#shaky understanding of lore

[crazy56u]

It's late, I'm bored, I wanna ramble about a thing.

So, a while back, I did that thing again where I had an art commission made (shoutout @thenovika); it never got shared on here, but it was shared on other places. And I feel like talking about it a little bit, just for kicks. And also to share the deep lore that's been burning in my head concerning it, some of which might not 100% track, but fuck it, it's my imagination, and I decide the path it takes.

To start, said commission is this:

(shifting to "Read More" mode now)

Firstly, yes, this is using "Quantum Leap Jesus Painting" as a reference.

Believe it or not, this is the last time this becomes relevant in this rant; things are gonna deviate quick here.

Secondly, this post is mainly a (very long delayed) response to some people's interpretation of what is going on in the image; namely, that Julie-Su is dead.

This was never my intention... however, admittedly, my intention is somewhat worse. Essentially, the intrusive thoughts were angry.

Let me explain: For those unaware, in the Archie comics, prior to the Big Legal Kerfluffle that resulted in the SGW reboot, Rouge was, to be blunt, a self-serving bastard, and basically didn't give a shit that Knuckles had a girlfriend.

Later on in the comic, Knuckles was going through The Shit due to briefly being evil (long fucking story) and trying to "free" people from technology and shit, and decided after everything was said and done that he needed to self-isolate.

Fast forward two issues, and Knuckles decides to return to public life... mainly thanks to Rouge wanting to further an agenda (that I don't really think gets revealed, given how the comics soon quickly fall down a cliff in terms of #shenangans and #lawsuits).

And here is where the thoughts started getting loud; Rouge could've tried to have it both ways: Get Knuckles back in to the fight, and also keep him to herself.

After all, Knuckles did have a good reason to stay away from Julie-Su after The Shit happened...

Yeah, he almost did that; stands to reason he could be convinced to keep his distance... or, rather, be convinced Julie-Su wanted to keep her distance.

Here is where the real shit kicks into gear with how this plays out in my brain: In order to play both sides (and, this is important, there is a very small window of opportunity Rouge would have her to prevent Knuckles from properly reuniting with her), Rouge confronts Julie-Su privately shortly after The Shit and, upon pushing just the right buttons (basically insinuating to her that it was her fault Knuckles went through The Shit at all), Rouge manipulates her into having that long-awaited rematch between the two of them in a private location... where she basically wipes the floor with her (she can kick Knuckles' ass just fine, this wouldn't be nothing in comparison; plus, cybernetics can be shorted out, just a tip), and knocks her out (see the first image).

Now.

You may have noticed my decision to use the phrase "play both sides".

Well, that's because that was what I was thinking of.

As much as she wanted Knuckles for herself, Rouge wouldn't kill Julie-Su directly.

She'd kill the idea of her.

She'd take her home. To a familiar face.

Who is on the record not above screwing with Julie-Su's brain to get what she wants.

(Plus, it's implied that chip never came out...)

And now also has a new partner in crime to help make the transition process smoother.

And Rouge 100% would A) know how to contact Lien-Da, B) talk her into taking part in this plan, and C) turn a blind eye to it all after the fact.

So, yes, in a very warped sense, everyone wins.

Knuckles gets to start moving on from The Shit, no longer burdened with one of the biggest reminders of how deep that went.

Rouge gets her prize.

Lien-Da gets to clear the slate and start fresh with a new ally, and a new member of the Dark Egg Legion.

And as far as everyone is concerned, Julie-Su has left for greener pastures, for her own good.

Rouge wouldn't kill Julie-Su. Not directly. Too many lost resources that way.

...but maybe it'd be merciful the other way around...

[pyrriax]

hi tumblr i. cannot get a thought out of my head so take this little wip thing....

[ Image ID: A sketchy, grey-scale comic, reading from left to right. Zenith, a lanky, thin man with fox ears and a long tail walks toward the right, having an indistinct conversation with another character who isn't visible. His ears are tilted back, and his shoulders are raised; he's nervous about where he's going. A small triangular cut out on the top right shows Zenith's expression as he stops, he's looking down at something, and looks afraid. His ears are pinned completely back, and his mouth is open slightly in shock. There's a small dialogue box between this cut out and the next, reading in shaky text, "what the...". The next cut out is a trapezoid on the bottom right, almost connecting with the top. There's an indistinct person sitting on the ground, half-leaning against the wall with their head down. Their hands are cuffed together, and their legs are splayed. They've been hit in the head. There's blood on the side of their head, dripping down their face and onto their arms, as well as blood smeared on the floor. /End ID. ]

@my-little-versaille (in case you want to reblog it for your own storage purposes :3)

[ceramini]

✦ DAMN! YOU’RE SUCH A LOSER HEESEUNG

pairing 𐐪𐑂 heeseung (hes a loser) × hot!reader

word count 𐐪𐑂 approximately 0.9k words, 28 hcs

genre 𐐪𐑂 smut, fluff, crack, mdni 18+

synopsis ───── lee heeseung is the smartest dumbass you’ve ever met. hes annoyingly hot, painfully sincere, and completely deranged in his devotion to you. he sucks at sex, hyperfixates on nonsense, and has no idea how he pulled you, but he’ll do absolutely anything to keep you. hes pathetic, but he’s yours. <3

nini’s note 🗒️ this one’s been a long time coming. you asked. you screamed. you demanded I deliver loser!heeseung in his full dumbass glory, and I have. this is the boy who begs you to watch his favorite anime with him but doesn’t know how to ask properly. who thinks buying you snacks is a love language. who shuts down during sex because he’s so overwhelmed by how pretty you are. I adore him. I hate him. enjoy responsibly, likes & reblogs are very much appreciated <33 + lmk if u want the fics 💕

𓋜 if want to read something else, check out the ꕀ LIBRARY

DUMB IN BED BUT HES TRYING

loser!heeseung who has no clue what he’s doing in bed but insists he “knows what women like” because he read half a Reddit thread in 2017. He gets cocky real fast, but the moment you start undressing, he forgets what breathing is.

loser!heeseung who talks a big game, but the second you start touching him seriously, he stutters so hard he ends up apologizing mid-makeout. “Wait, s-sorry, I just—can we go slower? Or faster? I don’t know.”

loser!heeseung who gets hard embarrassingly fast. Like, one kiss to the neck and he’s already pitching a tent in those gross sweatpants he wears every day. He covers himself with a pillow, but it’s so obvious.

loser!heeseung who literally googled “how to eat a girl out” and made a whole annotated doc with bookmarks. He reads it in bed the night before seeing you and is so stressed about “messing it up” that he forgets to actually use his tongue at first.

loser!heeseung who goes down on you with his whole soul once he gets over the nerves. Like messy, shaky hands on your thighs, moaning while he figures out what makes you gasp. He takes it personally if you don’t come.

loser!heeseung who says the most pathetic shit during sex. Things like “you feel so good I think I’m gonna pass out” and “wait—wait are you close? Oh my god, are you gonna—oh my god.”

loser!heeseung who starts with missionary because he thinks it’s “safe,” but accidentally gets way too into it. His hair falls into his eyes, he’s biting his lip, moaning helplessly, and now you’re the one losing it.

loser!heeseung who cums quick but apologizes for hours. Texts you at 2AM like “i swear i can last longer next time 😞 please don’t think i’m lame.” You end up having to reassure him while he spirals.

loser!heeseung who needs to be coached into talking dirty. The best he manages at first is “you’re so hot i could die,” and then he panics and asks if that sounded weird.

loser!heeseung who gets hard again after you cuddle for five minutes. Pretends it’s not happening. Fails.

SOFT WHERE IT COUNTS

loser!heeseung who hyperfixates on a new anime or game and talks about it for days. You nod along lovingly while he info-dumps about lore you don’t understand, because he gets so animated when he’s excited.

loser!heeseung who has a rotating cast of dumb hyperfixation objects: currently obsessed with modding your shared Minecraft world, was deep into urban planning videos last month, and once spent 3 weeks only talking about frogs.

loser!heeseung who makes you playlists with weirdly specific titles like “songs that sound like you in the rain” or “if we were NPCs in a JRPG and i was in love with you but couldn’t say it.”

loser!heeseung who leans his head on your shoulder when he’s tired at his desk. Doesn’t even realize he’s doing it until you turn and kiss his cheek, and then he melts completely.

loser!heeseung who makes you ramen at 2AM and gets all shy when you compliment it. “It’s just instant, I didn’t really do anything,” but secretly smiles the whole time you eat it.

loser!heeseung who texts you “are you home safe?” the second you leave. Follows up with “ok gn 😴” and then continues sending you TikToks until 4AM.

loser!heeseung who gets weirdly quiet when he likes you too much. His confidence completely evaporates. He just goes all soft-eyed and fidgety like “um… do you want to stay over? like—only if you want to.”

loser!heeseung who makes you sit on his lap while he games but doesn’t focus on the screen at all. He keeps dying in-game because he’s too busy sneaking kisses to your jaw and whispering, “i’m gonna lose because of you.”

loser!heeseung who writes you little notes and tucks them into your things. They say stupid shit like “u looked hot today 🔥” or “don’t forget to drink water or I’ll cry.”

loser!heeseung who kisses you so sweetly it makes you forget how dumb he is. His lips are soft, he holds your face gently, and the second you pull away he mumbles, “I like you so much it’s actually insane.”

HIS BRAIN IS EMPTY, BUT HIS HEART IS FULL

loser!heeseung who is insanely good at rhythm games but can’t drive. Has 100% accuracy on Osu! but has never parallel parked in his life.

loser!heeseung who drinks monster energy at 9PM and then complains when he can’t sleep. Lies awake in bed like “why am I like this.”

loser!heeseung who doesn’t know how to fold laundry. Just leaves clothes in a chair and lives out of the pile. But your stuff? Folded like it’s sacred.

loser!heeseung who wears the same hoodie for 8 days in a row until you threaten to take it home and wash it yourself. (You do. It comes back smelling like you. He doesn’t take it off again.)

loser!heeseung who gets so intense about his hobbies that he forgets to eat. You have to literally put a snack in his hand like “chew this or I’ll break your computer.”

loser!heeseung who remembers everything you say even if he seems like he’s not listening. Mentions it randomly weeks later like, “didn’t you say your favorite flowers were tulips?” and you’re like HOW DO YOU EVEN REMEMBER THAT.

loser!heeseung who blushes when you compliment him. Full-on red ears, shy little laugh, won’t look at you for five minutes.

loser!heeseung who is so in love with you he doesn’t even know what to do with himself. He just stares at you sometimes like you’re something unreal. “I don’t get how you like me,” he whispers. “But I’m so glad you do.”

TAGLIST ───── @gxwesn @gyarumindd @somuchdard @ssanhwatto @jinxedly @seokjinthescientist <3 you can join my taglist through this doc! —> here

[togeblurbs]

Do You Miss Us?

Five Hargreeves x F!Reader - angst with a happy ending (yeah… happy ish ending)

synopsis: when you find out Five and Lila kissed, you don’t know what to feel. All you know is that you need to get away. Because it was one thing for them to kiss, and another to realize that in the time spent apart, Five Hargreeves may not love you anymore.

content/warnings: hints of anxiety, curse words, cheating, s4 spoilers, mentions of disassociation, morally grey characters, not lore accurate, not really canon, doesn’t focus on the plot moreso reader & fives relationship, lmk if i forgot anything

“Y/n, please,”

you continue walking, wiping away the incessant tears that stream down your face. you feel nauseas, and your chest hurts in a way that it pains you to breathe.

he catches your wrist in his hand, and you turn around, angered. “What? What could you possibly say that would make this better, Five?”

he looks distraught, if not more than you and the thought has your hands shaking in fury. for what reason did he have to be so upset? you weren’t the one who disappeared for a few hours - which ended up being seven years - and then kissed another person.

“I fucked up, I didn’t… You don’t understand, I was losing my mind.” he slips his hand from your wrist to intertwine your fingers, but you shake his grip off in disgust. he looks at you so brokenly at the action, you almost feel bad.

but then you remember her, and you feel the bile rise to your throat once more. “I don’t understand?” you say slowly, taking a step forward.

you point at him, “I think you’re the one who doesn’t understand. I knew some shit was going on between you two, with your secrets and odd glances. But I trusted you, Five. You know why?”

he looks at you with wide eyes, seeming almost unsettled by your outburst. “Because I loved you.” you whisper.

you huff out a laugh, shaking your head as you wipe the remnants of your tears. “But that didn’t matter in the end. You were alone with her for seven years, so it makes sense. I wish you nothing but happiness, Five. Even if it’s away from me.”

you turn, moving to walk again, but he crashes into you from behind and wraps his arms around you. “Please,” his hands are trembling where they rest on your stomach, and although you want to soothe him, you don’t think you are in the place to at the moment.

you take a shaky deep breath, before carefully untangling his hands from your torso. he whimpers pitifully at the action, and you have to stop yourself from giving in and drawing him closer.

you used to bring him comfort, give him love and make him feel safe; but it seemed it was not enough; because in the end he chose someone else.

you turn back around, “I need some time alone right now, Five.” you tug at your bottom lip with your teeth, ripping the skin. you don’t want to look at his face, so you choose to stare at the chipped paint on the wall.

Five lifts his hand for a moment, before dropping it. “Will you come back?” his voice has never sounded so childlike; as though he can’t bear the thought of you leaving and never coming back.

you swallow harshly, “I’ll come back.”

he nods, his own arms wrapping around himself.

“I just don’t know if it will be for you.”

you take a chance and glance at his face, hating the way your heart hurts when his expression crumples.

back in the room, you were so sure he was in love with Lila, but now you’re starting to doubt yourself. because if he truly felt something for her, would he really be crying in front of you right now?

you don’t know. you also don’t feel like you have it in you to make any assumptions.

you turn around, your back facing Five. “I’ll see you later. Don’t follow me.”

and with that, you walk out of Five’s life, unknowingly carrying his heart with you.

-

Five lays in a bed - not his, for years it’s never been his - and recounts the last seven years.

he remembers missing you immensely in the beginning. for the first three years, you were all he could think about.

and then his friendship with Lila began to grow. the time he wished to spend with you, he was now spending with her. it was odd at first, because the two were not close friends of any sort. but when you’re trapped in a different time-line, or different universe, you become allies with those you normally wouldn’t.

somewhere along the way, they had provided one another with the comfort they lacked from their significant others.

it wasn’t supposed to end up that way. it wasn’t.

but now Five can’t get the way you looked at him out of his head; it was like he physically shot you in the chest, or told you he didn’t love you. like he betrayed you.

he grasps at his own chest, curling up into a ball beneath the covers. he feels like he’s going to die.

and maybe that would be for the best. he’s lived a long, torturous life. with a nut-job for a father, siblings that were always thinking about themselves and a lover who he’d ruined everything with, what was the point of life anymore?

its been a month since Five had seen you, and the ache in his chest has yet to go away. he couldn’t find it in himself to eat, often laying in bed as Luther force-fed food down his throat in fear that he would truly pass away.

it’s just another late night, and Five takes the time to stare at the broken glass window as the sun begins to set. the only sound in the room comes from the clock, the constant ticks helping him disassociate and think about you.

he distantly hears the door creak open, but is too exhausted to look at who it is. he doesn’t really care anyway, because he knows it’s not going to be you.

“Five?”

he blinks slowly. it almost sounded like you, but he figured he was hearing things at this point.

“Five,” he feels a hand smooth over his shoulder. gentle in a way he’d only ever experienced with you. his head turns, if only slightly, and he catches sight of your concerned face.

his eyes widen, he forces himself to sit up even if his arms have little to no strength left. “What are you… what are you doing here?” he croaks.

you sigh, sitting on the edge of the bed. it’s far too away from Five, he wants to pull you in the bed and bring you into his arms.

“Should I leave?” you glance at the door for a second, but Five immediately grabs onto your hands and shouts, “No! No, please. Please stay.”

you look shocked at his outburst, nodding softly.

the silence in the room is deafening, but Five is merely happy you’re there. Seven years and then some apart from you was not easy, and after his last conversation with you, he knows he’ll feel unsettled until he makes it right. if he can make it right.

“I did some thinking.” you start, cautious.

Five watches you with fear, scared to hear your next words.

“I’m not angry anymore. I understand you went through a lot being trapped again, and I can’t blame you for falling in love with Lila since she was there for you. I do wish you broke it off with me before kissing her, but what’s done is done.”

your voice comes out stable, like you’ve thought it all through and are content to leave things as they are. but Five is shaking his head the moment you say the word love and Lila in the same sentence, because that could not be more far from the truth.

“Wait, please stop it,” he begs, seeming desperate.

“I understand why you might think that way, but I do not love Lila.” he feels lighter with the words being spoken. he’s been aching to clarify this the moment you found out they kissed, but hasn’t had the chance.

your brows furrow, and you pick at the cotton sleeve of your hoodie. “Um, I see.” you look so confused, he can’t help but move closer to you.

you look at him, body rigid. you don’t seem comfortable around him anymore, and the thought has him clutching his chest in pain.

“Y/n, I love you.”

you recoil immediately, and it prompts Five to reach out instinctively.

the words tumble out of his mouth, like he’s scared you’re going to run before he can finish getting everything out. “I haven’t stopped loving you, Lila and I.. when we, you know, it was a moment of weakness after losing you and being trapped again. I wished every day that I could see you, but I was stuck.”

you move to stand, and a part of Five’s heart breaks for what he thinks will be the last time ever. because if you walk out of this room, he knows he won’t be able to love again. you are it for him, and if he doesn’t have you, then he’d rather stay alone for the rest of his life.

“I’m sorry, I truly am. I understand if you don’t want to be with me anymore, but I need you to know that I love you.”

at the end of his little speech he breathes out, listening to his heart thump loudly in his ears.

it’s odd, he thinks. love has always been so painful, so destructive. but with you it was simple. it was calm, steady and soft. he wonders; he hopes, that he’ll be able to experience it again. after all, a healthy type of love was rare for his kind.

he watches you walk closer, reaching a hand out and placing it on his cheek. he leans into it, closing his eyes as he missed your touch immensely. you use the other hand to push his hair back, planting a kiss on his forehead.

his eyes shoot open at the feeling, and he stares at you in wonder. he begins to feel hope bubble in his chest.

“You love me?” you ask quietly.

he nods, “Only you. Only ever you.”

you exhale, shoulders drooping as you move to sit beside him. you wrap an arm around his waist and one on his neck, pulling him down as you lay on the small bed. his head falls to your neck, and he sneaks a small kiss in, hoping you won’t push him away.

“I can’t promise that i’ll forgive you completely. At least not right now. And I’ll probably hate Lila forever, but I don’t think I can walk away from you knowing you love me.”

you run a hand through his hair, feeling him nod into the space between your head and your shoulder. “I know, I completely understand.”

you pat his head gently, staring up at the ceiling.

“I love you too, Five. I don’t think I ever won’t.”

he rubs his face into your neck, and you feel something wet touch it. you card your fingers through his hair once more, cooing.

“Thank you,” his voice comes out shaky, but he hopes you hear the sincerity.

you shift the two of you until you’re underneath the covers, cradling him in your arms with his head on your chest. “Don’t thank me yet. I will be making out with Diego as revenge.”

Five lifts his head, “What?!”

sorry if this is ooc:>

[castielscaplan]

Misery in My Heart

Summary: Sam confronts you when he assumes you're sleeping with his brother.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, (but not really), angst, happy ending, miscommunication

WC: 1,088 Words!

Read on Ao3!

--

You could feel Sam's eyes on you. It had been happening for the last couple of days, ever since you started spending more time with Dean. You had to admit, there was something easy about the way Dean made you laugh, the way his presence seemed to make everything a little less heavy. It had been a few long weeks on the road with the Winchesters, and you just needed someone to talk to. You needed someone who understood the weight of what you all did—someone who could crack a joke to lift your spirits when it seemed like the world was falling apart.

But Sam... Sam hadn’t taken kindly to it.

You didn’t understand it at first. He was your partner in this fight, your friend, the person who had been with you through thick and thin. So why was it that whenever you spent time with Dean, Sam started pulling away? Why did he look at you like you were doing something wrong, like you were betraying him? It didn’t make sense.

The tension in the air was thick, suffocating. Every time you walked into a room, Sam’s gaze would immediately narrow. His posture would stiffen, his shoulders tensing as if preparing for something. The distance between you two felt like an insurmountable wall, and the more you tried to bridge it, the farther he seemed to pull away.

You tried to shake it off, telling yourself that maybe he was just having a bad day, that maybe the weight of hunting and the constant danger was getting to him. But as the days wore on, you couldn’t ignore it any longer.

It was that night when it all came to a head. Dean was sitting at the table, flipping through some old lore book, while you were on the couch, trying to relax after a long day. Sam had been in and out of the room, pacing, avoiding eye contact with you. Finally, you couldn’t take it anymore.

"Sam," you called out gently, hoping to break the tension. "Are we okay? You’ve been... distant."

He stopped in his tracks, his jaw tightening at your words. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, his eyes flicked to Dean, who was completely oblivious, too focused on the book in front of him to notice the storm brewing in Sam’s eyes.

"You've been spending a lot of time with Dean lately," Sam said, his voice colder than you’d ever heard it.

You blinked in confusion, wondering where this was going. "Yeah, we’ve just been talking, Sam. You know, just... having some down time. We’ve all been through a lot lately."

Sam’s eyes darkened. "You think I don’t notice, [Y/N]? I see how you look at him. The way you laugh at his jokes. The way you two seem so comfortable together." He stepped forward, his fists clenching. "I can’t believe you’d do this."

You froze, your stomach dropping as realization hit. "Sam, what are you talking about?" you asked, your voice trembling.

"I’m talking about you two!" he snapped. "You’ve been sneaking around behind my back, haven’t you? Spending time with him, laughing with him, while I’m over here trying to hold it all together, trying to keep things from falling apart, and you—"

"Sam!" you cut him off, standing up abruptly, your heart pounding in your chest. "I’m not cheating on you. I’m not doing anything behind your back! You’ve been acting like I’m doing something wrong, and I don’t know why. I’ve been talking to Dean, yes, but that’s it."

Sam’s eyes narrowed, the hurt in them cutting through you like a knife. "So, you expect me to believe that? After everything we’ve been through? You think I’m just going to sit here and pretend it’s nothing? It’s obvious, [Y/N]. You two have something. I can see it."

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as your chest tightened with the weight of his accusations. "No, Sam," you said, your voice soft but firm. "We don’t have anything. Dean’s my friend, just like you are. But you... you’ve been acting like I’m doing something wrong. Why are you so jealous? Why do you think I’d ever hurt you like that?"

Sam didn’t respond right away. His gaze dropped to the floor, his shoulders slumping as if the weight of his own doubts was too much for him to carry. "I don’t know," he admitted quietly. "I just... I saw you two laughing together, and it made me feel like I wasn’t enough. Like I was losing you."

Your heart shattered at his words. You took a few steps closer, your voice gentle now, trying to ease the hurt that had been building between you. "Sam, you’ll never lose me. You’re not losing me to Dean, or to anyone else. You’re the one I want. You’ve always been the one I want."

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with pain, confusion, and regret. "I’m sorry," he muttered, his voice breaking. "I should’ve trusted you. I should’ve known better than to let my jealousy get in the way of us. I just... I didn’t want to lose you."

You took his hand gently in yours, squeezing it softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "You haven’t lost me, Sam. You won’t. But you have to trust me. You have to trust that I’m not going anywhere. That what I feel for you is real, and I’m not going to hurt you."

For a moment, Sam didn’t respond. Then, slowly, he nodded, his hand tightening around yours as if grounding himself in the reality of your words.

"I’m sorry," he repeated, his voice barely audible. "I let my fears get the best of me."

You shook your head, lifting his chin so he’d meet your gaze. "It’s okay, Sam. We’ll work through it. But you have to talk to me. You can’t keep everything bottled up inside."

He sighed, his shoulders relaxing as he nodded again. "I know. I’ll do better. I’ll trust you."

You smiled softly, reaching up to cup his cheek. "We’re in this together. Always."

Sam leaned into your touch, his eyes softening. "I don’t deserve you."

"Maybe not," you said with a teasing smile, "but you have me anyway."

He chuckled lightly, his eyes finally warming as he pulled you into a gentle hug. And in that moment, you both knew that no matter how messy things got, you could always find your way back to each other.

--

//Please don't hesitate to reblog! //

[gyaruwrites]

could you do a romantic idia shroud hc thingy just about him listening to a reader who infodumps abt original characters/hyperfixations a lot? sorry if this is too specific!

AHHH… IVE HAD THIS IDEA FOR SO LONG BUT NEVER WROTE IT BC I THOUGHT MY AUDIENCE WOULD HATE IT!! 💕

pairings: Idia x Reader

Earlier stages of relationship implied

Have a good read 🌺

Idia is not one to judge, as he’ll also exchange his opinion if he knows of what you’re talking about. But even then, he would be a listener and nod along, the two of you exchanging information like greedy hamsters. The cool air of Idia’s room was rather relaxing as you sat on the bed whilst he was playing his game with ‘muscle red’. But getting bored wasn’t anyone’s favorite activity. In fact, it was your absolute dreadful nightmare, and while watching India play was fun.. it got boring after hours of not having his full attention. So when the next match came, you snatched the controller from his pale palms.

“okay, now it’s my turn to have fun!”

You declared as he stuttered and reached for the controller with shaky hands. But you swatted his hand away, as you used the controller to pull up your favorite show. The first episode playing as Idia sat beside you, hands playing with the sleeves of his Ignihyde hoodie. But as the second episode started to roll, you started to explain why it was so important that the main character is the way that they are.

Going all in on the lore and main message that the show meant to get across. Hands doing motions as you gesture and pull up evidence from your phone. His eyes widened ever so slightly as you mentioned something that referenced towards his favorite franchise. The two of you spending the rest of the night nerding out for similarities and differences between each other’s favorite franchise’s.

💕💕💕

A/N: sorry if it’s short, I have trouble understanding Idias character sometimes :( 🌺

[starrywilliams]

END OF DESIRE

sub!abby x reader

summary: abby hates distractions when she’s reading, but this distraction is very welcome.

notes: short bc i don’t have the motivation to write anything long…!!! i used the iliad for this bc she has it and it physically hurts me to not write as lore accurate as i possibly can

warnings: not proof read !!!! cunnilingus, fingering, (both abby!receiving), yeah it’s just kinda filthy idk…

nsfw under the cut!

leant up against the headboard was a trembling girl, fingers tightening around the faded paperback with all her strength. “keep going abby.” you whispered, “if you stop, i stop, okay?” you reminded her of the agreement, nails pushing gently into the flesh of her thighs, a small whimper falling past her lips.

she took in a deep and shaky breath, pushing the glasses back up her nose. “helen has nothing but her b-“ she gasped softly as she felt your tongue drag over her clit, earning a harsh stare from below. “b-beauty. and the charm it casts on all men,” another whine escaped her throat as you left small, wet kisses around the edges of her pussy.

“without aphrodite she would be n-nothing.” she stumbled over her words, struggling to focus with your touch between her sensitive thighs. “you’re doing so well, don’t stop.” you smiled, the incoming cruelty begin to pervade your consonants. “and aphrodite plays the same role on olympus as on ear- fuck!”

she whimpered as your tongue pushed into her, hips bucking off the bed. you slapped her thigh, reminding her of what she was supposed to be doing. “shit, sorry,” she apologised breathlessly, restarting the sentence. “and aphrodite plays the same role on olympus as on earth.”

she swallowed harshly, fingers quickly swiping over her foggy glasses so she could keep reading. she sighed as she felt one of your fingers replace your tongue, pushing deep into her. she met your eyes, understanding that you weren’t gonna move until she continued.

“she gives hera, who wants to diverttt-“ the word faded into a whine as you curled your finger inside her, her head hitting the headboard with a light thud. “baby, you don’t want me to stop, do you?” your coquettish voice had her squeezing her eyes shut, head shaking. “n-no.” she sighed, looking back down to the blurry pages.

“divert zeus’s attention from the battle so poseidon,” abby whimpered breathily, your increasing pace making it impossible to concentrate. “ so poseidon can help the archaeans, the breast-“ a second finger sinking inside of her aching hole cutting off the word midway through. “keep going.” your stern voice left no other option for the desperate girl.

“-band, pierced and alluring, with every kind of enchantment woven through it.” abby breathed in heavily, legs trembling over your shoulders. your fingers kept up their unforgiving pace, stretching her out in the best way possible. with each thrust inside her, she could feel her high getting tugged closer and closer - whines slipping off her tongue endlessly. but she was supposed to be reading.

“fuck, w-why did you stop?” she said, voice hoarse and desperate. between your vexed eyes, glaring up at her, and the disbelief lining your slight grin, it didn’t take long for her to piece together your reasoning. “i’ll keep reading, just-just don’t stop, please?” she rambled, slightly high-pitched in her frantic desire, pulling the book back up before her face.

“there is the heat of love,” feeling kind, you’d started again, the sound of her struggling to get out her words coherently far better than anything else. “the pulsing rush of longing,” you could feel the need rushing all over your fingers, she was fucking soaking.

“the lover’s whisperrr-“ abby whined, feeling your lips attach to her aching clit, tongue swiping over the swollen bud. “irresistible.” she stuttered, all attention drawn to the stimulation that threatened to envelop her entire body soon. but she knew better now, she had to keep going.

“madness to make,” her thighs were shivering around your head, pussy pulsing around your fingers, while a spare hand laced itself into your hair - keeping you as close as she possibly could. “the sanest man go mad- fuckfuckfuck,”

her hips were grinding against your face, incomprehensible noises spilling out of her throat as you continued to fuck her. “go on baby, you can do it.” you mumbled against her clit, feeling her tighten around your fingers within seconds.

“ohmygodthankyouthankyou-“ her barely coherent words slipped aimlessly out of her mouth as she gushed all over your fingers. you kept going, replacing your fingers with your tongue, tasting her desperately. when you tried to return to her clit, you were hastily pulled away, the sensitive girl shaking her head as her thighs snapped back together.

“you wanna keep reading? i can always get the-“ you started, stopping at the notice of her eyes - renewed with a fresh desire. “oh, okay.” you laughed softly, realising it was your turn now.

[vibingandsimping]

More random intimate positions/scenarios! Pt.2

Morally grey/villain characters this time!

Forewarnings: Dark content… including things like ownership, stalking, gore + obsession. Some pure fluff though :)

(I apologize for this being considerably longer compared to the others. I have been playing some more plus researching the lore. I feel more confident in my understanding of the characters and my writing.)

Gortash had his fingers wrapped around your chin as he beckoned you to look at him. You’re sat in his lap with your hands rested atop his shoulders. His expression is content with how closely pressed you are to his body. He could savor your warmth and read you so intimately. His brown eyes meet yours with a certain warmth laced in all the unwavering dominance. His lips quirk into a smirk as he watches your poorly built facade begin to crumble. His spare hand runs along the small of your back slowly… beckoningly. He'd be the hero of Baldurs Gate soon. He'd have all the power he dreamt of as a boy. Don't you wish to share that with him? His chest purrs when you keen into his touch. Good. He knew you could be a pretty thing for him. Such a formidable foe and he’d have you right by his side.

Minthara had her arms wrapped around your frame protectively. No matter how large or small you were in comparison. She was determined to hold you and plant some sort of reassurance into you. The way she regarded you was not that of any other. No, you were special to her and the woman realized it may not be so clear. She may be a cruel and a standard "drow", but beyond that there was an affection for you within her heart. She plants a kiss against the back of your shoulder-blades and it draws a shudder. Her muscles tighten around you as she presses her face into your shoulder, hot breath washing the junction of your neck and the flesh of your shoulder. You resist a second shudder. Unbeknownst to you, she’d follow you even if it was fruitless. Nothing was shaking her now that she was wrapped around you.

Orin's blade travels down your chest. It was gentle yet sharp... she wasn't particularly aiming to harm you but the thin streak of blood was enticing. The wound was so shallow it barely bubbled- just enough to alert her she broke the skin. Everything about the way she gazed at you was unhinged. You knew if she had pupils they'd be dilated. She draws her face downwards and laps at the tender flesh while you draw a shaky inhale. The whispers of praise and wishes for more barely reached your ears beyond the thrum of your heart. The slimy feel of her tongue worming it’s way up to your collarbones hitch your breath and you watch carefully. Each movement breeds more anticipation- she was soaking in your torment. She was wicked, truly, she devoted herself to you. You’d never understand her… but did you have to?

Ketheric’s hand laced with yours as you walked to his side. He was laid on his throne with open thighs as he acknowledged your presence. The man was aged and once a father. Well, technically still but Isobel regarded him with disowning. He long burned that bridge from his desperation and despair. You entered his life and turned things around. Everyone in Moonrise had never seen him so soft since he lost his daughter and wife. You took a seat on one of his thighs as he drew your hand to his face. His lips planted a gentle kiss on the back of your hand and then along your wrist. His beard tickled and caused you laugh, struggling against his hold as he stubbornly refused to let you go. When he finally did his lips were quirked upwards and there was a twinkling in his eye. He never thought he’d take a lover again… so he was glad when you broke down his walls. He’d once curse you for being persistent but now he’d praise you for it.

Raphael tugs on the invisible leash that was wrapped around your neck. You jerk forward on the bed as you kneeled with palms balancing you on the lush fabric. His wings were on grand display as his typically slicked hair tussled ever so slightly. Expression dark and expectant as you slowly crawled toward him. His brows furrowed as he tutted impatiently, a leg swinging out to hook around your thigh and jerk it underneath you. You collapsed as he drew you towards him with little patience. You now sprawled across his lower abdomen and crotch as his chest rumbles in amusement. Your skin burned with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment. The hold he had on you, literally and figuratively, elicited a deep part of your brain. One that wished so carnally to be claimed… to be owned. Raphael would see to that, he promised, with one hand stroking your hair. You were such a sweet thing… and if you weren’t so persistent he’d lock you up for himself.

Kar’niss thought of you as a blessing. Truly, a drider like him didn’t deserve such an angel. He was supposed to be punished for all eternity for his shortcomings. He failed once and will never see to being a normal drow again. That’s why it didn’t make sense for him to be rewarded- but who is he to look at a gift with ungratefulness? He always holds you so tenderly… his body shockingly cold. He’s restless today, you note, as his eight legs skitter and his hands curl at you. There’s a flittering look in his face. A hunger he tried to conceal. When you question, he answers truthfully, drider need to feed on blood to survive. Every four days or he’d succumb to weakness and eventually die an empty husk. You offer yourself and he checks you for any hesitancy before diving in. He pierces the flesh with his sharp nails before indulging in the crimson that flowed. Between suckles and licks, he praises you for your generosity. Endless ‘thank you’s’ flow as much as your blood. He’s sure he’d never fallen deeper in love… or was it infatuation?

Haarlep knew their affection for you was essentially forbidden. Raphael handed you as a toy to them. Nothing more and nothing less- they should regard you only for his entertainment. They somehow found themselves wanting to indulge in your mind rather than your flesh after some time. It was your softness that first stunned them and foiled their pure-desire. Raphael never touched themself with such… they could barely find the word. Gentleness? Regard? They’d lay with you after your shared bliss and inch their nails down the side of your hip as you detailed your life. With a hand propping their head; they seemed enchanted. Mesmerized by how simple yet complex of a creature you were to them. Haarlep was a succubus and spent their life serving that purpose. They almost felt jealous of the freedom you held in life. They couldn’t help but find themselves fantasizing a life where you two lived in better circumstances. It was all a fantasy, though, they knew it with a bittersweetness.

Durge had always watched you from afar. Stalking, following and admiring. You caught their gaze amongst the crowd as they deliberately chose their next victim. You would’ve been easy. You didn’t hold yourself with a particular air in the ranks of Baldur’s Gate. Another citizen lost to the crazed killings of a maniac. It wasn’t until you’d noticed you had a secret admirer did your hackles raise. You could feel a pair of eyes on you at the most inopportune times. Then, came the letters at your doorstep detailing how they defied their nature. You could’ve been another hung corpse but instead they wished to wrap their mind around your heart and their lips amongst your neck. A shiver ran through you… a mix of disgust and a strange intrigue? Surely it was the way the letters were so detailed and deranged. You would’ve ignored it all until the stalking emboldened. You saw their figure in the window at night and through the alleyways. It was only a matter of time before they struck and claimed you as theirs. You’d simply have to keep an eye over your shoulder and hold a dagger close. If you could even strike them, that was.

[ihopeinevergetsoberr]

playing with this bow (and arrow)

— chapter 3

author’s note: VERY suggestive (we’ll get there properly someday), but mostly sad again (everybody act surprised). i just wanted to drop some of their lore and make you understand viktor’s perspective. reader is NOT in a good place. you’re going to hate for that one. sorry in advance. also, there’s some context for you to look up at the end of this chapter (mostly music and czech shehanigans).

word count: 6,1k

—

Viktor’s first performance in London converged with the Velvet Divorce. It was an honest accident, a random calamity pulling ahead of his usual luck. His flight had been delayed, then cunningly cancelled altogether. Perfect timing, too. The thirty-first of December. Seven in the evening. 

He remembered staying at his closed gate, bitterly grinning at alliterative murmurs of the English—fellow victims to irresponsible airlines, furious in their mutual misery. He watched the commotion fray around him into flurries of ‘bollocks’ and ‘bloody hells’, greige trench coats billowing behind vamping legs like angry Victorian frocks (They weren’t seriously planning on landing in Prague in this? Do they even know it snows farther east?) 

He called the hotel and tried to get his room back. Everything was fully booked. He called, and called, and called, occasionally pivoting to assault the nearest trash bin with his cane. It achieved nothing but a huge dent in the shiny thing, and there it stood, distorted and guilty of failing to relieve his hardship. His back wept inside his sweater, sorely foretasting a long, tiring night in the waiting area: the flight he was transferred to wasn’t leaving until noon. Fitfully, he slept in his seat, stirring awake whenever a hoarse bullhorn made an eerie announcement, and Viktor swore to avoid holiday tours at all costs henceforth, no matter how seductive the pay might be. 

In the morning, he called home. Your drowsy sigh tickled the receiver, then thawed into a happy squeal when you’d recognised the brunt of his ‘good morning’, each weary consonant thick with nasal anger. 

“Happy New Year,” you chirped. “You’re divorced now.”

He cracked a staticky laugh. 

“Are you that mad at me for missing a holiday? I assure you, it was the least pleasant night of my life—“

“Oh. No, it’s not that. Slovakia divorced us. Amicably. Or, rather, we did? Anyway, we’re a republic now. Isn’t that crazy?”

And crazy it was, in a way. Because later that day, as he lay crammed chest to chest with you in the confines of white linen, the hum of planes and buses still stiffening his thoughts into incoherent lumps of consciousness, not the faintest inkling of forthcoming misery could languish the treacle of those reveries—the mundane all stupefied by your hair in his wincing face. For now, they were beyond his reach, those years preceding a separation of his own, albeit not nearly as amicable and definitely not velvet. Stuck in London once again, this time in September and by reluctant choice, Viktor contemplated splitting into republics. Oh, the conniving history and its stupid recurrence. Or maybe he just ought to stop performing in England. He always seems to run out of luck in that country. 

He’d rather be in Brno—ideally, in that dreamy version of it from the portentous year of Orwellian dystopia, back where taking what’s his is a nascent notion of a shy, thin-lipped thing crumbling agape on another’s wet, welcoming mouth; where the first, firm twine of shaky fingers is its polite predecessor. I hope I’m not overstepping—I really hope you are. I can’t do anything to you until I receive a ʼyesʼ—Does ʼpleaseʼ suffice? You’re spoiling me—I’m merely treating myself. Oh to fall in love in Brno again. A yearning half-coherent. 

He’d met it as a first-year at JAMU, in Music Theory. Boldly, it banished the triads and chord progressions from his wits and startled him with a cloying, magnolia-scented nape in the row beneath. And what a cunning absconder. What a taunting, salacious whiff. Every week, it peeked out of your collar like a darling curse of late-season heatwaves indulged in a flimsy dress. That did it for him. He’d lasted—no, toiled—through three redolent Wednesdays (ironically enough). But even Viktor wasn't immune to the medley of skin and perfume. 

As the class got dismissed, he’d chased you down through the rustling of briefcases and hurrying musicians, reached an adroit hand and tapped-yanked on your back, pliant skin recoiling under his polite grip. You turned around—petulant and audacious, an accusation already germinant in your throat. He remembered it graphically: your brisk scrutiny of his face, the defensive pout, his hold of you gaping open and scurrying away. He used to keep his hair neatly cut back then. Yours was always in updos, teasing sweet swivels of skin. His speech was more opaque, frankly—a tad pretentious. Yours was expressive, excited with aspirations. He dressed smartly on an everyday whim. You did so too, albeit more effortlessly. He savored them—those last quizzical seconds spent as ambitious strangers, and wondered what you saw in him just then: a day short of nineteen, obstinate and so very lofty. Must’ve been a brisk affair. A sincere friendship. A sexually frustrating challenge of tainting a precocious pianist. Or, maybe, precisely what had evolved from it all: the beginning of a twelve-year-long journey yet to be over with.

You spoke first. “Do I know you?” He faltered with his answer, clumsily tripping over his cane: someone had struck him in the shoulder running out of the lecture hall, and he pivoted just in time to restore his wavering balance, glaring after their rushed apology. You glared with him, and the grievance became mutual—a strange, fleeting comfort. He smiled. 

“Watch your step, asshole!” You yelled and hoped that it reached the intruder. And reach it did: more distant sorries were thrown your way, ceasing in the doorway at last. 

“Oh, there’s no need for profanities,” Viktor was laughing now—a creaky, throaty sound. Your attention was all his again—ruminative, foolhardy, daring eyes scoping him from tie to forehead. “There’s nothing a little violence can’t fix. I’ll return the blow next time.” 

“Of course. Nip it in the bud. Make sure you aim for the throat.” 

“Certainly.” 

“Right. Sorry, did you want something?” 

“Actually, yes. What perfume are you wearing?”

“Why, is this for your girlfriend?”

“No, I would never subject a significant other to that scent. My babča, on the other hand…” He bit his tongue, tiresomely late. The conduit from clever to insulting has been crossed, and the damage was staring at him askance, irretrievably furious, white-cuffed wrists pressed tightly to the plaid decollete as if aching to do him in right there, in the classroom. “Excuse you?”

“Oh, I came with a qualm. I’m terribly sorry”— he wasn’t; well, not terribly—“but that scent is nauseating. Terribly floral. I could barely concentrate on the augmented chords sitting behind you.“

“Then find a different seat.”

“That’s impossible, I’m afraid. By the time I get here, it’s the only vacant spot. Well, except for the one right next to you, but I prefer to stick to the lesser evil.”

You snuck your partiture under an armpit and swung hard on squeaky heels; thrifted vintages tapping out a languid drollery. Not rejecting, but not quite beckoning either. But his cane consorted, and into the hall they clicked—the first one of many pieces you’ll play together. 

“Who do you think you are?” A mean susurration. But your pace was bereft of hurry. Thorough, wide, anything but hasty: you made sure that he could keep up. 

That posed a meddling. Viktor smiled again. “Nobody. Just a mere mortal begging you to take it down a notch.”

“Why would I care for a mere mortal’s request?”

“That’s fair, I suppose. I shouldn’t have articulated it so crudely. You smell lovely, just a tad… excessive. What I’m trying to say is—“ he chewed on his cheek, a sweet, bashful thing, “I’d like to keep looking at you without having to feel like I’m in a funeral home.” 

His severe case of smartassness was peeking through every syllable—the kind of speech you want to dissect into minutiae, preferably by taping it for future reveries. You turned around and stared past him into the hall, an upright competition of who blinks first. Fellow aspiring musicians kept shuffling around, jubilant, ever so busy, each one scurrying to their classes or band practices. You, too, should’ve been headed upstairs to set up for Elgar with the orchestra. But you craved a revanche. Some quaint, reversed jab. All the while simply revelling with him not-quite-tête-à-tête in the humming not-quite-silence. 

Both backs clung to the wall and straightened against it, let the mildewy cool creep under your smart clothes. Both chests heaved post-cigarette-break-like (both pairs of lungs have dabbled before, you were sure of that), and there you stood—shivering, canine-flashing, heads thrown back in your first shared laughter. 

“I’m so sorry,” Viktor stumbled over a guilty smile, pretty fingers shaking against his forehead. “I don’t know why I’m like this. I should’ve complimented you first. Oh, this is a disaster…”

“You’re funny,” you managed through a faulty rasp, and he emulated with a finishing chuckle of his own. “Funeral home, huh?” You drew a breath. “That’s a first.”

“Truly?” He turned to you in a clumsy half-lean, and another staring contest followed—less dispute, more incredulous. “Does your cohort lack the sense of smell, or are they just being polite?” 

“Neither. My ‘cohort’ consists of me and an inanimate object.”

“Inanimate?”

“Yes. It’s just me and my cello.” 

“Interesting. Would it care for a playdate with my piano?”

“It depends. What’s your repertoire?”

“Oh, let’s see. Schumann. Some Fauré, but I haven’t practiced that Élégie in a while. Chopin, of course. Some Debussy, if we’re feeling sensual.” 

“Hm. Versatile. And your name is?”

“Viktor. Viktor Knirsch.” 

“Right. Fine, Mr. Knirsch. Pick me up after orchestra practice in about three hours, and I’ll see what I can do for you.” 

And so it began. The invariance of ardent rehearsal rapidly progressing into circumspect touches atop the partiture; their labile austerity—a swing from subtle to intentional, fingers delving into lower backs innocuously at first, then steadily inching southward. More shared laughs interspersed with each mishap—dissolving defensiveness, unraveling the innermost. Reserving an evening for duets in both tight schedules. Then another one. And another. Until they’d become extracurricular and branched out into dorms, streets, his parents’ house, every desolate room of the Academy, and, of course, the movies (albeit often illegally—sneaking in was too adventurously frugal to pass up on). All of it commonly threaded by a game of who manages to confine a confession longest. 

But of one, Viktor is certain: his favorite version of you is forever the prodigious first cello with a penchant for Saint-Säens and an opinion on just about any repertoire—the stern girl unfurling her audience’s ribcages to steal shaky heartbeats (or souls, for all he knows). She reads ambiguous fiction and plays Lacrimosa to bed, eating apricot Hamé with a silver spoon he’d nicked for her from the flea market. “Sleep is a trial of death,” she says, licking the stolen trinket, “If I absolutely must adhere to it, I’d rather it be sweet and with a decent accompaniment.” She always loses against him in checkers and renders adorably testy, wraps him in her arms like a headlock, and promises to ‘get you next time’, but when the next time comes, she blunders a triple jump within a couple of moves. She likes everything crescendo: her voice, her step, but, more importantly, her music. She throws her head back performing The Swan with him and becomes swan-like herself: her neck—arched and elongated, her shirt—crumpled white with jam speckles. She aces every subject and teases him for having aced his with a two-point lead, and there she is, just beneath him in the list—not yet Knirsch, but already half-his and willing.

She has her moments, of course. Such as concerningly long rehearsals resulting in open wounds on her fingertips. A strange, self-inflicted treaty of banning herself from going to bed until she’d studied her two hours of music theory. An even stranger aim to please every examinee, which, when not met, resulted in a sobbing stunt. But we all have our vices. For her, it is, evidently, the cello. Surely, there’s nothing wrong with being a tad overzealous? She just really loves what she does. 

That was a summary of year one, both as music students and bashful eye-fuckers. But also, eye-kissers. And eye-I-want-to-know-you-body-and-soul’s, too. That one was omnipresent. And evident. 

Which led Viktor to be braver in year two, after an entire summer break spent in your absence. Being in Brno without you didn’t feel right anymore: playing Debussy on his own was now daunting, practically inconceivable. So was longing to challenge you, when the Music Theory professor would inevitably drift into irrelevance, to a discreet game of checkers. He missed classes, annual solemn concerts, exams, and performances. But, more importantly, he missed your drunken attempts at kisses and hushed secrets spilled alongside cheap cherry wine onto your favorite comforter. From I can’t stand baroque to I feel safe around you. He’d call you every night, rambling on about his July boredom, his side-kick at a local jazz-bar—anything and everything you were missing out on by spending the summer break in your hometown, and you hummed along, an excited, darling reciprocation—always so very happy to tell him about your days, nights, and reminiscences.

“I’m so glad you used to smother yourself in that mortuary-esque perfume.”

“Are you, now?”

“Yes. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have met the most fascinating person in that entire Academy.”

“Do I not possess other distinguishing features? Only that tart smell?”

“Of course you do! I was trying to be romantic—“ 

“You could start by giving me a proper compliment for a change.”

“I compliment you all the time.”

“Really? Jog my memory.” 

“You’re the most talented cellist of our generation. Everybody is besotted with you, and I might just be the most lost cause of them all. Your dedication is precious.”

“Just my dedication?”

“…You’re also incorrigible, but I keep enduring it for your sharp wit and beauty.” 

“See! There. Beauty. That’s what I’d like you to elaborate on.” 

“I’m not talking dirty to you on my parents’ phone. Good night.” 

In August, he cracked and asked you to come to Brno. His greed was biblical, endearingly so: he wanted to spend those last weeks of scorching boredom with you all to himself. So what if the dorms were closed for summer? You’d reside in his room. His parents didn’t deem that an inconvenience: if anything, they were thrilled to witness him finally fall for something that wasn't eight dozen piano keys. Money wouldn’t be an issue either: you’d do fun improv at his smokey jazz bar as a duo. Everything could be taken care of if only you pretty please came to indulge him. 

He had to beg into the receiver for precisely five minutes. You had your answer by the time he’d uttered his first please, yet couldn’t resist a tease. Cruel? Perhaps, but did it really matter when you bid farewell to your family after putting the phone down, and fled to the train station like the lovesick fool you were, having packed just your cello and some clean clothes? In a few hours, you were throwing your arms around his neck in a deliberate, finally sober kiss, and your life outside him and Brno mattered no longer. You were a voluntary victim of young, all-consuming love, its onslaught nothing but wispy, drunkenly overbearing. And you liked being a goner. There’s nothing like falling casualty to obsession, both musical and romantic. You took the jazz bar job. His parents were happy to see you. Everything foretasted three weeks' worth of bliss, tiring rehearsals, timid walks, and first, loutish attempts at sex. 

That last part used to be a tad tricky. Later that night, Viktor engrossed himself in big, gentle handfuls—a tad shaky at the fingertips, somewhat jumpy at mutual clenches of teeth, but the imagery was impeccable: you, in your naked glory at his disposal, stuffing his face full of breast, skin, and open legs. Feline-like grins growing loose around plush earlobes, aureoles, and thumbs. Moans—raspy, titillating and hushed (at times not so much, more so paired with the bed’s squeaking). Going steady, coming hard, gasping sweet. Concealing plum evidence with insufferable wool turtlenecks (a true summer torture) and cheap makeup much too warm-toned (eighties be damned). 

“Would you look at that,” you’d pant afterwards, draped in sweat and bedsheets, all tangled legs and not-so-bashful flush. “You never frown upon debauching me at your parents’ house, but talking dirty on their phone is where you draw the line?” 

He’d smile into his nuzzle against your neck, teeth just shy of a reproaching bite. “It’s a continuum. You, coming here—“

“Coming for you.” 

“Precisely that, yes. You, coming here—coming for me, always weakens my restraint.”

“Was it ever there to begin with?”

Or, sometimes, he could be a vulnerable thing. His arms around you like a trembling headlock, his face a pained scowl hidden against the pillow. You’d tend to him, then. Prying his mouth open to push in a bitter painkiller, sitting nose-to-nose as he’d stumbled over a cramp. Listening to his copious sorries while wishing to hear none, rubbing his sore limbs, tracing his vertebrae, kissing his damp temples. 

“This is torturous,” he’d hiss, leaning against you. “I’m sorry,” (you’d roll your eyes here, passing him a glass of water), “all this… must be such a mood-killer.” 

“It’s not. You, apologising for it, is.” 

“I’m sor— Eh.” 

“Viktor—“ you’d cup his face, matching his frown. “Quit it. The only unfortunate thing about this is your pain. I’ve seen your episodes before. Nothing to be ashamed of.”

“Of course, but during… sex?”

“Oh please. I had an ex burst into villainous laughter when he came. Nothing can beat that one.”

“Mmm. Maniacal laughter, you say? Is that why you left?”

“That, and his penchant for being whipped with my bow. I got tired of having to buy new ones. Those things are expensive.” 

“Really? Now that’s inapt. I was just about to suggest a similar endeavour.”

“Calm down, Casanova. Let’s deal with your flare-up first.” 

After that, Viktor was insatiable. Not physically, but rather emotionally, as if fuelled by closure. He wasn’t giving up deciphering your soul. He merely intended to pay even more attention to the body to better prove his devotion. 

Your return to the dorms in September didn’t dilute that debauchery. Sex became solipsistic. There existed no one but you two—perpetually tangled up, beautifully wretched. A tad voyeuristic at times. Between rehearsals, performances, and classes, he’d look for darling opportunities to confess his love in ways involving hands, tongues, and other appendages (although verbal confirmations and dates were omnipresent, too). The entirety of your second year as music students was spent on all kinds of surfaces. The stage, of course: talented students became concert musicians and started making money. And then, a more ambiguous list: beds, floors, desks, kitchenettes. A grand piano once. Wherever Viktor could manage. Wherever the audience receded. Although the risky grand piano incident remained a favorite. 

He remembered taking you apart on the keyboard, the weight of your limbs hazy with thrill. His only witness was the piano lord himself: Beethoven’s strict eyes were staring down at you from the wall, his portrait a stern, judgmental thing. 

You sprawled across the lid and stretched your arms out—let the hot, naked swivels spill out of your bralette, tense calf a hearty quiver over Viktor’s scrawny shoulder. He put his lips to your thigh and licked his way up, sleazy tongue inclining towards obscenity. You peeled your eyes and smiled at Beethoven, head cocked back in a filthy moan. The incipient jab was tickling at the back of your throat, then forced its way out with a chuckle. 

“You scandalous little prick!” You chimed, grabbing Viktor by the nape. He pulled away, slick-mouthed and reluctant. “Pardon?” 

You laughed—a full-blown, silly spurt. “You told me we’d be alone here. Look up.” 

Viktor obliged. He tilted his chin—peevishly, with an eye roll. “Ah.” He grinned. “But he’s too high up to get a good view.”

“Yes, but we’re both rather vocal.”

“Respectfully, milackú, the man is deceased. Not to mention deaf. I don’t think he cares either way.”

Those were his dear interludes. They lingered, flimsily, throughout your entire long-cycle Master’s program, and became concrete as more years went by. You quit spending summer breaks at home. Viktor had had enough of lonesome hot months. He fancied that loop no more. After graduation, he found the Veveři apartment and offered to merge solitudes for the humble price of five hundred korunas split in half—the bed in his childhood room had become much too squeaky from four years of discreet debauchery. The only remaining question was one of marriage. Breathlessly, it was posed a year into your doctorates, amid a long Chopin rehearsal. Breezily, it was accepted right that instant. 

After five years of overgrown puppy love, on the fifth of June, 1989, you were privately wed in the helpful presence of random witnesses—some big-eyed first-years plucked from the orchestra practice. A romance consummated. Happily ever after coming through.

Unless. An ever-inconvenient conjunction. 

Viktor didn’t like peeping at your coarseness through the cracks in his rose-lensed glasses. Frankly, he didn’t want to admit there were any cracks to begin with. Even franklier—he’d hoped you’d be just as rouge to his naked eye. 

But rejection is merciless. It flaunts one’s rage as it is—unabashed and belligerent; all smeared angry makeup and puffy lids sizzling with damp salt. 

He’s seen your tears before. He’d kissed them off and let him pinprick his fingers; he’d held you through it like a man who mourns along—faithfully, as he should, with but a sparse sigh. You’ve shown him raw before. You’ve even shown him angry. You’ve shown him every madness in the book—but not quite like that. That one was truculent. Sibilant. It didn’t just add a crack to his lovesick glasses. It had shattered them right on his nose bridge and plunged tiny shards into hollow tissue. And, for the first time ever, you weren’t there to clean the wounds.

It happened three years into your doctorates. The dissertations weren’t due for another few months, but the household’s ambience had already shifted stonewall. Both of you spent your days elbows-deep in research: you—examining styles of the cello repertoire over the current century and rehearsing to teeth-grinding frenzy, Viktor—inventing efficient piano-teaching strategies for undergraduates. Except he genuinely enjoyed the research bit. The disheveled scholar-pianist looked and acted the part. And you? Well. You were slowly losing your mind.

Your supervisor despised the paper. Every single time you’d retrieve your submitted draft, an infinitude of evil, red-ink corrections were staring back at you like a torturous eye-sore. Chapter four had to be rewritten yet again. You bought a pack of cigarettes for the first time in a decade and bled academic word-vomit onto the typewriter. A bow-harakiri never seemed quite so seductive. 

And Viktor? Barely any edits whatsoever. Just praise, and brown-nosing, and friendly brunches with his professors—like he’s already in on the joke. Like he’s already a peer. 

At first, there was shrinking. Away from him, his touch, and his pale, fellowly eyes loving you across the room. An execration. Of kind smiles sent back as bitter sulks; of a cruel accretion of your side of the bed towards the very edge. A jealous pit permeating throughout. No, you didn’t want him to fail. You merely wanted to be seen the way he is. Yes, he is skillful. Yes, he is passionate. Indeed, his research is tremendous. But so is yours. Arguably, even more so. You had to suffer for it while he sat there, soaking in his knowledge so naturally. Surely, that counts for something?

Viktor was patient with you. And you detested it. You’d bury yourself in papers, trying not to think of his big, confused eyes in the bedroom—so lonely in their morning drowsiness every time they’d find your side of the sheets already cold and dentless. He’d get in and out of bed to the static of your typewriter in the kitchen. It didn’t bother him. He’d simply hoped you would complete your work in time. He craved your touch in confused silence, and brought you warm meals amid fervent writing sessions. He’d attend your every concert, and ask to assist you every time you rehearsed at home, abandoning his own dissertation to become your accompanist, even if only for a flimsy hour. It reminded him of your early JAMU days, of the summer jazz-bar job and the timid walks following suit. He’d throw sheepish glances from his stool, envying the cello for the sheer way your hand curls around the fingerboard. He never probbed. He assumed you might be much too on the rack to aid his predicament.

It was the day of your final appointment with a supervisor. With a croak, he emerged from the piano as his wristwatch ticked a quarter to five; his world a black-white smear of keys, letters, and iron-deficient whatnots from sedentary days of editing his paper and learning a capricious Chopin piece. And yet, he limped to the kitchen, popping a quick supplement into his mouth—his tread a timid struggle of clumsy feet tangled in his pajama pants. 

Your keys jingled in the lock precisely when he’d poured the milk into your tea—a wobbly, light meniscus, just the way you like it. It drew a smile, one praising his adept timing. It didn’t linger. Your footsteps shook the liquid, startling him half-turned over his shoulder. 

Shambles. That’s what he gasped at. Of coal-like tears rolling into open mouth as you choked on a sniff and wiped wet, greyish hands to a paisley shirt. The briefcase wept yellow papers onto the parquet. Viktor dropped the stolen silver spoon into a cup.

“Milovaná—“

“She hates it!” 

He felt an eardrum contract—the nasty ricochet of your scream had bounced off the wall straight into his head. Then came a jumpy sequence: groping the air for his cane, finding the loop of your elbow, dragging you down into the squeaky chair over a wreck of hoarse sobbing. “What do you—“

“She hated it. All of it. She’s never had so many issues with my fucking dissertation before—“ You mumbled through a napkin stuffed against your nose, folding it in your hand like a crumpling onslaught. Viktor pried a fresh one into your grip and watched it face the same fate, rubbing his nape to redness in a nervous lean forward. 

“Please, slow down. How do you mean, hated? Wasn’t she notorious for her grievances as is?”

“Oh, thanks for reminding me I can’t do a fucking thing right!”

Viktor sulked. His fingers slipped off your wrist and retreated to his lap, twitching into a meek fist. 

“Please, don’t insult me. I’m not your supervisor. Just tell me what happened.”

“Basically, my work holds no value—it’s not innovative, painfully dull, and devoid of relevance. It reads more like an essay on a niche favorite subject. She doesn’t get what on earth I want my PhD for.”

“The audacity of that woman!”

“Oh, there’s more!” You scoffed. “She said that I’m a hopeless scholar. If I’m that interested in cello repertoire, I should just stick to being a concert cellist—apparently, there’s nothing else to me.”

“Sakra, we should report her. That’s unacceptable. I’ve proofread your dissertation many times—it’s brilliant. Beautifully put together—“

“You’re my husband, Viktor. Of course you would say that.”

“I’m not biased in the slightest. Don’t you think I’d tell you if it were unsatisfactory?”

“I don’t know, would you? Wouldn’t it feel great, being the first, and, possibly, only one of the two of us to get a doctorate?”

At that, he recoiled. The next napkin didn’t make it to your hand. It stayed in his fist, disintegrating into curly flakes, and there he sat—frowning, in disbelief, hollow cheeks sucked in as if scathed with horror. The silence thickened. A passing tram screeched somewhere nearby. 

“What are these accusations.” He found his voice, strained in the statement-ish travesty of a question. Like his tremor got his vocal cords, too, and he had to relearn using them all of a sudden. 

Unfortunately, you were well-versed with yours. Perhaps, even a tad too much. 

“Oh, please.” So sybillic. So nefarious. You threw the tear-soaked napkin into the bin and dropped your weary head into your palms, taking a stance so sorrowful that Viktor gulped in quizzical impatience. “You’re a brilliant musician.”

“So are you.” 

“Perhaps, but your dissertation is flawless. Flaw-less, Viktor. And you haven’t even lost your mind over it.” 

It was his turn to scoff. “Since when is one required to go mad over a doctorate?” 

“Since forever. But not you. You’re a natural.” 

Another tram screamed on the rails—plangent, like an alarm. The draft plunged through the window, billowing Viktor’s hair into angry stakes. You still sat Socrates-like, weeping into your fist. 

“Are you implying that I’m not working hard enough?” He whispered, dry-throated, and hoped that you didn’t mean it with all his might.

“Of course not! I’m not implying that. I’m just saying— Oh, fuck!” You groaned, peering at him through spread fingers. “You’re a great concert pianist. You have that contract in Europe. You’ll be playing Schubert in the fucking London Conservatory later this year. And, on top of that, you’re a great researcher who’s definitely becoming a Doctor anytime soon. And I’m happy for you—because of course I am—but it’s not easy. Working yourself to sleep deprivation, nervous tics, and utter exhaustion while your husband just gets to enjoy the process!”

“Are you… jealous of me? Is that it?”

“No! I’m happy for you!”

“Are you trying to fool me or yourself?”

“Viktor, I just want some recognition. I deserve a doctorate, too.”

“And you will get it. Your supervisor does not represent the committee’s opinion. As for recognition—“ He cleared his throat—you could tell it was getting harder for him to breathe. His speech was getting opaque—a sign of utter helplessness. “You already have it. Even an ignoramus who can’t tell a cello from a double bass knows your name. Your private lessons are any first-year’s wet dream. You are going to Europe next year. You are well-known, you make good money, you are talented. Where is all this coming from?”

You hitched a breath and plowed a gnawed-off nail over your cuticle, watching the scab unravel into a glistening bloody stripe. “I just want to be good enough. Is that too much to ask?”

Viktor averted to the ajar window. The city finally stopped screaming. 

“No,” he whispered, as if addressing the sky, “you want to be a natural.”

“Oh, I didn't mean it like that! Am I to be reminded of that heat-of-the-moment thing forever?”

“Yes!” He snapped, and so did his neck-joint, pivoting in a stare so dagger-like that your knees buckled in. “My wife just admitted to a plethora of concerning circumstances, how do you think that makes me feel? I thought I knew you, milackú. And this suggests anything but!”

You lurched for him, but your sleeve got caught in the crack on the lacquered table, pulling you backward and tearing the cuff in half. By the time you’d spewed another profanity and sprang up, the thumps of his cane had already merged with a door-slam. The flea-market spoon loudly clanked against the rim, and a splash of milky tea spilled all over the countertop. You drank it anyway. It tasted of lukewarm tears. 

Later, there would be apologies. Heartfelt, whiny things pressed to pulsing temples alongside bashful kisses—a convalescence building up on word and touch. Semantics were powerless on their own. The matter demanded physical backup. Unfilthy, sincere, adroit. The tagline of every good redemption. And more tea, of course. This time, without salt. 

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered into his hair, tickling a quivery breath into his scalp. “What was I even thinking?” He curled into you like a missing piece, tucking himself somewhere between chin and sternum, and the blow was returned lower—sheepishly, to your neck, in a tender kiss implying repentance. His sweater shuffled along. 

“You need help, milackú,” he croaked. “Promise me you’ll get help.” 

“I promise,” you swore—the first one of many lies. So many firsts to consider. He might’ve believed those back then, but both of you will lose count soon enough.

Because Viktor had finally solved you. Your rehearsals at four in the morning. All the choking on bitter tears every time you mildly mess up an audition. Your scary fixation on precision. The intentional sleep deprivation to ‘catch up’—such an obvious self-torment! All these years built on a lie he’d spoon-feed himself oh so eagerly. All along, it wasn’t dedication. It was an obsession. An entirely different beast.

In a few months, the committee ended up loving your research on the cello repertoire of the 20th century. The obnoxious supervisor has never been so wrong. You got your doctorate. 

But Viktor already knew that it wasn’t a matter of another academic milestone. In fact, it could only get worse. You needed help. Not a PhD. And you were only ever keen on seizing the latter. 

After a year of empty promises, Viktor stopped believing them. There was a minor improvement around the time you first found out about your narcolepsy. He’d refrained from ‘told-you-so’s. He was just happy you were finally getting it all checked out—who knows what else might slumber in that exhausted body of yours, so mercilessly stained with years of negligence in favor of becoming a new du Pré? You got a few prescriptions from a sleep specialist. You even found a therapist, but that one didn’t stick around. Counseling demands consistency. But so do concerts. It wasn’t hard to guess which one you’d pick. 

Another year went by. Then another. A loop of accepting and ditching help had uroborosed into insanity, developing new cross-currents. A hobbling marriage was but a pebble. That Viktor could get by. What turmoiled him the most was not the expulsion from your passions. You can’t negotiate with an obsessed artist. 

He became tired. Of ‘Love, it’s three in the morning. Go to bed.’ Of ‘Have you taken your pills today? Should I set you an alarm?’ Of ‘Please, spend an evening with me. You haven’t been outside in days.’ Of saving someone who, to his utmost horror, didn’t want to be saved. 

Viktor had endured enough. One can only handle so many years of being but an unseen husband. His patience was wearing thin. 

His separation request was calm. He didn’t raise his voice once—merely packed a suitcase and promised to be back sometime in a month. He was about to go to Europe anyway. Having one more week to himself wouldn’t make a difference. 

You didn’t beg or cry. That bit was reserved for after he’s out the door. There was no point trying to dissuade him. The ‘you had it coming’ mindset had already clouded your thoughts.

You sat on the bed, gently rocking back and forth, and stared at him as he struggled to tie his tie with trembling fingers. You’ve never seen him shake like that—fervent, unpianist-like. It made you bite your lip in that nasty, blood-drawing way, so much canine that you almost split it in half. 

“May I help you?” you offered, a resigned half-whisper. Strangely enough, the tremor hasn't gotten your hands yet. Viktor accepted. 

You knelt and picked up what he had started—wrapped the top part around the bottom one and pulled it through, working the loop tighter. He hunched in his piano stool, looking down at you with dry, bloodshot eyes. He didn’t sleep last night. He hoped you wouldn’t notice. 

When you finished and returned the stare, his dry eyes became glassy. For a second, he felt like he had his darling back—courteous, tender, with a kind, pallid smile. Here you are, looking up at him just like you used to twelve years ago in Music Theory. Livelier, less obsessed, not as hollow. And here you go again—slipping through his stretched out fingers and becoming your disparate, new self. But he still reached out to touch you and mourned the warmth of your skin, shaky hand struggling to cup a twitching cheek. You leaned into it, sneaking a cowardly kiss to his wrist. The confabulation ended when you dared to blink, trading your first-year eyes for weary twelve-year ones. 

“Promise you’ll come back to me,” you mouthed into his palm. “Please.” 

And Viktor’s hand tumbled away, reaching for his cane instead. 

“Promise you’ll come back to me, too.”

—

1. The Velvet Divorce — The split of Czechoslovakia in 1992, 31 of December.

2. JAMU — The Janáček Academy of Performing Arts

3. Hamé — a Czech jam brand

4. Jacqueline du Pré — a famous English cellist

—

> chapter 4

[jennifer-jeong]

Reader plays LDS game and little does she know that the boys can feel her emotions whenever she plays it or whenever she gets the card or memories of her fav boy for example-Zayne and the other two gets jealous idk and how they wish to be real and be with her.......

HELLO I'M SORRY THIS TOOK ME A HOT SECOND I was stressing and thinking about how to approach this but I think I got it now >:) (also school and life is kicking my ass but we don't talk about that)

Fluff | LADS x GN!Reader "Virtual" Boyfriend

Rafayel sneak peak LMAOOO^

CONTENT Fluff, slight angst, gender neutral reader, Rafayel crack, mentions of the boys trauma, CHARACTERS ARE 18+

What I’m thinking is that the boys are conscious within the world of your phone. They can feel you and hear you but they can’t quite see you. You’re almost invisible in a way but they can feel your energy when you’re present. They feel it when you poke them in destiny cafe or touch them in the kindled memories. They hear your voice when you speak in game. They’ve lived the lives outlined for them in their lore and you’re who they’ve been searching for. They’re restricted in what they can say to you when you interact, it's some weird force they don’t understand. They know when you’re online but the same weird force prevents them from finding you, you have to go to them. (Zayne lives both lives of doctor and dawnbreaker, which he is happy about. He would’ve passed away if he had to be the one of two Zaynes to be dawnbreaker)

XAVIER hates that whoever made this world made him suffer for like a century only to have him find you and you aren’t even actually there. But he still loves feeling you there everyday, even if he's not the one that got chosen to sit in destiny cafe. Whenever you listen to his audios or interact with him through cards, destiny cafe, or playtime, his hands are shaky. It’s the only thing that he actually gets to express to you of his own free will. They shake because he’s so nervous but excited to finally be with you. He’s a patient man, he’s willing to wait for you everyday, he just wishes he could be where you actually are ): . He’s a smart man with an excess of free time, he’ll figure out how to get to you, someday.

ZAYNE has spent his whole life in this world in love with you. But now that he’s got you, and he can’t even see you, he’s started to accept that you’re just always going to be out of his reach. He loves when you do visit though, it makes him feel so warm. When you interact with him, he wants so badly to just be able to freely speak to you and tell you how much he loves you. His character is pretty cold because that is his personality, but when he sees you, he desperately wants to stop being distant with you, he wants to tell you all the soft and warm things he has to say. He wants to be where you actually are, he’s sick of basically just being Dawnbreaker Zayne where he just dreams of you and never gets to see you. He’s solved so many mysteries in the medical and wanderer hunting world though, he’s probably genius enough to figure this one out too.

RAFAYEL has been looking for you this whole time and is so frustrated that he found you and can’t even freely speak to you. Rafayel often ends up in glitches in the game because he desperately wants to break out of his confines and just talk to you. Every time you interact, he’s trying to find some way to tell you he loves you and that he’ll always be here no matter what. He gets pretty jealous when he doesn’t get to sit in destiny cafe with you, he doesn’t know who exactly sits in his place but he wants to be the only one you have eyes for, the only one that you touch, even if it’s not quite “touching.” He’s already lost everything he has except for you. He’s willing to do anything to get to you, he just hasn’t figured out how to do it, yet.

Rafayel glitch collection:

+ THIS video LMAOO

Personal follow up hc that they can interact with you when you daydream of them!!! It’s the only way they can reach you and feel you properly. Pretend they eventually figure this out and you live happily ever after !!! (cope)

Photo credits from twitter! https://x.com/nonbiriotome/status/1754530273033683337?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/miyabi_lad/status/1754318127339639244?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/zaynerei/status/1760258500746445149?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/xaviersdaily/status/1759516449758908615?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/yubeljin/status/1752770210124210303?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g https://x.com/nonbiriotome/status/1759228703186227235?s=46&t=Y5PdanktIFDztaAr8_sv4g

|| MASTERLIST <3 || Thank you for the ask and for reading! ||

[cuubism]

I REALLLLLLLLLLLLLYYYY LOVE YOUR BELOVED PROFESSOR DREAM FIC!!!!!!!! PEOPLE TEND TO FORGET THAT!!! EVEN IN CANON!!!! HES FULL OF LOVE!!!! AND PASSION!!! AND HE CARES SO MUCH IT LITERALLY DOOMS HIM!!!!! AND IF ONLY HES BEING GIVEN A MUCH MORE KINDER CIRCUMSTANCES!! HE WOULD BEHAVES EXACTLY LIKE YOUR FIC!!! I FEEL SO CRAZT!!!! PLEASE NEVER DIE I LOVE YPUR WORKS SO MUCH!!!

I've grown quite fond of him myself 🥺 @five-and-dimes and I discussed him at length and created more lore for him. It was determined that Dream's earnest whimsy probably got him bullied a lot when he was younger. Not since he met Hob though.... it's probably a coincidence 🤷‍♀️ surely everyone just realized the error of their ways and decided to grow up and be kinder! Dream knew it would happen some day :)

-

Dream is still reeling as he reaches the cafe where he's meant to get afternoon coffee with Hob. He feels a bit shaky, but happy. Joyful. In disbelief.

When Cori had cornered him after class, Dream had been sure he was going to shove him up against a wall, or throw his books on the ground, or any of the other number of things he seemed to get satisfaction out of doing. He'd clutched his books tight, bracing himself.

Instead, Cori had, with halting, uncomfortable words, apologized to him. Actually apologized! Dream had been wary at first, sure it was just another way to hurt his feelings--he's been called gullible many times and he knows there's truth to it--but Cori hadn't taken it back, or suddenly turned on him again like he had every other time Dream had tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. He seemed genuine.

It was what Dream had always wanted, what he had always hoped for, so decided to take it and just pray that Cori wouldn't change his mind again in the future. Or trip him as he walked away.

He didn't, though. And as Dream left to walk to his next class, he couldn't help but feel victorious. He knew he would get through to him eventually! He'd always known that eventually people would grow out of their juvenile pranks and learn to treat others better. And finally it was starting to happen.

None of the other usual suspects bothered him that day, either. Nobody tried to trip him, or snickered when he said something overly sentimental in class. It was like overnight the world had woken up and decided to better itself. It was magical.

So he's still shaking a bit when he sits down across from Hob, who's already gotten him his mocha latte. When he doesn't say anything at first, just takes several long sips of his drink, Hob nudges his leg under the table.

"Everything alright?"

"Cori," Dream says, "apologized to me."

He must have milk foam on his lip, for Hob reaches across the table to wipe it away with his thumb, lingering on the corner of Dream's mouth. "Did he?"

Dream nods. "It- it did not seem to be a joke. Hob, I think he actually learned."

Hob smiles sweetly. "That's great, honey."

"Nobody tripped me today," Dream muses. "Or made fun of what I said in class. I cannot believe it. I knew that eventually people would grow up and learn how to treat others kindly, but it's startling to see it happen in real time."

"They must have learned from your example," Hob says. He takes Dream's hand on the table and starts playing idly with his fingers. Hob is very touchy-feely with him, always holding his hand, or playing with his fingers like they're a fidget toy, or petting his hair while they're lying in bed together. Dream found it strange at first. He was used to others he had attempted to date wanting to rough him up a little. When he questioned it, they would say, with a laugh, you're just too sheltered. Dream didn't think he was, particularly, he just didn't understand wanting to push someone around. At least not without finding out if they even liked it.

When Dream mentioned it, Hob had said, with a grimace, that Dream's kindness could be misinterpreted as innocence, and it made people want to 'corrupt him.' Dream didn't get it, but there were a lot of things he 'didn't get', at least according to other people. In any case, Hob didn't do that, because he knew Dream didn't like it, so Dream is content now. And he has Hob to at least attempt to interpret other people's odd behavior for him.

"I hope it sticks," he says, worriedly. "I would hate for Cori and the others to backslide now that they're finally making progress."

"Oh, don't worry," Hob says, bringing Dream's hand to his lips and kissing his knuckles. He looks at Dream over their joined hands, gaze absolutely sure, a look that never fails to make Dream shiver pleasantly when it's directed at him. "I think it'll stick."

[sabbathbloodysabbeth]

Eddie skims the books on the shelf in front of him, there was no use in trying to find one he was actually interested in. He was just going to end up forgetting about it and picking up one of the lord of the rings books again. Instead he just lets himself wander through his thoughts. Letting his body go in autopilot as his fingers gently brush the spines of dozens of books.

He should be in gym class, but he isn’t. The consequences of skipping were far better than those of actually showing up. The last time he went (over a month ago now) he ended up walking out with a chipped tooth and black eye. And he can’t forget about the bruised ego.

Walking at the end of one aisle, he carefully turns and moves himself into the next. Preparing to loop through said aisle again but nearly jumping out of his skin when he nearly falls over another person. A person who was sitting down, back pressed to the shelf he was walking the corner of.

A croak like noise comes out of the back of his throat as he nearly tumbles face first into carpeting. Stumbling forward a bit and catching balance on the shelf to the left of him. Secretly praying to all that’s holy that he didn’t somehow know the entire shelf over.

“Jesus H Christ.” He spits out, a hand pressed against his chest as he dramatically breathes heavier then normal. Putting on a show for whoever nearly killed him. Turning around to face the culprit he nearly jumps back again startled.

Sitting, pretty pathetically Eddie would say, was a very beat up Steve Harrington. Who looked like a horror book came to life. His eyes, or eye was a bit glossed over and wide as he starts stuttering over his words a bit. Obviously having a moment before Eddie came along and crashed the party.

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to trip you up like that.” Steve visibly cringes at his own words, as if he was also aware he seemed pathetic.

“Eh- it’s alright. Not the first time a king has tried taking me out.” He grins, before faltering a bit as he remembers that the other wouldn’t understand his DnD campaign reference.

He begins to walk away, wanting the entire awkward interaction to be over. But he can’t help but be just a bit nosy as his eyes glance down at the book in Steve’s lap. It probably had been open at one point, but it was now closed and Eddie is secretly thankful he can read upside down.

“Head injuries huh?” He points out. “Didn’t take you for a reader King Steve.” He drags the other’s name out a bit longer than he has to as he crosses his arms over his chest and cocking a hip out. He didn’t personally enjoy talking with asshole jocks, but what he did enjoy was knowing some things. He liked having some lore for the people around him.

“I’m not.” Steve snorts as he lifts the book up. “Just trying to do some research, I don’t know if you have eyes or anything but my face is pretty smashed in right now.” He retorts back with a little bit of sass. Eddie notes how his words slur up a bit, like he was drunk. But Eddie could spot a drunk anywhere and Steve Harrington seemed a hundred percent sober.

Furrowing his eyebrows, just a bit concerned he doesn’t let up the banter. Purposely forcing his eye lids open with one hand and jokingly pressing the finger tip against his eye before pulling back. Blinking the tears out of his slightly agitated right eye as he brings two thumbs up and comments, “we are in the clear I, Eddie Munson, let the record show, have eyeballs.” He grins dramatically.

“Want a gold star for that poncho.” Steve snorts, shaking his head a bit obviously amused. His body tensed up a bit as he goes a bit pale for a moment, squeezing his eyes shut with shaky breathes as his fists tighten around the book he was holding.

“Yes I do in fact want a gold star-” Eddie mumbles out gently, face scrunching up a bit more worried now as he moves his crossed arms from off his chest and moves a few steps closer to the other.

“Hey Harrington, you alright? You don’t seem like your typical charming self.” He comments as he hesitates for a moment before he crouches down. Leaving a few inches between the two of them.

Steve gives a weak nod of his head before he adjusting himself. “Yeah- just moves my head too much. Happens sometimes you know?” He chuckles gently.

“Oh thank god, you were looking a little green. Was worried you were about to hulk out on me buddy.” Eddie jokes a little, trying to lighten the mood a bit. Lifting his hand up and running one of his rings against the bottom of his lip before glancing back down at the book.

“Find anything good in there, or are you just holding it for show?” Eddie asks gently, trying to come off a bit more teasing.

Steve snorts again, sounding a bit stressed as he nearly shakes his head no again but stopped ps himself. “No, couldn’t even make it through the first page without wanting to throw up.” He groans as he quickly adds. “Not because I don’t want to read it, it’s just the words won’t sit still and it hurts my eyes which then hurts my head.” He groans as he opens his eyes back up fully and looks down at the book with a little huff.

“Could always get a nerd to do your homework for you,” Eddie jokes, slightly hinting towards Wheeler. “Heard that girlfriend of yours had a decent brain on her, she seems like the type to understand that you’ll need help.” He tilts his head to the side as he looks at the other.

Steve makes a noise that Eddie can’t even place, it sounded like the mixture of a laugh and a snort combined. “Can’t, I’m pretty sure she cheated on me with Byers. Don’t want to feel any more stupid around her.” He mumbles the last sentence out.

Eddie looks a bit surprised, he hadn’t taken Mrs Priss to be a cheater. Though he furrows his eyebrows again in thought. “If you give me a twenty I’ll read that book for you and try answering any questions you have.”

Eddie didn’t want to seem completely like a sweetheart, he had to keep up the image he had going on or else people wouldn’t take him seriously during deals. And he didn’t want to ruin said image to Steve Harrington of all people.

Steve squints his good eye at Eddie suspiciously, “I’ll pay you a hundred if you don’t mention this to anybody else.”

Eddie feels a little bit shitty for doing this but an image had to be kept.

“You’ve got yourself a deal Harrington.” His grin isn’t fully authentic as he takes the book from the other and does a playful salute as he stands up fully and begins to walk away.

[inosukijiro]

✮⋆˙ modern!reader

𝘀𝘆𝗻. ━ one minute, you were at home and the next, you were gone. but now, here you are, and it looks like you're here to stay!

𖤐 𝗮𝗻𝗻𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁𝗲𝘀 .ᐟ hiiii, first post in a few months huh (╥﹏╥). anyways i’ve had this idea in my brain for a really looong time so im v happy to get this out of my drafts. also i never wrote headcanons or for spn before so i hope its okayyy <3

𖤐 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 .ᐟ none?  lowercase intended. gender-neutral reader unless stated otherwise. modern reader in spn. this was supposed to be shorter then i yapped a little too much oops. 1.02k words.

  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───  ─── ⋆⋅𖦹⋅⋆ ───

𖤐 .ᐟ you are a long way away from home, whether you like it or not. you try so hard to maintain your composure, because in your mind, there is no point in freaking out. but you do, just a little bit in the beginning because how could you not? you’re a nervous wreck, no doubt. and the boys can’t really blame you.

𖤐 .ᐟ you are armed with nothing more than your crochet hook, your small purse, and the clothes on your back. you are lost and for right now, you feel small and alone.

𖤐 .ᐟ but you are going to be put through an interrogation. they are the winchesters and can never be too careful. it’s nothing over the top, but you are from where you are and the boys had just about enough of their lives being on display. you are on your best behavior — polite and kind, but you are still nervous and a little shaky.

𖤐 .ᐟ you, who is trying to remain calm through the initial skepticism that came with popping up out of nowhere. the assumption is witches, a curse maybe. deans got the holy water ready just in case and sams flipping through lore for any type of explanation. there is, but no one likes it. there’s a recollection of something a witch had done a week ago, mentioning something about being out of this world. it’s a reach, a long shot even, but that witch is long gone. 

𖤐 .ᐟ so, here you are. you, who knows things. too many things. things that the brothers would rather you not know. you know their traumas — their childhood traumas no less. you know about most of their hunts and their world ending drama. deans wary, though sams more open to understanding. 

𖤐 .ᐟ that's because you aren’t threatening. you aren’t weird, at least not in a bad way. you aren’t obsessive, you're respectful. you don’t pry, you don’t push, you never overstep. you ask before touching anything, you clean up after yourself — making it look like you were never even there. you never bring up anything either, nothing that would be uncomfortable. nothing that would deliberately show the knowledge you had. you stayed in their present and contributed if asked. 

𖤐 .ᐟ you didn’t insert yourself in any hunts, maybe because you knew that you weren’t a hunter. or maybe because the boys would not be receptive to having to babysit you out there. but you are helpful. you organize lore books and help with research, and cook. that certainly softens dean up a bit.

𖤐 .ᐟ you’re a sweetheart, and over time it's really hard for them to stay away though. you're crafty and witty the more you come out of your shell, and it's a wonderful sight to behold. you are many things — soft and sweet, happy like sunshine; but you do have a little bark, and a little bite, and are most certainly able to keep up. you radiate such warmth that you are the calm to their chaos.

𖤐 .ᐟ the thing about you — the thing that makes it so easy for both of them — is that you already get them. there’s no need for explanations. no need to spell out their trauma or their history, because you do in fact, already know. and not in any way that makes them uncomfortable, not in a way that feels invasive. you don’t use it against them, don’t throw their past mistakes in their faces. you just understand.

𖤐 .ᐟ for sam, he doesn’t have to explain why he does anything. he doesn’t have to explain why he hesitates sometimes. why he still believed in trying to save people, even when the world has given him every reason not to. you don't see him as just sam winchester, boy king, a tragic protagonist. you just see him. you never look at him like he’s naive for wanting more than just hunting, for being drawn to books and research and the idea of a quiet life. you remind him, in little ways, that he’s allowed to want more, even if he never really gets it.

𖤐 .ᐟ and for dean… well, it takes longer for dean to get there. because it's one thing for him to slightly like you, to even tolerate your presence. it’s another to trust you and let you in. and he does. it’s the way dean stops questioning if you’re staying. the way he smiles when you giggle at his dumb jokes without forcing it. the way his heart clenches when you hand him one of his beers without him having to ask. the way you see him — the real him. not just the reckless, self-sacrificing jackass that he presented himself to be. and you don’t try to fix him. no, you would never do that. you don’t pity him. you just stay.

𖤐 .ᐟ there’s an unspoken something you notice in the way dean always finds himself standing closer to you than necessary. or the way sam’s gaze lingers a little too long when you’re focused on a book. the way both of them instinctively check to make sure you’re okay after a hunt, even though you weren't even there. how your absence feels wrong whenever you’re not with them.

𖤐 .ᐟ you do, however, treat them the way you think they deserve to be treated. with a little bit of softness and a little bit of delicacy. not too much. oh no, but just enough to not scare them away. 

𖤐 .ᐟ you don’t make them work for your understanding. they don’t have to explain why they are the way they are. why they react the way they do. why some nights they drink too much and fall apart under the weight of everything. you already know. and because of that, they don’t have to pretend with you. they can just be. 

𖤐 .ᐟ and maybe you’re stuck, trying to find your place in their world. sometimes you think that you have no business being here. it's dangerous with everything that goes on in their lives. and… that's okay. they’ll help you. they’ll pick you up and bring you in close. they’ll bring you back when you're distant — pull you back to reality. because you aren’t alone, you’re with them.

ᝰ .ᐟ lmk if i cooked or not chat, ty (˶˃⤙˂˶)

[captainlunaxmen]

All for the Cameras

Chapter 14

Finnick Odair x fem!Reader

Here we are, almost at the end. This is not the final chapter yet, so there's hope don't worry.

Let me know what you think and, again, sorry for making you guys wait so much.

Chapter summary: the 76th Hunger Games keep going.

Chapter warning: angst, blood, Hunger Games lore so... yeah, death.

Tag list

@guacam011y @justtrying2getby @idontevenknow1359 @alexandra-001 @bambikitten @maggiecc @redh00dsbf @haneybunny @1-800-styles @sisiking99 @merromimo @yourdailymemedelivery @regsg18 @gordorio @bambikitten @gracieeleanorr @shev3nom @honethatty12 @savingprivatecass @erindiggory @martahabla @sterredem @aawdrea @wpdarlingpan @strawberry--fawn @barbarathewanderer @ih8books @a-mysterious-potato @mayonesavegana @celinaiscrying @katherinejess @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @abaker74 @syd649 @meikoo @secretsicanthideanymore @p1stachi @laylasshiftingtonight @yourmumstoy @s0urw00lf @kermits-bitch @littleshadow17

@piya-re @ivymyers @potao-o @wqstedyouths @kaceyh24 @miniatureblazellama @lillell4670 @11jaz @f1blogs @ooddiieesblog @capswife @lillell467 @noodleisodd @seasonswinter

@readawaythereality2 @thecrowsgambit @scriptedinkbyxim @laylamarie222

I'm sorry if I can't tag everyone😔🥺

After a moment to catch our breath and eat something we made up a new plan to get to the mansion.

Underground.

Which I'm not the biggest fan of, but it'll have to do.

As expected the president made his announcement of Katniss death, of the rebellion's death... well... he tried to, because Alma Coin interrupted him, thanks to Beetee's brain I'm sure, and I just know he didn't appreciate it one bit. But having the president believe the Mockingjay is dead is our chance to get close enough.

"Are you okay?" Finnick's voice interrupts my thoughts and my picking on my skin, a habit I somehow took while nervous.

"Could you not ask me that now?" I sigh, I'm not mad at him, I'm just tired, he knows it and doesn't pressure.

"Never thought I'd be able to see my own picture like that. With Panem's anthem playing, nonetheless." He jokes, but I hit his chest with the back of my hand, he probably barely felt it, but he gets my point, "sorry, not funny." He sighs, and tentatively takes my hand in his, "it's going to be alright."

"I know what you're trying to do, and trust me, I appreciate it, but I just..." I let out a shaky breath.

"It doesn't feel possible, right?" He guesses, I nod.

"Peeta asking for a nightlock pill... I just... I'm scared okay? If he's a mutt, so am I. So is Johanna. What they did to us..." I sigh again, "I'm sorry, I know we've already talked about it..."

"Then you remember that I also said I wouldn't mind repeating to you anything you need." I can feel him looking down at me, and I can sense his sweet smile.

But something else comes up to mind, after seeing his picture like that, as if he died in the arena I can't just shake it off.

"There's... one thing I need you to know, something I need to apologise for." I say, picking at my skin again, he takes my hands in his to prevent me from harming myself more, he squeezes them to reassure me, "the Jabberjays... in the arena. That was... that was my idea."

I dare look up to him, but I don't see hate, nor disappointment, not resentment. Instead he looks at me with his understanding and comforting eyes.

"It's okay." He says softly.

"It's not. Snow asked me to write down some ideas for the arena, I had to make it believable, but I couldn't think of anything deadly, but hearing your screams and Katniss'... I..." I look down again, ashamed.

"Hey.." he gently takes my chin and guide me to look up at him again, "it's okay. I promise you. You didn't have a choice, there's no need to blame yourself. Okay?"

"I didn't think it through enough and I hurt you." I say, voice breaking a little.

"You didn't."

"I saw your face, Finnick... I saw your faces and I... I was the one who did that."

"No. No, it wasn't you." He firmly says, "it was Snow, you know it." He hugs me closer to him, "you did what you had to to to survive, like us."

"Not exactly like us." Gale voice cuts through out conversation, clearly eavesdropping.

"Do you mind?" Finnick snaps at him, catching everyone's attention.

Before Gale could say anything I cut him off.

"Do you realise it's not districts against Capitol, right?" I ask, "this conception you have in your mind only proves how gullible you are. You have this idyllic vision of the Capitol you don't listen. If you hate the Capitol so much why do you trust Plutarch? Because Coin does, maybe? Or because he brought Katniss back? If it's the latter you should treat Peeta with more respect, because if you actually stop and think, instead of being a jealous prick, you would realise he helped save her all this time."

"We better go." Katniss says, more to put an end to this conversation.

I scoff one last time at Gale before joining her as I grab my things.

"I'm sorry." I tell her.

"Finnick is right. You don't have to blame yourself. We all did stuff to survive, stuff we're not proud of." She tells me, "but I'm glad you did. And I want you to know that I trust you."

I look up at her surprised.

"Really?"

"Really." She nods, "now let's go." She says to everybody.

We all gather and exit ready to head for the underground tunnels. Finnick immediately takes a protective place next to me, with Peeta, who looks at me with something close to gratitude.

"If he says something like that again, I swear-"

"No need, trust me." I hesitantly take his hand, "we got something else to think about now."

"Yes. You're right." He nods.

We do have something more important to think about now. Far more important.

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

As we descend into the tunnel under the city I can't help the dread I'm feeling. I try to keep my breath as steady and controlled as I can, if I keep my thoughts at bay I can be of help.

"My brother knows this tunnels very well." Castor explains as he finally climbs down, "he worked sanitation down here. Right after they made him an Avox."

If people thought they have it bad, they're wrong, Avoxes have it worse. They're literally slaves of the Capitol, I can't think of a worse punishment, death would be mercy compared to this.

My heart breaks as I look at Pollux scared expression as he takes stand in the front to lead us, facing probably the hardest part of his life.

Castor comforts him, encouraging him.

With a small gesture Pollux starts walking and soon we follow.

"Took us five years to buy his way outta here. He didn't see the sun once." Castor explains.

We walk, following Pollux and also the Holo in Katniss hands. Occasionally hiding from a vehicle approaching.

"We're tok exposed here." Katniss says, and without missing a beat Pollux leads us to a door not far and down, again, a ladder to the sewers.

"Looks clear." I hear Katniss say.

"I'd keep my eyes wide open, there's no certainty there will be no traps down here." I suggest, "Snow won't leave anything to chance."

We keep walking, aware of every small thing happening around us.

Finnick and I silently decided to be the ones to check on Peeta everytime something happens, and simply make sure he's okay. I know Finnick's also constantly checking on me, which I'm grateful for, but I don't want to take away some of his focus in case he needs it.

We pass small corridors, more tunnels, some almost full of water but, at last, we find a place to rest.

"All right, everybody. We're gonna stop here for a bit and get some rest." Jackson says, I couldn't love her more at the moment, my feet are hurting like hell.

We get settle as best as we can, I get closer to Castor and Pollux and I notice the latter signing something to his brother, I didn't see properly but they laugh, which calms me a lot.

"Thank you, Pollux." I say once I join them, "really. You're probably one of the bravest persons I know. Not everyone would've come back to such place."

He smiles at me and signs something I can't quite catch.

"Sorry, my sign skill are a bit rusty." I apologise.

"He's saying the same goes for you." Castor translate, "we can't imagine what tortures the Capitol might've used on you, yet you still relived it to help get an insight of what might be the Capitol strategies."

"Oh." I'm a little embarrassed, "that is nothing. Really."

He signs something again.

"That's a lot, so thanks to you too." Castor says, "and I agree, despite what Gale says." He adds that little part with a playful grin, something to enlighten the moment.

I let out a chuckle and decide to sit next to Finnick and Peeta.

"Are you okay, pretty boy?" I ask Peeta, hopefully the old nickname can calm him.

He nods, doesn't say much, but it's enough. I look at Finnick, who offers a comforting smile before I lower my eyes again.

Flashes of the sessions at the Capitol suddenly appearing in my head.

"Y/n... are you okay?" He asks me. I nod, but he doesn't buy it, he tries to take my hand but I avoid his contact.

"I'm fine, sorry... I..." I stutter, but I can't stop the thoughts forming in my mind, "once... once this is over you should... you should find someone who can actually make you happy." I say turning my head away from him.

"Y/n-" he starts.

"No." I stop him, "Please."

"I love you, Y/n." He says, firmly, "nothing can change that. I can promise you that."

"I don't." I tell him, "so better find someone else."

I hear him sigh, but he also lets out a soft chuckle.

"You know, I can always tell when you're lying." He says before resting his head back against the wall.

I take a deep breath and lean back too, hoping to find some rest.

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

Peeta's muttering wakes me up. He's getting agitated and I immediately sit up straight and on guard. Everyone else starts to wake up too.

"What is it?" Jackson asks.

"Peeta..?" I try, but he doesn't answer me.

"We gotta go. We gotta go outta here now." He pants, loudly, "Mutts! TheY released mutts."

"Breath, Peeta, breath. We're going." I go to stand next to him.

"Pollux what's the fastest way out?" Katniss asks and Pollux immediately joins her motioning in front of them.

Gale shoots a fire arrow to let us get some clues on the, otherwise, pitch black tunnel. When it seems safe, we start moving. Careful, ears ready to pick at any minimum noise. As always me and Finnick keep our eyes on Peeta, Jackson is behind everyone, weapon in hand.

As we get to a small opening, Pollux goes ahead to check if it safe, leaving us on edge until he's back and fine. I let out a breath I didn't even realise I was holding and as quickly and quietly as possible we go through the small gap.

I let Finnick deal with Peeta as I help those who still need to pass.

Lieutenant Jackson is the last one, she checks one more time the tunnel, but as she turns around mutts jump on her.

I can't help the scream I let out as I pull back immediately. They came out of nowhere!

"Run! Run!"

"Pollux get us out of here!"

We try to stay together, following Pollux through this dark labyrinth. But we get to an intersection and Castor is attacked by those creatures, blocking Katniss, Peeta, Gale ams me from the rest of them.

"Finnick!" I scream, but I can't see him, or any of them anymore. I feel a a hand grabbing me and pulling me away, I let it and run hoping to find them again soon.

Pollux leads us to a room with a ladder, to safety, but mutts are stubborn, they won't stop so all we can do is defend ourselves.

I did train to use guns and this sort of weaponry, but I've never thought I would've actually needed it. I try to protect Peeta, while I cover Katniss as she shoots her exploding arrows. I hear a scream behind me, Gale is on the ground, a mutt is abou to jump on him, but luckily my reflexes are faster and I shoot it. For good measure I throw a gun at him.

It's like they're coming from within the walls. I turn around just in time to see Peeta fighting with one mutt, Katniss is about to get attacked, though, almost out of nowhere Finnick impales the creature with his trident. I'm relieved to see him, soon the rest of the squad arrives to help.

I focus my attention on Peeta again, I shoot the mutt that's caging him.

"C'mon, everyone up!" I yell, "c'mon!"

I stay to check everyone gets on safely, Katniss motion for me to go up, I don't get far before I hear Finnick's voice calling for Katniss, I look down he threw his trident to a mutt close to her and now he has a mutt on him... and he has no weapon now.

I don't even think about it, I rush down, past Katniss and her screams for me to stop, I ignore her, too focus on shooting the mutts on him. I see some of them managed to bite into him. Once I'm out of ammo, I use the last gun I have, and thankfully it's enough to get them off so I can help him up the ladder, but he's losing too much blood and the mutts are following us.

"C'mon c'mon!" Katniss moves to let us pass before activating the Holo to explode and throws it to the mutts, killing them.

"Finnick, c'mon, one last push, okay?" I tell him.

"Let's go!"

We run again, arriving to the underground station, peacekeepers already there to shoot us, lights on the ceiling disintegrating whoever passes through, the floor exploding piece by piece.

Weake it just in time to a safe zone, even though nothing can be called safe at this point.

Katniss yells for Peeta, I look back fearing the worst, but he's just curled up on the ground.

"Peeta, we have to keep going," Katniss tells him.

"I'm a mutt! I can't keep controll!" He screams.

"yes you can!" She yells back.

"Leave me! I'm a mutt!"

"Look at me!" She orders, "look at me!" Once he does she kisses him, and thankfully it calms him a little, "Stay with me"

I suddenly feel Finnick almost falling to the ground, but Gale is quick to help him.

"Finnick, just hold on a little longer okay?" I ask, "please."

He weakly nods and starts walking too, I rush him a little and he runs too.

One last push, just one.

"I know where we are!" Cressida exclaims, "I know a place. Up those stairs."

So now she is leading us to a safe place, I just hope it's close. Without the holo is hard to say whether or not a trap is set, but there are none apparently. At least not where Cressida is taking us, which looks like a boutique of some sort.

While she knocks, I let Finnick rest against the windows.

"It's okay, we'll get you back on your feet soon. Just keep holding on." I softly say to him, he takes my hand and I let him squeeze it, I see him trying to speak but I stop him immediately, "don't stress yourself now, we'll talk once you're okay."

Once someone opens the door, Cressida rushes all of us inside and closes the door.

The woman opening, I remember her. It's hard not to, considering her feline appearance.

"Tigris do you remember me?" Cressida starts, "I'm with Plutarch's underground. We need your help"

Tigris looks at us all before leading us to a hatch leading downstairs.

"I know you. You were a stylist in the Games." Katniss states.

"Until Snow decided I wasn't pretty enough anymore." It's her answer.

"I'm here to kill him."Katniss straight up tells her, which makes the former stylist smile.

"We need medical kits, if you have some." I tell her, "please..."

She nods her head and closes the hatch.

I help Finnick sit down.

"Stay awake, okay? I need you to stay awake, Finnick." I tell him. I see Pollux sitting close to us and immediately breaks down, "Pollux.." I gently say taking his hand, "I'm so sorry."

"Gale's gonna need stitches." Cressida says, "you too, Y/n."

"Uh?" I ask confused.

"Your leg and your arm." She points.

"Oh..." I take a look, just now noticing the damages the mutts did, I didn't even registered the pain, "guess the adrenaline got useful.."

I sit next to Finnick, close to Pollux, letting him still holding my hand.

"I made it up." Katniss says all of a sudden, "all of it. There is no special mission from Coin. There's only my plan. Everyone that's dead is dead because of me. I lied."

"We know. We all knew." Cresside tells her.

"The soldiers from 13?"

"They did, too. Do you really believe that Jackson thought you had orders from Coin?" Cressida asks her, "she trusted Boggs and he clearly wanted you to go on."

"I never meant for this to happen." She looks at me, at Finnick, "I failed. I... I killed them. I'm... I'm sorry Pollux. I'm so sorry."

He squeezes my hand tighter, I squeeze it back, help grounding him.

"Glimmer, Marvel, Mags..."Peeta starts, "Clove, Wiress, Rue. What do all those deaths mean?" He asks, "they mean that our lives were never ours. There was no real life because we didn't have any choice. Our lives belong to Snow and our deaths do, too. But I'd you kill him, Katniss... if you end all of this, all those deaths, they mean something. Cinna, Boggs, Castor, Jackson. They chose this. They chose you."

I look down at Finnick, he tries to keep his eyes open, but I can tell it's getting harder for him. I'm not letting anything happens to him, not after I told him the biggest lie of my life.

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

Tigris brought us the kits we needed and Cressida helped me take care of Finnick and he seems out of trouble for now. He's asleep while I patch Gale up. Mostly to keep my head busy and nor think.

"I..." he starts as I clean his wound, "I just wanted to thank you."

"For what?" I ask.

"Saving my life back in the sewers." He answers, not daring to meet my eyes.

"Oh... well, unfortunately you are good with these weapons so I don't think losing such asset would've been a great move." I wave him off.

"I'm sorry," he says out of the blue, "for how I behaved. I realise now that I was wrong."

"It's not me you should apologise to. Peeta deserves your apologies more than me, and you know it." I tell him firmly.

"I'll try my best."

"Better than nothing." I sigh.

"How do you know how to patch someone up?" He asks.

"Well, you don't know Cal, lucky you." I say, and he looks at me, confused look on him, "he.. he liked some intense stuff... and... I couldn't exactly say no... you know."

"Oh.."

"Yeah..." I nod, "so I learned how to endure pain and how to patch me up. It was a good way of surviving, I guess." I notice he looks down, still ashamed of how he treated me, "as you can see, Capitol or District, we're not so different after all."

"We're not.." he nods in agreement.

Once I finish with his wound I move to care of my own.

"Let me." Cressida offers, kneeling down taking the requirements from my hands.

"Thanks." I say.

She starts cleaning the wound on my leg, which I realised it's the worse one, and my eyes stay put on Finnick laying one the ground. Unconsciously, I start picking at my skin.

"He's going to be fine." I hear her suddenly speak.

"I don't know, he lost too much blood, and that... that sprint to get out of the sewers... those stitches aren't enough... I.. "

"Hey." She stops me, "he is going to me fine."

"What if he isn't?" I ask, voice small with tears forming in my eyes, "what if I lose him?"

"Can I ask you a question?" Shw asks and I nod, "why do you push him away if you're so scared of losing him?"

The question catches me completely off guard, it leaves me thinking, actually thinking about it.

"I guess him happy but away from me is better then him dead." I say, "he doesn't deserve to have fought all this time to just... die like this."

"Everyone can see the way he looks at you, and how you try not to look at him." She smiles at me, sweetly, "I'm an expert in fake love, so are you, right? Selling it for the Capitol makes you a real good expert," she says and I can't help the little chuckle, "and trust me, I don't think there'll be anything that can keep him from you."

"He doesn't deserve it." I sadly say.

"You two suffered enough." She firmly says.

That shuts me up.

Once she's done with my leg and arm I go to find a 'comfortable' spot next to Finnick to check on him.

The others try to get some rest while they can, I hear Gale talking to Peeta, but I refuse to listen to them, both because I'm too focused on Finnick and also because they deserve some privacy too.

Suddenly sound of explosion cam be heard in the distance.

"Mortar shells." Gale states, "it's not ours. Peacekeepers must ne shellin' the rebels outside the city."

"That's not outside the city." Cressida says.

"It's not." I agree.

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

The rebels are close. That's all I care about, as I gently caress Finnick's hair.

What catches my whole attention is the television turning on with a mandatory viewing flashing on screen... and Snow's face appertaining.

"To all Capitol citizens more than a half mile outside the city circle, I am announcing a mandatory evacuation. Come to the Mansion. I am promising you shelter and sanctuary. All refugees, come to my home. There you will be provided with food, medicine, safety for your children, and you will have my solemn oath to protect you u till my dying breath." The president announces.

"Wish he'd hurry up with that last part." Cressida comments, making me nod in agreement.

"Our enemy is not like us. They do not share our values. They have never known our comfort and our sophistication. And they despise us for it. Make no mistake. They are not coming to liberate us. They are coming to destroy our way of life. They are coming to bury us." He says, ending the announcement.

"Yeah... one last brainwashing to the masses before calling it quit, uh?" I mutter.

"Is he still in the Mansion?" Katniss asks.

"Yes," I say.

"Yeah, I recognise the room." Peeta adds.

"Where is that?" Katniss takes our a paper map and spred it on the floor.

"About... uh... five blocks away, if I recall." I say, looking at Cressida for support, she nods.

"We're right here. Off the avenues." She point at the map, "mansions here."

"What about the pods?"

"They deactivated them." I say, :at least around there for sure. For the residents' safety."

"That could work. I could get close enough." Katniss realises.

"Eveey peacekeeper's gonna be waiting." Gale tells her.

"Next to our faces on every billboard." Cressida adds.

"Snow's offering shelter to all the refugees." Katniss looks at me, I sigh.

"I guess... I guess that could work." I tell her.

"What?" Gale asks.

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

While Tigris comes back after retrieving another piece of clothing to mask Katniss and Gale, Cressida and I try to give directions as accurately as we can.

"Head straight north. There's gonna be thousand of refugees." She says.

"Just blend in." I say, "don't look up. One wrong move and it's over."

"We got one shot." Katniss warns.

"Let's make it count." Gale replies.

"Good luck, Katniss." Cressida and Katniss hug, silent hope it's not going to be the last time. Pollux too has a small interaction with her as they say goodbye.

"Please, be careful out there." I tell her, tears threatening to come out, "I do want to see you again, okay?"

"I'll try my best." She says before hugging me, I give her a quick, strong squeeze before letting her go, "thank you, Y/n. Thank Finnick too, once he wakes up."

"I will..." I say, softly.

"Tigris, thank you for everything you've done." And Tigris bows her head.

"Katniss, let me come with you, okay?" Peeta almost pleads, "I can be a good distraction. They know my face.

"No, I'm not losing you again." Katniss cuts him off.

"You'll be safer with us." Cressida says.

"What if Peacekeepers are searching the houses?" Gale asks. "And if he's captured.."

"Then give me a nightlock pill, okay? I'm not going back."

I can't help but understand him, death is more appealing than being captured by the Capitol.

Katniss shakes her head, almost imperceptible. It's Gale that give the pill to Peeta, and it's Katniss to free him from the handcuffs.

"Stay alive." She tells him, before hugging him.

It feels like an intimate moment so I turn my head, praying whatever deity could still exist to make everything go well.

"Ready, Katniss?"

"Let's go"

With that Gale and Katniss exists the shop and head to the Mansion.

"Now we wait." Cressida says, "they must be here eny minute."

"Yeah.." I let out a deep sigh, Pollux put a comforting hand on my shoulder and I smile at him.

Suddenly a loud noise startles us.

"What was that?" Cressida asks, alarmed.

We hearnit again, like something falling, I realise soon it's from downstairs.

"Finnick..!" I rush back to the basement and my heart almost sink to my stomach once I notice him still on the ground, but his body is convulsing, blood everywhere.

"Finnick." I call, kneeling next to him, grabbing all I could to stop the bleeding. He's clearly in pain.

"What happened?" Cressida kneels on the opposite side, Pollux probably stayed behind to keep an eye on Peeta, just in case.

"Finnick?" I try to catch his attention, "Finnick.." he looks at me, "what happened?"

"I... I.. didn't see you so... I tried to get up..." he says, pain evident in the way he speaks.

"Finnick..." I sigh, putting pressure on the wound, "the stitches... I..."

"I'll see if Tigris has more kits." Cressida stands.

I see Finnick closing his eyes and I gently, but firmly, slap his face to keep him awake.

"Finnick, hey, stay with me." I tell him, "okay?"

"Don't worry... I'm okay..." he tries.

"Yeah, sure. Don't try it with me." I warn him.

"You're okay...You're alive... that's all.. all that matter." He tiredly speaks.

"No." I say, I can see him getting weaker, and tears are ready to spill out, "you don't get to leave me."

"You're so beautiful... my love." I can tell he's forcing himself to stay awake, but his eyelids are heavier.

"Finnick, stay with me, please." I plead, "where the fuck is Cressida..?"

"Hey... hey.." he gently takes my hand, "it's okay..."

"No... no it's not."

"It is... do me a favour?" He asks in a whisper, his voice just too weak.

"Finnick..."

"Don't blame yourself." He says.

"Stop it." I warn.

"It's not your fault." He takes a deep breath, "You took me this far.. it's okay."

"I said no, you don't get to make me fall in love with you only to leave me like this."

Silence.

I look up at him, his tired eyes on me.

"Say it again." He asks, "please.. just once."

"Stay alive and I will." I firmly say, "Stay alive and I'll tell you as many time as you want."

"It's not that easy, love... I... I'm tired." He closes his eyes again.

"You're stubborn," I remind him, "Stay with me."

"They're here." Cressida rushes back, followed by a bunch of soldiers from 13.

They immediately get to take Finnick away, I stand to follow them, helping them taking Finnick out of the baseme, but they stop me before I could followed them outside.

"Only authorised medical staff." One says.

"What?!"

"The space is limited." He cuts me off, leaving me standing there.

"Y/n!!" I hear a familiar voice. I look up, Haymitch walking to me.

"What... are you doing here?" I ask, surprised to see him here.

"Cressida communicated with us, she told us about Finnick, I knew you'd need a friend." He tells me, I immediately hug him, he keeps me close until I am the one breaking it.

"He... was bitten... some mutts in the sewers..." I explain, not caring about the tears now, "he lost so much blood, Haymitch... I don't know..."

I cry, sob, uncontrollably. He hugs me again, caressing my head to somehow comfort me.

" sshh sshh, it's okay." He whispers, "he will be okay."

"What if he doesn't?!" I exclaim, stepping away, breath getting heavier, "what if he... what if he dies?!" I take a shaky breath, "what if he dies and I'm not there? What if he dies alone, Haymitch?"

I saw something I can't quite understand in his eyes after I say this, but i get quickly disttacted by my hands, Finnick's blood all over them, and myself. I cry even more, my knees get weak and I fall to the ground. Haymitch is quick to help me.

"He won't." He says.

"You don't know that..." I can't breathe now. I try to take deep breaths, but it's useless, my eyesight gets blurry as I keep trying.

"Hey, hey, match my breathing okay, princess?" He instructs me, but it's too late... my vision gets dark in seconds.

[magnificentmiraclenacho]

The sister of the winner

Part 5= new friends

Summary: When gi hun wants to take down the games he faces a lot of problems. But one problem he also has is his relationship with his sister minji ( reader ). Gi hun dosent want to tell her about the games do to her innocent. But what happends when the salesman lores her into the games, and the siblings finds them self fighting for their lifes

---

Y/N is sat next to her older brother, Gi Hun, their silence heavy but charged. Neither had spoken since the fight they had. Gi Hun’s jaw was clenched, his posture stiff, while Y/N’s fingers twisted nervously in her lap, dry tears burning her skin.

She wanted to say something—anything—but the tension radiating from him kept her quiet. This was her brother, the man who had always tried to protect her. But now, sitting next to him in this nightmare, she felt more like a stranger.

The silence broke when a familiar voice called out.

“Gi Hun! Gi Hun!”

Y/N looked up to see Jung Bae jogging toward them, his face pale with concern. The man was one of Gi Hun’s closest friends, practically family, and Y/N had known him all her life.

Gi Hun stood up as his friend reached them.

But Jung Bae wasn’t looking at Gi Hun. His eyes were locked on Y/N, wide with shock.

“What… what are you doing here?” Jung Bae asked, his voice shaky. His worry was evident, and it only made Y/N’s chest tighten.

“I…” Y/N hesitated, glancing at Gi Hun. He still hadn’t spoken to her properly, and now Jung Bae was looking at her like she’d made the worst mistake of her life.

“You’re so young” Jung Bae said, almost to himself. “You shouldn’t be here. How did this even happen?”

Before Y/N could answer, Gi Hun stepped in. “That’s what I’d like to know,” he said bitterly, his voice low but sharp. “Why the hell is she here? Why would you come here volenteraly”

Y/N opened her mouth to try to explain, but before she could speak, the speakers crackled to life.

“Attention, players,” a guard’s robotic voice announced, silencing the room. “Congratulations on completing the first game. There are currently 212 players remaining.”

The guard’s words sent a chill through Y/N. The loss was staggering—more than half of them were gone.

“As a reminder,” the guard continued, “the prize for winning this competition is 45.6 billion won.”

All eyes turned to the massive digital screen above, where the glowing piggy bank filled with stacks of cash came into view. Gasps rippled through the room, players murmuring in awe and disbelief. The fluorescent lights casting a cold glow over the remaining players

“45.6 billion…” Jung Bae whispered, shaking his head.

But Gi Hun wasn’t impressed. His expression hardened as he turned to face the guards.

“This is insane,” he said loudly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. As everyone turned to look at him “We shouldn’t be here. I demand a vote! The vote that is promised in the file that we signted"

The guards didn’t respond immediately, and Y/N felt her pulse quicken as her brother continued.

“We all want out, don’t we? Out of this hell of a game” Gi Hun shouted, looking around at the other players. “We have a right to vote. Let us leave!”

The guards exchanged glances before finally nodding. One gestured toward a row of booths at the side of the room.

“We will in a moment proceed with the voting” the guard announced.

The players filed toward the booths one by one, and Y/N felt her legs trembling as she followed Gi Hun and Jung Bae. When it was Gi Hun’s turn, he turned back to her, his expression intense.

“Y/N,” he said firmly, “vote for X. Do you understand me? No matter what—vote for X.”

His tone left no room for argument, and Y/N swallowed hard, nodding.

Gi Hun stepped into the booth and pressed the red “X” button without hesitation. One after another, players made their choices, the tally appearing on the screen above the booths. Votes for “X” to stop the games were stacking up, but so were the votes for “O” to continue.

Finally, it was Y/N’s turn. She stepped into the booth, staring at the two buttons: the red “X” and the green “O.” Her hand hovered over the buttons, her mind racing.

What if we stayed? What if we could win? I mean the first game wasen't that hard? She thought to herself.

Growing on top of those toughts her brother’s voice echoed in her head: “Vote for X. No matter what.”

Taking a deep breath, she pressed the red button.

When she returned to Gi Hun’s side, he gave a curt nod but said nothing. Y/N wanted to ask him if they would be okay, but she was too afraid of his response.

The room went silent as the final player stepped into the booth: Player 001. The man walked confidently toward the buttons.

Everyone held their breath as he cast his vote.

A moment later, the final tally appeared on the screen:

X: 106 votes

O: 107 votes

“We will continue the games,” the guard announced, his voice devoid of emotion. Some people cheered and other wen't down with their despair.

Y/N felt the blood drain from her face.

Gi Hun’s expression darkened, his fists clenching at his sides. He didn’t say anything, but the disappointment was written all over his face.

“I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered, her voice cracking.

Gi Hun shook his head, his gaze fixed on the ground. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” he muttered. But the edge in his voice betrayed his true feelings.

As the guards began to leave Y/N felt a sinking pit in her stomach. She wanted to believe they could make it out, but with every step, the weight of the situation grew heavier.

After the announcement, Gin Hu, Y/N, and Jung Bae trudged back to the rows of metal bunk beds in the large, dimly lit dormitory. The atmosphere was suffocating, the weight of the guards’ words hanging heavy in the air. All around them, players whispered anxiously, some crying softly, others trying to form alliances.

Gin Hu threw himself onto one of the lower bunks with a frustrated groan. Y/N and Jung Bae sat beside him, both looking defeated. Gin Hu’s face was a mixture of anger and despair, his hands clenching into fists as he stared at the floor cussing to himself

“Gin, please,” Y/N said softly, breaking the silence. “You need to calm down.”

He glanced at her sharply, his anger flaring again. “Calm down? Are you serious? Do you even understand where we are, Y/N? This isn’t just some stupid game. People are dying here!”

“I know!” Y/N snapped back, her voice trembling. “I know, okay? But yelling at me isn’t going to fix anything!”

“Hey, hey,” Jung Bae interrupted, raising his hands. “Both of you, stop. Fighting’s not going to help. We need to stick together if we’re going to get through this.”

Gin Hu took a deep breath, forcing himself to unclench his fists. He glanced at his sister, her tear-streaked face breaking his heart. “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “I just... I’m scared for you, Y/N. I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Before Y/N could respond, an older man approached their bunk. It was Player 001, the confident man who had seemed oddly cheerful during the chaos. He smiled warmly as he stopped in front of them.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice gentle. “Do you mind if I sit here?”

Gin Hu shrugged, gesturing to the space beside him. “Go ahead.”

Player 001 settled onto the edge of the bunk . “I wanted to say... I’m sorry,” he began.

Gin Hu frowned. “Sorry for what?”

“For voting to stay,” the man said, lowering his gaze. “I know this place is dangerous, and maybe I should have voted to leave. But... I didn’t have much of a choice.”

Gin Hu’s expression softened. He could see the regret in the man’s eyes. “It’s okay,” he said. “None of us really had a choice.”

Player 001 looked up, relief flickering across his face. “Thank you. That means a lot.” He hesitated, then added, “I heard you’ve played before. Is it true?”

Gin Hu stiffened, glancing at Y/N and Jung Bae. “Yeah,” he said reluctantly. “I’ve been here before.”

The man nodded thoughtfully, but their conversation didn’t stay private for long. Nearby players, who had overheard the exchange, began to gather around their bunk. Whispers rippled through the crowd as curiosity drew more people in.

“Is it true?” someone asked. “You’ve been in the games before?”

Gi hun nodded and placed his head down. People were whispering around him and a old woman asked " how much did you win"

Gi hun looked at her and said shyly" 65.6 billion" everyone gasped as the whisper grew louder. Y/n was in shock as well. She knew gi hun had gotten a lot of money from somewhere but 65.6 billion. That kinda of money could have easoly paid her debs.

“What’s the next game?” another player chimed in.

Gin Hu sighed, the attention making him uncomfortable. But as he looked at the anxious faces surrounding him, he realized that his knowledge could save lives. After a moment of hesitation, he spoke.

“The next game is the cookie game,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You’ll have to carve a shape out of a sugar cookie without breaking it. If it breaks, you’re out.”

The murmurs grew louder as the players processed his words. Some looked relieved, others panicked.

“How do we prepare for that?” someone asked.

Gin Hu shrugged. “You just need steady hands. And patience.”

One by one, the players began to disperse, returning to their own bunks to strategize or talk among themselves. Gin Hu watched them go, his jaw tight.

“You really think telling them will make a difference?” Jung Bae asked once the crowd had thinned.

Gin Hu leaned back against the wall, his expression weary. “I don’t care. If it saves even a few people, it’s worth it.”

As the room buzzed softly with murmurs and whispers, the four of them stayed together on the bunk. It wasn’t much, but for now, it was enough.

Before the lights went out gi hun made sure that his sister slept by his side safe and sound.

Ps: this one was more of and filler part. But the next part is alot of deep and scary.

----

Masterlist=

Tag list:

@ashtrosstuff

@sorilyae

@space1crow

@marsyay78

[yurinaa-world]

Good day/afternoon/evening, I really like your writing and decided to make a request about avgin!reader and aventurine. I know in the lore that Aventurine/kakavasha is the last one among his kind BUT what if there is actually another.That is all.

I hope that you have a wonderful day! 😊

"𝒴𝑜𝓊 & 𝐼 𝒶𝓇𝑒𝓃'𝓉 𝓈𝑜 𝒹𝒾𝒻𝒻𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓃𝓉, 𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝓌𝑒?"

💫𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓇𝒶𝒸𝓉𝑒𝓇𝓈: Aventurine x Gender-neutral reader

💫𝒮𝓎𝓃𝑜𝓅𝓈𝒾𝓈: with a reader that's Avgin

💫𝒲𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔𝓈: Fluff, Angst? to Comfort, Spelling mistakes

💫𝒜𝓋𝑒𝓃𝓉𝓊𝓇𝒾𝓃𝑒 "𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒮𝑒𝓃𝒾𝑜𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒𝓇 𝑜𝒻 𝐼𝒫𝒞 𝒮𝓉𝓇𝒶𝓉𝑒𝑔𝒾𝒸 𝐼𝓃𝓋𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝒟𝑒𝓅𝒶𝓇𝓉𝓂𝑒𝓃𝓉"

He’s shocked. Eyes wide when you first meet, looking at that branding on your revealed skin while looking back on your face, back and forth.

He can’t help himself by getting close to you. You just might be the closest person he’ll ever reveal himself to.

Just let him get close to you, to friends: spending all your time messing around together, giving each other gifts, to lovers? If either of you know how to love properly. 

You’re just like him, which hurts the most, to feel what he felt, even now he’s too scared to talk on his tongue before and with someone who understands his words. He’s a coward.

He’ll be a venerable coward, yet only for your eyes to see. To see each other's tears, fears cuts left in both of your skin,

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Foreheads against each other, arms wrapped around each other, hot tears fall from both of your eyes as you look at each other in complete silence. You're gently touching his branding on his neck, as his hand goes to the branding on your skin.

His other hand goes to your cheek, he gently leans to kiss you on the lips, delicate, almost hesitant, he’s afraid of breaking you like you were glass. Pulling away from you, only for switching in a mil-second to crash his lips back into yours in such newfound desperation. His hand leaves your branding moving to the back of your head, bringing you in deeper.

 Your arms wrap around his neck as you kiss him back.  He pulls back just to lay his head on your shoulder and lets out a shaky breath.

Your hands go up to run through his hair, you pull him closer to you and bury your face into the crook of his neck. 

“I just want to stay like this.”

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