head bowed and hands on your lap,” Your mother’s voice is ever so cold. The carriage rustles with each bump against rocky terrain. You suppose it's about time you've gotten used to her tone but the booming surprise of her voice has a way of sinking its claws deep within your small heart. As a child, obedience was the foremost value you learned to be of importance. You knew that if you flick your head slightly off angle to your usual disposition due to an interest in your surroundings or the people around you, you would only get the receiving end of your mother’s wand. You knew that you'll be locked down in that dreaded abyss if your bow stuttered due to a misplacement of your foot in front of other pureblood families.

At a young age, you knew enough to not make a mistake.

Born third to the Rosier family's eldest son, you knew that your duty was to form connections—Marry off into other pureblood families and create the next generation of talented pureblood wizards. Wizards have the natural right to take what’s theirs because of their authority over society. A vision that threatens those beneath them.

So you keep your head bowed and palms tucked nicely on your lap with one palm over the other. Your mother is a cold and moving force beside you as you tried to match her pace despite your small little legs. At the age of 7, you are brought by your mother for marriage negotiations.

“Your husband will be an esteemed member of the Gaunts,” You remember your father declaring over tea. He sits menacingly in the front of the table, the glow of the flames behind him making his figure all the more unreachable. You know to only nod and not question any further. He makes a point by knocking on the wooden surface of the long dinner table that seems to stretch farther with each day. You wonder if the spaces beside you will ever be filled. You turn to him at the beckoning of your attention. “You listen carefully to your future husband, child. I cannot afford another failure.”

His words engrave deeply within your poor meek heart. You know that if you deny it, you’ll suffer the same fate that of your older sister—the one who tried to get a glimpse of the love and normalcy she desperately wanted yet ended with a tragedy.

You remembered that day in such vivid detail—the cold looks of your parents as they looked down at the state of their eldest daughter, who bawls and claws at any sort of reaction from the still and lifeless figure of her former lover.

So just like the obedient perfect child that you are, you nod and bow—subservient to the influences of those who claim to be wiser than you. You can only do so much to control your faith so alas, you let go and let the others hold the reigns.

That is until you meet him.

You were faintly aware of what he looked like. A boy with eyes as bright as the clouds, hair so smooth—so blonde that it gleams perfectly in the sunlight, and moles that litter his face, mimicking the night sky. These were murmurs of him from the servants in the halls of your manor. They say his beauty is compared to that of Rowena Ravenclaw and his demeanor spoke true as a descendant of Salazar Slytherin. However, there were also whispers of his only flaw.

“They say the young lord does not see.”

You wondered before how true the nature of the gossip of the young lord was when you took your first step inside the Gaunt estate, but now, as you stand before him who seems detached from the world with his eyes as dull as the morning sky on a rainy day, you suddenly make a conclusive remark about him.

He was truly a sight to behold.

“This is the young Lord, Ominis Gaunt," His mother declares proudly from her place, chest puffed and earrings dangling from the heaviness of the jewels that clung tightly to their placements. His father stands idly and lets his wife do all the matching. Your mother only smiles, placing a firm hand on your back—reminding you of your duty.

You bow with the elegance that of a noble—A move you’ve honed to perfection from years and years of teaching and practice. You rise back up with the same pace, eyes peering up at him from your lashes. He only seems to daze off into the distance.

“This is Lady Y/N Rosier. We’ll serve you well.”

The silence is unbearable.

You think that maybe after the taxing interaction with the grown-ups and being able to interact alone with the young lord would allow you to finally discover his true personality.

That, however, continues to be a difficulty.

"Do you like fencing, my lord?" You ask, trying to break the ice as you sit across from him in one of the receiving rooms of the Gaunt's huge manor. "Or perhaps history?"

"Stop asking." He replies curtly, stance devoid of interest. You continue to dig deep into that shell of his, hoping that your incessant need to make conversation would crumble the defensive walls he put up.

"I hear you're quite skilled in astronomy, my lord—"

"Don't call me that."

"What do I call you then?" You perk up, cheeks gleaming with a smile. The furrowing of his eyebrows only digs deeper.

"It appears that I am an avid fan of silence. I suggest not speaking at all," For a 7-year-old, his voice is cold and authoritative. You suppose it's because of his closeness to the Great Four that he is granted with such ability to freely talk however he wants. Your eyes glimmer in awe.

"I just want to get to know my future husband," You retort, trying to make sense of your fiance. You pout like a child, feet swinging back and forth—allowing yourself a moment of reprieve from the stiffness of tradition. "Mother says it's customary for us to be familiar with one another at a young age to establish proper connec—"

His hands slam hard at the wooden surface of the table in front of you. You flinch, a bit surprised by his sudden show of strength. You admit that maybe you've gone a bit too far with the questioning, but it was all for a good purpose anyway! You two are to be one in due time. So, what was so wrong about getting to know him?

You wonder if you'll ever be like him someday. To carry himself in such a stance that he doesn't need to nod or bow to anyone. He tilts his head in the direction of your voice, face contorted into a glare.

"I'll be on my way," He murmurs, voice calm, and yet his disposition evokes anger and frustration. You watch him with bated breath as he walks towards the double doors, the servants bowing and opening it for him with ease.

You know that this should be the final nail in the coffin. To detest the boy you'll soon marry as he turns into a man whose values and inhibitions clung onto him like a wolf who won't release it's jaws onto prey. You know and yet your fingers crumple the fabric of your skirt, eyes looking forward to your next meeting.

The next time you meet him is over tea. It was the turn of the Gaunts to visit your manor as dictated by the tradition of courting within noble houses. You've practiced this scenario over and over. Countless of times alone, with your governess, and with your mother. It's engraved within the depths of your mind as the wounds of the past sting with each sip of your drink.

Act like a noble. Drink like a high-born. Be a pureblood.

The thoughts ring harshly with each thump of your beating heart. Your fingers twitch, and your form stiffens—all for the sake of tradition. The words branding the forefront of your mind as you feel the intensity of your mother's gaze.

I have to do good. I need to do good.

"Your estate is a wonderful place, Lady Rosier," The Gaunt Matriarch addresses your mother with an esteemed elegance—to which your mother only responds with a courteous smile, a part of her façade.

Your mother never liked purebloods but she respected tradition. She smiles and bows in front of her peers but mocks and beseeches them in the comfort of her room.

You don't understand your mother but as a young child, validation from her was the only thing you ever wanted.

And so you try.

"It's all due to our ancestors' hard work in keeping the Rosier history alive through the manor's architecture," You respond, lips contorted into a gentle smile. The Gaunts seem impressed by your interest in the conversation and from the corner of your eye, you see your mother shift in her seat.

"I see," Lord Gaunt eyes you with a glint of interest in his eye, and he shifts his attention to your parents. "Lord and Lady Rosier, you've raised a daughter worthy of her blood. I applaud you."

Your mother smiles and for the first time, you feel your heart thump at the recognition of doing good. She then responds, "As they should be. It is their role to be worthy and I'm sure she'll be a wonderful spouse to the young master."

Your attention then shifts to the quiet blonde sitting idly in his seat. His face is stone cold, eyes dull, and fists clenching the material of his seat so hard it turns white.

Anger was the first emotion you've seen on Ominis's face.

You wonder if you'll get to see more.

"Aren't you excited?"

You squeal, influenced by the utter joy of finally attending school. It's your first year.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where most wizarding families are built and made from. Many of your relatives built their name from their experiences as a student in Hogwarts—after all it was in your blood to be ambitious. To dream of the impossible and achieve it by any means. That's why your family house dons the colors of green and silver—a direct allegiance to the house of Slytherin, that of which many of your blood relatives reside during their time as a student.

While being excited about Hogwarts was already a given factor as a child of magic, there's also one thing you're most excited about.

"Stop bouncing about, Y/N," Ominis grumbled as he heaved his bag over his shoulder. "We still have to find our damn car."

Your relationship with Ominis did progress in some ways. He's less grouchy now and tolerates your personality enough to let you stay by his side. You've gotten used to its indifference but you think that it's good progress with how he talks more with you albeit still with glares and a cold demeanor.

He pays you no mind as he traverses through the narrow pathway of the train with the guide of his wand. You follow closely behind, hands carrying your suitcase as Ominis guides you to your assigned car.

"I can't help it, I'm literally bursting with energy," You whine as Ominis finally reaches your destination, slides the door open, and places his things inside. He plops down to the farthest corner and leans back to rest. You immediately claim the seat next to him to which he grumbles.

"There's plenty of seats for you to take," He scowls, gesturing to the empty seats in front of you both. You only giggle as you snuggle up next to him.

"Oh don't be such a stone-faced troll, Ominis!" You whine, slapping his arm. He tenses with anger at the gesture. "It's natural for me as your fiancée to be as close to you as possible."

"Stop calling yourself that," His eyebrows furrow in annoyance, jaw clenching in anger. You roll your eyes, not minding his hostility.

"But I am though?"

"I swear to Merlin's name and everything he holds dear, if you don't—"

The slide of the door halts your conversation as your eyes and his head flick toward the sudden disturbance. Two brunettes pop in, one seemingly looking like a direct copy of the other. They blink, eyebrows raised as they stare at the two of you.

"116?" The boy asks with an awkward smile. "Are we interrupting something?"

You pull yourself slowly from Ominis's space at the prospect of new friendships. You smile. "No worries, just a lovers' quarrel. I assume you're the ones we'll share the car with?"

"There is no lovers' quarrel." Ominis firmly states. The two purse their lips in slight hesitance. "Please, do join us though. Merlin knows I need it."

The two then make their way to sit in the remaining two empty seats, placing their luggage in the compartment under. You smile as they settle down in their seats, bright smiles plastered on their faces.

"Right," The boy starts. "Uh, I'm Sebastian Sallow and this is my sister, Anne. It's nice to meet you both."

You nod excitedly at the introduction, delighted to make friends at the present opportunity.

"I'm Y/N Rosier," You respond. You then gesture to the blonde next to you. "And this is Ominis Gaunt, my fian—"

"Friend." Ominis cuts through, overpowering your voice. You turn to him with wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "They mean friend."

The twins glanced at the two of you, puzzled by the shifting of the balance in your dynamics. Anne breaks the silence.

"Well, we'll be spending quite a long while here, I hope to make your acquaintance," The Sallow girl beams. Sebastian nods at his sister's words while Ominis responds with a hum of agreement.

There's not much to say when the group falls into silence once more. The four of you were strangers after all, still not used to the presence of someone new but the feeling is welcomed.

Your eyes glance at Ominis who seems to have been resting his eyes, leaning his head against the wall—waiting for the train to begin its course. The corner of your lips curl up at his iridescent beauty.

The train sounds its whistle beginning your journey.

"Are you dumb?"

Imelda blatantly states as she stares at you with disinterest in her eyes. She takes a bite of her apple. "Or just purely ignorant of what's actually happening?"

On your 3rd year at Hogwarts, you somehow get grounded to reality through the presence of Imelda Reyes.

You suppose it's all in due time that you'd be awakened from the trauma-inducing nightmare of tradition and sacred rules of your family. The need to fulfill your role. To give Ominis a home he needs, a family he wants, and a lover he deserves. You suppose that your role overshadowed your judgment of his character and behavior.

You had gotten used to it. To his blatant ignorance of your efforts, the glares, sarcastic comments, seething scoffs, or the fact that sometimes, he doesn't see you at all.

He's always like this, you think. You were never bothered by his indifference. You believed that you could love him enough for the both of you.

You were stupidly wrong about that too.

Sebastian and Anne are terrific company. After being acquainted in your first year, your little group had been formed then and there. The two of them stayed for the past 2 years and you were truly grateful for them. However, the twins were mostly close to Ominis. You didn't mind the gaps between you and the siblings seeing as you prioritized your relationship with Ominis more than anything.

You never really considered it to be a bad thing.

That is until Imelda begins to scratch at the surface of your finely built walls.

You purse your lips, minding your own business as you continue to sew a new stitch into the stretched fabric. You were unfortunate enough to share the dorm room with Imelda and while you enjoyed the rambunctious' Slytherin Quidditch Captain's companionship, this was certainly not something you'd rather talk with her. Everything was fine and there was no need to nitpick at every detail.

Your needle pokes through the hole, goes in, then out—thread sliding swiftly in the path you've carved out for it.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Imelda," You try to deflect her inquisitive nature. She rolls her eyes.

"It's just–" She pauses to readjust her position, leaning forward to rest her arms on her knees—she eyes you with keen interest. "I'm truly amazed how you've gone 3 years with him."

You glance up at her with furrowed eyebrows. "Stop speaking ill of Ominis."

Imelda lets out a loud laugh at your response. "And you even dare to defend him? Are you sure you're not dumb?"

You forcefully drop your sewing tools on your lap as you heave a sigh at her words. You turn to face her fully. "What do you want?"

"Why stay?" She responds, direct. She takes another bite of the apple.

There's a momentary pause of silence as the question rings in your mind. You had half a mind to just drop the conversation and leave but some part of you somehow wanted to defend yourself.

"He's just Ominis. He's always been like that," You respond, chest puffed in self-proclaimed confidence. "We grew up together. We're promised for each other. That's all I need—"

A sudden burst of laughter from Imelda catches you off guard. You flinch in surprise as you watch the brunette Slytherin double down in laughter. Somehow, the clawing feeling inside you becomes more prominent with each giggle and huff from the woman's lips. Your nail begins to scratch at the skin of your thumb.

"H-Holy shit," Imelda sighs in laughter, brushing off a stray tear. She giggles a few more times before finally settling down with a smile. "You're worse than I thought."

She tilts her head with a condescending look on her face.

"Have you ever seen him with the twins? Alone?" She asks. That sets off wave after wave of uncomfortable thumping within your chest. You let out a shaky breath. "I suppose you don't because you're always so focused on your dearest fiance—Actually, y'know! If you just tried to properly look at him. Maybe, just maybe, you'd finally get a grasp of yourself."

Your jaw clenches and palms sweat.

"Stop it." You try to get a hold of yourself. To take control of the situation and get a grip on your thoughts that seem to get more and more chaotic as time passes. However, despite your tries, Imelda overpowers you once more.

"Y/N," She leans forward to rest her arms on the wooden surface of the table. "Maybe, you don't know much about him at all."

Your eyes are locked on hers at the prompt of her words. You can't bring yourself to deny despite the flurry of emotions bursting within you. She tilts her head and gives you a sympathetic look.

You walked out with no response.

On your 5th year, the presence of a new student shook the halls of Hogwarts.

It was uncommon, of course, that a wizard would get admitted at such a late year and while the idea of a new 5th year would turn a few heads in curiosity, this was not the only source of attention.

Over the course of the first few days back to school, you hear talks of the new 5th year's incredible feats of surviving against a dragon attack. There were exaggerations, of course, and different variants of the story with how widespread the gossip had reached, but it all reached the same conclusion at the end.

This new girl had already made her mark as a formidable wizard.

You admired her at first, wanting to know how she did it and what brought on such circumstances. However, there was a slight uncomfortable nagging deep within the depths of your heart at your first meeting. While you felt regretful of such impression despite her kind deportment, you still felt uneasy at the arrival of her presence.

It was probably partly because of Anne's leave of absence since the start of your 5th year. Sebastian was quite privy to the details concerning Anne's sudden absence. You knew she was sick, but other than that, you were quite left in the dark. You convinced yourself that maybe Sebastian feels conflicted when talking about it, and his sudden avoidance of you bringing up the topic proves a testament to that. However, you've seen him and Ominis on the train when you came back after getting refreshments. You've seen Ominis give him a comforting hug—an affection you've barely received from him if there was any at all. You've seen Sebastian tap Ominis to stop talking whenever you enter the room.

People tend to have that misconception that you're awfully unaware of your surroundings due to you being characterized as a 'pushover.' You knew that your bond with Ominis or Sebastian was way different than what they had for each other. You knew it and chose not to dwell too much on the semantics. You'd rather focus on Ominis. On being the person he deserves.

This was solidified when Sebastian began including her in your lunch hangouts.

You were unfortunate enough to be separated from Sebastian and Ominis for your Potions lecture. You had to scour across the castle just to get with them for lunch. They were usually at the same place—lounging around in the Defense against the Dark Arts Tower or the Undercroft.

This time, however, you were finding it quite hard to spot the two.

"Look," Lydia Parkinson, a Ravenclaw from your year, twirls the cup of drink in her hand as she lazily looks up at you due to the lulling atmosphere of the afternoon. "Maybe you could just have lunch with us. Just saying."

Seated beside Lydia is Ren Aries, your potions seatmate (also a Ravenclaw). She has rumored romantic ties with Sebastian, which brought you to their spot in the Great Hall in the first place. Who else would know Ominis's best friend better than you?

Your eyes turn to Ren, who merely rests her chin on her palm propped up by her elbow on the table. "Don't look at me."

"You're basically dating!" You whine, hands grabbing on your books tighter. "Of course, you know where he is."

"No, we're not." Ren answers swiftly.

"Wrong." Lydia raises a breadstick and accusingly points it at Ren.

"Is she talking to you? I don't think so." Ren swats her hand away, causing the breadstick to fly across the table and into a group of first years. The three of you immediately turn your heads, not willing to face the confused glances on their faces.

Just as the first years begin to mind their own business, Lydia begins to lean in with pursed lips. "Well, I might've heard that the two left the Great Hall with the new fifth—"

Suddenly a loud slap intercepts her words. You flinch back at the sudden movement, watching as Lydia rubs her arm as she crumples over the table. Ren sends a glare toward Lydia before turning to you with a half-lidded stare.

"Don't mind her. She's delirious after drinking the pumpkin juice." Ren intercepts easily, not minding her best friend wincing beside her. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion.

"I heard what she said?'

"No you didn't."

"I mean ..." You trailed off, eyes glancing between the two. "I just heard her say the new fifth year."

There's an uncomfortable silence as the two gaze at you with an unreadable stare. Somehow, this gaze seems quite familiar. You've seen it from Imelda, from Anne during your short moments together, and now these two. A budding stem of annoyance begins to grow in your skin.

"Why are you looking at me like that? They're probably just hanging out." You shrug it off like you've always had. It is no use fretting over such simple matters.

"Sure they are—" Lydia chuckles before Ren sends a nudge to her ribs. The redhead merely groans and grabs at the edge of the table. You look at her in concern.

"As I said, delirious." Ren lightly curls the corners of her lips to give you a polite smile. There's a pause of silence before Ren sighs—eyes gazing with an unreadable expression on her face. Your fingers twitch at its familiarity.

"They're in the Undercroft, Y/N." She says, nodding slightly. There's a slight hesitance to her tone of response as if telling you where they were wasn't something she was supposed to be doing. "Sebastian dropped by our table to tell me that, just in case I wanted to join."

Sebastian referred to Ren. Just in case she wanted to join. You wanted to ask if Ominis at least told her to tell you, but you're too much of a coward to do that.

You couldn't will yourself to look at her eyes, afraid that you might finally recognize the emotion that lingers in the depths of her mind. You suppose the inquisitive and empathetic nature of Ravenclaw runs deep within Ren's blood.

You nod as a thanks and left without a word.

You hear laughter first. Your footsteps halt at the archway of the Undercroft—breath faltering as your eyes find the familiar tufts of blonde you've grown to love over the years.

Normally, you would've already bounced over to him, reveling in his attention no matter how negative or neutral it might appear. You would've teased him and wormed your way into his arms.

However, things were quite different from where you were standing.

You hadn't had the opportunity to meet the new 5th year. You only relied on hushed whispers and murmurs across the halls of Hogwarts just to get a glimpse of what she was actually like. You take slow steps towards the source of laughter, eyes trained on their figures—smiles, and gleeful expressions plastered on their faces.

You're caught off guard by the unfamiliar presence of the new fifth year—hair as dark as midnight with a touch of silver strands that decorate the front of her hair like the stars that litter the sky. She's as pretty as they say, as radiant as they whispered about, and evokes the aura of a true born wizard.

However, the true reason for her shock lies in the fact that Ominis—the man she'd known to be stoic, unmoving, and unphased, was laughing. Ominis was laughing.

"Oh, Y/N." It's Sebastian who notices you first. You flinched at the greeting, watching as the other two paused—the new fifth year turning towards you with wide curious eyes, and Ominis subtly turned his head away from you. Your breath hitches at his actions. Sebastian awkwardly glances between the two of you. "I think this is the first time you actually met Nora. Nora, this is Y/N Rosier. Y/N, this is Nora Finley."

Nora waves at you with a smile. "Hi Y/N. Hope you don't mind me intruding."

"None at all." You reply eyes glancing at Ominis who continues to have his back towards you. You decide to continue the conversation. "I was looking for you guys. I thought we were going to have lunch."

"Oh," Sebastian scratches the back of his head, hesitantly glancing at Ominis who continuously remains silent and indifferent. "We already had lunch. Sorry."

You slowly nod in an understanding, a stiff smile plastered on your face.

"That was because you were too hungry to wait," Nora intercepts with joking shove. "Apologies, Y/N. I didn't know they were waiting for someone else."

Your finger twitches slightly at her words. "It's fine."

"I was waiting for Ren! Ominis was just being an asshole." Sebastian defends himself which earns a slap on the arm from Nora. Then, you suddenly hear Ominis speak up.

"Not my fault you were actually coward enough to not go to her yourself," Ominis says. This earns a laugh from Nora who bumps her shoulders against Ominis. "I had to pull you over." The three laugh at the situation at hand, faces plastered with glee and comfort.

So Ominis was there, with Ren and the others. Yet no one thought of telling you where they were. An anxious heavy feeling settles over your chest.

Suddenly, you feel out of place. Your ears ring, zoning out, as their motion becomes more distorted in your eyes. You feel as though you shouldn't be here—that you're the one intruding instead. The ache overwhelms you.

Your feet shuffle a few steps back. "I-I'll get going." You say, voice weak as you announce your departure. Sebastian gives you a moment's glance before nodding. Nora gives you a big wave (you feel bad, she's too much of an angel). However another reason piles onto your aching heart—mind in a daze as it beats fast with anxiety.

Ominis had not once acknowledge your presence.

You leave with your dignity intact.

Seeing Nora is now a regular occurrence.

You didn't mind it at first. You liked the girl. She was a social butterfly, easy to talk to, and her presence brought comfort whenever she was around. You couldn't argue the comfortable nature of Sebastian and Ominis around her. While you were also a generally talkative and social person, it still varied among your peers. Your personality often ventures between the lines of introvert and extrovert—only becoming active to a certain amount of people, and silent to the rest.

However, despite your positive impression on Nora, there was also the case between her and Ominis. You've seen them hanging about in various points of the castle. Even going out together when they leave classes. You haven't had much alone time to spend with Ominis as he somehow begins to become more non-approachable and cold as days pass by. Somehow, he becomes more indifferent than before.

Back then, Ominis indulges in your whims despite his initial opposition. You suppose it's probably to get you to stop, but he had always listened—one way or another. Now, he merely leaves without a word—cutting you off mid-talk and bouncing off to Nora who had just entered the room.

Your heart begins to waver and your breath speeds up. You couldn't deny the hurt that flows through you with each indifferent response of your fiance. Your fiance. He was yours as much as you were his.

So why does it feel like you're the one intruding?

"What do you think we should get Anne, Omi?" You smile, siding up to Ominis whose hands run through the braille engraved on his book. "Do you think we should get her some scented candles?"

"Anne has a sensitive nose." Ominis furrows his eyebrows before slightly tilting his head towards you. "Didn't you know that?"

"I did!" You respond with a defensive tone. Of course, you did. Anne was your friend. "I was going to buy her those simple scented candles. Just to help her with the stress."

Ominis scoffs at your words before going back to reading his book. Just as you inquire a little more about his day, you hear Nora and Sebastian chattering as they reach your spot. You were about to greet them when you felt Ominis nudge your hold away from his arm. You flinch at its intensity as he rises from his seat to walk towards the two—specifically in Nora's direction.

Your heart thumps loudly against your chest, knocking against your ribs like an ache you can't explain. You sit silently, eyes watching as they chatter amongst themselves. The looming realization begins to crawl under your skin, chipping at you—limb from limb. Your breath falters.

"Y/N!" Nora greets like the angel that she is. You smile back, albeit forced and hesitant but welcomed her warmth with open arms. She slides up to you, before calling over the two. They follow with ease. You feel Nora's arm intertwine with yours, thumbing the cloth of your robe.

Just as the two have finally settled down, Nora begins the conversation. "I'm glad you don't have DADA with these two. It's always a chaos."

You nod, still quite perplexed by the whole situation. "Really?"

"Please, Nora." Sebastian teases, arms propped on the table. "Just say you're mad that I beat you at a duel."

"Throwing a ragged cloth to my face before casting a Levioso isn't a win that you think it is." Ominis intercepts with a disappointed shake of his head.

"Blah, blah. Looks like a skill issue to me." Sebastian leans back, arms crossed over his chest. He rolls his eyes playfully. "Life isn't fair on the battlefield, Finley."

Nora turns to you with a scrunched nose. "Are you really friends with these guys?"

You find yourself pausing at her question. Thankfully, she laughs afterward, pulling tease after teasing towards Sallow. The question begins to etch into your brain as your mind conjured every possible interaction you had with Sebastian. Was he even your friend? You remember the silence and the awkward tensions whenever Ominis had to go to the bathroom or get called up by Professor Weasley. Even before then, when Anne was present in your little group of 4, the twins were always stuck to the hip, if not with Ominis. Never the three of you alone together.

Never with you.

You suppose Imelda was right. Blinded by the idea and concept of love through duty, you unintentionally neglected the possible ties that you could've had with the twins. You felt helpless.

"Oh, yeah. Before I forget, what are we getting Anne this weekend?"

Your head turn towards Nora in surprise. "You're coming?"

There's a momentary pause at your question. You wouldn't have minded it before, but now you feel the stares clawing at your skin.

"Of course, she is." Ominis replies with a tone of disbelief. "Don't be ridiculous."

"She hasn't met Anne, though? I don't think—"

"Don't speak for my sister, Y/N." Sebastian cuts through the tension with an offhanded response. You turn towards him in surprise. Nora shifts uncomfortably beside you. "We already planned this. Let's just go with it."

"You didn't tell me anything?" You're not sure as to why your voice suddenly begins to rise. Your hands clench under the table.

"My bad?" Sebastian shakes his head in confusion, as if he's the one incovenienced. "Listen up, next time then? Instead of you know—ogling Ominis, all the time?"

"Sebastian!" Nora calls out, perplexed at the sudden hostility. The brown-haired Slytherin merely turns his head away. A dreadful feeling submerges over your body as you glance at Ominis who sports an indifferent look in his face. There's a paused silence before Sebastian stands from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Nora asks, worried.

"Out. I'm floo-ing to Hogsmeade for the gift. Catch up if you guys want to." Sebastian mumbles in response. He leaves abruptly, robe trailing behind him.

Just as you were about to turn to Ominis, he stands up. "Omi?"

"You should've known better." Ominis mutters. Your breath hitches at his words. He follows through with Sebastian. Your hand clenches into a fist.

"Y/N," Nora grasps at your arm with slight comfort. You couldn't be mad at her even if you wanted to. "Are you okay?"

Your head is lowered, hair framing your face as you try to gather your emotions. You then turn towards her with a smile you've practiced from your childhood days.

"I'm fine."

The silence was unbearable.

You're not sure when was the last time you and Ominis were seated together in a room, alone—much less the receiving room of your manor. You can feel the nervousness clawing up your throat. Your mother had persisted on the two of you visiting the manor during your winter break. You wanted to accept the invitation at first, seeing as this was an opportunity to spend time with Ominis.

But seeing the disdain on his face as soon as you told him the news, somehow regret only fills your body. You had no choice either way.

"Is Hogwarts treating you well?" Your mother sips her tea with the elegance fitting for her role as the matriarch of the house. You shift in your seat, uneasy from her attention.

"Well enough," Ominis answers from your side. His face lacks the enthusiasm of talking to your family.

Your mother furrows her eyebrows at the response but doesn't say anything regardless. "I do hope you're both preparing for your engagement once you graduate in 2 years. Merlin knows how much both of our families have prepared for it."

You nod submissively, unable to resist the pointed stare your mother gives you. Ominis stands abruptly at her words, not opting to pardon himself as he walks out of the room. There's paused silence before your mother scoffs.

"Insolent child," She seethes, taking a sip out of her cup. "If it weren't for his family name and heritage, we would've found you a more suitable heir to marry. Merlin knows his family's treating him like a dispensable asset, when his brother's already married and up to take the role as head of the house."

You sit silently, eyes focused on the untouched cup of tea. Your mother's voice booms through the room, causing you to flinch at its sudden intensity.

"Go after him, Y/N. Beg on your knees if you have to. Keep him tied to the leash before he goes off pawing at others." Your mother orders. "Your sister's a testament to that. Do I make myself clear?"

Your mother's word was law. Everyone in the house knew that. Even your father, who is recognized as the head of the house. She easily controls those around her to do her bidding, and those who resist are met with dire consequences. You'd rather be by her side than against her blade.

"Yes, mother."

You found him by the courtyard.

Your family dog, an Alpine Mastiff that was gifted for your father by a collector of muggle creature, pants against his lap—enjoying the gentle caresses that Ominis runs through his fur. He sits against the huge tree in the middle, the leaves giving his face a gentle shade from the light. You make careful steps before standing in front of him.

"Feeling lethargic, Omi?" You smile. The dog, Xavier, looks up at you with its sleepy eyes before yawning against Ominis's touch.

"I told you to stop calling me that." He replies, eyes devoid of emotion. He merely runs back and forth Xavier's fur as if its stimulation calms his nerves.

"You never allow me to call you anything." You retort, voice calm as you look down at him with a forlorn expression. He doesn't need to know that.

Ominis shakes his head, a sarcastic smile on his lips. "That's because we're not friends."

You purse your lips before responding. "If you say stuff like that, I'll get hurt, Omi."

Ominis chuckles. "You've bound me to your chains, made me a spectacle with your jokes, and you're worried about getting hurt over the truth?"

You stared at him as he continues to pet the massive dog on his lap. You've gone through this routine before, and you'll go through it again. Why get hurt now?

There's a miniscule pause of silence before you let out a laugh at his words. "So touchy with everything, Omi. You really hate me that much?"

It's a joke. Don't take it to heart.

"Yes," He answers with no hesitation, face devoid of any emotion. He finally looks up and its as if those beautiful cloudy blue eyes could stare through you. "Yes, I do."

It's not true.

You've observed Ominis enough to know what he's thinking.

As much as others regarded him as an intimidating figure, he quite wears his heart on his sleeve. You know when he's angry, when he's joking, being sarcastic, sad, or whatever version of Ominis you're facing for the day. You didn't spend 8 years of your life loving him just for you to not recognize every detail on his face.

You've known him well enough to recognize patterns on his behavior, subtle differences to his emotions, and his current mood of the day. If anything, you're well versed in Ominis's body language, that you've grown well accustomed to how you act around him based on it.

That's why besides you're being hit with two realities, instead of one.

You've watched them from across the hall, chatting up a storm as the three of them were huddled in the corner. You've long since opted to observing them rather than being in the group itself, and ever since then, you've begin noticing things you weren't supposed to.

"What's got you looking so focused there?" Imelda's voice reaches your senses as a figure settles beside you. You give her a glance before looking back at the trio. She hums, following your line of sight. "Looking at your asshole of a lover boy again?"

"Don't I ever?" You sarcastically remark, laughing slightly. Imelda looks at you with a slight raise of her eyebrow.

"Wow," She nods. "That's improvement. You don't make sarcastic remarks when I point out your obsession with white boy over there."

You glance at her, heaving a breath as you contemplated letting Imelda know of your thoughts as of late. You suppose that she's the only person who has been real with you since the start. Everything's been a blur since your visit with Ominis to your manor. You've been trying your hardest to appear normal but things had just gone way off. You've started to distance yourself as well, only responding when asked or talked to—which most of the case is Nora's doing. Though, with Sebastian's constant needs for adventure and Nora's inquisitive nature, she had also lost the attention towards your interaction with the group.

With Ominis, you knew well enough that wherever Nora and Sebastian went, he went to as well. You've seen the three of them flee the Great Hall, not minding your lack of presence to the group. 4 years as a group of friends and 8 years with Ominis, and they haven't had a single thought about you that passed through their minds.

You suppose you should've gotten used to their exclusion to your presence. You're partly aware that this is due to the engagement between you and Ominis, how much he despises the centuries-old tradition of marrying those of the same stature as he is. How much he detests the forced nature of your relationship. You wished you had the power to null it, to start over, and meet him under different circumstances. To dream of a reality where he actually finds love in you, and wishes for a future with you in it.

But alas, life is hard for someone like you. To hold so much authority within your fingertips but be shackled by tradition and generational trauma. You've long accepted your demise.

"Ominis likes Nora." The words slips out of your mouth with ease. Like what you just said was something out of the news. Imelda chokes at what she hears. You look at her with concern.

"E-excuse me?"

"Ominis likes Nora." You repeat calmly. Imelda sweatdrops, moving to stand in front of you as she analyzed your facial expression.

"You're saying that like it's the weather—are you okay?" She asks, worried.

You shrug, eyes looking down at your twiddling thumbs. "It's inevitable. Everyone knows about it, no?"

Imelda pauses, face cringing as she places her hands on her hips. You chuckle at the silent admission. "I'm always a bit too late."

"Look, Y/N," She sighs, taking a step forward as she places a hand on your arm. "Ominis was doomed to be your fiance from the start. He's an asshole and just overall rude! You've got nothing much to lose anyway!"

Your tongue darts out to lick your bottom lip before pulling between your teeth. "I do. That's not how it works, Imelda."

You glance up at her, finally meeting her concerned eyes. She lets out a breath at your forlorn expression.

"I always knew Ominis didn't like what we had. I've spent most of my childhood years with him to not know the familiarity of his disdain." You reply. You recall the times you've received cold and indifferent actions from him. "He's made himself clear. I was always the one who wanted more."

"Y/N," Imelda sighs.

"I don't think Ominis ever considered me to be someone dear to him," You whispered. "I had always been something he easily cast aside. A nuisance—I've seen the way he whispers to Sebastian whenever I've said something they considered out of line. I was never something he deemed important."

Imelda is silent. You heave a sigh.

"He's happy now." You mutter. "Nora's everything I'm not, and even if I wanted to hate her, despise her—she's so pure and likeable that it's so unfair. Why is it so unfair?"

You feel tears well in your eyes. Imelda's breath hitches at the sight. She looks around, trying to see if anyone was watching. She then hears the familiar voices of the three. Soon enough she sees them walking over to pass by their area. Imelda did what she could only think of.

She pulls her off her robe before throwing it over your head, shielding you from their stares. She pulls you in her arms as the three near towards you. You couldn't see a thing but you could hear them.

"... Imelda?" Sebastian's voice comes out as confused, probably because of her hooded figure. "What's up?"

"Hey!" Imelda smiles, hands making gentle pats to your back. "Friend's not feeling well. Hope you don't mind."

There's pause of silence before Ominis responds. You feel your heart speed up. "Ah, hope they'll feel better."

"They hear that quite well!" Imelda responds with enthusiasm. You slump against her hold, feeling lethargic from thinking.

"Alright, we'll get going." Sebastian waves before the two follow them off. Just as the three of them began to make their way down the hall, you hear Nora suddenly backtrack.

"Ah, by the way, if you do see Y/N around, tell her that Professor Weasley's asking for her?" Nora says. Your body freezes and its as if Imelda had felt it as she had pulled you closer.

"S-sure." Imelda responds. The three of them began to go on their way, chatting and laughing as they disappear down the hall.

Imelda finally pulls her robe off you, eyes filled with concern. "Y/N ..."

"They knew I wasn't around," You mumble, breath trembling, and eyes devoid of emotion. "They knew. He knew."

Imelda raises a hand to fix your hair before smiling. "There's nothing much I can say that will be of help, but I do hope that you'll take care of yourself—Of what you'll do from here on out."

You pause at her words before nodding silently.

The realization settles in and its heartbreaking and grueling. However, despite that, things haven't been much clearer than before. You'll set things right. For him. For yourself.

Because love is your greatest weakness, no? Your greatest threat. Love for him, and love for your family.

Whichever will prevail?

A/N: before yall ask, yes this will have a part 2 ... i just really wanted to finish this and it went beyond what ive planned. stay tuned mwehe!!! this will not have a happy ending btw. the title daffodil's camellia is in reference to their meaning in love. daffodil can mean new beginnings but it can also mean unrequited love, camellia means romantic love or devotion. just wanted to let yall know that!

[cherryys]

i do dislike a bit the hyperfocus on megumi's sexuality / whether he wanted to "set up" yuuji with tsumiki or not bc it takes away alot from this chapter imo.

His dream life being one where his sister (the one he's put at such a high pedestal and whose love and admiration for her is palpable through every single thing he does for the sake of saving people) is the happiest alongside yuuji (someone who he's known for a few months tops) shows you how much yuuji meant to him in such little time, romantic implications & shipping lens aside, and how much he'd fought for tsumiki, the person who had loved him the most.

And the fact he had just wanted a good life for her and later for yuuji and didn't take himself into consideration shows you how bad his self-worth issues are that they permeate even in his own "perfect" life, that he couldn't entertain the thought of letting himself find happiness even in his wildest dreams, and that he had accepted that.

And those jokes of megumi being down bad (while funny and while are jokes i myself have participated in), there are people who take it seriously and that takes away from the emotional weight their relationship, and that scene and chapter has.

Those words had sparked life back into Megumi because Yuuji knew what it was like. He didn't force him to get up, like the fandom wanted, and didn't serve him empty platitudes about having something to live for or something along the lines of "your sister wouldn't want this" or telling him to get revenge. No. He had told him "i understand. that's why i can't tell you to live." He didn't invalidate his feelings, in fact, he reaffirmed them. Never made him feel bad for crumbling under the pressure, either.

And that scene of yuuji telling megumi "it'll be lonely without you, fushiguro." Brought me to tears ngl. It's so simple yet so powerful. He didn't tell Megumi to "just live" or to "just get up". He had simply told him it'll be lonely without him. That he'd miss him. That he was important to someone still alive and that he still had value for that person big enough to fight and claw and go through all of this for. There was someone who, despite seeing all his ugly flaws, all his 'weakness', lose that he thought he could offer (10S), still wanted him around anyways. Because he had made that big an impact on him as an individual, as a person, not as a jujutsu sorcerer.

It speaks of how deep their bond was, it speaks of how empathatic yuuji is, and how loving megumi is. (Despite what his rough exterior would lead you to believe)

He just wanted his two most important people to be loved. He wanted to love them. He had secretly wanted to be loved, but he never let himself indulge in that, especially after the coma his sister, who had loved him despite him thinking he was mean and cruel, was in and later, her death. To him, he had lost value, he had lost what he was fighting for this entire time, and he had lost the only person who loved him even when he was 'horrible'. Until Yuuji told him he was still loved. That Yuuji loved him. That he wasn't alone.

And i think that's a damn shame that it was reduced to surface-level memes.

[sadcoms]

AU where Rose stayed with the Time Lord Doctor after Journey’s End and they start to argue more like they did in S1 because the Doctor is doing his “I never would” thing and Rose is now saying “but sometimes you HAVE to” which causes him to start down another Davros-inspired spiral about how he’s “turned her into a weapon” and she’s like...actually travelling across dimensions trying to fight eternal darkness brought about by a ton of genocidal aliens will do that to you regardless!

Because Rose was never for pacifism-above-all-else. The episode before Dalek Harriet Jones straight up says she’s a very violent young woman because Rose (not unreasonably) wants the Slitheen to be blown up after they murdered countless people. Same with the Nestene Consciousness - but the Doctor says he has to give it a chance, and that is what she mirrors back at him in Dalek. This is usually why the pair works, because if one doesn’t have mercy on or compassion for someone the other one usually will (eg Cassandra). That’s why Ten is even willing to give Davros a chance, though it’s exacerbated by a lot of guilt around the Time War, especially when it kicked off in-part because of what he did, and failed to do, in Genesis of the Daleks.

And that is what Davros never got - that Rose had already seen the Doctor’s soul and loved him anyway; that part of their souls are the same because they helped each other grow. And it’s the same for all of the companions this era, whether it’s Jack saying he never doubted the Doctor would kill him, or Donna seeing him murder the Racnoss and still regretting not travelling with him, or Martha (somehow) forgiving the Doctor for the year that never was and for everything he burdened her with.

Because I think what Davros and the Doctor came to see as him turning people into weapons was actually just people willingly taking on the burden he carried. Again, a lot of people sort of write Tentoo and Rose off as the dalek genocide couple, but what exactly was the alternative? Let them destroy the universe? The Doctor is a coward, any day, and that makes complete sense as a reaction to already bearing two genocides on his shoulders, but it’s also that cowardice that makes other people step up and be brave, which usually means sacrificing themselves, and the Doctor carries that too. That is why Martha gets the direct parallel to the Doctor with the Osterhagen key - both are willing to burn their planets to save the rest of the universe, and Martha already spent S3 being more like the Doctor than he was because he was so broken by grief. By Season 4, the Doctor is already so self-destructive and so self-loathing that only he, the "true" Time Lord, can be the arbiter of genocides and who can’t be. Even when it comes to Martha, or to another exact replica of himself.

(Never mind that he makes essentially the same decision the Metacrisis Doctor and Martha did again in End of Time when he sends Gallifrey back into hell, but hey, he got there in the end.)

And it’s one of the reasons why the Doctor’s so reliant on the Master. I’m not sure he would have gone to get his ‘reward’ had some of that weight of destroying Gallifrey again not been shared with another Time Lord. Ten does, ultimately, put humans on a pedestal and does his best to protect them even when they are willing to share his burden (note that Tentoo destroying the Daleks means Donna doesn't have to take on any of the burdens Rose or Martha did, so she stays the least militarised companion). He simultaneously wants that other Time Lord judgement while needing humans as another perspective.

All of this to say that, I think most people understand that Ten being with someone but especially with Rose would have stopped him going Time Lord Victorious, but they don't necessarily understand why. TLV comes from his desire to save everyone, because all the loss he's seen and has caused is too much. Not only does having Rose help soothe that, but she also specifically could have helped ground the Doctor back to where he was morally in the first two series, which is quite different from where he is by S4.

(Also The Next Doctor would have been an absolutely wild story for Rose and the Doctor to have gone on next. They arrive thinking they might have a fun Christmas and then they have to confront the fact that the Battle of Canary Wharf is still following them and how when they lost each other they lost everything. And how the villain in that is defeated by the Doctor showing her herself, which is what Davros tried to do the Doctor.)

[korizzybee]

TS&TS - chapter 1

Pairing: Percy Jackson x black!fem!reader

Synopsis: true fulfillment comes from finding a partner who complements and understands you, offering a safe haven to be your true self, regardless of external pressures or backgrounds.

Warnings: none, Y/N is daughter of Apollo, Y/N is the younger half-sister of Clarisse La Rue, sisterly love

Every day was the same for you. You’d wake up, get ready for the day, eat breakfast with your cabin, spar with your older sister, have archery practice with Chiron, get praised by your peers, sneak away to get some alone time, participate in capture the flag, have dinner, sit at the bonfire with your cabin, and then get ready for bed.

Here you are currently, getting ready for the day. Brushing your teeth, washing your face, doing your hair, the usual. You grabbed your bow, wooden bow with Apollo’s symbol engraved in it in gold. It was a gift from him. Many people at camp considered you lucky, to be given a gift from your godly parent was a great honor.

Though you didn’t care for it, you would rather have had his time than this gift. Other than the fact Apollo had it made for you specifically, the bow wasn’t anything special. If anything you hated this bow. You’ve tried burning it, that didn’t work. You’ve tried just getting rid of it on a quest, that also didn’t work since it came back to you a few hours later.

Clarisse tells you all the time that you should feel honored that Apollo had graced you with such a gift, even more honored that he went out of his way to bring you to camp yourself. You didn’t feel honored though, if anything you felt hollow. You and Apollo hadn’t spoken since the day he’d brought you to camp, he didn’t seem sad over the fact your mother had died that day either.

But why would he? Apollo was used to all his romantic relationships not working out, some of them even dying. So what makes your mother any different? That day, he was just making sure his precious little prodigy made it to camp safely. Couldn’t have you dying before you were able to spread your wings…no, can’t have that.

You sighed softly, softening your grip on your bow which you didn’t even know had tightened. Though it wasn’t surprising, thinking about your father always left a bad taste on your tongue. “Wow, you must really hate that bow.” Your half sister, Valerie said with a smirk, her arms crossed as she leaned on your bunk bed. “Is it obvious?” You asked sarcastically with a soft scoff.

Valerie was someone you found yourself being able to confide in if you needed to rant about your father. Clarisse wouldn’t ever be able to understand, she couldn’t. After all, she lived and breathed for Ares’ approval. Just a second of his attention would make her day. She would tell you about how some kids would kill to be in your position, they’d kill to be claimed at all.

She wished Ares had as many expectations for her as Apollo does for you. “You know you can’t escape this, right?” Valerie said as she walked over to you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “I mean, after all, it’s your destiny to become one of Apollo’s strongest children to have ever lived. Isn’t that what he said the Fates have bestowed upon you?” She asked.

“Yea.” You said. “Doesn’t mean I like it though, I mean, what’s so special about me? I’d rather not be claimed than have to be held on this high pedestal.” You tell her. She hummed. “Well, sometimes life deals the worst cards to its strongest soldiers because life knows we can handle it.” She said. “Sure. Let’s just head to breakfast.” I said, shrugging her hand off your shoulder as you left the cabin.

You made it to the dining pavilion and got in line, some nymphs served us our breakfast and we went to sit down at the Apollo table. You noticed some of your siblings’ faces drop when you showed up to the table, but you were used to it. You didn’t have many friends around campus, not because you were shy, but because you didn’t want to potentially leave any of them behind.

That was your destiny, become one of the greatest children of Apollo who ever lived, and then die in glorifying battle. You would die sacrificing yourself so another person could live and you wouldn’t be able to escape it. This part of your prophecy is not something you’ve told Valerie. No one knows this but you, Apollo, and the three Fates. And since no one knows this, many people either assume you’re stuck up and think you’re better than everybody or you’re just shy.

Apparently, your siblings, other than Valerie, see you as stuck up. If there was one thing you hate about Camp Half-Blood, it’s that you have to eat at your assigned tables during breakfast and dinner. If you didn’t, you’d probably be sitting by yourself or with your sister, Clarisse. Maybe even with Luke and Annabeth, they’re nice to you.

You feel like Annabeth and Luke can understand where you’re coming from. Luke’s the best fighter at camp, and Annabeth is Athena’s pride. They’re both held to high regards, destined for great things. You finished my breakfast quickly and discarded your plate. Since you didn’t have to make offerings to the gods until dinner, you just went to the shooting range.

You’d stay there for hours just working on your bow skills, even though you never missed your target. Your bow gripped tightly in your hand and you picked up some arrows that were lying on the ground. Shooting helps you clear your mind. If you felt like you were too stuck in your head and worried about your future, you’d just stay here for hours. And that’s exactly what you did today, stayed for hours.

“So, you’re just going to stay here all day and not come see me at all?” You knew that voice all too well. Clarisse walked up to you, her arms crossed over her chest and her dark brown curls blowing in the wind.

“Sorry, I was just thinking.” You tell her, lowering your bow as you turn to face her. She hummed, looking at the targets that were now covered in multiple arrows (some arrows even having arrows inside of them).

She walked over to the targets, touching the wooden arrows that stuck inside of them. “Definitely the work of a prodigy of Apollo, that’s for sure.” She said, her fingers grazing the arrows. You winced slightly at the word ‘prodigy’. She turned to look at you.

“Why do you hate being his pride so much? That means he’s proud of you and your progress so far. You should be happy for than anything.” She told you. You just shrugged at her words, you knew where this conversation was going. You hated every conversation you two had on this topic.

“I just…I want to feel like a normal kid, y’know? All this ‘being destined for great things’ isn’t who I am.” You tell her, looking down at the bow in your hands. It felt oddly warm, every time you looked at it, it started to feel warm.

“This may not be what you want, but it is who you are.” She tells you, standing in front of you. Her body was blocking the sun from your view. “You were born with talents many demigods could only dream of having, what I dream of having.” She tells you. And here she goes, starting her famous rant about how you should be grateful for the life that was bestowed upon you.

“You were blessed by your father since birth, he and the Fates saw your future. You would become a hero, one of the greatest children of Apollo to have ever lived.” She tells you. “You know how many kids here wish they could just be claimed? You don’t. You won’t understand, because Apollo brought you here himself.” She continued.

“Your powers are stronger than the rest of your siblings. While some can only shoot a bow or heal, you can do almost as much as Apollo can. Sure your powers are still far weaker than his, but you’re not just some average kid of the sun god either.” She tells you, she then put a hand on your shoulder.

“You don’t understand how much I wish Ares would give me that kind of attention.” She says to you. “I’ve been training every day, since I first got here, to be the ideal daughter of Ares and earn just a smidge of his approval.” And this is what you hate about this conversation. You hate the fact that she’s right, she always is.

You don’t have to work hard to earn Apollo’s approval, you know he’s watching you and that he’s proud of your accomplishments. You don’t have to wonder what his face looks like, you’ve seen it up close. You don’t have to wonder what his voice sounds like, you’ve held a conversation with him before. And even though you know she’s right, there’s just something inside of you that stops you from accepting any praise or recognition from Apollo.

You nodded. “You’re right.” You tell her, just like you’ve told her every other time you’ve had this talk. She pulls you into a hug, something she’d never do if there was anybody else around. Not because she’s embarrassed, but because she doesn’t want to be seen as ‘soft’ or ‘weak’.

“I just want you to understand and appreciate how lucky you are compared to the rest of us. I’m glad you don’t have to go through what I do.” She whispered to you. You hugged her back tightly, your fingers gently gripping her orange shirt. She pulled away a few moments later and you let her go.

“I know you’re going to do great things one day, even if you don’t think so.” She tells you. This is what you liked about Clarisse. No matter how many people at camp feared her or how rude she was to everybody else, she loved you. Her baby sister, the one person she knew she could feel loved and appreciated by no matter what. And it’s true, because no matter what Clarisse did, she would never be viewed as a bad person or a villain in your eyes.

“Thanks, Clarisse.” You told her, a small smile on your face. “Anytime, Y/N.” Just as she was about to leave, she turned around once more. “Oh, and be at sword training tomorrow. You won’t be able to use that special little bow of yours in every fight.” She says with a teasing smirk, one you’d grown accustomed to over the years.

“Doubt that, but I’ll be there tomorrow!” You tell her as she turned to leave once more. You sighed once she was gone, and turned and looked at the targets you were previously shooting at. “I’ve been shooting for hours now, maybe I should take a break.” You said to yourself quietly, walking over to the targets and taking the arrows out of them.

It was dinner time, you sat at end of the table with Valerie. “I heard that we got a new camper earlier today, apparently he killed the Minotaur.” She whispered to you. “Really?” You whispered back. “Are you sure he killed the Minotaur, I mean, it’s a little hard to believe since he must’ve not found out he was a demigod until maybe yesterday, right?” You asked her. She shrugged and continued to eat her food.

“You never know, maybe he had an adrenaline rush. That tends to make people be able to do a lot of crazy things they aren’t usually able to.” She said. “Well, how come I haven’t seen him around?” You asked her. “He was with Luke the whole day, and you left the shooting range after being there all day just when they were arriving.” She said to you. “Right…”

You both finished your portion of food and went to pour the rest in the fire as an offered to Apollo. “I saw him today, I mean we didn’t talk, but I got a good image of what he looks like.” Valerie said, scooping her food into the fire. “Yeah?” “Yeah, he’s only a bit shorter than you, and he’s got blonde hair and blue eyes.” She informed you. “He looks a bit scrawny as well. And he also sucks at almost everything here, you should’ve seen him when he tried to shoot an arrow. He almost took everyone’s head off their shoulders!” She exclaimed.

You chuckled at her words. “So the new boy sucks at almost everything? I wonder who his godly parent must be.” Valerie hummed. “I wonder if he’ll even get claimed…a lot of kids are growing up at the Hermes cabin without ever knowing their godly parent, I feel bad for them.” She said softly, voicing her concerns.” You nodded. “Yeah, I wish everyone could know who their parent is, it isn’t fair to them.” You said in agreement.

“Hey, look, he’s over there.” Your sister said, pointing over at him. When you looked over at him, you could see that he was already looking in your direction. For the split second that your eyes met, it was like you could sense something within him. It was like there was a strong surge of power inside of him that needed to be unlocked, you could sense that there was something special about him. Then he looked away.

It wouldn’t hurt to get to know him, right?