#the count starts being fucked up with 9 but it's not even until the end of 11 that that happens

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

whatevs

[rainba]

Animalistic Instincts ღ

a/n: I just wanted to write a small thing about Luka being in heat some more... Particularly his breeding kink~ I made this one a fem reader, but if anyone wants a male version of this, I'd be happy to write it! ( ´ ▿ ` )

For this, reader is implied to be living with Luka.

TWs: breeding kink, dubcon (?), silencing via fingers shoved in mouth, dirty talk, unwanted pregnancy on darling's end, Luka being Luka.

NSFW, 18+ only!

Luka is a man who typically never loses his composure. He’s almost always calm, careful, manipulative, and smart to some degree. It’s something that he takes pride in.

…However, as a man born half-fox, there are days where the animal within him likes to take control. Every year when winter rolls around, that’s when his heat takes over him. And when that happens, he can no longer think for himself– he just goes wherever his dick takes him.

There are some times where he can be rational. Luka can still reasonably cook, clean, work, and take care of both you and him. However, he needs to fuck multiple times between tasks, which is a little inconvenient. He can still function overall, though.

But… There are days where his mind turns into total mush, and all he can think about is fucking you raw.

Luka knows that it’s gonna be a rough day when he wakes up and his first thoughts are centered around how badly he wants to breed and get you pregnant.

God, the idea of it all sounds so damn enticing to him. He’ll fuck you over and over again until you can’t walk, stuffing you full of his hot seed as he lovingly rubs your stomach. He can’t stop thinking about how beautiful you’ll be when you’re all swollen and big while carrying his children. Luka will take extra-good care of you every step of the way… He’ll spoil you like a princess.

“We’re going to have so many kids,” He’ll growl darkly as he savagely thrusts his cock deep inside of you, shoving his cum further in as he locks your hips in place. At some point, you’ll lose count of how many rounds of sex you’ve had. 

“We’ll make a huge family.”

If you whine and tell him that you don’t want any kids, he’ll silence you by shoving his fingers deep inside your throat. You obviously don’t mean that…! You’re just a little confused and worn-out, that’s all. So instead of whining and saying things you don’t mean, how about you suck on his fingers and take his cock like a good girl?

After a couple rounds have passed and you’re thoroughly tired and overstimulated, Luka will start to slow down… But he doesn’t stop. Instead, he’ll just lay you down on your side and he’ll curl up behind you, raising one of your legs as he sensually fucks your pussy from the back. His breath is hot and heavy as he buries his face into your neck.

Luka's cum would be, quite literally, overflowing out of you and spilling onto the bed, but that doesn’t stop him. The animal inside of him demands that he keeps going until he physically collapses.

Also, it doesn’t matter if you feel all hot, sweaty, and disgusting– Luka downright refuses to let you take a shower. However, he will let you lay in bed as he takes a wet rag and wipes you down. His one rule is that you’re absolutely not allowed to clean up his cum. If you wash it out, then that means you’re lowering the chances of getting pregnant...! Right?

Afterwards, if you still cry at the thought of getting pregnant, he’ll kiss away your tears while reassuring you that everything will be okay– and that there’s nothing to worry about! Bearing his children can’t be that bad… If anything, it’ll be a wonderful experience! Don’t you worry your pretty little head, he’ll spoil you rotten for the next 9 months. ~

…But when tomorrow rolls around, if his mind isn’t mush anymore, the delayed post-nut regret will hit him like a speeding train. He’d consider giving you a morning-after pill, but… Honestly? Even when he’s not insanely horny, the idea of starting a family with you sounds nice. So, he wouldn’t give you it unless you genuinely begged him to.

[kiiozawa]

and i know it's going to eat you up inside

As much as sukuna had been groveling in my drabbles, I decided to write the breakup scene between sukuna and reader.

It got kinda long, so I put it under a read more so it doesn't take up ppl's dashes xoxo

☼ pairing; ex-bf! sukuna and server! reader (this is reader breaking up with sukuna)

☼ warnings; sfw, this is basically a prequel, but there isn't a happy ending here. slight toxicity. sukuna may be a little ooc here idk bro i'm new to this, modern!au non-curse!au, reader is called princess, brat, sweetheart,

☼ word count; 1,047

☼ notes; thanks to everyone who likes my little universe!! i appreciate it. 🌺🤞

Your bedroom is pitch black despite it being late morning already. The gunk in the inner part of your eyes feels gross as you rise from your slumber. You have last night’s mascara running down your tear-stained cheeks, but at least you don’t have to work a shift at the restaurant tonight. Time feels like it's moving so slowly yet too fast simultaneously. You swear that you have heart palpitations as you make a poor effort to get out of bed. 

Bzz-Bzz-Bzz

The familiar sound comes from your phone which is at 18%. The blue screen is the only source of light: 23 voicemails and 45 missed calls from Sukuna, your now ex-boyfriend. Ice fills your veins and you want to go back to sleep again. Despite your better judgment, you decide to listen to the voicemails, starting with the first one and making your way to the most recent one.

[9:38 PM]

“You can't be serious. Princess, this has to be a joke. You wouldn't break up with me over this. C'mon, answer my calls, baby. You wouldn't do this.” 

End of voicemail.

[11:12 PM]

"Listen you fucking brat, pick up my calls. I'm not fucking around. You're not breaking up with me. You can't."

End of voicemail

[1:56 AM]

"You're mad, I know that sweetheart. I'll take you to your favorite restaurant tomorrow and I'll get you flowers again. We can talk it out."

End of voicemail

[3:02 AM]

"Princess, I tried to stop by your apartment again, but you didn't answer. You're my girl, princess. You should know that by now."

End of voicemail 

[9:45 AM]

"I'm still going to be here for you sweetheart. Call me when you come back to your senses."

End of voicemail

Silence fills your room as you finish the very last voicemail. The automated voice asks you if you want to delete the messages, but you can't bring yourself to do it—your phone powers down from being left uncharged during the night. Fresh tears start to bubble up, you bite the inside of your cheek to keep your sobs in. 

A storm is brewing in your heart because a part of you wants to call Sukuna back and tell him that you made a mistake. The other part of you reminds you that you left for a reason. The memory of last night comes flooding back in as tears roll down your cheeks. 

⊹˚₊‧───────────‧₊˚⊹

You accidentally tell Sukuna "I love you." at the end of your call only to be met with silence on the other end. It has only been a couple of months since you began dating the tall tattooed man, but it comes out so naturally that you don’t even realize it until it is too late. You quickly excuse yourself and tell Sukuna that you’ll see him in a little bit for your date. 

You could feel your nerves going haywire in your body as you check yourself out for the 10th time in your vanity. Surely, Sukuna will tell you that he loves you, right? He might have the empathy capacity of a walnut, but he will definitely assure you that he does love you, right? Except, you don’t hear those reciprocating words come out of his mouth throughout the whole date. The earlier nerves were replaced by a dull pain in your chest. You’re hoping and praying that Sukuna will just say it as you’re in the passenger seat of his car when he pulls up to your apartment building. It starts to dawn on you that he isn’t going to tell you those four little words that you yearn to hear. And it sends your heart to your stomach. 

"Umm... About earlier-" Your voice is shaky as you try to find the courage only for it to be in vain. 

"Don't worry about it." Sukuna interrupts as he leans over to kiss you only for you to hold up your palms to his chest and look at him with wide eyes. 

"Excuse me? Is that really all you have to say?" Frustration coating your words. You hear Sukuna grumble as he looks at you with what you can only categorize as annoyance. 

"Tch, you shouldn't be so needy, babe. Y'know that I don't like clingy girls." He mocks as he leans back into his seat, pulling a cigarette out of his pack from his leather jacket. 

Something in you snaps and you swear you feel the moment your heart shatters into tiny million pieces. Heat coats your cheeks as you press your lips together. You have your fists so tight that they turn your knuckles white. Despite the pain in your heart, your eyes remain surprisingly dry as you open the door. 

"I'll see you tomorrow, doll." He says as he exhales the smoke from his cigarette. 

"No you won't."

"I thought you didn't work tomorrow?" Sukuna raises an eyebrow. 

"I don't. I'm saying that I'm breaking up with you, Sukuna." The words feel like they weren't coming from you, but you have your resolve of steel. You slam the door shut as you run into your apartment building. Even through the glass doors, you hear Sukuna’s booming voice calling out your name. Still, you refuse to turn back. Your phone buzzes and you don't need to look to know who is calling you as you enter your unit. 

Once you get into your room, you yank the sheets off your bed because it all smells like him. A fresh change of sheets later, you lay down as tears suddenly start to escape your eyes. All you want is to answer Sukuna’s calls, you want to give up and tell him to come up and hold you and comfort you.

Soon enough everything in your room starts to remind you of Sukuna. The dresser he put together for you, the pictures of him on the wall, the nightstand where he would put his pack of Camel cigarettes. You feel like you are being haunted as the tears keep flowing out. Your choked sobs are silent as the buzzing of your phone fills the room. You have to stay strong because you deserve better. If Sukuna can’t tell you that he loves you, then you’ll move on, right?

 well we all know how that works out don't we rip reader

[orchidyoonkook]

To What We Were Before, And All The Things After | JJK | Ch. 7

Title: Hard Goodbyes and Favourite Colours

Pairing: Prince!College Student!JK x Fine Arts Major!(F)!Reader

Series Rating//Genre: (M) | College AU, Mild Royalty AU, Smut, Angst, Fluff, S2F2L, Indiffernce to lovers, sloooowwww ass burn

Summary: Nel flies home, Yuri flies back, Jungkook can't stop thinking about the other night. And you? Gods, don't even get me started.

Warnings: T, language, fluff (?), angst, reader is ~not~ okay for a chunk of this, bye bye Nel! it was nice to meet you, Yuri being the bestie she is, playful antagonism, JK thinking a lot, some photography technical words but nothing scary, reader is painting again, shocker.

Word Count: 4,463

Release Date: July 9, 2024. 2:00PM

A/N 1: Hi this was supposed to be released like a month and a half ago but then i went to europe and my brain was anywhere but near electronics. Anywhooo here she is, as always thanks for waiting and I'll try to be more consistent now that post vacation depression has kicked in.

Series: Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six

Sometimes life works out incredibly conveniently for you, like when Nel’s flight leaves a half hour before Yuri’s gets in at the same airport. 

But then it sucks again as your week with Nel flies by so quickly it feels like you’ve had no time at all while also having so much because of all the new memories you’ve both made. 

Currently in a rideshare and airport bound, because you will be in no way okay to drive back, your grip on Nel’s hand is strangling as you take in every last second of time you can get with him. He keeps giving kisses to your forehead, nose, cheeks, mouth; anywhere he can get access to really. 

He doesn't want this week to end just as much as you don’t. Fuck this fucking sucks so much.

The driver pulls up to the terminal drop off, and you both exit. Nel grabs his bag from the trunk, now filled with little mementos from your week as well as his clothes. A pressed flower from the greenhouse, museum postcards, a doodle you did for him while he was sketching, and more, all tucked away for safekeeping. All the only physical things he can hold onto until he sees you next. 

Walking into the airport, you make your way up to the check in desk, paperwork already in hand. Nel checks in and you request an escort pass, determined to spend every last moment together. 

There’s a lump forming in your throat that you’re trying to swallow. It’s thick, like a ball of unending peanut butter you can’t get down. And your chest feels like a black hole has opened inside of it, right where your heart is supposed to be. Every second that ticks away allowing another drop of the warmth you have with him to be sucked right out of your sternum.

Painful doesn’t even begin to describe this feeling. 

As beautiful as your week was, the reality of the present is setting in, and the closer you get to his gate, the closer you are to tears. You’re trying your best to blink them away, but you won’t be seeing him until winter break, and even then, that’ll only be for a day or two at most before you have to wait till summer to see him again. So it might as well be goodbye for those full 6 months.

It hurts. It hurts so bad to have to go through this over and over again, to have this separation from the one you love, even if it’s only temporary. Funny how temporary can sometimes feel like forever when you’re in the middle of it. 

Funny how the concept of temporary doesn’t make the gash in your heart open any less.

You don’t want him to go, but you know he has too. The faster he goes, the faster he can come back to you. 

You hate that he has to go in the first place. You just want him to stay. Please, just stay.

But he can’t. 

You reach his gate and before you know it, his flight’s being called to board and your tears refuse to stay inside any longer, the lump succeeding in its plot of victory. They spill down your cheeks in silent rivers, wet splotches on the neckline of your shirt forming as they flow. 

Maybe they’ll create a little lake in the hole he’s leaving you with. There’s certainly enough of them to fill it. Something to fill the void a little until you can see him again.

Nel takes one look before scooping you into a crushing hug, a desperate echo of the one from a week ago. His own tears now staining.

“I love you so much,” he says. You don’t see his eyes squeeze shut, nor do you see him memorizing your smell, as he kisses the top of your head. And his voice wobbles as he whispers, “It’s not forever, it’s just for now.” 

He says those words every time you two part, whether it was for a day or a year. Never goodbye or so long. Never see you later. 

They’ve always been a small comfort in otherwise shitty situations. 

“Just for now,” you get out through quiet sobs, gripping onto him even tighter as you shake. 

It takes you a couple deep breaths before you can say anything without breaking. “I love you too. Please be safe, message me when you land, and do well on your final exams.”

He smiles at that last bit, and your tears free themselves again. You’re going to miss seeing that smile in person.

Nel pulls you in once more, tighter. “It’s always harder when my good luck charm is halfway across the world, but I’ll manage.” Your sobs stutter with a broken laugh, and you’re pretty sure his sweater is going to have tear stains on it. “I promise I’ll message as soon as I can. And I’d wish you luck but you never need it. You always do well.”

The announcement for final boarding calls and both of you freeze in each other's arms. You don’t want him to go. He doesn’t want to go.

But he has too. 

You separate only enough to kiss. It’s messy and wet and gross, but you don’t care. It’s the last one you’ll have for a while and you never want it to end. 

But it does. 

Nel pulls away, and you reluctantly let him. He grabs his bag with one hand, the other holding onto both of yours as he backs away until he can no longer reach. Your arms drop to your sides with the traces of his warmth on your skin.

You watch as the boarding crew welcomes him on, and he takes one look back at you. 

You wave, mouthing ‘I love you.’

He mouths ‘I love you’ right back, and turns the corner.

You waited for Yuri at her terminal after dropping off Nel and taking five—okay ten—minutes to violently sob in the bathroom. 

She took one look at your half smile and puffy eyes and smothered you in a hug. Smelling like sunshine and ocean water, it was exactly what you needed. 

“It’s okay Sweets, you’ll see him again before you know it. This year will pass by so fast, just you see,” she tells you through your whimpers, the tears having returned the second her arms were around you.

They dry sometime on the way home. It was a thirty minute ride back to school, and they fell silently for a solid twenty before you even got in.

You hate goodbyes. 

But Yuri’s seen this three times now, and she always knew that a warm drink and junk food were in your immediate shared futures when she did. Screw healthy coping methods. It may be 9:30pm on a Sunday night, but that won’t stop you from downing a pint as you drown your sorrows in sweet, sweet cookies n cream. 

Yuri also knows you need a distraction, so she doesn’t hold back on telling you every detail of her vacation. 

The duke from a few weeks ago had been a dud. ‘Shit personality and even shittier sex’ according to Yuri. No consultation needed. 

But this new guy from the Ilcalos Islands sounds promising. He’s a Count of something she can’t remember but in her words, “big heart and even bigger dick.” 

That makes you giggle. And you’re happy for her. 

“Bitch, the second night he did this thing with his tongue and an ice cube and oh. my. god. I think I’m in love. That man could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d still say thank you afterwards,” she’s rambling at this point and you’re mentally apologizing to the driver for having to hear all of it. 

You, on the other hand, don’t mind at all; gladly welcome it actually. You want your mind anywhere other than the present right now. 

You don’t want to start crying all over again. By the morning you’ll be fine, you’ll have let out everything you needed too. But between then and now, it’s a matter of mentioning the wrong words or seeing an intriguingly designed building that could trigger those pesky tear ducts.

So you listen to Yuri go on and on about this guy, all his techniques and what she hasn’t been able to stop thinking about since she last saw him. His number is already saved in her phone under a very inappropriate name, but you expect nothing less from her. 

You love her for it. For this. 

For knowing what you need to stay afloat right now and not allowing you to throw the anchor overboard with your leg chained to the end.

You really fucking hate goodbyes. 

You’re staring at him. 

Like, full on, no bars held, staring at him. 

And Jungkook’s pretending he doesn’t notice.

You’re sitting in your chair and he’s back in his beside you at greenhouse cafe. Your half done painting of pink flowers sits in front of you, his laptop screen’s filled with this week's newly assigned ‘Studio Portrait Techniques 1’ homework. 

His half finished coffee on his table. An empty pastry bag on yours.

His hands on his keyboard, yours gripping a brush.

And you’re staring at him. 

He’s hoping it’s because this is the first time you’ve seen him since Nel left. 

But it’s probably to do with the fact that he hasn’t looked at you once today. Or the fact that he’s barely spoken at all when he usually can’t seem to shut up when it’s been more than 48 hours since he last saw you. 

Because it’s also the first time he’s seen you since he was with Adaline, imaging she wasn’t Adaline.

“You’re acting weird,” you say.

“No I’m not,” he responds a little too quickly, eyes still focused on his computer.

Yes he is. He really, totally is. 

“Yes you are, you won't look at me and you’ve barely said two words since I got here.” Well your knack for observancy is still intact.

Normally that's a good thing, but right now?

“Did I do something wrong?”

No. No you didn’t.

He did.

He let his emotions get the best of him in a moment of weakness. He let himself become so overwhelmed with feelings he isn’t allowed to have. He let them win for a single night.

And now if he isn’t paying the goddamned consequences. 

After that night with Adaline, Jungkook had woken up filled with regret. He’d crossed a line he didn’t even know he should have drawn in very dark, very permanent ink.

For letting himself, just for one moment, imagine what it would be like to be with…

And things are harder than ever to shove down now. He can’t look even look at you without thinking about it. About what he did. What he wanted. 

Wants.

Fuck, he’s in over his head.

Jungkook forces himself to look at you, putting his years of social training and emotional masking to good use. It sure as hell came in handy during times like this.

Because you can never know. 

He can’t lose you because he's unable to get his shit together. It’s not your fault he feels like this. 

So he lies. Both to you and to himself, hoping it might help him believe it.

“Nothing’s wrong Dali, just focused on my work is all. We got assigned a big project on Monday and I’m planning out all my shoots.”

You look hesitant, like you can see right through his bullshit excuse that was only a half excuse because this project is massive. 

“If you say so,” your tone implying you don’t believe him, but thankfully, you let it go and lean closer to him to see. He pretends his breathing doesn’t hitch, “What’s the project?”

“It’s my final assignment for a class, I have to do a series of five portraits. Each one with a different style, capturing a different emotion, and they all have to be of the same subject to show the true versatility of my work. It’s easy to make things look different when it’s different people being photographed,” he explains.

Therefore, this assignment, and all of its working parts, is huge. He’s glad it’s due in the middle of December because it’s going to take him almost a month of planning to get it all together; backdrops, concepts, costumes, previsualization, focal lengths, props, equipment, lighting setups, etc. And then when the planning is over: to shoot, narrow down and edit. 

But that’s the point of it. To have the students demonstrate they know how to effectively expand on the definition of a ‘portrait’ instead of having one concept in mind and sticking to it. 

‘To broaden your creative approaches to seemingly simple constructs,’ as his professor would say.

He loves the way this professor does assignments. How she layers them so that not only does he learn how to shoot multi-concept ideas for the same project type, allowing him to add to his creative portfolio, but they also force him to break out of the expected conclusions for an idea and think outside the box. 

“Oh wow, that is a lot,” you say. Because you understand long running projects. 50 hour paintings don’t just happen in a day. “Do you have any ideas yet?”

“Yeah! I have them all already, actually,” he turns his computer towards you and you see a point by point list of summarized ideas.

- Bright and bold - happy, bright smile, colourful gels - Black and white, soft light: gel or bounce? Silk diffuser  - profile with water falling on face - relieved - Focused on passion - candid, regular colour. Diffuser? Or silk flag? - Normal colour profile, stark lighting - serious, front facing body, profile facing left, no visible clothing, “regal” _|(_*-*)>_. Flag.  - Mysterious - black background, white smoke, barely visible model, lower half of face painted black, upper half white, striking purple eyes (contacts?). Flags. Gels? 

“I’m really excited for this project,” he says, “it’s just the prep that’s going to take a while. Getting it all mapped and planned out. It’s mostly concepts right now.”

You nod, understanding once again. Though very different mediums, visual arts and photography are similar in many ways. 

“Adaline going to be your model?”

It doesn’t surprise him you think that, but he has no intentions of ever using Adaline for assignments or homework. 

“Actually, I… uhh…” he trails off. Jungkook’s trying to get the words out, he is. But they’re surprisingly difficult for some reason, and getting caught in his throat. 

Which makes his earlier anxious state come back in full force. 

It shouldn't be this difficult. It won’t be the first, second or fifth time he’s asked you.

Get the words out Jeon. Put on your professional face, this is nothing new.

He fails, instead, his voice comes out barely above a whisper as he says, “I was going to ask you if you would.”

You somehow hear him. 

“Me?” you look dumbfounded. 

“Yes, you.” He’s always used you for homework assignments before, so he’s not sure why all of a sudden this is surprising. Maybe because it’s a final assignment versus a weekly one? The effort will be greater? 

“But you have Adaline? I assumed that she would take up the position of model when you guys started going out.”

Oh. That makes more sense. 

But that is one mistake he won’t be making again, because he did ask Adaline. 

Once.

It was recent, Nel was still here and he didn’t want to disturb you because of that. Plus Jungkook was just trying to get a jump on his upcoming assignments anyway, taking a page from your book.

So he asked Adaline. And she leapt at the opportunity, like he expected.

What he didn’t expect, was when she essentially directed, staged, lit and posed every. single. shot. so that she would look her best. 

All he did was click the capture image button when she said too. 

And after the shoot, before he could even think to look at the pictures, Adaline was already there, holding his camera, going through them and deleting any picture she deemed ‘ugly.’

He was left with less than 20 images from the shoot where he was ordered to take over 200. And she even made him switch out one of the three he narrowed down for one she liked better. 

So no, he would not be asking Adaline to model. 

Ever again.

“Nah. You’re a lot easier to work with because you don't care how the pictures turn out, and let me do my thing. Adaline cares a bit too much, and has to have approval on all of them before I submit.”

You snort. “Seriously? Is she that self absorbed?” a quirked brow places itself on your face to match the smirk now on your mouth.

That’s new.

Your tone towards Adaline has always been neutral, if not a bit sharp when he talks about her. 

But this one? It’s like you know her, and knew she was like that, but didn’t know it was this severe. 

Adaline is very popular...maybe you two met and it didn't go well?

It certainly sounds like you don’t like her, if those six words were anything to go by. Which, he guesses they shouldn’t, but he knows you well enough by now to know the difference.

And if he’s honest, that wouldn’t shock him in the slightest. You two are nothing alike, and thank god for that. 

He covers for Adaline, like any boyfriend would. Though it stings a little bit.

“She’s just careful about what images could be leaked to the press. Can’t really blame her for that.”

Your face changes minutely, as if a second of understanding passes through before you turn to go back to your painting, and mutter, “no, you can’t,” placing a splash of pink on a flower. 

He returns to his work as well, switching the portrait assignment out for a different one. He needs to get his mind off it for a while before circling back. 

And the fact that you didn’t answer him. 

Deciding on a Design and Visual Culture assignment due next week, he dives in head first, resuming his earlier state of focus and avoidance.

Jungkook’s editing a picture when you stretch. 

You often hunch over your work, so you try to stretch every 30 minutes or so. Your arms are in the air and he catches a peek at the nearly finished floral study. 

They’re some kind of vibrant pink dangling flowers, and you’ve captured the likeness of them quite well, to no surprise of his, so he goes to compliment it but you beat him to the punch.

“Shots blurry.”

Jungkook does a double take at his laptop screen. He’d spent the better part of 40 minutes editing the image and hadn’t noticed that.

Because it’s not. It’s perfectly crisp and clear.

When he looks back to you, you have a shit eating grin on your face. 

Ah, he knows that look. 

You love to tease him about little things like that, giving him mini heart attacks. ‘Pay back for that first day,’ you claim. 

Well…

Two can play this game, so he plays off your comment.

“Oh, you're right. Thanks,” and he switches to another image. 

Your grin falters but you recover quickly.

“No problem.”

See, while you know how to playfully harass him about his pictures, Jungkook knows how…particular you are about your colours. How they need to be labelled correctly instead of by their umbrella terms like ‘blue’ or ‘red.’ Because blue or red could mean any one of the dozens of ‘sub colours.’

‘It’s not blue, it’s cerulean,’ you’d remark. 

‘That’s not red, it’s burgundy,’ you’d correct him.

You’re always correcting him, and it makes his pants tighten a little bit every time. But that’s on the other side of the line he does not cross anymore. A nice, big, fat, permanent, protective line. 

Jungkook settles for a more subtle method of attack. Using this little fact and your ridiculously extensive knowledge of flowers against you. 

He never thought the defense and attack lessons his father put him through would come in handy like this. But he’s glad for them now. It was the only time he could ever outsmart you.

He gestures to your canvas. “Those pink flowers are pretty, what are they called?” 

“Their common name is Lady’s Eardrop. And they’re magenta.”

Hook, line, sinker. 

He doesn’t even have to try, you walk right into it every time.

“Lady’s eardrop? That’s a weird name…do they come in other colours besides pink?”

You don’t look up as you reply. 

“Magenta, and yeah. Some are plum and magenta, some are a buttery white and magenta, and then some have this like, almost dark tangerine hue, but they’re a different type, longer. Not the same as those,” you point with the end of your brush to the greenhouse, where the fully magenta lady’s eardrop sits in the window. 

“And are these pink ones your favourite?” he’s really trying his best to keep a straight face as yours contorts with an eye twitch at every use of the word.

“They’re. Magenta. And sure, but the plum ones are pretty too.”

“Noted, the pink lady's eardrop are your favourite among eardrops.”

You break, turning to him, voice raising in minor annoyance. Jungkook bites his cheeks to keep a smile at bay.

“They are magenta. Not pink. Pink entails a lighter hue, there’s more titanium white in pink. That,” you point again, “is very clearly, magenta.”

He has to. 

He can’t help it. 

You’re sexy when you're assertive, he thinks. Tip toeing on that nice, big line.

But also hilarious. 

“Same difference.”

He can see the fire in your eyes blaze.

“No, not ‘same difference,’ they’re magenta!”

He’s leaning in. “Pink,” eyeing your lips as you speak. 

You lean in too, enunciating every syllable to prove your point. “Ma-gen-ta.”

Your noses are mere inches from touching. 

“They’re pink, Van Gogh,” he backs off before he does something stupid that he’ll regret, “Don’t get so invested.”

You back off too, sass still very evident when you reply, “They’re fucking magenta, asshat. Two completely different colours and you’ll label them as such around me.”

You’ve always had a mouth on you. One you aren’t scared to use when necessary, especially around him. So he doesn’t push any farther, knowing he’s already gotten what he wanted and then some. 

But also because sitting has become slightly uncomfortable. There was a stiff breeze, he tells himself.

Thank god for baggy, oversized hoodies. 

Returning once again to his work, he puts an elbow on the table and places his hand on the left side of his face to hide the massive smile that’s trying its best to turn into a smothered laugh.

Unfortunately for him, he lets his Princely guard down around you and so he forgets to force it down to an uncomfortable degree like he would at the palace. His laugh slipping out as a strangled noise and he quickly turns it into a cough, hoping you don't notice. 

But you do, because it’s you. Of course you do.

And the look on your face is priceless.

“You did that on purpose!”

“What?” he says way too high pitched. “Nooo, I would never, one hundred percent intentionally, say pink just to get back at you for pointing out the non-existent blur in my perfectly clear picture.”

He can see you trying to control your features, can see you failing and giving up by facing your canvas again, smiling to yourself.

“I was wondering how many times I could get you to say it. I think that was somewhere around ten? Gotta be a new record.”

You roll your eyes at him, but your quirked mouth remains. 

“You’re such a dick,” you quip.

“Yet, you like me anyways.”

You mumble something incoherent.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Awe, c’mon now. Fess up.”

A pause, before, “I said I just remembered I don’t know your favourite colour.”

No you most certainly did not, but he’ll let it slide.

“Black.”

“Ugh, boring.”

“What?”

“Boring,” you say again with absolutely no hesitation and proceed to grace his eyes with your own. “And technically not a colour. Black’s a shade.”

Jungkook offers up a non-smothered chuckle, saving his throat from further shenanigans.

“Whatever, Seurat, it’s still black. What about you? What’s Miss High and Mighty All Knowing of Colours’ favorite?”

“It’s still a shade,” you repeat.

“It’s still my favourite. Answer the question,” he presses. 

You give him an unimpressed stare. 

“Violet. Royal violet. The one your dad wears a lot,” your expression softens to one of wonder as you continue. Like you didn't just refer to the King of the nation you live in as ‘his dad’ so casually. “And when it’s not that, it’s this bright yellow. Like sunflowers or daffodils. Or the colour leaves turn in the fall when the light hits them from above just right.”

It’s Jungkook's turn to stare now. You look lost in your own head, envisioning the colours you describe, seeing them dancing in your eyes. And he can’t help himself, you glow when you speak about something you're passionate about.

“Why two?” 

“Why not?” you answer, still dreaming, colours swimming in oceans of thought. Your voice is almost whimsical. “Don’t you get bored of one colour for too long? It’s nice to switch things up every now and then.”

His reply brings you back down to earth, albeit slowly.

“Red.”

“Hmm?” you touch ground.

“If you won’t accept black, then red. The rich dark one, like blood.” He chose the first colour that came into mind, not really caring which one. 

He did like red. Red looked good in many ways. On cars, clothes, lips...

But he chose the first one that popped into mind because after hearing your favourite colours and the reasons why, he started to like them more than all the others too.

“Red’s a great choice, strong,” you say, allowing him the blanket term just this once.

“Thanks.”

There’s a moment of comfortable quiet between you before you break it.

“When do you need me for the shoot?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows find his hairline. 

That was a yes, right? You’re saying yes?

“Uhm…soon, I’ll let you know the specifics when I do.”

“Sounds good.”

He was going to leave it at that, but adds, “Thanks, Y/N.”

He hasn’t said your name since the assembly. 

Always nicknames when talking to you. Always. 

Never your name. 

Not once in two months. Almost three.

You—

An inhale.

You…like it.

The way it sounds coming from his lips.

Exhale.

Chapter Eight: Photo Shoots and Blasphemous Discoveries

A/N 2: She's shorter but chapter 8 is like 11k so far, so I hope that makes up for it!

A/N 3: As always, Thank you for reading, loves. Xoxo - Yoon <3

<- Back

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 5/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: Language, angst, soft Ben, injured Reader

Word Count: 3117

A/N: This is part 5 of “His only exeption”.

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

After a few minutes, Ben finally had control of himself again. Looking around, he saw the chaos he had caused. "Fuck!", he cursed loudly before looking out for you. For a second the thought that he had killed you overwhelmed him. However, when he heard your weak heartbeat, he immediately ran towards you.

Ben was more than surprised that he had lost control. Of course he wasn't happy at all about what he had just saw. About the fact that you had made such a scene for him last night, but let yourself be touched by that fuckface. Still, he had absolutely not expected such a reaction from himself. What have you done to him?

It all started when he first saw you at Supe Affairs. He knew even then that he wanted you. He had to have you. You were the only reason he came back to Butcher's team, why he didn't blow up all the cocksuckers. When he finally got Butcher to let you join his team and you met him for the first time, his urge to make you his own only grew stronger. He would never forget how you stood in front of him back then. How you started to stutter as he walked up to you and held out his hand to introduce himself, something he didn't do with any of the others. How you bit your bottom lip as your sparkling eyes looked up at him. You barely reached his chest, you were so delicate that he was afraid of breaking you the first time a mission became dangerous and he had to push you out of the way to save you.

However, as you slowly got used to everyone, especially Ben himself, and started showing your true self, he couldn't cope anymore. You had way too big a mouth and absolutely no problem expressing and justifying your opinion until the other person gave up. You were damn smart, able to articulate yourself properly and had the ability to convince anyone without even trying. And fuck, you were cheeky. He liked that most. Your sassy retorts when Butcher approaches you and your snarky comments to Frenchie's nonsensical ideas. He just liked you. And more importantly, he respected you. And that meant more to Soldier Boy than anything else. Even if someone held a gun to your head, you stuck to your fucking attitude. Many might have described you as stubborn, but for Ben it meant being strong and staying true and loyal to the end. Even though you were human. Even though you were just a fucking woman. For him, the weakest creature in the world. He respected you.

From the first moment he had a connection with you that he couldn't explain to himself. And this connection grew stronger hour by hour, day by day. Until yesterday when he finally lost his self-control.

When Ben saw you in the rubble of the bar, he almost felt guilty. As carefully as he could, he picked you up from the ground and held you lightly to his chest. You were unconscious. Your legs and arms hung limply from your body as he carried you to the car.

“I got you”, he murmured.

At that moment he didn't care about anything. He didn't care that he screwed up the plan, he didn't care that the deep escaped, he just wanted you to be okay.

While he held you with one hand, he used the other to push the seat into a reclining position before placing you on it. For a moment he just looked at you. Your face and body were covered in dust and small scratches, your sprained wrist was definitely broken now, as were some of your ribs. He was sure that despite your injuries and pain, you would insult him, scream at him or even be mad at him. That was the last thing he wanted. Ben didn't want to hurt you in any way, and yet he did. It was unintentional, but unfortunately it didn't change the end result.

Ben got behind the wheel, started the car and drove to your apartment. He knew your life wasn't in danger because he heard that all of your organs were functioning normally. You had hardly lost any blood either.It seemed like the force of the explosion had thrown you too hard against a wall.

After a while you started to move. “Ben?”, your voice was weak and you were more than disoriented. “Yeah?". His large, heavy hand found its way to your thigh, where it lingered as his thumb repeatedly stroked up and down your soft skin. You blinked a few times before looking at Ben, who was watching you with a blank expression, even though he was still driving.

“Ugh…my head hurts”, you grumbled, narrowing your eyes. "What…what happened? Why did you blew up?".

Ben just took a deep breath and looked back at the road before removing his hand from your thigh. A familiar silence filled the car, broken only by your panting as you tried to sit up.

“Don´t fucking move. You probably broke a rib or two".

"Yeah, it feels like that".

You didn't exchange another word the entire drive home. Instead, you kept looking at each other, trying to read each other's minds, but even more wanting to make sure the other was okay. He wanted to make sure you didn't suffer any more serious injuries while you kept an eye on Ben for fear he might explode again.

After almost half an hour, Ben parked the car in front of the apartment. As Ben unbuckled himself, you spoke up. "I thought you had it under control?". No answer. Ben stood up, walked around the car and picked you up before you tried any longer to somehow get out of the car. As he carried you in like a bride, you looked at him from below.

"Don't look at me like that", he grumbled, his voice deeper and rougher than before.

Just as Ben was placing you down on the living room couch, Butcher stormed in with Hughie.

“I almost had him!”, Butcher shouted, ripping off his jacket and carelessly throwing it towards the armchair.

“Almost had it? Are you kidding me?! If I hadn't pushed you away, you would have been cut in half by now!", Hughie scolded back before spotting you and Ben.

"What happened?", he immediately asked in shock, walking towards you. "Fucking perfect! So, no Homelander and no fucking Fishcunt either", Butcher raised his hand, waved off and went into the kitchen to get a beer.

A soft, pained groan escaped you as you slowly sat up. While Hughie's worried gaze was on you, Butcher stared at Ben from the kitchen as he sipped his beer. “The plan didn’t quite work”, you mumbled, but as you answered, you continued to stare at Ben, who maintained your eye contact before straightening up. “She’s fine”, Ben commented. “I'm going to take a shower”, he added and disappeared into the bathroom.

“Oi, what happened?”, Butcher joined you and Hughie and held out a beer to both of you.

“Kevin knew all too quickly that something was off. As he and Ben were fighting, I somehow got in the way”, you lied, looking at your broken wrist. “And the cunt won or what?”, Butcher asked incredulously. “No, but… Ben helped me and Kevin was able to escape”, you mumbled. “Well fucking shit”, Butcher cursed. “Hopefully MM and the others had better luck”.

Butcher didn’t believe a single word you said, but he was still too angry at Hughie and himself to pursue your lies any further.

“You really should see a doctor (y/n)”, Hughie took your injured wrist. “You need a ride?”.

You just shook your head in response. Your nerves were on edge and all you wanted to do was to hide under the covers. "It's not that bad… I… should sleep, my head is buzzing and everything hurts… wake me up when there's news from the others, okay?". Hughie narrowed his eyes briefly before he sighed. “Lie down in my room. At least you’ll have some peace and quiet”. You nodded gratefully at him before disappearing into Hughie’s room.

The next time you opened your eyes it was pitch black. You sat up sluggishly and weakly and took slow steps towards the living room. You feel like you're being run over. Your forehead was beaming, your face was red and your eyes were glassy as you saw Ben on the sofa with a bottle of whiskey. "Where are the others?", You asked quietly, leaning on the armrest of the sofa. "They have A-Train. Trying to get something out of him", he grumbled, still looking at the television. Your legs started shaking and your vision blurred. It felt like your body was burning. “Ben, I think…” You couldn’t even finish your sentence before you collapsed. Ben's quick reaction prevented you from hitting the floor. “Alright, I got you drama queen”, Ben murmured as he caught you.

“Hey, (y/n)”, he tried to wake you up by lightly slapping your cheek a few times

However, when Ben heard your weakening heartbeat, he actually became slightly nervous. He focused on you and your body. A few seconds passed before he heard blood running down inside your upper body.

"Fuck", he cursed loudly. While you were already unconscious, Ben thought about what to do. He fought with himself for a bit, but he knew that no matter what he decided, time was running out.

“It’ll either kill you or it’ll help you”, Ben muttered to himself before taking Butcher’s injection kit and pushed you onto the couch with him.

By now it was a race against time. One of your broken ribs must have punctured your organs and the fact that you were still alive was a miracle.

Ben was sure you wouldn't survive an operation, let alone the drive to a hospital.

As your breathing and heartbeat grew weaker, Ben cut his wrist and collected the blood that dripped from the cut in a mug. Due to his fast healing, it took a few tries before he had enough blood. “Come on (y/n). You can do that”, he whispered hastily, pulling your almost lifeless body onto his lap and sucking up its blood with a syringe. Without further ado, Ben tore your shirt off your body and felt your vena cava with his fingertips. When he felt the strong pulsation, he positioned the tip and hoped for the best as he pushed the needle through your soft skin and pumped his blood into your bloodstream.

If Ben hadn't been so focused on you, he might not have missed how hard his own heart was racing as he waited for his blood to take effect.

“C´mon, Sweetheart”, Ben almost whispered as he held you in his arms, stroking your cheek with his blood-stained fingers. If you died now, it would be his fault. Your life would be over because he would have lost self-control.

He bit his lip nervously, his eyes glued to your face. No one should ever see him like that. He was afraid. Afraid for a small, weak human. Afraid for a fucking woman. What did you do to him to make him soft enough to care about you? To care about anything than himself.

He knew he had to put an end to it all. Soldier Boy couldn't be vulnerable. He couldn't have any weak spot at all.

After a few minutes that felt like hours, you suddenly jumped violently, inhaled sharply, and sat upright on Ben's thigh. Your eyes were big and sparkled blue for a few seconds. Shocked and overwhelmed, you rubbed your chest where you felt a strong tugging sensation. Only then did you notice that you no longer had a shirt on. “What the…” you breathed, confused. Your hand slid to your temple, which was throbbing like it was about to explode.

“How you feeling?", Ben looked at you from the side, his eyebrows furrowed. One of his arms was still around your waist. He was just relieved that you were still breathing.

“I…I think”, you started, but the pulsing of your heart interrupted you. The voices on the TV, Ben's breathing, the sound of his thumb stroking your thigh - it all overstained your thoughts. You pressed your palms against your ears, your face contorted in pain. "Make it stop", you begged. With each beg your voice became shriller, more and more tears ran down your cheeks while Ben looked at you disturbed.

“What should I stop?”.

“The noises!”.

The realization was written all over Ben's face. He looked around, wondering how he should help you, before finally knocking you out with a well-aimed blow to the temple.

“Sleep well, sweetheart”, he chuckled, sliding you onto the sofa so only your head was on his lap and pulling the blanket over you. You had some side effects, but that was probably part of becoming a supe this way.

24 hours.

You were asleep until you were rudely awakened by the sweet roar of Butcher and Soldier Boy.

"I didn't fucking kill her!", Ben growled angrily. “It’s been 24 hours! And (y/n) looks absolutely anything but alive!”, Butcher bitched back.

When the rest of the team came home yesterday and Ben told what he had to do, none of the others believed that he really wanted to save you with his half-hearted and hasty action, but he couldn't admit what he had felt in that moment. Not to himself and especially not to Butcher and the rest of the gang.

“I know what your bloody plan is. You've wanted to make her a supe since you first saw her. You think she would be looser and easier then. That she finally lets you into her panties. But I can promise you mate, it won’t work on (y/n)”, Butcher hissed. Ben laughed bitterly and derogatory. “You’re fucking delusional”.

Ben paused for a moment. Unfortunately, Butcher had a point. It would really be an advantage if you were no longer human. No longer easily breakable. But those weren't the reasons why Ben gave you his blood. Not at that moment.

“She would be dead if I hadn’t given her my fucking blood”, Ben insisted.

“Why the hell was she even hurt in the first place? I assigned her specifically to you because I thought if anyone could protect her, it would be America’s ex-golden boy!”.

“You fucking going to start this again?”, Soldier Boy approached Butcher threateningly and stood in front of him. The two of them were so busy measuring the length of their cocks that they didn't notice you slowly sitting up in Soldier Boy's bed. You could hear everything, but it took a while for not only your head but also your body to come back alive.

“Well, that’s a lot of testosterone for a small country like this”, you whispered in a husky voice, catching the attention of the two alpha monkeys.

“Oi, you’re alive. What a damn nice surprise”.

Even though Butcher was talking to you, half-heartedly asking about your well-being, your eyes were on Ben. It still felt like your brain was swimming in your head, so you attributed the tightness in your chest you felt as you looked at Ben to the side effects of… whatever.

“I’m feeling much better, thanks”, you murmured, continuing to maintain eye contact with Ben.

"What happened? Like… after the mission went terribly wrong".

As Ben lowered his head slightly to look away from you, you looked around the room. You were in Ben's room.

"Well, young lady, the twisted Dracula here can tell you", Butcher clapped Ben's shoulders from behind with both hands before leaving the room without another word, knowing full well that if his hands touched Soldier Boy two more seconds, he would have literally ripped his head off.

“Ben?”, you whispered after a few minutes of silence.

He heard your heartbeat and his switch turned.

"You fainted. I gave you my blood. You're alive”. His voice was as monotonous as his facial expression. You furrowed your eyebrows in confusion before asking. "What do you mean fainted and you gave me your… blood?“.

Ben rolled his eyes dramatically as always. He was so annoyed with this world today and the fact that everyone was so slow to understand anything or always had to question everything.

“You’re not that fucking stupid, are you? Do I really have to explain every little thing to you now?.

Your look probably said more than a thousand words as Ben groaned in annoyance, crossed his arms and explained to you exactly what had happened.

“I injected you my blood to prevent you from dying. Apparently, it worked. You're still breathing", he shrugged.

"Wait. You didn't know if this would work? Are you kidding me?”.

“Do you think one of my hobbies is to distribute my blood like a sperm donor? The last time I provided my DNA to someone, they bred this fucking son of a bitch. So, no. I didn't know if it would work. And yet, I saved your fucking life! How about a fucking thank you?!”, Ben hissed and took a few steps towards you.

“Did you miss the fact that I broke my ribs just because of you?”, you replied, now also with your arms crossed.

You stood facing each other. So close you could feel the warmth radiating from his chest.

“Why did you lose control in the bar?”. You wanted an answer more than anything.

Ben knew the answer to your question. It was on the tip of his tongue. But he knew it wouldn't change anything. And even if…then what? You thought so poorly of him that you didn't even wanted to kiss him. You were so disgusted with him that you never wanted him to touch you. What on fucking earth would make you let him call you his own?

“Uhhh, there's a lot of tension here, mes chéris. You should definitely talk to each other…naked is best”, Frenchie chuckled as he came in to check you were okay.

———————————

A/N: I'm not a supe-doc, so I had to get creative😅

Hmmm, what could happen in the next chapter? Probably not what you expect 🫣

Please let me know what you think.🥰

-

Part 6

-

Taglist: @deangirl96, @thatgirljayy, @suckitands33, @deans-spinster-witch

[nouearth]

servicing justice: superman [1]

pairing ; kal-el / clark kent / superman x m!reader. fandom: ; dc, superman. word count ; 2144. series ; servicing justice. genre ; smut. rating ; m. warnings ; bigdick!superman. blowjob. gloryhole. handjob. mouth-fucking. oral (reader giving). sexworker!reader. note ; yeah, okay. maybe i've been watching too much of a certain video genre, ahem. but i hope you guys enjoy my first smut! it's been a WHILE since i've written one, so i know it's rusty, HAHA. looks-wise, i mostly had maws's superman in mind (because the art style is so good and so himbo), but feel free to imagine it with any superman!

it isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. you’ve been kneeling on the floor for quite some time now, waiting for your assigned client. your palms begin to sweat to a minimal but uncomfortable degree. did i fuck up already? you ask yourself as your mind clouds with questions, doubts, and even judgement regarding this new job.

“jesus, what did i get myself into…” you recall the long process it took for you to end up here. the intensive (and ridiculously long) process of reading and signing multiple forms and documents almost had you backing out of this opportunity. though looking back at it, it was understandable since it’s quite unheard of to be… a sex worker for superheroes.

for an incredible pay, your privacy will essentially be stripped away starting from today. all phone messages, calls, and social media activities will be monitored during your venture as a sex worker, and that post-graduate life was not going to pay itself. for the most part, so far everything seemed… great? being driven to work by a chauffeur, having your own personal room and health coverage provided, and most importantly… eating free lunch was not bad at all.

or maybe you’re just naïve.

all you had to do was kneel and suck a few superhumans off. as the newbie, you were told that you’ll be starting on gloryhole duty due to privacy reasons; at least until you built enough camaraderie. though, you didn’t even mind since there would certainly be less strain on your body.

you couldn’t help but snicker at the mere thought of an entire league of superheroes holding a meeting regarding this subject matter. especially since almost everyone in the world, including you, holds these superheroes in such high regard.

“meeting is adjourned until 9 am tomorrow! until then, please help yourself to some delicious food trucks from outer spac-“ your humorous imitation of a noble superhero is silenced when you hear the door opening. within your private booth, all that blocks you from meeting your approaching client is another door with a hole cut through.

your curiosity is piqued when you catch a sight of the man’s physique through the hole. plaid shirt and jeans aside, and assuming he had to underdress, he’s huge. maybe because you’re kneeling right now, or maybe it’s the fact that you’ve never been near a superhero before, but you couldn’t help but be in awe at the size of the man. your eyes complete a full body scan by the time he approaches the door and before you could say something, he does.

“sorry i was late-“ a gentle voice echoes behind the door. contrary to his soft voice, the man’s large hands work aggressively at his belt, unlooping the leather with impatience yet eagerness as he anticipates the mouth that’s been waiting for his arrival. “there was this whole thing with this cat in this tree and then this school bus got hijacked- not my best day, unfortunately.”

“i’m sorry to hear that. sounds like a stressful day, yeah?” your voice is compassionate. you felt bad for the unnamed superhero and a part of you wanted to continue the conversation further, but your job isn’t to listen to their feelings. it’s to pleasure.

“yeah…” a huge sigh of relief expels from the man’s dry throat when he pulls his pants down. frustration stains another one of your client’s sigh, clearly troubled by the restrictive fabric guarding his erection. you watch with parted lips as he couldn’t help but give himself a needy stroke through his tight briefs, fondling his balls then beelining his palm to the very plump tip of his cock. your own cock hardens at this scene, and you find yourself doing the very same. mimicking his impatient hand to tend to the sensitive pressure below, you tiptoe the fine line between frustration and pleasure as your tightening pants and briefs define what it means to be an absolute nuisance. “very stressful.”

it doesn’t take much time before you’re faceful of cock and somehow, you manage to salivate more than you did a minute ago. the man’s throbbing erection is brimmed with thick pre-cum, stress practically leaving his body with every drip. it’s a heavenly sight that’s enough to make you stick your tongue out just in time to catch the substance into your mouth, not wanting to waste a single drop. the salty taste always catches you off-guard yet at the same time, it puts you under a spell. a tantalizing spell that commands you to drag your warm tongue over and back the underside of his thick shaft, completely avoiding the plump glans to have his cock leak even more… stress.

the taste of his musk drives your palm further into your erection, palming at whatever you could as you preoccupy yourself with teasing the man. you almost felt bad for him. contrary to his build, his whimpers are… so small, so weak. you notice his hands grip over the top of the barrier, and it turns you on upon realizing how this supposed hero could become so fragile at the simple taunt of your tongue.

“please…” the superhero whimpers out, needlessly fucking the air in hopes of granting his cock some type of friction. you’re amazed, and a little proud, by how much pre-cum he’s been leaking by now, and it all goes right onto your tongue. the wet muscle follows the natural curve of his cock to meet up with the wet and plump head. his hips buckle into the barrier and feeling it shake, you keep him steady by wrapping your hand around his shaft. you’re addicted at this point. addicted to the salty taste of his pre-cum as your tongue licks and explores into the slit of his cock, while at the same time, your hand works at his large cock in slow, but steady strokes.

���oh christ-“ he breathes out, repeating the same two words under his shaky breath as you continue to pleasure him with your tongue and hand. after a few licks, you pull away to give your tongue a break. in doing so, your grip tightens around his shaft to pace your strokes quicker. when you find a moment where your wrist needs a break, you let your client catch his breath. his cock throbbing more and more with every passing second when your tongue and hand aren’t exploring him, and you bask in the sight of it. you believe you deserve a medal at this point. not for doing a great job (though, it doesn’t seem too far-fetched), but for having control. you haven’t even sucked him off yet, but you’re content on remaining just like this for a while longer. though, that wouldn’t be fair for the superhero.

before he could whimper out another plea, your warm mouth finally wraps around the head of his cock and your ears perk at the sound of his low moan almost instantly. your hand returns to its rightful position around the lower base of his penis as you cycle your tongue over the glans, satisfying your need to taste his musk once more. seconds later, your hand lets go when you push your head farther, taking in an inch more of the hero’s cock. your knees dig into the floor as you push your head more and more, stretching your mouth with his cock until you feel yourself gagging.

“fuck.” you sniffle out when you pull back. perhaps you were challenging yourself too hard. you think to yourself as you catch your breath, using the remaining moment to sloppily jerk him off with your saliva. part of you wanted to challenge yourself to deepthroat him, impress your client on the first day. but you already know you wouldn’t be able to take it… at least, for now.

“you could hurt someone with this, y’know?” for some reason, you thought you needed to crack a joke as if there was an awkward silence that needed to be filled. maybe you just wanted to hear him talk again. his voice is warm and inviting, somewhat fitting for a superhero or even a television host as the moment you hear his voice again, you felt safe.

“i have before- oh god.” you lube up his cock with your spit as you continue to jerk him off, refraining yourself from fucking his slit with your tongue again to concentrate on his words. “which is why i don’t do this much- sex and stuff… it’s all troublesome, really.”

“yeah?” and just when you talked yourself out of challenging yourself, you feel the competitive spark ignite inside of you again. “well, i guess you just have to find the right one. could be anyone, even people you just met.” you try to play it nonchalantly, hoping that double-handing his wet cock would distract him.

he was beyond speechless at this point, moans drawn out by means of your sloppy strokes. you swear you can hear his heartbeat behind the barrier when you lean your head closer to suck him off again. you moan along with him, drawing out every breath of yours as you bob your head up and down, taking more of his cock every time you come down. your hand twists and strokes the remaining few inches that isn’t violated by your tongue and mouth, following your mouth like a reel as your intent to make him cum is fervent more than ever.

it hurts. your mouth hurts by how large your client is and tears brim in your eyes as you hold yourself back from gagging. but you don’t stop yourself because you’ll know it’ll be worth it. your endeavor to please him to the fullest has you drowning out his groans into white noise and you can barely register the fact that you’ve been on paused for a while now. you find yourself in a closer position than before, where your mouth is open, lips fully pressed around the carved hole as the superhero fucks into your mouth, fucks into your gags like you’re his personal flesh light. you didn’t care how dirty you looked, how you had saliva and spittle dripping out from the corners of your mouth and onto the floor. who would see? and you didn’t care that you were too preoccupied to touch your dick right now, because you know you’ll be thinking about this very moment for the rest of your life. and right now, you didn’t know if you wanted to be covered in his cum or to have your mouth be filled with it.

remaining in this position, you glance your teary eyes up at his grip over the barrier again. the strength in his grasp forms small cracks in the material of the barrier and that was the sign you knew you fulfilled your sense of purpose.

“christ, i’m going to come-“ your eyes shut again and you breathe through your noise, bracing for impact. he pushes his cock down your throat and hits that sore spot one last time before unloading his cum into your mouth with a stifled groan. warm, hot seed quickly fills you up and you pull your head back an inch to fully enclose your lips around his cock, ensuring none escape your lips.

in a heartbeat, you swallowed it all. his warm cum coats the back of your throat like medicine and you moan around his cock at the taste, intoxicated. you made sure to lick every inch of his cock clean, calmly slurping any saliva and cum that threatens to leave your mouth as you pull back up with a soft pop, swallowing the remaining remnants of his stress away.

“t-thank you. i needed that…” he pulls his softening cock out, careful in avoiding the hole as he was still sensitive. “did you need a tissue or anything? i think i have one somewhere…” you can hear him rummage through what you can only assume would be his bag and you find it charming, a quiet laugh leaving your swollen lips as you lean back onto your elbows to take a breather and stretch your legs out.

“no, no. i’m okay. i, uh, don’t think i wasted a drop.” you proudly brag, only for him to respond with a shy chuckle. you watch him tidy himself through the hole from a leaned back view, occasionally tilting your head in various angles to see if you could catch a glimpse on who the mysterious superhero is, but the barrier remains an obstruction to your view.

“well then, i… uh… thank you for your service.” he covers up the silence with another laugh and you join in, re-adjusting his pants and belt before turning his back towards you and heading out the booth. “i’ll try not to be late next time.”

© nouearth. please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works. and if you like this story, please reblog and leave a like!

[midnightsnyx]

girl at home | mat barzal | part 9

pairing: mat barzal x fem!reader

warnings: angst, mentions of pregnancy, not edited word count: 2.1k authors note: i am back with a little less brain!! (literally) it took me a bit to start writing again cause I had some slowness on my right side so I wasn't quite up to writing. BUT i hope you guys like p9 and thank you so much for the continuous love on this story <3 the first bit is marlee's POV and after the * it's back to readers pov. hope u all like & pls lmk what you think <3

masterlist masterpost ask box

MARLEE

Marlee Jones loved her job. It was something she took pride in; helping bring new lives into the world and being there for all the mamas. Of course there were always the hard days, the days that made her hug Stella a little tighter when she got home from a shift. Her job had its ups and downs, but at the end of the day, she wouldn’t want to do anything else. 

So, her panic is warranted when she comes across a certain patient file. She wasn’t looking for it, but when her eyes caught the name and there weren’t any other people nearby, she couldn’t help herself. It’s against HIPAA, and if anybody found out, she would be fired without question but she slipped the file in between a couple others and walked to a random supply closet. She closed and locked the door behind her before pulling the file out and opening it. Her eyes quickly scanned the pages, the words Hysterical Pregnancy making her heart race. She had to double check the name on the file twice, before believing it. 

She knew that someone would notice the missing file, so she quickly found a printer and copied the pages, tucking them in her tote bag and putting the file exactly where it was. 

Nobody would know.

*

Your first instinct is to calm Marlee down. Her panicking is making you panic and at least one of you needs to keep a straight head. You’re trying to let her words sink in without letting your mind go down a rabbit hole. You need to see all the facts before letting yourself do that.

“Marlee,” you reach out to grab her shaking hands. “What happened?”

She looks up at you and takes a deep breath. “I can’t- I can’t tell you the details but she’s not pregnant. She lied, and it’s already caused so much damage between you, and Mat and Liana… and Nora.” She pulls her hands away from yours and buries her face in them.

You decide not to remind her that Mat already fucked things up before Calista dropped the baby bomb on him because she knows that. Focus on one disaster at a time. 

Calista lied about being pregnant. Mat doesn’t know this, and even if you try to tell him, you have no idea how he’ll react. Really, it’s none of your business and you can very well go on with your life because Mat has let you know loud and clear what his feelings are. He wants Calista in his life despite you not wanting her in Nora’s life. He technically has no rights, no say in what happens but when he first found out about her and asked to be in her life, you’d so desperately wanted to let him. 

“How long can she pull off this lie until he finds out the truth?” you ask quietly and she lifts her head from her hands.

“Depends,” she mumbles.

“On what?”

“How deep she has him pulled into her fantasy.”

. . .

You let Nora spend a little more time with Stella, mainly wanting her to burn as much energy from the sugar high she’s on from the ice-cream. She’s sleepy when you buckle her in her carseat and you’re pretty sure she’s asleep but she mumbles something and you look to see her looking at you with droopy eyes.

“What was that?” you ask softly.

She looks down, avoiding eye contact with you which is worrisome. 

“Do you think Mat would want to see me?” she whispers. “Without her?”

She obviously doesn’t need to clarify who she's referring to and it breaks your heart that a six-year-old has to worry about things like this. 

“I can ask,” you tell her, unsure why she wants to see him suddenly. “You don’t have to go see Mat if you don’t want to, baby.”

By now, you’re pulling into your driveway so you can turn the jeep off and turn to give her your full attention. She still won’t look at you so you reach out and tap on her leg until she looks up. 

“I want to,” she says but doesn’t elaborate so you don’t push. 

“Okay, I’ll call him tomorrow.”

She just nods and starts to unbuckle her seatbelt so you get out and help her. She doesn’t complain when you carry her inside, helping her change into pajamas and brush her teeth. When she asks if she can watch a movie before bed, you don’t have the heart to deny her, even though it’s close to her bedtime so you set her up on the couch and put her favorite movie on. She’ll be out like a light in less than twenty minutes so while you’re waiting, you grab your phone and pull up Mat’s contact. Your finger hovers over the call option but you’re not sure you want to talk to him over the phone so you go into your text messages instead. The last messages between the two of you were when you last met up and even then they were short and to the point which makes this text easily simple.

To Mat: Nora wants to see you.

You lay your phone on the counter and get a glass of water while waiting for his response. You’re unnecessarily nervous, mainly because you are expecting him to start an argument the moment you tell him that Nora doesn’t want Calista to be there. You don’t even feel comfortable letting Mat see her because of what he said, but you can’t turn her request down. Not when she was so adamant about not wanting to see him, and out of the blue deciding that she does. 

When you check on Nora while waiting for a response, she’s asleep so you pick her up and carry her to bed. You spend a minute just watching her after you’ve tucked her in. You’re desperate to see what’s going on in that little head of hers.

Just as you walk back to the kitchen, your phone buzzes and you freeze. Maybe messaging Mat tonight was a bad idea, and you should’ve just waited until tomorrow. It’s too late now though so you walk over and look to see Mat’s name and an unread message. 

From Mat: ok

From Mat: when?

It bothers you, how nonchalant he’s acting after everything that’s happened. This is about Nora though, so you take a breath and try to decide on a date.

To Mat: Sunday?

From Mat: ok

You want to scream at him and take back the offer but remind yourself again that Nora explicitly asked to see him and it’s her decision to make. 

So, you set up a place and time and tell him that she doesn’t want to see Calista. You expect him to argue, but he responds with another simple ok, and that’s that. 

. . .

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Marlee asks, crossing her arms and glaring at Mat who’s sitting on a bench at the park you agreed to meet at. The two of you are standing outside her jeep, stalling a little before going over there. 

Nora asked if Stella could come to the park too and Marlee was pulling out of her driveway before you could finish asking. You’re a little worried that she’s going to yell at Mat, but you figure with the kids there, she will contain herself unless he says something out of line.

“Nora asked to see him,” you remind her but she just grumbles something under her breath. 

You’re ready to get this over with so you open the door and let Nora and Stella climb out of the jeep. Normally, they would race to the playground but Nora is hesitating, glancing over to where Mat is. He hasn’t noticed that you’re here yet which is good, because you are about five seconds away from just putting the kids back in and driving away. 

Nora sighs quietly before walking over to Mat. You and Marlee hang back a little but Stella grabs her hand and sticks close to her. 

When Mat sees her, his face lights up and for a second, you want to forgive him so everything can go back to how it was before. You can’t though, not when what he said is still so fresh and not when you know about Calista’s lies.

“Hey peanut,” he says softly, staying seated while Nora stands in front of him, looking down and scuffing her shoe on the gravel. He looks at you when she doesn’t say anything but you just shrug even though you’re confused. You’re about to ask Nora if she wants to just go to the playground when she breaks her silence.

“Are you not my daddy?” she asks quietly and it takes you off guard. You had this conversation with her, assuring her that Calista was lying but she must want to hear it from Mat.

“What?” he asks, looking at you before turning his attention back to her.

“Calista told me that you’re not my daddy,” she says more firmly, finally looking up at him. Her arms are crossed and she’s glaring at him. You’d be impressed if you weren’t so worried about what Mat may say.

His mouth opens and closes a couple times and he looks like a fish out of water. He looks at you again, as if he’s expecting you to step in but you just raise an eyebrow at him as if to say I told you so.

“I think she was confused-” he begins to say which is absolutely the wrong thing to say because it sets Nora off. 

She stomps her foot and her glare hardens. “No! She said that mommy lied and that you’re not really my daddy. She told me that I don’t have a daddy.”

Before he can say anything, she’s storming off toward the playground, Stella chasing after her. 

“Do I need to say I told you so?” you ask sharply, now that the kids are out of hearing range.

“You just did,” he mumbles and Marlee, who has been quiet up until now, steps towards Mat.

“You’re a piece of work,” she snaps and Mat looks at her confused. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Do I need to repeat myself?” she says, and you’re more than happy to let her say what’s on her mind. 

“You’re letting your girlfriend tell your daughter that you’re not her father, and instead of comforting Nora, you’re trying to defend your girlfriend!” 

For a moment, you’re scared Marlee is going to get angry enough that she’ll tell him the truth about Calista, but she takes a deep breath and turns away to go to where the girls are playing. You watch her walk over until she reaches them before turning back to Mat. 

He’s staring at the ground and you don’t know why you’re still standing here but you guess you’re just waiting for Mat to say something.

“I fucked up,” he eventually mumbles and you scoff. 

“When did you come to that brilliant conclusion?” 

There’s the tiniest part of you that wants to bring up Calista, just to see if he’ll tell you anything but you’re not sure you’re in the mood to hear about her. Not when you know the truth. 

“Liana is mad at me,” he tells you, which is news, because you thought she was just angry at you. 

“I can’t imagine why.”

You look back at Nora, smiling when you see her laughing. She looks more like herself, rather than the gloomy kid she’s been the past couple days since she asked to see Mat. Like she got what was bothering her off her tiny shoulders. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Mat doing the same but his smile isn’t as real. If you weren’t still angry at him, you’d feel bad but you can’t let go of what he said and the fact that he tried again to defend Calista. 

“She’s a good kid,” he says softly and you hum in agreement. 

“Did you know?” he asks, “that she was going to say that?”

“No,” you tell him. It’s not a lie - she didn’t tell you why she wanted to see Mat, and you didn’t want to push. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, but you shake your head and look directly at him.

“Sorry isn’t going to fix it this time. Marlee was right, instead of apologizing to Nora, who deserves to hear that more than me, you won’t stop making excuses for Calista,” you tell him. “I don’t know what you’re expecting from Nora and I, but sorry isn’t the answer.” 

He frowns, but nods, seemingly accepting your response. You leave it at that and walk over to where Nora, Stella, and Marlee are, grinning when your daughter reaches for you. She hugs you when you pick her up and when you look back at the bench Mat was sitting at, he’s already gone.

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@love-like-woaah @cycy9 @swift-sos

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[writeforfandoms]

Born for Greatness 6

Find the series masterlist

You may have noticed this is now chapter 6 of 9! There are 8 official chapters and then there will be one bonus chapter with the 141 pack and Logan interacting.

This chapter, you have a very hard time. But not everything is bad.

Warnings: Swearing, attachment issues, John Price is his own warning, more world building and shifter behavior, pack cuddles definitely need their own warning. Discussion of reader's past and issues. Bodily throwing reader into a cold pond.

John Price x f!reader

Word count: 2.5k

Something shifted after that movie night. Suddenly, Price was everywhere - checking up on you, watching you while he worked with rookies, ensuring you ate. 

And as much as Logan liked to tease you that you were wilfully blind, you knew what this kind of behavior meant, especially coming from him. 

He was treating you as pack. 

You weren’t sure what surprised you more - the treatment, or the lack of protest from Logan. Logan did watch Price any time they were in the same room, but he was being oddly calm about everything. 

Which just meant you were mentally braced for something to blow up. 

But you finally got the make-up class for the last group of soldiers scheduled. You ignored the fact that Logan followed you to class, taking a seat back behind you. 

That class went off without a hitch, which… was good. It was. It was a good thing.

Even if the continued good behavior of the soldiers meant you were that much closer to being done with your job here. Really, there were just a few things left on your to-do list.

You tried hard not to feel disappointed about that.

Especially when the order from LoveSac arrived. That was a big item off your list. You mostly watched as the pack (plus Logan) got the pieces set up in the rec room, although you did smile when Soap threw himself onto the finished product with a low groan. 

“Ye were right,” he mumbled, just barely audible to you. “This is great.”

You laughed quietly. “I’m glad you approve.” But the pang of your heart must not have been as concealed as you’d hoped - three heads swiveled to look at you: Ghost, Price, and Logan. “You lot should get comfortable, make it feel more like home,” you said, quickly looking away from the shifters. “Soap’s got the right idea, take a nap.” 

Your phone ringing gave you the perfect excuse to escape, which you took. Your feet moved on autopilot as you listened to the woman on the other end of the call, making the appropriate noises at the appropriate times. 

You weren’t even surprised when you found yourself outside. It was just that kind of day, clearly. It couldn’t just be one thing, it had to be multiple things at once. You thanked the woman softly and hung up. 

Briefly, you debated climbing up onto the roof of the barracks again. But you dismissed the thought. Not this time. You needed to actually start tackling this problem. 

“Bad news?”

You yelped, fumbling your phone as you whirled to face Price. “I swear I’m going to put a fucking bell on you.” 

“Sorry.” This time he actually sounded like he meant it, hands out at his sides, eyes very blue before you yanked your gaze back down to your phone. 

“It’s fine.” You blew out a breath, leaning over to grab your phone and wipe it off, avoiding looking at him. 

“What happened?” He shifted closer, slowly, carefully. 

“Nothing I can’t handle.” You shrugged off his concern with a little smile. “Don’t worry about it.” 

He chuckled quietly, taking another step closer to you. “I’m the alpha,” he rumbled, “which means it’s my job to worry.”

You huffed something almost a laugh. “I suppose so.” You rubbed one hand over your face, pressing your thumb and forefinger into your eyes until stars burst in the darkness under your eyelids. “Apparently, there was a fire in my apartment complex and the whole thing is closed off pending investigation. There was some damage to my apartment, but I have no idea how much.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Price murmured, low and gentle and closer than you expected. “Do you need to go?”

“No, won’t do me any good.” You let your hand drop back to your side, blinking a few times to get rid of the last few spots in your vision. “Besides, I’m almost done here.”

“That so?” He tipped his head at you.

“Yeah.” You shrugged. “The LoveSac was the last big thing. Just need to do another day or two of observing everyone, and then I can sign off on everything.” 

“So you’re a day or two away from being done with this job.” He crossed his arms loosely over his chest. 

“Yes.”

“Stay here.”

You blinked up at him, sure you’d misheard him. “...What?” 

“Stay here,” he offered again, watching you closely. “For as long as you want.”

“But I’m not military,” was the first thing out of your mouth. You were still a little bit in shock.

“I’ll take care of that.” One big hand settled over the back of your neck, warm and soothing. “Think about it, hm? All you have to do is tell me yes or no.” 

“Okay,” you agreed quietly, a little bewildered still. “I will… let you know.” 

He nodded, squeezing gently. You could have melted. Your eyes fluttered closed and you had to force them back open again, holding steady against him. “Call me John.” 

You blinked, eyes blowing wide. “Okay. John.” 

“Come back inside,” he suggested, ever so gently tugging you forward. “Join the boys. Relax a bit, eh?” 

You thought about resisting, about writing up the report that you really should be working on, about the half-dozen other little things you could do. Thought about the big things that needed doing too, like finding a new apartment.

And then you gave in with a sigh. “Yeah, alright,” you agreed, allowing the comforting warmth of his hand at the nape of your neck to guide you forward. “For a little while.” 

Price - John - didn’t relinquish his grip on you until you were back in the rec room. Logan was gone, but you didn’t have time to ask where he’d gone, because Soap got up from the LoveSac to grab you from John. 

“Ye alright?” he asked, tucking you under his arm easily as he guided you to the napping spot. 

“Getting there.” You shrugged, unwilling to go into things again. You were busy shoving your feelings down. 

Soap nodded, searching your expression, before he grinned. “Hey, LT. Incoming.” 

You had approximately a second to think oh shit before Soap tumbled you over the back of the couch, somehow avoiding Gaz. 

And landing you right in front of the cheetah.

Ghost simply blinked at you languidly, nose twitching as he sniffed you. You blinked back at him, holding very still. Not that you really thought he’d do anything to hurt you, but still. 

You did startle when he laid half-across you, purring. Oh. Oh that was really kind of nice, actually. The purring was soothing, and the weight of him was nice (since he wasn’t fully laying on you), and it was all too easy to go lax. 

“Ye never purr like that at me,” Soap grumbled, pout clear in his voice. 

“Hush.” That was John, soft but still in charge. 

There was a little grumble and then Soap flopped over around you, his head near yours and his body curled to fit into the free space around you. Which you noticed when you opened one eye to look at him, curious. 

“Alpha-mandated nap time,” Soap murmured with faux-gravitas, eyes twinkling. “Ghost reinforced.”

You snorted and closed your eye again. “Guess so,” you agreed softly. You felt the couch dip near your feet and someone tugged your shoes off. But you didn’t bother checking this time. Didn’t matter if it was Gaz or John - either way you were safe and warm, and still had a purring cheetah laying on you. 

Really, there was nothing for you to do but relax, soothed to sleep by the gentle rumbling. 

You had no idea how long you slept, but you woke to gentle nudging, and blinked blearily. You were still surrounded by warmth, although Ghost was no longer laying on you. 

“Time to get up,” John murmured, low and rumbling. 

You wrinkled your nose, sitting up slowly. “Time ‘s it?” 

“Almost dinner time.” John gave you a bit of space, watching as you cracked your neck and blinked several times. 

“Right.” You puffed out a breath. Ghost blinked at you from his spot on top of Soap, ears flicking towards you. “If you ever want an alternate career, I think that’s the fastest I’ve ever fallen asleep,” you joked. 

Ghost snorted at you, one paw batting at you, slowly, playfully. He was even being careful of his claws. Aw, he did like you! 

John offered you a hand up to get off the couch, which you accepted. Gaz handed over your shoes, and you left with the two of them, giving Soap and Ghost time. 

Somehow, you were still surprised when the two shifters coordinated to seat you between them. 

At some point, you were going to have a massive freak out about this. You could tell. 

But not today.

You did beg off after dinner, though, going to take a shower and do a bit of actual work. That report wasn’t going to write itself.

Not that you were using work as an excuse not to think about what you wanted. Of course not. You’d never. 

But when your vision blurred and the words ran together on the screen, you finally gave up, pressing your palms against your eyes. 

Maybe you should take a vacation. Maybe you should finish up here and go back to Canada with Logan for a little while. Get some space to clear your head, examine everything objectively. Take some space to decide if this was really a good idea. Logan would let you stay with him, he always did. 

Plus that would give you a chance to get your living situation figured out, since your current apartment was no longer viable. 

You groaned softly, pushing your palms harder into your face. No. No more thinking about this tonight. You needed sleep, not an anxiety spiral. 

Even so, it took you a while to fall asleep, schedule knocked out of whack from the nap earlier and your own stress.

So of course someone pounding on your door far too early in the morning had you jolting out of bed, bleary-eyed, head pounding angrily with the lack of sleep. You yanked the door open, teeth bared, ready to rip a new hole into whoever woke you up.

Only to be rudely pushed past as Logan made his way into your room, uninvited. 

“Get dressed,” he ordered, giving you a quick once over. “We’re going out.”

“Where?” The word was still grouchy but you were already closing the door, aware this was not an argument you would win. 

“Outside.” 

You flashed your teeth at him, thoroughly unimpressed, but got dressed anyway. 

Logan didn’t speak again until the two of you were outside, starting a patrol of the perimeter. It was completely unnecessary, considering this was an active base, but clearly Logan needed it. 

“Are you staying?”

You nearly stopped out of surprise, blinking at him. “What?” 

Logan shot you a look that said all kinds of derogatory things about your intelligence. “He offered you a place here. Are you going to stay?” 

“I don’t–” You sighed, short and sharp. “I haven’t decided.” 

“You’re being stubborn.”

“It’s more complicated than that and you know it.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Is it?” Logan shook his head, steering you along. “You like them. You trust them. You’ve been given an offer to stay.”

“I still have things back home to take care of,” you shot back. “It would make doing my job more difficult. They’re gone I don’t even know how much.” 

“People make it work all the time.” Logan shrugged. “If you want it, you’ll make it work. If you don’t, let ‘em down easy and come back with me.” 

“I was thinking of taking a bit of time off to think about it.”

“Nope.” Logan snorted, shaking his head. “You’ll use the space to procrastinate on making an actual decision and run away.”

You narrowed your eyes at Logan. “Rude,” you growled. But he wasn’t exactly wrong, was the thing. 

"So. Do you want it?" Logan stopped the two of you beside a pond, looking out over the water. He at least gave you a bit of space by not looking at you. 

You blew out a hard breath. Did you want it? Yes. But you didn't know if it was the right call, if it was a good call. You could probably think of a thousand reasons why you shouldn't. 

A hand in your pocket jerked you out of your musings, and you had just enough time to look at Logan in outrage before he shoved you. Hard. 

You shrieked as you fell. Straight into the pond. Cold water enveloped you, briefly filling your mouth until you touched the bottom and failed your way back up to the surface. And spat out the water. 

"FUCK!" You whipped your head around to glare at Logan, dripping and cold. "LOGAN!" 

“It’s a simple yes or no question, kid.” Logan stood above you, your phone safely in his hands.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” You started up the bank and out of the pond… only to halt when Logan got in your way.

“No snowbanks here,” he drawled. “You gonna answer the question?” 

“No, I don’t think I will.” You stepped to the side, intending to go around him.

And ended up falling straight back into the water. 

This time, Logan started talking while you were wiping the water from your eyes, ignoring the chill seeping through your skin. 

“They’re not like your foster parents, kid. You know that.”

You froze half-way through trying to climb out. Shouted words and slamming doors echoed in your head, and for a moment you felt very small. Then you shook yourself, lips twisting in a grimace. “I know that,” you spat. “Also, which fucking foster parents?”

“All of them.” Logan tucked your phone in his pocket so he could cross his arms over his chest. “They’re not gonna get sick of you and give up on you, kid.”

Your heart ached at that. The water was looking very tempting again, suddenly. You could just walk away from this absolute train wreck of a conversation. 

“What are you doing?” You looked at Logan, hands clenched into fists to hide the trembling. 

“Knocking you outta your own stubborn head.” Logan kept his gaze steady on you. “I can do this all day, kid.”

And he could. You knew because you’d tested him only once as a teen. 

Guess you were having a conversation about your traumas this morning. 

“You know I’m no good at this.”

“No shit.” Logan snorted. “You never have been.”

You glowered at him. “This kind of shit doesn’t just go away because you keep throwing me in the pond.”

“Nope. Gotta work at it.” Logan finally glanced away from you, smirking. “Figured you’d have some help with that.”

You turned slowly, a horrible sinking feeling in your gut. 

And locked eyes with John.

[girl-dot-tzt]

Alright results are in, I'm not allowed to finish for 36 days 🙃

Im going to update this as a lil diary to keep me honest💃

Day 1: I'm feeling pretty good, I notice I get really horny when I take my prog the ✨️fun way✨️ so I'm going to use that method to increase the challenge this month. I'm thinking of meeting a friend tomorrow so I'm excited!

Day 2: more of the same, pretty standard, had a great time with said friend. Getting a teeny but pent up but nothing crazy yet.

Day 3: getting more pent up but it's still manageable, made the mistake of reading a ton of horny posts and getting myself really horny. Thankfully I calmed down and now I'm good to go

Day 4: went to work, did some bike wrenching, now im boutta sleep. pretty uneventful but I'm meeting a good friend of mine tomorrow so I plan on making up for the lack of horny twofold. I need to get some Oregonian mutuals bc I'd like to bite someone :3

Day 5: got my tits fondled for like 3 hours while I watched anime and got insanely high, I need like 4 people to hold me down and grope/tease/fuck me... preferably all at once. I've got 31 more daysssssss, does it count if it's hands free? 🧍‍♀️🧍‍♀️

Day 6: got no sleep, very horny, idk what direction Is up, and I need an answer to the question from yesterday 😫

Day 7: got sleep but not railed because if I get railed too well I'll could possibly finish and idk if that's OK yet :3. I'm going to mountain bike today! I'm super excited bc I need something to take the edge off, if I'm really unlucky I'll get too horny from the idea of getting fucked in the woods and make an update here.

Day 8: we're evening out a little, this may not be impossible, tbf I haven't had time to do much lately so when I finally get the time to ride my toys that might change. I'm planning on doing that tomorrow :3

Day 8 update: I accidentally took two progesterone pills because I boof mine, but I accidentally muscle memory-ed taking my prog orally. Got so horny during work that I nearly cried.

Day 9: I broke some spokes while mountain biking and now I'm sad, but horny and frustrated too. I can only think about being bred, but also being sad that my bike broke, damn fucking stupid sticks getting inbetween my fucking spokes. I need railed bad, etcetera etcetera

Day 10:

Girl abs, that is all

Day 11: I'm going to fuck myself on the biggest toy I own until I'm crying or edging with my Pspot🧍‍♀️ I will return

Day 12: I'm pretty sure I ended up getting edged. Pretty sure because I've never actually finished hands free before and my vibrator died right before I was about to finish. One of you witchy mother fuckers knew I was about to cheat or something, no other explanations, couldn't possibly be that I forgot to charge toys like a dumbass. Laugh it up, I got edged hard by my ADHD.

Days 13: I had a threesome and it was awesome! I explained my agreement to them and got teased a bunch as me and my friend dommed the fuck out of a gorgeous girl. We groped and kissed and sucked all over her body as she got more and more worked up, until eventually I was fucking her with my big purple vibrator and she came hands free for the first time! We made sure to shower her with all kinds of praise and congratulations 💃💃

Days 14-16: started a new job, I'm getting so horny these days that rather than feeling butterflies it's like an almost painful NEED. Like I just desperately need to get tied up and ground into dust, getting edged with my vibrator did a number on me because I'm a mess rn😆

Days 17-20: if I may be honest i embarked on this endeavor to try to finish hands free, I've never done it before but I desperately want to. I think I'll be able to do it by the end of these 36 days or sooner. Idk it's just a hunch🧍‍♀️

Day 21-29: 10 hr shifts in a lab will drive you nuts when there's nothing to think about but getting railed and ice cream percentages. On the plus side I am not only paid but required to eat ice cream every hour at my job. On the downside, I got so horny I cried last night🧍‍♀️😵‍💫😵‍💫

[3d-wifey]

And They'd Find Us in A Week - Chapter 13

Pairing: Finnick Odair x Reader Word Count: 9.9k Synopsis: Here! Playlist: Listen up! Tag list: - @melancholicmelanin, @yvy1s, @glomp-me, @honethatty12, @swftlore, @hashcakes, @antoheartit, @finnickodaddy, @lilifl0wer, @antoheartit, @kermitcrimess, @persophonekarter, @aawdrea, @obaewankenobis, @xyxlyn, @meandurdaughtergotaspecialthing, @innercreationflower, @kisskittenn, @xngelsau, @coriolanussnowswife Chapter Summary: I've moved the arena around a bit, but nothing major; nothing starts until day 2 1: Blood rain 2: Giant poisonous bugs 3: Toxic Fog 4: Monkies 5: Jabberjays 6: Beast 7: Unknown 8: Unknown 9: Fire 10: Flood 11: Unknown 12: Lightening A/N: this bad boy is 10k, one more chapter b4 we go into mockingjay!!!!!!

Present (XII)

THE ARENA; SECTION 5  (12:23 pm-12:59 pm)

The smell of freshly rained earth lingers around them as they traverse the jungle, and Finnick thinks of you.

During the countdown, he saw you. He locked eyes with you, and, stupidly, he thought that would be enough to tide him over. Just one last moment between the two of you before performing for the cameras. But if that were true, he wouldn’t have looked for you as soon as he reached the Cornucopia—before that, even. When he surfaced from the water, over Katniss’s shoulder as he grabbed a weapon, out of the corner of his eye when he was looking for Peeta; desperate for a glimpse of you. 

And when he finally found you—no, when you found him—your voice carried his name to his ears like a gift. He didn’t need to think; his body was automatically attuned to you like a compass. He had his trident poised and ready to defend you from whatever he considered a threat—a knee-jerk reaction. But when he turned, there was only you. 

You looked at him as though there was a taut rubber band between your bodies, and you had to use all of your strength to resist giving in to that pressure. The desire to run to you was instinctive.

What would that have accomplished other than showing Snow their hand early? It’s not like he could have swept you up in his arms like he wanted to. He couldn't hold you close and make you promise that you'd come back to him, whole, healthy, and his. Being that bold this soon in the Games would benefit no one. Not when you still had to be separated. 

He had almost stopped to watch and make sure you made it out with Johanna, but, as you subtly reminded him, he had to stick to the plan. Plus, seeing you drive your sickle through the head of a man at least two times your size definitely reassured him that you could handle your own.

Not that he didn’t know you could bring a man to his knees. He’s had the pleasure of being on the receiving end of your firm hand enough to—he shakes his head, scolding himself like a misbehaving dog.

Not the time, Odair.

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.  

Even now, he’s thinking about how it felt to sleep next to you for the first time in years—head against your chest, listening to your steady heartbeat as you hold him in your embrace. If he closes his eyes, he can feel sure fingers carding through his hair and dull nails scratching softly along his scalp. 

But he can’t close his eyes. No, he needs them open to dart between Katniss’s sprinting form and over his shoulder as they run for their lives through this fucking jungle. 

They’ve covered a good chunk of land in a relatively short amount of time. He’d say it’s taken them about ten minutes to cross a mile, maybe more. He’d be more confident in his estimate if they weren’t traveling up such a steep incline.

Around this point, Finnick decides they’ve put enough space between them and the Career pack that it should be okay to take a short break. He can feel Mags’s heart pounding against his back. Not ideal for a woman this close to ninety.

“Okay, hold up. Hold up.” He calls out, and they all come to a stop. He bends at the knee to help Mags down. “Okay. You alright now?”

He lowers himself to the ground, holding her hand as they sit down. “Okay?” He asks, and she nods, frail fingers gripping his tight as her other hand pats his bicep. Adrenaline makes her shake a little, but she waves off his concern. The four of them sit for a second, gathering themselves.

“God, it’s hot.” Peeta pants and Finnick senses that the oppressive heat might be more to blame than the hike. It’s like he’s choking on it; the air is so heavy that his nostrils don’t feel big enough to inhale it. He breathes in through his mouth and it’s only marginally better. He’s soaked. Something stings as it drips into his eyes and he genuinely can’t tell if it’s saltwater or sweat. “We gotta find fresh water.”

Water. Finnick looks around for any indication of nearby drinking water, listening in for a river or stream. He’d even take a pond. Water would be amazing, preferably without a high salt concentration.

Unknown insects chirp around them in unison; it sort of sounds like a snake. It’s so loud that he’s almost able to ignore the weight of Katniss’s stare. It’s not even like she’s glaring. It’s nearly bird-like how she appraises him—waiting for him to act like the predator she thinks he is. 

Three cannons fire in quick succession. The others look to the sky, but he stares at the tree over Katniss’s shoulder. Any one of those cannons could be you. He holds back a flinch at the thought. You’re not dead. No. No, you wouldn’t do that to him. He's only just gotten you back. And even after two years apart, the two of you are so deeply intertwined that Finnick’s sure his own heart would give out when yours stopped.

With a derisive snort and a shake of his head, Finnick says, perhaps a bit manically, “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore.” His chuckle is met with disapproving silence. Too soon?

Katniss regards him with a look of contempt. Definitely too soon then. “You think that’s funny?"

No, not particularly. But what else is there to do but laugh at the absurdity of it all?

“Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. I don’t care about any of them.” He lies. Sometimes, it feels like that’s all he’s capable of. Even now, in the midst of this death sentence, he still can’t be honest about you. He can’t afford to be. Not until he knows you’re safe.

“Good to hear.” With a sly grin, Finnick observes Katniss taking a machete out of her quiver, seemingly more as a threat than a precaution. It’s promptly wiped from his face when she says your name. “Does she know that? If that’s the case, you should have killed her back at the Cornucopia. She didn't even have a weapon. It would have been easy for you.”

“She’s our ally, Katniss." Peeta attempts to caution her or maybe admonish her; Finnick doesn’t know. And he doesn’t care, honestly. Not with how focused he and Katniss are on each other. He can’t even acknowledge Peeta defending you, as odd as it is. 

Unbidden and without provocation, the mental picture of him killing you takes shape. If he wasn’t already so lightheaded from the moist air, he’d be nauseous at the idea. Is she trying to get a rise out of him by bringing you up? Is that what this is? Or is she—is she threatening you? Whatever the hell her angle is, whatever tactic she’s trying to maneuver, he won’t let a threat against you stand—empty or not.

“You know...Katniss. You really shouldn’t speak on things you know nothing about.” He shakes his head as he ignores Mags’s warning grunt, mouth curling in that frosty way of his that entices those stupid enough to mistake a predator baring its teeth for a smile. But Katniss isn’t stupid. This is a language she’ll understand—the language of hunting animals. Her back straightens. His remains deceptively lax. “I mean, can't say that’s ever ended well for you, can we?”

“Are you threatening me, Odair?”

“Threat—” He can’t help but laugh because, honestly. 

This is the girl they’re laying down their lives for? The girl you’re laying down your life for? Emphasis on ‘girl’, she’s far too naïve to be an adult. 

People like her—they're too busy fighting shadows to figure out what’s casting them. Too focused on watching their backs that they don't bother wondering why they have to watch it in the first place—and she’s supposed to lead them to salvation?

He wants to laugh. Instead, Finnick bites his cheek. Maybe he’s bitten into another pipe dream.

“No,” he scoffs. “I’m saving you.”

“Saving? Please, you don’t care about anyone but yourself—”

“Let’s keep moving.” Peeta rises to stand in between them, stopping to give Katniss a long look that she doesn't return, before marching forward and taking the machete with him. The two of them size each other up. For someone so emotionally stunted, her thoughts are broadcast clearly on her face. 

He can see her weighing her odds against him in a fight, whether her speed with the bow is any match for him and his trident, and Finnick’s weighing how much longer she can stand being a team player. He’s not cocky enough to not consider her a threat; she’s a fighter—but, then again, so is he. That’s not what’s staying his hand. Her survival is their only way out of here—not to mention how disappointed you’d be in him if you found out. He won’t be the one to snatch this chance away from you. Not unless she throws the first punch.

He subtly shifts his grip on his weapon into something more defensive, and she gives him one last withering look, or her version of it, before following Peeta. 

He wishes you were here with him. For several reasons, but in this particular moment, to show Katniss how wrong she is. Show her how much he does care about you and how much you care about him in turn. Is it childish that he feels the need to prove anything to a teenager? Maybe.

Probably.

Most likely.

He bends down to help Mags onto his back, scowling at Katniss’s retreating back. 

It’s definitely childish, but still. He sighs. You’d understand. All the more reason to wish you were here. He knows things were touch and go—more go than touch, really—between the two of you at the time, but would it have killed Haymitch to pair the two of you together? Johanna and Blight are more than capable of playing escort for those two brains.

To be fair to the other man, Haymitch had no way of knowing if Finnick would succeed in reconnecting with you.

He takes a moment to really think about it. Namely, how much anger you’ve been harboring over the past two years and the way you drove your sickle through that man’s skull. He tilts his head, squinting. What’s that saying about a woman scorned?

Pairing you together may not have killed Haymitch, but it certainly could have killed Finnick.

His train of thought is violently cut off by Peeta crashing head-first into the force field.

SECTION 11 (12:49 pm-1:12 pm)

“We’re almost at the edge of the arena,” Johanna calls down to your group, climbing halfway down the tree before jumping the rest of the way. 

“What does the arena look like?” Beetee asks, pushing his glasses up for what must be the tenth time since you all decided to stop and get your bearings. The sweat on his face provided no traction to hold them in place.

“One big ass circle and we’re almost at the edge. Other than the beach, there’s nothing but jungle.” She sighs, stomping over to where you sit on the ground. Beetee gives a clinical nod.

“How close is ‘almost’?” You ask, handing her axe back. 

“I’d say at most a quarter of a mile. We’re closer to the edge than we are to the Cornucopia.”

“What do’ya suppose’ll happen if we hit the edge?” Says Blight in his heavy district brogue, which is so different from any you’ve heard before. You had asked Johanna about it at some point—the contrasts of their voices. She explained that Blight was born further north than she was, practically on the border of Seven. 

It’s not like everyone in Eleven speaks the same, but at least some level of similarity can be distinctly found in Eleven—in the southernmost districts in general. It shares a likeness with Eight and Ten. You can sometimes hear the same notes in Katniss and Haymitch’s voices, but not in Peeta’s.

“Most likely? I’d imagine some sort of boundary or force field.” Beetee informs you all.

“Regardless. We won’t know until…” Wiress starts, trailing off as something you aren’t privy to catches her attention.

“—Until we’re upon it.” Beetee finishes for her.

You clear your throat. “I’d say it’s best we don’t find out unless we have to.” You drawl, dropping the Capitol accent you’ve been forced to assimilate for what you realize will be the last time. You replace the over-enunciation and grating lilt with slanted vowels and a melodic tempo.

“We can probably head in a little more and then cut to the left or right,” Johanna suggests and you realize she’s talking to you. Not just you in the sense of the whole group, but you specifically. You glance around. They’re all looking at you. It seems you’re the de facto leader.

When the hell was that decided?

“Right. Well,” you clap your hands, picking your sickles up as you rise, “let’s get a move on. We need to go further while there’s still daylight. Then, we'll find a place to set up camp."

Hopefully.

Blight takes the lead, getting a headstart at cutting through the tightly packed vegetation with his machete.

“C’mon.” You smile down at Wiress as you help her up. She returns it gratefully and Beetee offers her his arm before they trail behind Blight. As you and Johanna carry the flank, you eye the long gash along his shoulder blade that’s steadily bleeding. Your main objective is to get these two to the pickup point, but you’d prefer if you got them there in one piece.

Chaff had said he’d be teaming up with Woof and Cecelia. As well as the morphlings, if they can find them. Unlikely, since they’re masters of stealth. You remember how they didn’t stray far from the camouflage section. You had asked Peeta about the swirls of color on his arm while you were training and he told you it was supposed to be a sunrise that the female morphling painted. She’s apparently fond of them. With skills like that, you know they’ll only be found if they want to be. 

The morphlings. That’s like if you only referred to Haymitch as ‘The Alcoholic’. You scold yourself mentally for using such a needlessly cruel nickname for them just because everyone else did. Either one of your parents would’ve pinched the skin off of you if they knew that.

It's probably an odd time to do so, but you decide it’s high time you learned their actual names. Before now, you had very little reason to since you rarely interacted with them. Yet, even if they hadn’t been rebels, they still deserve the basic respect of being acknowledged as people, not just in conjecture with their addictions. You don’t expect to be BFFs after you make it out of the arena, but you’d like to, at least, be someone who knows and uses their real names.

“Thanks. For what you did back there.” Johanna takes you out of your musings, swinging her axe to and fro on her other side. “Taking that guy down for me. You didn’t have to.”

You scowl at the reminder, pretending to be focused on navigating your steps along the tricky jungle floor instead of looking at her. You didn’t want to think about that. How killing him was the first solution that came to mind. It’s not that you’re naive enough to think that talking him down was even an option. He wasn’t on your side. He wasn’t one of you. He had made his own bed of flowers by turning down Haymitch’s offer. But why couldn’t it have been Gloss or Enobaria that killed him? Why did it have to be you?

Why not you?

“I know I didn’t.”

“But you did, and,” she sighs, jutting her jaw to the side as if it’s taking a lot out of her to say this, “and I’d probably be so minced that the hovercraft would have to make multiple trips to get all the pieces if you hadn’t stepped in, so...thank you."

You smile at her awkward discomfort, ignoring the glances she shoots you out of the corner of her eye and acting oblivious to her increasing agitation.

“Are you gonna say ‘you’re welcome’, or what, asshole?” She scoffs.

“You’re welcome, Your Highness.” You knock your shoulder into hers and she knocks yours right back.

“I owe you one.”

You laugh. “God, I hope not.”

SECTION 5 (1 pm-1:34 pm)

The force of the blow is enough to send Peeta flying backward, knocking them all over so fast that Finnick can barely register that he’s not still standing.

“Peeta’s not breathing!” Katniss cries and it’s a blur of motion as Finnick moves into action, his body acting on autopilot. “Peeta’s not breathing!”

Prop Mags up against a tree.

Check for a pulse that isn’t there.

CPR.

Tilt his head at an angle.

Pinch his nose—a stiff hand to Katniss’s sternum—pinch his nose, blow air into his deflated lungs.

Ignore the arrow pointed at his head.

Put his body weight behind each pump.

Push his will into the unresponsive body. From his shoulders, down his biceps, and into the heels of his hands, to where Peeta’s still heart lies.

C’mon, Peeta. C’mon, c’mon.

“C’mon, Peeta!” He can feel the anticipation of the viewers boiling in on them from all angles, his hair standing on end as he tries to pump Peeta’s heart for him. If they lose Peeta, they lose Katniss. If they lose Katniss, they lose the revolution. If they lose the revolution, they’ll lose, they’ll lose, they’ll lose—“Come on! Come on!” 

He’s got no idea why they haven’t called it yet, why they haven’t blown the cannon, despite his heart stopping before he even hit the floor. Maybe they’re hoping, like he’s hoping, that Peeta will come. The fuck. On.

A small gasp, a cough and—

Finnick falls back on his haunches, hands on his hips and panting as the muscles in his arms buzz. He’s lightheaded again from supplying so much of his air to Peeta. And the heat isn’t doing anyone any favors.

“Be careful. There’s a force field up there.” Peeta huffs and Katniss chuckles, half-hysterical, before dipping down to kiss him. Finnick pauses in the middle of a much-needed inhale, watching the two with narrowed eyes.

“Oh, my God. You were dead. You were dead. Your heart stopped.” Katniss sobs as she drapes over Peeta, shrill and so resoundingly real that Finnick blanches for a second. He’s never seen her hands waver when drawing her bow, but they tremble now as they hold Peeta close. 

Huh.

“It’s okay.” He assures her, still smoldering and smoking a little. “It’s working now.” She helps him up, still sobbing. Or maybe choking? Choking on her sobs. Peeta looks upon her with concern. 

“Katniss?” Peeta prompts, starting to look increasingly panicked and Finnick can’t handle them both freaking out. 

“It’s okay. It’s just her hormones.” Finnick is slow to stand, looking them over quizzically. “From the baby.”

“No. It’s not—” She cuts herself off with more choke-sobs. There’s something here—something he couldn’t see before. Something he hadn’t considered concerning these two, concerning Katniss. That something is familiar. What does it remind him of? It’s nagging at the back of his skull. That staunch fear, the protectiveness followed by the open gasping relief. He recognizes it. Where, where, where—

“She can't possibly care about him that much."

"Yeah, well, you'd be surprised.”

Oh.

Oh, shit.

Of course, he recognizes it—that familiar, desperate love. He’s felt it.

Katniss glares at him, snotty and defensive, and he stares, mystified. He shakes his head, pulling himself from his revelation-induced stupor. The two lovebirds hug each other like they’re the only things holding each other up. And with their current states, they might as well be. To give them some privacy, he walks over to check on Mags and finds her knowing gaze. He can’t have been the last one to know this love story isn’t much of a story at all, right?

SECTION 3 (6:50 pm-10:20 pm) 

Finnick rolls his trident back and forth between his hands as they all wait for Katniss to come back from scouting in the trees. Mags cracks open and eats another one of the nuts Katniss has been using and substantially cooking by bouncing them off of the force field to show the rest of them where it is, considering she can hear it. He has no reason to believe otherwise; there’s no evidence to indicate she’s lying, but Finnick doesn’t buy that she can hear it just because of her hearing aid. If that’s the case, why hasn’t she mentioned it before now? He has no reason to call her out on it, so he won’t. Any advantage they have in the arena, the better. 

He can feel the water evaporating out of his body like a sponge being wrung dry. He feels like a beached whale. They can’t have been in the arena for that long, but the heat—it’s not the kind he’s used to. The sun in Four has nothing on this. He’s never been so thirsty before, not even in his previous Games. They all perk up when she comes back down, hoping beyond hope that she’s seen drinkable water. That hope is crushed when she shakes her head.

“The force field…it’s a dome. We’re at the edge of the arena.” She wipes her sweat-slick hair out of her face. "I couldn't find any signs of fresh water.”

They all sit in dehydrated silence. The human body can only go on for so long with no water. Food, while an amazing plus, won’t be a real problem for weeks. And between the nuts and all the fish they could catch, it’s a problem with a simple solution. Without water, however, they will almost certainly die in five days, with their organs starting to shut down in three. He's seen it back in Four. Dead men brought back from sea shriveled and arid. He always imagined it must be torture to be surrounded by all that water and unable to drink any of it. 

Now, it looks like he might find out.

And with that depressing thought, Finnick moves forward. “It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected.” Knowing the consequences of touching the force field, they’ll be able to use the arena itself as a weapon. “We should set up camp. Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

“Not a chance.” Katniss scoffs.

He tilts his head.

He knows the heat is just making everything worse, only fueling his irritability. But he is so over her and this teenage snippiness. Peeta’s so easygoing that he honestly doesn’t mind his company; he can see how the two of you became such quick friends. But Katniss? She is a remarkably hard person to like. 

How much longer will she treat him like a criminal? As far as he’s concerned, the only thing he’s guilty of is giving her the impression that she has any authority over him.

Burying the blunt end of his trident into the ground, he uses it to leverage himself up.

“Honey,” he mocks, his voice long-suffering and chiding, like he’s explaining something that really should be common sense to a child who's a little behind the curve. Which, honestly, doesn't seem too far off. “That thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called ‘saving his life’. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would have done it by now."

He holds her eye before he rips his weapon out of the ground. He’s too tired to have a stupid argument over this, so he nimbly picks his way over to Mags so they can start making camp. 

-

When the Capitol anthem blares throughout the arena and the insignia projects across the sky, Finnick watches with rapt attention. He inhales sharply, watches, and waits.

Portraits of the dead flash beside the full moon. The man from Five that he killed, the man from Six, both from Eight, both from Nine, the woman from Ten and then…it stops. There’s the Capitol seal again and then nothing. No more portraits light up the sky; your portrait doesn’t light up the sky.

You’re still alive.

You’re alive . He knew that. He did. He did . He would have known, he would have felt , otherwise. After all, you had promised him, hadn’t you? In those scant few hours in the early morning before the Games, you both promised to do everything in your power to get back to each other. Promised to see this through, knowing what future waited on the other side—a future together.

He knew you were alive, but the confirmation is—

He lets out the breath he’s been holding, tension easing from his shoulders. 

“Seven,” Katniss says.

“Mhm.” He acknowledges.

Seven victors. His brows furrow. The two from Eight, Woof and Cecelia. The male morphling. All dead.

But he’s still alive. And so are you.

SECTION 1 (12:55 am–3:26 am)

In the white, spectral fog of the jungle, Johanna smacks something big and hairy off the back of her hand. Are the bugs even real?  

She wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to mutate them—control the mutts to crawl all over them and kill them in their sleep. But that’s too boring a death, too kind. Plus, it doesn’t make for good television. And eating bugs would probably make the audience more squeamish than child murder.

Thanks to you, they at least had something to eat. Berries, mushrooms, and, oddly enough, leaves. Not much, but it was something. But there was still the water issue—meaning there was none. They hadn't stumbled upon anything they could drink. No ponds, no rivers. Not even a fucking puddle.

She and you both agreed that there had to be water in the trees; it was too humid for there not to be. But with no way to collect it, they were shit out of luck. Luckily, depending on how long it takes to get here, they’re expecting a rain cloud. It was the only logical assumption after they heard lightning strikes not too far off. Makes sense. Short of a sponsor gift or the magical ability to make salt water drinkable, there’s little for the victors to do in terms of battling dehydration.

If this rain doesn’t pull through, she’ll be tempted to tell you to bite the bullet and request a spile or something. Though she understands why you haven’t done so yet. Just the thought of begging those simpering morons to empty their pockets to help keep her alive makes Johanna shiver and she doesn’t even have the same history with them that you do. Knowing your fans, they’d probably get off on you debasing yourself.

Johanna knocks her head against the tree she's leaning on. She offered to take the first watch because she needed time to think. It was smart of Katniss to want you as an ally. It's easier on Johanna's part too, because at least you can take care of yourself.

And, had the rebellion not been afoot, it would've guaranteed Finnick as an ally too. Maybe Peeta is the one who picked you because Johanna doubts the girl on fire is sharp enough to think that far ahead. Or mature enough to pull her big girl pants on and notice anything around her that didn't actually revolve around her.

Johanna is woman enough to admit that she's jealous. Jealousy is nothing to be ashamed of when it's entirely warranted. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her family, not really. Because the Capitol just adores them. Katniss doesn't have to worry about losing her self-autonomy, her dignity, her innocence while in bed with a stranger. Katniss hasn't lived with the grief of what she's experienced long enough for it to turn her bitter.

And yet, here they are, protecting her even if it kills them. No, Johanna reminds herself. They're protecting the rebellion. Katniss just happens to be the face of it.

It’s almost pitch black. Without the sun to shine through the dense tops of the trees, the moon could hardly pull its weight. But it’s been dark for so long that her eyes have adapted a bit. They slept closer to the force field than she would have liked, but she understood your logic. No one can sneak up on them from behind with the force field at their back.

She digs the sharp metal part of her axe into the dense ground, pulling it out, and hacking away again.

She looks over to where the others are sleeping, Nuts and Volts guarded on either side by your and Blight's sleeping bodies. At least they aren't completely useless.

Even if Katniss hadn't wanted them as allies, they would've had to guard them anyway. Haymitch made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that they're the brains of this operation. Or at least Volts is. She zeros in on the spool of wire he clings to in his sleep.

She isn't one hundred percent sure how they plan on busting them out of the arena, but it probably has something to do with that. Or at least, it better. He nearly lost his life trying to get it. And she nearly lost her head trying to get him.

They need to meet up with Finnick, but she has no idea where his group is. It's not like they can just bury their heads in the sand and wait for them to show up. The plan rides on them all being together at the pickup point.

A drop of water wets her scalp and then another. It, like everything else in this place, is uncomfortably warm—bordering on hot. But beggars can’t be choosers. The drops of water feel heavier, but that could just be her imagination.

Rain? Finally.

She’ll wake the others up once her vocal cords stop feeling like she’s starting a fire every time she talks. It slowly but steadily picks up—drops landing on her forehead and dripping down her nape. She tilts her head back and opens her mouth and the dry, cracking chasm that she used to call her throat trembles in anticipation of the oncoming relief. 

When it touches her tongue, she recoils. Thick, bitter, and metallic. It's only then that Johanna realizes the warm liquid isn't water. She holds out her hand to catch a drop and it stains red.

Blood.

And, as if the Gamemakers were waiting for her reaction, the sprinkling of rain turns into a downpour.

“Get up!” She screams, scrambling to her feet. “Get up! Get the fuck up!”

You wake up, alert, with your weapons in hand. Springing to attention like you were never asleep to begin with. When you see no enemy you can fight, your vigilance gives way to confusion. The other three are slower to rise until the blood starts pelting them like coins.

They stumble up, much like she did, but they don’t know. They don’t understand what’s falling from the sky.

“Don’t drink it—!” She tries to warn them and gets a mouthful of tacky, festering blood for her troubles. It’s thick and greasy and viscous and slippery, so the remnants of it stay behind when she tries to spit it out. It coats the back of her throat, creeping its way up her nose and slicking in between her molars. 

“Blood!” The last thing Johanna can see before her vision goes red is your blurry face going from stark relief to abject terror as her words fully sink in. “It’s–it’s blood!”

From then on, there’s no room for coherent thought. Instead, Johanna gets stuck in a cycle of gagging on blood, spitting it out, and heaving in the fucked up, muggy, contaminated air, only to start it all over.

She tries to shield her eyes, but the blood creeps underneath her hands like its goal is to take out as many senses as possible. The sound of it sliding off the top of the canopies and hitting the ground is deafening; it almost drowns out your attempts to call out to Johanna. But calls for each other are only answered with blood.

They all flounder about, tottering around on unsure feet. Johanna wipes her eyes and tries to squint around it. But it’s no use. Even if her eyes weren’t compromised, the blood falls so thickly that it curtains everything around her.

Maybe that’s why she doesn’t realize she’s only seeing three red silhouettes instead of four.

She gives up on her eyes and works to save her lungs instead. She cups her mouth and nose, coughing and hacking so hard that it feels like her chest is on fire. She breathes through her nose and immediately stops when it burns her nostrils. She breathes through her mouth and it’s somehow worse to taste the sickeningly sweet iron-rich mist. She gags and breathes and gags again. 

She still can’t see, but she crouches down low, hands hesitant as she pats the ground. Trembling hands feel around for her axe, but, apparently, everything feels like an axe handle if your eyes are closed. She can’t afford to let another victor catch her in such a vulnerable position. She may be blind, but she refuses to be defenseless.

She doesn’t find it.

They must stay there, stumbling around fully blind and half-mad for hours before a masculine shout accompanies the sound of a heavy body hitting the ground. So loud it overtakes the sound of blood that isn’t hers rushing in her ears, the sound of the rain. They must have flown before they crashed, must have been thrown back to be that loud—the force field.

“Blight!”

A cannon fires. And then. It stops. All of it. The rain, the yelling, the torture. The heat and the smell remain, if not made worse by each other. Johanna can’t figure out which one is making her stomach roll more.

“Everyone—” she gathers the blood in her mouth, along her cheeks and tongue, and spits it on the ground with disdain. She can feel the frothing, light pink saliva, and drool dripping down her chin from doing the same thing three dozen times already. “Everyone alright?”

Surprisingly, the voice that calls back first is Beetee’s. 

“I–I managed to hold on to Wiress. Blight, however…”

She knows not to expect Blight’s voice and that’s a pain too tender to prod at yet. You, however, don’t respond. And, unlike Blight, there’s no reasonable explanation for your sudden silence. She calls your name, but there’s no reply. There is, however, a spark of panic in her chest right next to her heaving lungs. Johanna only heard one cannon.

She doesn’t know if the heat encourages it or keeps it at bay, but, just that fast, the blood is starting to congeal. Johanna pries her eyes open and it’s almost like they’re still closed. Now impossibly darker, the jungle is a nightmare. Made even worse by the fact that you aren’t here. She lurches up to spin in circles, shouting after you as Wiress keeps mumbling something. She staggers around, cutting herself off by coughing up the blood that’s managed to get into her chest. There’s nothing, no sign of you or where you could have gone. You are not here.

It’s like you disappeared.

A spotlight shines down on them—No, on Blight. On his cooling body. The hovercraft claw descends open-mouthed, dipping down to pick him up. Beetee pulls Wiress away before she can wander closer. Johanna watches as they take him away. 

Blight is thirty. Blight is a burly man with a big beard to match. Blight has a wife, a son. Blight’s from Zone Q, the same zone kids used to make fun of for the funny way they talked. Blight had always been kind to her.

Blight now hangs limp, covered in blood. Skin singed and smelling of burnt hair. This is the last thing he will ever be.

He’ll never see the culmination of the rebellion he was willing to give his life for. He wasn’t the sharpest axe in the, well, anywhere. But…it would have been nice to give him the District Seven sendoff he deserved.

She gives herself a shake. They need to find you.

“Come on, get up.” She waves the remaining two up with her axe. “Let’s go."

“Tick, tock.”

“Where?” Beetee attempts to look at her from under his blood-smeared glasses.

“Tick, tock.”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our group has been dramatically cut from five to three—”

“Tick, tock. Tick, tock!”

“—And what the fuck is her problem?!”

“I think she might be in shock.”

“Right. Of course. That’s just fan-fucking-tastic.”

There’s an odd clicking coming from the right and some hindbrain prey instinct warns Johanna away from it. She practically drags her damsels in distress behind her as she scours as much of the jungle as she possibly can in the dark in her search for you. Down to where the sand starts, back to the edge, and then off to the left—away from the clicking. They can’t be as quiet as she would like to be, considering Beetee’s heavy steps and Wiress’s insufferable mumbling. Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, fucking tock.

How the hell did she get stuck with Nuts and Volts, of all people? You and Blight have left her alone and now, Nuts is even nuttier than before, and Volts—

“I can’t—I can’t go on. I must, I need to rest.” Beetee gasps. She glowers over her shoulder at his weak form. He raises a hand before falling on his ass. She groans, stomping back to stand over him. Even in the low lighting, he’s a sorry sight. Alarmingly pale, even for someone from Three, he looks like he might faint at any moment now.

“And what the hell is wrong with you?”

“My wound—I believe I’ve lost a fair bit of blood.” He gestures minutely behind him, and she squints at his back. He grunts as she positions him a bit better in the moonlight and his entire left flank is warm with his blood. The wound hadn’t seemed that serious earlier, long but superficial. What does she do if he’s losing more blood than any of them realize? She isn’t trained in medicine and it’s not like they can just request some kind of aid. If you were here, maybe. They’d have much better luck getting a sponsored gift if you were the one asking for it. 

“Great. That’s just lovely. You know, this is exactly what we need right now.” She paces. Kicks a rock. Hurts her toe. “Fuck. Fuck!” Johanna drives her axe into a nearby tree, yanking it out to only hack at it again. They’ve been searching for you for over an hour and there’s no telling where the hell you’ve wandered off to.

“What do we do now?”

“I don’t know! I don’t—!” She throws her hands up, not even bothering with rebuffing Wiress when she sways into her with her ‘tick, tock’ shit again. She groans, head hanging low. The plan has been monstrously derailed already and it hasn’t even been two full days yet. “I don’t know.”

Hopefully, you’re closer to finding Finnick than they are.

SECTION 2 ( 1:40 am-2:26 am)

You finally come to a stop, feet tripping over gnarled roots and fallen logs. You cough, blowing blood from your nose like snot. You’ve gotten far enough away from the rain that you can almost start breathing normally again. You look around you, turning in rough half-circles as you try to get your bearings. You’re careful to keep in mind the direction you’ve come from because the jungle looks the same as it has for the last mile and a half.

You want to rub at the stitch developing in your side, but you’re too afraid to take your hands off your weapons, even for a second. 

The blood rain was unexpected, cruel. You’d never seen anything like it. The Gamemakers must have gotten a real kick out of that, knowing how readily y’all were waiting for rainwater, knowing how thirsty you were.

The blood doesn’t behave like it should. It’s made your hair dense and heavy, almost oil-slick somehow, despite the frizz from all the humidity. It dries on your skin in thick, itchy patches. Not unlike the aloe vera paste used in Eleven to heal burns and the like.

There’s no telling if the blood shower is heading in your direction or not. Can you handle that again? That suffocating force clawing its way past your esophagus, into your stomach, into your lungs—hot and thick. The taste is still on your tongue and for a moment, you’re in the eye of the storm once more. Fighting to see, to breathe, to live.

You gag and you push it down, but the longer the taste of iron soaks on your tongue, the harder it is to stop it. You gag again, hard enough that your belly cramps up. Eyes watering, you rock forward, nails digging into the wood of the handles as scorching stomach acid claws its way up your throat. You throw up what little you’ve eaten, and you despair, because it may not have been much but it was something.

You stay that way, hunched over, panting open-mouthed as more spit forms rapidly in your mouth just to drip down into the puddle of sick you’ve already left. You’ll be even more dehydrated than before. Your chest burns with acid reflux, your nose runs, and your mouth pools with drool you can’t afford to lose. You want to cry. But you don’t have that luxury. You want someone to rub your back, but you don’t have that either. 

I wish Finnick was here.

You allow yourself that small moment of pity. You pull in a surprisingly cool breath before straightening up. You push your shoulders back, determined to march forward through whatever may be waiting for you because you know that on the other side, Johanna and the others need you. You walk forward, even though the idea of willingly entering that blood-filled hellscape makes your stomach lurch like a threat. 

The blood still proves to be an issue without the Capitol’s input. Some of it drips down your face and neck like sweat, damn near blinding you all over again. You can only wipe it away with the back of your hand so many times. You're still trying to find a way to keep the blood out of your eyes when you hear it.

It's like when a bug flies too close to your ear but louder. Buzzing and clicking that makes the hair on your neck stand, foreboding. 

You’ve never had much of a problem with insects, you weren’t allowed to. You can’t exactly claim ‘fear of bugs’ as a reason for not doing your job, even if you are six years old. After working around tracker jackers to pick various fruits, spiders climbing over you as you wade around the flooded cranberry fields, overzealous slugs as you pull carrots, to name a few, that fear dissipated. That’s not to say you love them, only that you’ve learned to work in proximity to them and ignore them if all else fails. You turn around, spinning in circles as the noise gets louder. You can’t ignore this so easily. You’re six again, trembling in fear as a peacekeeper directs you to a giant tree with an equally giant tracker jacker nest. That old fear makes a reappearance. It takes root, maturing from childish panic to fresh, genuine terror because something is coming toward you. 

You hear flapping, wings. Your vision is still blurred from the blood and you're in a particularly dark part of the forest with barely any moonlight, but you can see it. Some kind of bug hurtling towards you faster than you can run. It’s massive—mutated, most likely—close to the size of a wolf. You duck as it dives at you, bulky mandibles snapping.  

You’d rather fight the wolf.

It flies a few feet away before turning around and you curse the fact that you didn't pick up any long-range weapons. Where the hell is Katniss when you need her? 

You’ve trained for months. Your stamina, your dexterity, your core and upper body strength. But especially your hand-to-hand combat. Woefully, you consider how well that translates into fighting a giant mutt.

For a split second, you get the urge to hide. That animalistic impulse to find a small space to burrow into that the much bigger animal can’t get you and to find it fast. You’ve felt this before in Eleven and in the Capitol. It’s only fitting that you’d feel it here in the arena too.

It hovers in the air for a moment. It's almost as if it’s thinking. As you both regard each other, it begins to feel like it really might be thinking. Just how intelligent is this thing?

It’s a beetle; you can tell that much, which means an exoskeleton. You’ll have to go for the head, the eyes. There’s no indication that it’s about to happen, it just charges you. And you realize far too late that it'll be impossible to get a clear hit at its head. You lunge to the side, but you aren't fast enough. You yell when its pincer strikes you in the side. You pitch over, rolling along the ground. You barely manage the precarious balance of covering your head and keeping your blades away from your body.

It's not done with you. But down here, you have a better chance of avoiding its bite.

The blood makes your grip on the handles slippery. You flip the one in your dominant hand upwards and keep the other one face down as it gets ready to charge you again. You roll under it, slicing upward along its stomach as it flies over you. You're quick to stand up as it wavers in the air, wings stuttering the longer it bleeds.

You’ve both weakened each other, but neither of you is dead yet.

Your mind is quiet. Only one thought echoes in the abyss back to you.

The head. The head. The head. Go for the head. Go for the head. Take the fucking head!

It swoops down at you, wobbling in the air, but still clicking. You kneel down with your sickles turned outward and cross your arms in front of your face. You wait for it to get closer until you can see its head peeking over the gap your weapons leave and straighten your elbows, decapitating it. You close your eyes as black blood rains down on you and its head and body hit the ground with two distinct thumps.

Its body convulses on the ground and its head stays still, but you don't have time to check if it's really dead. Like the man from Nine. More buzzes and clicks come from your right and you're running before you even register that your feet are moving.

You don't look behind you, you don't need to. You can hear them, closing in on you. You just keep sprinting, lungs burning in exhaustion as you push yourself faster. You don't know where you're running to, but you know you have no way of fighting off more than one.

There's a hill a few feet ahead of you, and you prepare yourself to roll down. You throw your weapons to the bottom and cover your head as you tumble down, scraping yourself on stray twigs and rocks.

You scramble to stand up at the bottom of the hill and look up in time to see the bugs hovering at the top. They're stopped by what looks like a force field. But that doesn’t make any sense. You—you just came from there. Suddenly, they lose interest in you like you were never there to begin with and they turn around. They bump into each other as they fly away, probably on their way to swarm someone else.

A piercing scream comes from the direction the mutated insects flew off to. Better you than me, you think and regret it immediately. That could be someone you care about. Chaff, Johanna, Katniss, Peeta.

Finnick, your brain supplies. You shake away the thought. You don't have to worry about that because he promised you.

"He promised me. He promised me." You repeat to yourself in a whisper.

You stumble back into a tree, chest heaving.

Once the adrenaline rush passes, another problem presents itself. The blood on your body has grown cold, so it's surprising to feel a warm rush of liquid on your side. 

You look at where your jumpsuit is torn above your right hip. You stretch the fabric and see two holes about six inches away from each other. Twice the size of a bottle cap, one's a little above your hip bone and the other rests a little before where your back starts, both wider and deeper than you would like—but you don’t see muscle, which counts for something. They're rough, not perfect circles. Skin hangs haphazardly from them both, peeling away at the edges with jagged incisions going towards the middle. As if being punctured like a piece of paper wasn’t enough, they've been torn from the pincers still being buried in you and then violently ripped out after you fell.

Now that you're aware of them, they throb in sharp waves.

"Shit," you curse, breathing around the tears that bubble up from the pain. Your breaths are shuttered, halting. You're bleeding at a pretty steady pace and you won't last long with the wound out in the open. Especially if there's a creature out here that can smell blood. “Shit, shit, shit.” You whimper.

You scream as cramps rocket through your abdomen and the ability to be quiet is beyond your pain-addled mind, you can’t stop it. Luckily, it comes out of your dry throat more of a raspy croak than a real scream. You press a shaking, blood-soaked hand to your mouth anyway. You don’t know what other killer insects may be out here with you and you can’t afford to grab their unwanted attention just because you can’t control yourself.

Your medical knowledge isn’t extensive. Honestly, it’s a little below average for what’s expected in Eleven, but probably far more than what an ordinary citizen in the other districts would know. Not everyone can afford the services of doctors, especially if they live in the Shacks, so you were all taught how to help each other. You don’t know any of the fancy shit they probably teach in the academies, but you were taught how to heal with the land—old methods and practices passed down from before the Dark Days.

Your first thought is to clean it, but with what? You don’t even have clean water to drink. Your second thought is to pack it, if not with cotton then with aloe vera—it’ll ward off infection for a while, right? You have no way of disinfecting it, not by yourself and not with what’s available to you, so stopping the bleeding is the next best thing. 

This may not be your environment, may not be your plants, but you learned a thing or two while training Peeta in the Edible Plant section. This is the perfect environment for natural, as natural as the arena will permit, aloe to grow. But it’s still dark. You can’t go looking for it, not by yourself. And you aren’t desperate enough to start begging your sponsors for help. 

You sigh. You’ll have to settle for the bare minimum. 

You pull both of your sleeves down where they detach at the shoulder and even that little movement makes your stomach cramp again. You flinch as the muscles underneath the wounds spasm, pumping out more blood. 

You tie one end of both sleeves together, working past the hurt, and, God, does it hurt. But the pain is unavoidable. That’s what you tell yourself. That’s what you’ve always told yourself. You let your mind drift, taking you somewhere else.

The pain is unavoidable. The pain is unavoidable. The pain is unavoidable.

Sweat drips down your back, or maybe it’s blood, as you move the makeshift tourniquet around your waist. You lay a flat piece of the fabric on the wound and nearly black out as you tie the two loose ends in the back. You tie it again just for good measure, biting around a scream as you pull it tight enough to staunch the bleeding.

Your vision swims as you gasp in big gulps of air. Your hands shake from the pain and yet another adrenaline drop. Your legs feel weak, barely holding you up as you lean most of your weight against the tree.

You need a game plan.

Another canon fires.

You don’t know how long you sit there, eyes closed, head tilted back, pitying yourself. But by the time you decide to get moving, you notice something. Something’s…wrong. 

Everything sways when you move your head up. You blink nearly twenty times before your eyes can focus again. You feel warm. Not warmth from the humidity. Not warmth from exercise. But warmth from a fever, a sickness. Nausea creeps upon you and, fuck, please, you can’t throw up again—you can’t. An injury this nasty will certainly come with symptoms, but you shouldn't have this kind of reaction. You try to remember what kind of bug it was. You remember it was a beetle, but you rack your brain for what it looked like. Your muscles spasm around your wound, reminding you how open and exposed they are even when covered with fabric.

You’ve got two plugs taken out of your side, you’re covered in blood, both real and synthetic, you’ve been poisoned, and you’re alone.

Alone. There is no sound other than your labored breathing because you’re alone. That’s the worst part somehow. 

You’re slow as you lean down, wincing at the slightest movement, and snatch up your sickles. If just that is enough to sap you of your energy, then—

You can’t stay out here in the open where you’re vulnerable, no one to watch your back, no one to protect you. You’re an easy target, no help to the revolution like this. You take a few quick breaths to psych yourself up. You push off the tree, grunting as the smallest use of your abdomen aggravates the wounds. You hobble along, heading in the opposite direction of where you left Johanna and the others.

Hopefully, Finnick’s group is having better luck. 

SECTION 3 (3:17 am-3:28 am)

Finnick is sure that there are certain moments that he’ll remember for the rest of his life. His reaping, the first person he killed, meeting you. These moments, these entries penned into the book of his life, define him. They’re all weaved into a tapestry, sewn into a quilt that illustrates his past and blankets his future. Who he is today, and who he will be tomorrow, is shaped by these moments. He’ll remain irrevocably changed by these events. 

He’s sure this moment will be one of them.

The fog creeps behind them and he’s suddenly so glad you aren’t a part of their group. A spectral wall of wispy gas that observes their suffering with the same indifference as the Capitol does. Peeta is a solid weight on Finnick’s shoulder and he’s thankful for it. It’s a reminder, the weight of what he’s defending. He clenches his teeth against the fog's stray tendrils and their poisonous grasp, increasing his speed even as pain licks at his heels. 

“Fhinnic’ , Fhinnic’!” He skids to a stop, looking behind him at Peeta’s slurred insistence. He turns in time to see Katniss and Mags crash to the ground. He rushes over to them. Mags sits concerned next to Katniss who’s beginning to blister.

“It’s no use,” Katniss says. He kneels beside them and he can see she’s feeling the effects of the fog. Her left leg is getting stiffer and her face has begun to droop. “Can you take them both? Go on ahead, I’ll catch up.” The confidence in her voice is interrupted by the grimace on her sagging face.

Mags has been touched by the fog less than the rest of them, if at all. Probably for the opposite reason that Finnick seems to have the most damage, she’s small. By this logic, it should be easy for Finnick to carry her along with Peeta. It should be easy.

“My arms aren’t working. My arms, they aren’t—” From his shoulder blades down to his fingertips, the muscles in his arms are ruined. They spasm sporadically, jerking uncontrollably as they hang limp at his sides. He’s even relying on Peeta to hold onto his trident for him. “I’m sorry, Mags. I can’t, I can’t do it. I’m sorry.” He apologies. He keeps apologizing to her and he can’t see why, too focused on the wave of white threatening to seize them. 

It’s all so quick. Mags has realized what Finnick himself is too stubborn to acknowledge. There’s a heaviness in his chest that he tries to swallow around but it only spreads to his throat. His throat gets tight. His senses feel heightened, his heart beating faster, lungs heaving harder, but he’s still trying to find a way out of this. His mind is moving at the speed of light, determined to fix it, determined to row this impossible boat upstream—thinking about everything but the only realistic outcome here.

They never talked about this. Never discussed the possibility. A situation where he would ever have to—it just never, never came to mind. He never thought to imagine it. And yet, she’s taking off the bracelet she’s wearing—his bracelet that she wore as a token for him. The same bracelet he made under her roof, under her knowing gaze. She slides it up his wrist, tightening it before grabbing his face between her weathered hands. She places a gentle peck on his lips and that’s when he realizes she’ll be leaving, whether he’s ready to say goodbye or not.

“Mags? Mags? Mags!” Tears blur his vision as she dodders uphill into the fog. Katniss grabs his wrist, stopping him from going after her. “Mags! Mags!”  

“Finnick!” He can see her silhouette just past the veil of mist, convulsing violently before—a cannon fires. He sits there, desolate. He can’t tell if the numbness spreading through him is organic or from the nerve damage.

“Finnick, we have to go. We have to get outta here.” He’s slow to turn around and look at Katniss. “We have to go.” 

Finnick climbs to his feet, accounting for Peeta’s weight, as Katniss drags herself behind him. He sniffs once, twice, three times. 

Later, he tells himself, there’ll be time for that later.

A/N: 1.) Blight's accent is the Canadian accent - specifically Letterman Kenny 2.) reckon the covey (Lucy Gray's group) traveled to the north from 11 to 12 during the 1st rebellion and got trapped in 12 after they lost. the Seam now has a distinct accent that sounds vaguely southern. 3.) i headcanon there's no singular southern accent in 11, using this map:https://fineartamerica.com/featured/vintage-map-of-panem-from-the-hunger-games-design-turnpike.html?product=art-print you can see just how much southern land it covers. So that's a mix of Creole, Irish, Mexican, and deep south roots. I'd imagine the mix of Creole, southern aave, and Spanish makes for a very particular accent. but if I had to pick one, it's closer to the southern drawl than the southern twang. 4.) the capitol accent basically the transatlantic accent 5.) You and Finnick think the same, since it was his idea to sleep next to the forcefield and use it as a weapon. yall literally think the same. also finnick wakes up the same way you do in the book when katniss screams about the fog. 6.) in the book, Lucy Gray is quiet but cunning. She doesn't have the "girl bossified quirky" demeanor she does in the movie and I blame Disney for that. As such, she doesn't have the "loud and proud/nothing affects me/cocky without a cause" attitude in my canon. What attracted Snow to her was that survivor instinct he saw in her that he felt he had. Everything that made Lucy Gray interesting to him can be found in Star (and Peeta.) I think Katniss personality wise is so much like Sejanus's that it pissed him off. close enough to District 12, but not exactly. district eleven has the exact background that Snow wishes he had with 12. He has more control over Eleven, they're easier to control/oppress as opposed to the free-spirited District 12. With Star, he strives to fix what mistakes he made with Lucy Gray. my beta reader said "i agree honestly like i think thats also why people are misreading snow in the movie bc they don't actually understand lucy gray and therefore misunderstand why snow even liked her" 7.) eleven is mainly a black and indigenous North American (Canada, US, and Mexico) population

[neteyamssyulang]

In Public

Day 13

Pairing: Neteyam aged up x Fem Tawtute reader

-Continued from day 9

Summary: The morning after you woke up with Neteyam you didn’t expect what was to happen next with him.

Warnings: Dom Neteyam, Sub reader, P in V, Creampie, Cockwarming, In public ofc.

Word count: 1158

Translation(s): Paskalin -> Sweet berry, Sari -> Seeds, Dinicthoid -> Fish/Prized food for na’vi.

A/N: I just love Neteyam <3

Tags: @pandoraslxna @teyamsatan @shadowmoonlight0604 @eyweveng <3

Morning comes all too quickly shining through slits in the hut. Jake is the first to wake up, taking his time he takes up all the kids but notices Neteyam is missing.

He walks over to where you were sleeping and quietly opened the privacy screen only to see his son and you cuddling.

Somehow in the middle of the night you both shifted so your now sleeping on your side with your bestfriend spooning you from behind .

The olo’eyktan quickly moves to wake his wife, Neytiri goes to say something as her mate rude woke her up but he shushes her and points to where you and their son are sleeping.

Neytiri smiles as she’s always wanted you and her son to end up together, sure it wasn’t common for a Na’vi to have a human mate but if that’s what the great mother wanted so be it.

After all she had no issue with it and neither did Jake, soon enough Kiri and Lo’ak get curious on what’s happening, they follow their parents gaze landing on your sleeping forms.

They all chuckle softly before leaving to go get breakfast. Neytiri had to carry Tuk since she refused to walk still being tired.

A little while after they left you were the first to wake, memories of last night flash through your mind making you smile.

Somehow you manage to turn in his arms so your now facing the beautiful man infront of you. You begin peppering his face in loving kisses watching as his eyes start to flutter open.

“Good morning ma’ y/n” he says then gives you a short kiss before sitting up rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

“Good morning, did you sleep well?” You asked while sitting up yourself stretching. “Very well thank you, did you?”

“I slept better than I have in ages.” The na’vi smiles at your words standing up and leans down to pick you up.

Giggling you wrap your arms around his neck “Teyam I can walk myself you know.” A deep chuckle rumbles through him “Oh? Can you now?”

He places you down and immediately your legs give out, Neteyam luckily catches you and picks you up again grinning.

“Fuck you” you roll your eyes. The man laughs “You did, and I must’ve done a pretty good job.” Playfully you smack his chest as he carry’s you walking to communal breakfast.

Once arriving he locates his family placing you down next to Lo’ak before going and getting you both some food. You never get your own bowl you always share with him, it’s how it’s always been.

He finally comes back with a bowl filled with slices of yovo fruit, some Sari and roasted Dinicthoid. Holding the bowl in one hand he lifts you in the other so your clinging onto his side.

Your bestfriend walked with you till he came across his friends sitting down next to one named Alar’at. Placing you in his lap with the bowl in hours he began making conversation with them.

You took small bites of the dinicthoid as you felt him shift behind you, about to ask what he was doing he whispered in your ear. “Be a good girl for me paskalin and stay quiet.”

After those words left his mouth you felt him ripping the back of your pants open, he moved his tewng to the side and slowly you felt his tip push past your entrance, his cock stretching you once again.

You had been like this for how many hours, even after the communal breakfast was over he wouldn’t stop talking with his friends, whether it be talking of hunting strategies or even choosing mates soon.

Neteyam knew he wanted you as his mate, you were human yes but he couldn’t see himself with anyone except for you.

It wasn’t until his other friend Arvok mentioned that Deyshana wanted to know if she could court Neteyam. Deyshana was always trying to get him but he always turned her down, she was beautiful yes but come on she was like the clan whore.

Everyone has slept with her atleast once, Neteyam included but it was only one time. Him and his father had a huge argument so he decided to go to you at the lab but you were already occupied by Lo’ak.

So when he came across Deyshana he just gave in, unlike the other males he pulled out. Ain’t no way he was going to risk her having his kid, with you though he’d happily make you round with his child.

You squirmed in his lap trying to create some friction but to no avail. He continued talking with them till they all decided to go leaving the both of you.

“Yawne that wasn’t being a very good girl of you” the na’vi tsks before rolling his hips into you making you moan.

“Guess you need a lesson little one.” Before you had the chance to respond Neteyam pulled you off his cock making you whine from the loss of him.

Your back was shoved against a tree, his lips attacking your neck leaving small love bites and hickeys as he rutted into you.

Your orgasm was building fast and he knew by the way you clenched around him. “Please ma’teyam.. can I cum?”

“Go ahead, cum for me” he whispered into your ear sending you over the edge. Your nails dug into his shoulders making him hiss snapping his hips into you.

A scream left your lips, “Quiet little one or someone will hear you”

He continues slamming inside you groaning as your gummy walls clench around him ever so deliciously. He wants, no needs to mark you as his own.

You try to speak but instead a cry leaves your lips as he thrusted hard spilling his hot load inside while sinking his fangs into your neck marking you.

Moments pass before he moves away from you neck gently lapping at the blood and slowly pulls out of you. Surprisingly none of his cum dropped out making him smirk.

Neteyam carry’s you over to a nearby lake, carefully he sets you down in the water. You let yourself relax letting him clean the both of you up.

Once that’s done the man takes you to the lab, he then takes you to your room laying you down on the soft mattress.

You know he has to leave to get ready for the 4 day hunting trip but you don’t want him to. “Stay..please..”

His heart almost breaks at your words “I wish I could yawne but I can’t, I’ll be back before you know it don’t worry.” He kissed you softly on the lips before walking out your room closing the door behind him.

Once back at the village he meets up with the rest of the hunting party, all he can think about though is you. His beautiful little tawtute.

[charlotteking23]

He’s not that bad

Eric Divergent x reader

warning: none

word count: 927

It was late at night, and I could not sleep at all. Only listening to the loud snores and shuffling of the wind outside. Tomorrow was our final fight and rankings for the first stage and I was praying I would make it. After a while, I quietly snuck out and walked around the halls, it was dark, with no light, no sound only the waves crashing near the chasm. Finally, I stopped walking near the training room, I walked in front of the punching bag, punching it as hard as I could, the bag only moving a little. Until I found a warm breath hitting my neck.

"You're doing it wrong" I turned around and was met with cold ocean-blue eyes. Are you stalking me now Coulter? but I got no reply only a burning death stare basically asking me, do I have a death wish. " No, I was walking and found you here in the training room, so why are you in the training room so late at night?" an amusing Eric asks. Well if it was not obvious, I was practicing for my fight tomorrow. After a few seconds, I feel Eric's hands on my body. "you need to create tension in your core because of the size differences between you and the others". I don't know why but all I could think about was his smooth hands touching my body. But after a second he disappeared and left the training room with me wondering what had happened. I punched the bag again causing it to sway much faster. After practicing for a few hours, I decided to head back before anybody saw me.

"WAKEEEE UPPPPP!", screamed four. He was Banging the side of the wall with a pipe. I woke up startled, remembering today was our final fight and what had happened yesterday with Eric. " hey are you ok". "Huh,... oh hey Tris, yeah, I am alright." "OK, you just seemed spaced out lately". Don't worry I am fine. and she left to shower. ' "OK, you just seemed spaced out lately". Don't worry I am fine. and she left to shower.

I was sitting between Christina and Tris, anxiously waiting, biting my nails. Which I know is a bad habit. In my final fight, I was against Drew, which is better than going against Peter. Eric had called me and Drew to ring, Drew had a smug smile on his face, Oh how I wanted to wipe it off his face so badly. Drew tried to hit me first but I was fast enough to duck, an advantage to me being small. We were fighting for god knows how long, both of us not giving up. He hit me in my face causing blood to come but maybe as a defense or for pleasure I hit where the sun didn't shine, he won't be making any babies Damn. I Won my fight Man did it feel good. And Eric even gave me a smile well if you called that a smile but nonetheless a smile.

Right, the final ranking will be posted at the end of dinner, you can leave now, Four said rather eagerly. But I didn't care, I was starving for some chocolate cake.

It was the end of the dinner and I had a good feeling I would at least be in the top 15. I looked on top of the balcony where the rankings would be announced but instead, I found dark blue eyes looking at me, Eric, I whispered to myself. I stood there not breaking eye contact with him until he started to talk.

It is the end of stage one, here are your rankings, if you are not placed in the top 20 then pack your things and leave Dauntless compound. Damn, how can Eric say that with no emotion at all but no matter? I see my name sitting at 9 place which was better than I hope. I left leaving Christina with Will and Tris who already left. I was walking deep in thought happy I made it this far till I bumped into a certain someone, ERIC.

Fuck, Fuck, I am so dead if anyone notices I am missing you will probably find me in the bottom of the chasm by Eric. But instead, he just grunted and mumbled something under his breath, which I couldn't understand. "Initiate, and watch where you are going," with harshness Eric said. "It's your fault, you bumped into me first and I think you owe me an apology", with confidence I replied. "Alright," ALRIGHT that's all he answered, I was praying he wouldn't hurt because of my big mouth but he just replied so plainly. I almost thought for a second he was getting a cold.

it was the initiate's party for completing stage one. I don't know why, but I kept looking for a blue-eyed leader until I saw him. I ignored him pretending as if I did not see him.

Instead, I danced to the music swaying my hips around while dancing I felt a pair of strong hands wrap tightly around my waist, guiding me to dance more. I turn around seeing Eric as I wrap my arms around his neck. We continued dancing with each other no matter how many strange looks we got.

As Eric and I walked out of the party, I realized he was not as bad as we spent the rest of the night together.

[13as07]

Birthright #7

(Itachi & Sasuke Uchiha Smut)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to GintoAi]

Requested by: You know who you are

Word Count: 4,277

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

Name Calling: Onii-Chan, Daddy, Cock Warmer, Pocket Pussy, Lap Dog, Crybaby, Good Girl, Pathetic, Useless

Incest (Brother/Sister)

Verbal Fighting

Threats of Death

Proof/Mentions of Child Abuse

Mentions of Mother/Son & Uncle/Niece Incest

Sadly, no Itachi smut this chapter; Next chapter, however...

Blowjob/Deep Throating/Face-Fucking

Hair Pulling

Voyeurism

Degrading

Breeding Kink

As of right now there's plans for a Part #8, #9, & #10

Sorry it took so long to get out. I'm on the butt end of moving and with the holiday coming up I've been swamped at work :(

———————————————————————

     Seven or eight pairs of eyes are caught on me, staring at me as the hushed voices of Onii-Chan and Daddy muffle their way into the locker room. They're loud enough to hear their voices but soft enough to not make out any of their words. The animal masks are all aimed at me, sizing me up as they wait for their commander to come back, making a hint of fear muster in my chest.

     "You let what happen to Princess?" Itachi yelps, the group of eyes snapping toward the door before shifting back to me. My fear is no longer a muster; instead, it's a heavy boulder crushing my lungs. I knew he was going to be mad, especially at Daddy, but I didn't realize he'd be this mad.

     "No. No, no, no, no," Itachi continues to yell, slamming the locker room door open. His underlings scatter at the ringing sound of the door hitting the wall, off to finish changing out of their uniforms like they were doing before Daddy and I showed up. "I said - "

"I know," Daddy interrupts, his face as flushed and angry as Onii-Chan's.

"I said," Itachi hisses, the bloody color of his sharingan dripping into his eyes. He takes a step toward Daddy, his body tense and ready to start a fight if that's what our Father wishes for. "She wasn't safe and you didn't listen. You said it would be fine. You said you'd be with her all day. You said to only worry about making it home. You said you had everything under control."

"Obviously," he barks, taking another step forward. Daddy backs up, his sharingan glowing now too. "You didn't have everything under control. You weren't with her all day. You're a liar and can't be trusted with Princess."

"Itachi - "

"A pathetic man doesn't take care of what's his, right? That's what you said yesterday, isn't it? What the hell does that make you then?"

The room falls silent, everyone fearing to even breathe with the men of my family at each others' throats. Everyone is fearful of being at the receiving end of the glares being exchanged between Daddy and Itachi.

     "Fine," Daddy hisses after a few moments, glaring for another beat before turning his eyes away from my brother, his attention set on me. His face softens at the sight of me but his anger with Itachi is still brewing in his sharingans. "Your Mother and I have plans tonight," he starts, keeping his tone matter-of-fact. "You will stay with Itachi. You will go home with Itachi. You will not leave the house without Itachi, am I understood?"

     "Yes Sir," I murmur, glancing toward Onii-Chan. He's still steaming, the pointed tips of his anger still aimed at our Father. "Have a good night out with Mom."

     "I will," Daddy utters, his eyes slowly blinking until the red of them melts away. "Be safe, Princess. Have a good night with your brothers."

     "I will," I echo, squirming when Daddy snaps his eyes back toward Itachi, the order to have a goodnight framed like a threat toward my brother.

     The staring seems to drag on forever, finally breaking when Daddy turns away, pulls the door open, and slides out of the room. An edible exhale spills from Itachi, his body loosening once our Father is completely gone.

     Slowly, his head turns toward me, sharingans still shining and a mix of worry and sadness coating his features. "Are you alright, Princess?"

     "I'm fine," I chirp, lacing a lopsided smile on my face. I don't know why Daddy and Itachi are strung so tight. I know it's not proper for men to touch me like the clerk did, but it's no different than how they touch me. The guy just had a bad attitude the whole time, unlike the men in my family. Well...

Itachi studies my face, his eyes jumping around looking for even a hint of a lie. "Okay," he finally utters, taking a few steps forward. His hand catches on the shirt of his I'm borrowing, using the material to lead me further into the room.

I trudge along after him, the others in the room scurrying to stay out of our way. I only stop when Onii-Chan settles in front of a locker. He lets me go, his fingers snapping before pointing at the bench screwed in between the rows of lockers. He doesn't even bother to look as I sit down, his focus on popping his lock open. "Aside from... all that, did you have a good day?"

"Yes!" I cheer, clapping my hands as I wiggle on the bench. "We stopped at a few shops, and then got flowers from the Yamanakas and then I got my dress for the Betrothal Ball."

"How were the shops?" Itachi questions, slowly tugging his weapons out of their hidey holes and placing them in their rightful places in his locker.

"They were good. I got you a present like I promised and I got Sasuke this big onigiri tray I found." Itachi hums, sparing me a glance before he starts pulling off his safety gear. "The Yamanaka flower shop was okay. We got peonies for the ball. Oh, and their chief is coming by tomorrow."

"Why?" Itachi barks, snapping his head toward me. His face falls once his sight settles on me, a deep frown coating his lips. "I'm sorry, Princess. I didn't mean to yell at you like that."

"It's okay - "

"No, it's not. You don't deserve to be treated like that. Onii-Chan is sorry. Anyway, why is the Yamanaka chief coming by tomorrow?"

I stare at Itachi for a moment, trying to figure out if I should acknowledge his apology or if it's better left alone; I decide to leave it alone. "His daughter got her feathers all ruffled because Daddy let me get peonies. I kind of pushed her buttons, poking at her crush on Sasuke and the fact that the Yamanakas don't treat her how you guys treat me. She didn't like that very much and ended up insulting the clan."

Again, Itachi turns around, his eyes slowly blinking as he looks at me, waiting for me to further explain. "She said I was jealous because I come from an 'incest-ridden clan'," I whisper, my focus on my shoes so I don't have to see his reaction. Even though I don't see it, I can still feel it, still feel the angry heat waffling off of him.

After a few moments of madden-filled silence, Itachi continues to ask about my day. "Besides..." he falls quiet, his jaw clicking three or four times before he continues to speak. "How was dress shopping?"

"Um..." I murmur, glancing around at the room still packed full of people, most of them waiting for my brother to dismiss them with a few stragglers trying to finish changing. "It was... um... I got a dress." I can feel the heat of his stare even with my eyes glued to the wall. He's already not happy with Daddy and when he wiggles more of the events at the boutique out of me, he's going to be even more upset.

Itachi crouches in front of me, hands on my knees to pull them apart before he inches closer to me. When he settles, my knees are pressed into his sides. My eyes flicker down, checking his placement. He's further away from me than normal but still closer than most brothers would be, though, I guess most brothers wouldn't be in a position like this to start in.

"Princess," he hisses, tone low and warning as he stares up at me. "Did something else happen at the dress shop?" He whispers, fingertips clinging to the bones of my knees.

"Well... nothing... nothing like, bad, I guess," I whisper back, bouncing my eyes around to look anywhere but him. "Daddy and Kenzo were just... they just... had some fun." My tone is almost mute with the last three words, but not mute enough that Onii-Chan doesn't pick up on it.

He springs up from his spot, his hands sliding up to cling to my thighs. Itachi is hunched over me, head pressed against mine, and his lips right next to my ear. "And what the hell might that mean?" His voice fizzles, his anger quickly building to the point it was at when Daddy was in the room. His head tilts after the question, lips pulled away from me and his ear pointed toward me.

My hands settle on his shirt, balling up the material to tug him closer to me. I keep my tone hushed, making sure the events and the game Daddy had me play with his advisor present stay between the two of us. Onii-Chan's fingers tighten against my flesh with every word that passes my lips, making me worry that he'll leave bruises behind.

     "I'm going to kill him," Itachi grumbles when I'm done speaking. He pulls away from me, a rush to his movements as he finishes changing.

     "Which one?"

     "Both."

                     ————————————

     Itachi stays secure behind me, his elbows digging into my sides as he works on unlocking the door. Once the door pops open, I shoot forward, racing inside to make sure Daddy or Kenzo hid my dress away so Onii-Chan doesn't see it.

"Princess!" He yells after me, his tone still pissy from the events of my day. "You shouldn't go racing into the house until I'm sure it's safe!"

     Sasuke's bedroom door slams open, his head poking out to stare at the two of us. "There's no one here but me, she's fine. Stop yelling at her so much."

With that, I continue to dart away, scurrying to my room to make sure my dress is put up. I push my door open, my eyes scanning my room. My bed is littered with shopping bags, one of them being the long flowing bag holding my dress.

"Princess?" Itachi calls from down the hallway, his footsteps mixing with the sound of his voice.

     "Wait a second!" I yelp, snatching the bag off my bed before tucking it away in my closet.

     Just as I'm shutting the closet doors, Onii-Chan pops into my room, a soft smile on his face for the first time today. "You know, it's not the end all if I see your dress," he murmurs, taking slow steps toward me. When he gets a step away, his hand settles on my waist, clinging to it and using his grip to tug me closer. "You're beautiful, Princess."

"Thank you," I murmur, my arms settling around his shoulders.

My back arches as he continues to pull me closer, pressing me against himself. "You're my everything," Itachi continues to mumbles, lips brushing against the side of my face. His touch almost hurts from how hard his fingertips grip my waist, making sure our body heat keeps mixing. "My favorite, pretty, little birthright," he adds, his light kisses slowly brushing a path toward my lips.

"I know, Onii-Chan."

"Good girl," he whispers, his nose gently sliding against my skin as his lips hover over mine. Warmth starts coating my face as I look up at him. Itachi's eyes are hooded as they stare down at me, dark with anger still, yet they're burning with admiration. His lips are slightly parted too, tying the whole heated moment together.

     It feels like I'm burning up, my body - and pussy, alike - tingling with the want for him. I've craved him all day, and from the look of it, Onii-Chan has been suffering from the same craving. Just as his head is tipping down, about to give me what I'm quivering for, my bedroom door slams open. 

     "What are you two doing?" Sasuke asks, pulling a deep sigh from Itachi.

     A disappointed whine is yanked from my lungs, displeased by him pulling away from me. His fingers squeeze my side but besides that, he doesn't acknowledge my small tantrum. "Why are you interrupting us?" Onii-Chan asks, glaring at our younger brother.

"Because I got beat this morning all because you got off. I'm not taking the fall again, by the way," Sasuke grumbles, mirroring the glare being shot at him.

I let my hands fall, clinging to Itachi's shirt again as I peek over his shoulder. Sasuke - and Daddy - aren't kidding; he sure did receive a beating. Small purple bruises wrap around his eye, marking the place our Father hit him. His cheek is bruised too, matching the injuries surrounding his eye. A small notch is settled on his bottom lip; bruised and busted like the rest of him.

Itachi's jaw clicks as he looks over our little brother with me, the leftovers of the beating adding fuel to the fire of hatred he has for Daddy. "I told you not to touch her," he grumbles, looping his arm around my back, keeping me tucked close to himself. "If you hadn't been on top of - "

"I could have been in my room and Dad would have still blamed me before he blamed you. Itachi, Dad's picture-perfect son," Sasuke groans, rolling his eyes at the lecture he is receiving.

"Go away," Onii-Chan grumbles, his fingertips dipping between my waistband and my back, slowly rubbing back and forth over the material.

"You owe me."

"I don't owe you anything," Itachi murmurs, tipping his head down to brush his lips against mine.

I happily accept the kiss, the gentleness of it only adding to my clinginess. I want more of him, I need more of him. My hands tighten on his shirt, trying to keep him rooted in our kiss, but it doesn't work. He pulls away again, his fingertips looping around to toy with the button of my shorts.

"I'll tell Dad when you got home you didn't realize I was here and that you spent all evening making Princess beg and scream."

"Dad won't believe you," Itachi snaps, his head jerking toward a very smug-looking Sasuke.

"Yes, he will. When he got home, Kenzo told me to steer clear because something happened with Princess so Dad and you will be at each other's throats. You know just as well as me he's just waiting for you to mess up."

Onii-Chan's jaw clicks on repeat as he rolls over the threat, his hand tightening on my shorts and tugging on them to pull me closer. "What might you want if I so chose to entertain this empty attempt at threatening me?"

"I want Princess to suck my dick - "

"No." The room starts to heat, Sasuke's amusement and Itachi's anger mixing to make the aura of the room. "Mom spent all night with you. I doubt you have anything left," he adds, shifting forward so I'm trapped between my closet and his frame.

Sasuke shrugs, eyes flaming with mischief and cockiness as he stares at me. "I want my dick down Princess's throat like you've done. Though, I could always lie and tell Dad you tainted his precious Princess. I can only imagine the beat you'd get for stealing her virginity before becoming the next Chief."

"No. If you want your dick sucked why don't you run along and see that pink-haired girl of yours?"

"Because I shouldn't have to run off," Sasuke complains, rolling his eyes again. "Why do you get to have a personal cock warmer and I don't? It's not fair. You get everything. You get the clan, Dad's favoritism even though you hate each other, and Mom made you a personal pocket pussy. I don't get one, let alone get to enjoy yours, how's that fair?"

Onii-Chan is simmering, his mood more annoyed than angry at this point. "Do you do anything besides complain?"

     "I would be patrolling but until this," Sasuke motions toward his face, more specifically his bruises, "heals up, Dad has me on temporary leave. Which, again, is your fault."

     "Fine," Itachi sighs, loosening his hold before dropping the total of it away. "Princess can suck you off, but that's it," he hisses the last part, watchful eyes carefully monitoring Sasuke's slow but eager walk over to us.

"Ya, ya, ya, blowjob and that's it, got it," my younger brother mumbles, quickly shouldering Onii-Chan out of the way before placing his hands on me. Sasuke cups my breasts, squeezing them with slightly more confidence than last night, and instantly throwing away the agreement they have over me. "They're not as full as Mom's," he mumbles, toying with them a second longer before his hands jump to my shoulders.

"Of course, they're not as full as Mom's," Itachi hisses, his annoyance slowly trickling back into anger. "Princess doesn't have three kids like Mom. They'll grow when she becomes pregnant with our first child."

     "Whatever," Sasuke mutters under his breath, pushing on my shoulders to try and get me on my knees. My eyes flicker toward Onii-Chan, double-checking just to be sure he's okay with the situation. His head nods, barely, but it does, sending me his okay. "Glorified lap dog," our younger brother complains, annoyance soaking in the roll of his eyes.

     "Sasuke - " Itachi starts, his tone warning.

     "No, she heard you say yes and she's still looking over at her master for permission. I can't wait until you knock her up. You better give her a girl so I can have my wife already," he continues to complain, his hands busy undoing his pants and pulling his dick out.

     "You'll be in your late thirties by the time our daughter would be old enough to wed. If we even have a daughter. Besides, who says I'll approve of you marrying our daughter?"

     Sasuke's hand balls up my hair, using it to pull me forward. My lips part when they get close to his dick, preparing to take him down my throat. The whole time my eyes stay locked on Itachi who's staring right back at me.

     "Thirty-six and twenty isn't a terrible age difference," my younger brother murmurs, his eyes flickering between the two of us. "Besides, as your brother I have the right to your daughter's hand in marriage after any sons you have. I'll just encourage you to keep breeding Princess until she gives me a wife."

     "That would greaten the age gap," Itachi grumbles, his eyes widening just a tad as Sasuke starts sinking into my mouth. His tense, his muscles only growing more intense as my throat is filled inch by inch.

     "Dad is twenty-seven years older than Princess and I'm sure he sticks his dick down her throat. Dad and Mom have a fifteen-year gap. It'll be fine," Sasuke rattles as he continually pulls on my hair, only stopping when my nose is pressed against his stomach. His eyes grow too, but for a reason completely different than Onii-Chan.

     My throat spasms around Sasuke's cock, trying to force it back out as my body confuses the deep throating for choking. A long, soft hiss slides between his teeth, my brother enjoying the involuntary movements of my muscles and the growing sound of me choking on him.

     "I don't want to think about Dad's dick down Princess's throat," Itachi hisses, his eyes tearing away from me to glare at our brother. "You're going to make her sick keeping your dick down her throat so long."

     Sasuke rolls his eyes at Onii-Chan's overbearing behavior but does pull on my hair again, yanking me backward. "Can't even let go long enough for me to get sucked off," he murmurs under his breath, jerking his hips to shove his cock back down my throat. "Suck, pocket pussy."

     "Watch it," Itachi hisses before his head slowly turns back toward me, nodding to allow me to do as asked. I obey both my brothers, sucking on Sasuke's dick as he works it in and out of my mouth, thrusting deep enough each time that my nose grazes his skin.

     "Aww, poor Princess. Do you need Itachi to fight all your bullies for you? Of course you do, because all you are is a dumb breeding dog," Sasuke continues to degrade, his thrusts picking up with every syllable of the insult that slides out. "The only reason you were made was to continue on the family line. All Itachi is going to use you for is to fill your cunt over and over again like the pathetic lap dog you are. Everyone in the village is going to know the only thing you're good at is spreading your legs because of how often you're going to be knocked up."

     Tears spill down my face, caused by both the insults and the lack of being able to breathe. It's a struggle to continue sucking on him as he shoves his penis down my throat, his movements so rough I'm worried he's going to snap a bone. Daddy and Onii-Chan have never been this rough with me so I'm not sure what to do. My lungs are screaming 'bite him' but my mind is screaming 'suck hard so he finishes sooner'.

     "Sasuke," Itachi says, his voice even and chilled as his eyes bear on me. "You're making Princess cry. I recommend you calm down and slow down before I snap your neck."

     Our younger brother grumbles more about unfairness as he obeys Onii-Chan. Sasuke's thrusts slow down but remain deep enough that I'm sure there's going to be an imprint of my nose on his stomach by the time he's done. "Crybaby," he grumbles, the insult covering up a moan trying to escape his chest. "I take it back, you're good at two things. Being bred and crying. All you do is spill those crocodile tears and get whatever you want handed to you. You can't handle me fucking your over-used mouth so you cry. You cry so Itachi will make it stop. Pathetic."

     "Sasuke," Onii-Chan hissed again, taking a step forward to rip our brother away from me if he acts up again.

     "Sasuke," he echoes, pitching his voice to further mock Itachi. "She is pathetic and you know it. She has two jobs, take our cum, and get knocked up so the clan continues to have faith in the future. What use is a dog that can't do its job? You're a useless dog." By the end of the degrading his teeth are bared, his voice coming out hissy because of it.

     A groan escaped past Sasuke's teeth, his hips jerking to roughly shove his cock as far down my throat as he can. Within moments the growing familiarity of a man's semen is spilling out, dropping directly down to my stomach.

     "Her job is to take my cum, not yours," Itachi corrects, his anger bubbling in his words. "You should feel grateful that I'm sharing her. That I'm letting you taint her."

     Sasuke ignores our older brother, his eyes locked on me and his lips slightly parted as he spills out down my throat, enjoying the feeling of me gulping down his cum. When he's done, he thrusts a few more times, barely pulling an inch out before he's shoved fully in my mouth again. Having him forcing me to deep throat as a means to clean himself is somehow more degrading than his words.

     "She's already tainted and you know that," he finally answers back, slowly pulling his deflating cock out of my mouth. With my mouth newly free, it stays open wide, panting to catch my breath. "Dad messes with her all the time. I doubt there's a spot on Princess that Dad hasn't rubbed against or came on. Besides, after today all she is to Kenzo is someone to try and fuck behind Dad's back. I guess the three of us have a lot in common."

     "How do you know about that?" Itachi asks, rushing - and failing to conceal it - down to his knees to attend to me. His hand is on my throat, gently massaging it as he pets my hair, smoothing it out.

     "Kenzo was bragging about it when two of the council members showed up to meet with Dad about Princess's assault. Dad was in his office looking for something as they stayed by the door so he didn't hear it."

     "You know about that too?"

     "Ya."

     The room falls silent, Itachi continuing to massage my neck and wipe the saliva off my face. Sasuke tucks himself away, the lust in his eyes quickly burning away because of the conversation. Still, both my brothers' attentions stay on me, making sure I'm okay even if one brother shows it more.

     "Concerning - "

     "If Dad is taking care of the assaulter we'll leave it be. If too much time passes we'll discuss it. As for Kenzo, I don't want to speak about it in front of our Princess," Itachi interrupts, his focus on kissing my throat now instead of rubbing it. Sasuke nods in agreement, eyes stuck on me for a moment before he starts to walk away.

     "Onii-Chan?" I whisper, trying not to choke on the hatred wrapped around him.

     "My precious Princess?" He coos, softly sucking on a patch of skin stretched over my throat.

     "What are you thinking about?"

     "How I'm going to erase Sasuke's touch on you. How I'm going to remind you that you're my birthright and not his. How I'm going to pay Dad back for his mess-ups today. How I'm going to kill Kenzo and possibly your assaulter. How much time I have until our parents get back and whether it's enough time to fuck you."

     "What?"

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[bossbutch]

halfway thru chapter 1 of umineko. idk how meaningful it is to speculate this early, The Real Umineko hasnt even properly started. these arent fully thought out and organized it's just scattered thoughts

battler's gender politics are entertainingly weird. he's like "when i meet a woman, even if she's my cousin or my servant, i NEED to make a big show of grabbing her tits so that she can hit me and everyone will laugh at the Classic Gag and it'll lighten the mood" which is just ridiculous enough to be something a rich teenager in the 80s could convince himself is okay. and then he sees the dinner seating and he's like "damn my family's so patriarchal. thought gained: inexplicable feminist agenda". i'm assuming this is a genre deconstruction thing. also lol that he is right next to maria in grandpa's tier list

maria is awesome btw i hope she gets to infodump about magic a lot more. some goon in the SA thread said the umineko author was once a social worker, so like. even if they don't use the word because it's japan in the 80s she's gotta be Intended as autistic

kinzo's room is so telegraphed to be a locked room mystery. he's entertaining too but i kinda zone out when he's talking about how his magic system works. i get the basic of more risk = more magic power but i worry it's the kind of thing that has Important Clues that my brain autofills with [arcane rambling]

battler constantly gasses up how good george is with kids and then george sees a family member repeatedly hitting their 9 year old disabled child and says, out loud, "not my problem"

assuming the epitaph is a puzzle intended to be solved and not the kind of puzzle that frames all the other puzzles and isn't solvable til the end: until the first butterfly i thought all the death and traveling was metaphorical. it still could be. like the six chosen by the key could be objects. the hands of a clock may be involved because that's in all the promo stuff and chapter start art. kinzo acted like the riddle was totally solvable by the doc or kanon or any of his kids. but if it was unsolvable until People Started Dying, it seems kinda pointless to have put the painting up years ago? but beatrice is a Dramatic Bitch.

Who Took The Rose?! no idea, but i'm sure it's important. if there's a 19th person, definitely them. totally possible the wrapper fell off but they'd still recognize the withered rose i reckon

Who Gave Maria The Umbrella?! again, if there's a 19th person, it's them. if not, natsuhi was my prime suspect because her alibi didn't have any witnesses but everyone else's did (if you really count grandpa and the doctor, like doc could easily say "i was with kinzo" and no one would verify that with kinzo). but then there was a scene right after from natsuhi's pov (migraine and can't sleep without meds, literally me) where she speculates who did it. so either the narrative is heavily fucking with me, it's gramps or the doctor, or it's someone with an accomplice

the narration is from battler's pov except when it's not and it's strange. it even isn't from his pov in some scenes that he's in, like the letter reading scene. this is the type of thing that could Mean Something way later but is just a little confusing sometimes right now

kyrie saying there's a contradiction in beatrice showing herself to maria but hiding from everyone else, failing to consider beatrice may be a Dramatic Bitch. i think there's probably a 19th person even if they are not necessarily a witch with magic powers

the furniture being totally able to break promises but can't disobey orders is the kind of exact words semantic sillies that umineko memes made me expect

goes w/o saying that the way the servants are treated is supremely fucked up. going to servant school and then working in the mansion at age six... george proposing to a girl that he has so much power over is lol. it's nice that umineko cares who the servants are and why they're there, and other logistical human things like how kinzo made his money and what they're all doing with it

at midnight, where was the doctor?

they drop some hints that the non-shannon, non-krauss bodies have their faces disfigured and Could be other people but that is pretty ridiculous and there's no reasons to consider that yet

i wish the LP used the doughy original art but that's the price i pay for convenience

[luvangelbreak]

Deprived | Two

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing, drug use (weed) word count: 2k a/n: i just wanna say that i don't live in Boston, in fact i don't even live in America so I've just made up some of the names of places in this series so apologies if that takes you out of the story. hope u enjoy !!

pov: layla

"So, where are we going?" Matt asked me with a permanent smirk plastered on his face, making me resist the urge to roll my eyes again.

"I'm going to South End," I blandly responded, not really knowing why he was following me out of the school grounds.

"That's like a 45-minute walk," he stated, pausing his walking making me turn around to him with a permanent frown on my face.

"So?" I asked and he glanced up at the sky, his blue eyes being illuminated by the sun hidden behind the dark clouds.

"It looks like it's gonna rain," he once again stated the obvious and I gave no response as I turned around and began walking through the car park again, "At least let me drive you there."

"Don't you need to drive your fuckin’ brothers home," I mumbled, aggravated by his presence already.

"I'm sure Nate will drive them home," he replied as he jogged up to stand in front of me, stopping my movements, "I can just drop you off if you don't want me to go with you but you shouldn't walk in the rain. It will take like 5 minutes to drive there."

As he spoke, I felt patters of faint raindrops on my face. I regretted my decision to leave the shelter of the school but I sighed, looking up at him unimpressed before mumbling, "Fine."

He nodded triumphantly before spinning on his heels and I followed him as we walked to his car. I let out a snicker when I saw the car he was unlocking was a silver minivan, causing him to turn around with a playful frown on his face.

"Are you laughing at my ride?" he asked cockily and I shrugged as I felt the rain start to fall ever so slightly harder.

"Just didn't think you of all people would drive a fucking soccer mom car," I rounded the car to the passenger side, swinging the door open before jumping in. I let my bag fall to my feet as I closed the door while Matt hopped in the driver's seat, throwing his backpack in the backseat.

He started the car, immediately turning on the heater and plugging his phone into the aux cable. The soft sounds of a random rap song I didn't know played through the speakers as he put his seatbelt on. I slouched down into my seat, pulling the headphone out of my ear and sliding it into my pocket before pausing the music on my phone.

I realised the car wasn't moving and looked up to see Matt staring at me. I frowned again, looking at him in confusion before he said, "Are you gonna put your seatbelt on?"

"Oh. Right," I mumbled, grabbing the seatbelt and sliding it over my body, clicking myself in before he put the car in reverse. He put his hand on the back of my headrest, turning around as he spun the wheel slowly with his left hand. I slid to the right of the car further, his presence feeling bigger than it was in the small space of the car.

"You good to just tell me where to go?" he asked as he put the car in drive, driving towards the exit of the car park while I nodded in response, "You don't talk a lot, do you?"

"Nope," I answered shortly, earning a chuckle from him but I couldn't find humour in what I just said.

The next 5 minutes were spent in uncomfortable silence as I picked at the black nail polish on my fingernails, quietly telling him when to turn left or right until we reached the destination. We pulled up to the old house that I called my home and I unclicked my seatbelt, grabbing my bag off of the floor.

I turned to face Matt slightly, giving him an awkward nod before saying, "Thanks for the ride."

"No problem," he gave me a genuine smile back and I pursed my lips turning to open the door before I paused hearing him speak again, "Hey. If you ever need a ride, I'd be happy to drop you home."

"Why would you do that?" I asked, the words sounding more rude than I wanted them to but I kept the same composure as I turned my head to face him again, my body still towards the door.

He shrugged, biting his lip briefly, "No one likes walking in bad weather. And it's not a hassle so why wouldn't I?"

I gave an unsure nod back before mumbling, "Thanks."

With that, I jumped out of the car and closed the door behind me running towards the rickety front porch to cover myself from the rain. I grabbed my keys from the small pocket in my bag, unlocked the front door and stepped inside. I turned around to close the door, noticing that Matt had waited until I walked inside before he drove away. I closed the door, locking it behind me before I sighed, thankful that no one was home. I walked down the dark hallway on the right towards my room, opening the door before slamming it behind me.

I threw my bag next to my mattress on the floor, walking over to my desk and sliding the top drawer open. I slid my leather jacket off, throwing it onto my mattress before pulling out the small box that contained the already chopped weed I had prepared for myself the other day. I sat down on my windowsill, leaving the window closed while I quickly rolled myself a joint. I realised I was down to my last few rolling papers and reminded myself to go to the nearest smoke shop in the next few days.

Once I had the joint rolled, I placed the box back in my drawer before sliding it closed. I opened my window, staying seated on the windowsill as I lit the end of it. Pulled my phone out of my pocket, clicking play on my Foo Fighters playlist before placing the phone on the windowsill in front of me.

I bent my right leg up, placing my right elbow on my knee as I smoked the joint and looked out at the small patch of overgrown grass that was my backyard. I tapped my left hand on my thigh along to the drums of each song, the time passing quickly. Before I knew it, 15 minutes had passed and the joint was finished, the effects hitting me quickly as I smushed the lit end of the joint against the wall outside my window, throwing it onto the ground in the small pile that had accumulated over time.

Instead of staring at the wall like I did most days, I grabbed one of the few sketchbooks that had blank pages left and started sketching random thoughts and drawings on the page with the one pencil I had that was still usable. I made a mental reminder to also go to a dollar store and get myself a pack of pencils soon since I knew this one would soon run out of lead.

After scribbling all over the page, I closed the sketchbook and I heard the front door open. I sighed, hearing the heavy footsteps of my father storm down the hallway before the door of my bedroom swung open.

"Why is your window open?" he asked, a frown drawn on his face that I seemed to greet every time I saw him. He paused for a moment before huffing, "Did you smoke my weed again?"

"No," I answered quietly throwing my book and pencil back on the desk.

"Where did you get it?" he asked and I ran a hand through my hair, trying to sober myself up to have a conversation with him right now.

"Wes gave me some when I delivered to him last," I answered honestly and his frown only seemed to deepen, anxiety rising in my chest.

"Why didn't you give it to me? Who said that was for you, Layla?" he questioned stepping further into my room and I could smell the beer on him from 3 feet away.

"He said it was for me," I answered, letting my head fall as I waited for the inevitable screaming match that I was sure was about to happen.

"I'm going to Ollie's. I expect you to leave my weed on the counter by the time I get back," with the anger radiating off of him, he slammed my door shut making the window beside me rattle before I heard the front door slam just as aggressively.

I let out a breath of relief, my shoulders dropping from their tense position as I heard his car rumble out of the driveway. I didn't bother trying to tell him not to drive when he wasn't sober, it never ended the way I wanted it to. So instead, I took half the half-ounce Wes had given me and put it in a separate zip-lock bag to put on the counter for my dad.

+++

I was asleep by the time my dad got home, making sure to lock my door before I fell asleep but as I was leaving the house to drag myself to school, I heard his snoring from his bedroom letting me know he had made it home alive, at the very least. As I entered the car park of the school, I noticed Matt's minivan pull into the parking space that he had parked in yesterday. I walked towards the entrance of the school before I heard my name being called.

I spun around to see Matt jogging towards me before he stopped in front of me, "Hey."

"Hi," I responded, a questioning tone behind my words and he smiled at me.

"I didn't know if you would come today," he said and I looked behind him, noticing both his brothers looking over at us with confusion written on their faces.

"Well here I am," I slid my hands into the pockets of my leather jacket, "I don't think your brothers like the fact that you're talking to me right now."

He turned around to look at them before he spun around to face me again with a shrug, "Who cares?"

"Clearly they're not the only ones," I tilted my head towards the people who were staring at us as they walked past. Matt glanced at them before rolling his eyes as I peered up at him, his black boots elevating him slightly more than his sneakers yesterday.

"Fucking Christ," he mumbled, running a hand through his hair before fixing his backpack that was falling off of his shoulder slightly. Since the air was colder today, he wore a white hoodie under his blue and white letterman jacket that I rarely ever saw him without.

"Wouldn't wanna ruin your reputation, Captain," I said sarcastically as I spun on my heel and entered the school. I felt more people looking at me than usual and I was sure another rumour had spread about me, resisting the urge to groan as I walked to my locker.

The bell rang and the halls were soon empty as I did my routine of grabbing the books I never used and made my way to my English class. I swung the door open, all eyes on me once again.

Mrs P barely acknowledged me as I closed the door behind me and started making my way to my usual seat before she spoke up, "Hood, Layla."

I closed my eyes briefly before sliding my hood off and I looked to the back of the class, noticing that the seat next to where I always sat, usually empty, was now filled with the familiar blue eyes and mop of brown hair.

I slumped into my seat, ignoring Matt's eyes pouring into me for the second day in a row. A couple minutes passed as Mrs P started talking about our project on Pride and Prejudice, zoning out since I had already read the book 2 years ago and I could easily write an essay on it.

I spent the rest of the lesson scribbling on a piece of paper and I was thankful Matt didn't try to talk to me even after the lesson ended. As the classroom filtered out, I grabbed my things and walked out of the classroom, noticing Matt following behind me with Chris close behind him.

[lila-lou]

✨ His only exception - Pt. 2/? ✨

Summary: 12 months ago, Butcher went above and beyond to have you join his team. You had a simple office job at Supe Affairs. The same thing every day, working from 9 to 5 and watching Butcher and his team defeat one renegade after another. One evening, however, something changed.

Pairing: Soldier Boy x Reader

Warnings: 18+ only! light smut, language, Soldier boy being too rough

Word Count: 1121

A/N: This is part 2 of "His only exeption".

English isn’t my first language, so please be lenient. 💙✨

As quickly as Ben smashed his lips into yours, you couldn’t even understand what was happening. Your whole body was covered in goosebumps that Ben caused as he pressed you against the cool wall behind you. Unwitting, he tightened his grip on your upper arms until it hurt.

Before you could even return the kiss, you pressed your palms against his chest as hard as you could, trying to push Ben away from you. At the same time, you turned your head to the side, which surprised Ben enough to pull his head back.

“The fuck, Ben! What’s wrong with you!”, you breathed, shocked and slightly disappointed. Ben, on the other hand, just furrowed his brows and looked at you, the corners of his mouth not even twitching. His expression was colder than ever. Without another word, he turned away from you and headed towards his room.

"I'm talking to you!", you said a little louder as you caught up with him and slapped his broad back from behind. Not particularly hard, although you could never hurt him anyway. At least physically.

“Leave me the fuck alone!”, he slapped your arm away, at the level of your wrist, way too roughly, which ended with an audible crack. A short, pained scream escapes your mouth, apparently loud enough to wake up Butcher and Frenchie.

“Fuck (y/n)! I... didn't mean-", Ben started, but his voice broke when Butcher and Frenchie came out of their rooms and saw you and Ben facing each other in the hallway. Butcher was just as dumbfounded as you. His gaze fell on your wrist, which you were clutching with your free hand, your eyes already glazed over with pain.

“Oi! What the fuck is going on?!”, Butcher grumbled with his arms crossed, looking from you to Ben as Frenchie walked towards you. “Nothing”, you whispered as Ben tried to open his bedroom door, but Butcher grabbed his forearm.

"You don't fucking want that Buddy!", Ben growled threateningly, his head turned to the side just enough to maintain eye contact with Butcher. He ripped his arm out of Butcher's grasp and looked at you one more time before disappearing into his room with a loud slam of the door. It was a miracle the door wasn't broken.

Butcher, driven by the fact that he was now permanently a supe, was about to drag Ben out of his room, but your voice stopped him.

“Leave him alone! Please”, you murmured, almost pleading.

Meanwhile, Frenchie examined your wrist and led you to the couch where you sat down. He quickly found a pressure bandage and wrapped it around your wrist as carefully as possible while you couldn't help but let out a small whimper.

“Now, can you tell me why Soldier Boy is pissed like hell and your hand looks like you taped it upside down?!”. Butcher was anything but rays of sunshine. He never was, but even less right now. However, you couldn't blame him. It was the middle of the night and the scene he found wasn't exactly promising.

Even though Ben had behaved quite peacefully, aside from his orgy escapades, Butcher still didn't trust him. However, he had gotten used to you by now. You could almost say he liked you.

 "It's not a big deal. It was an accident", you murmur, looking back at your wrist. "I... provoked him". Your acting must have been pretty good because Butcher obviously didn't question your statement.

“And why are you doing such bullshit? You know him and his fucking temper! Fuck. This guy is a fucking ticking nuke...literally!", he raised his eyebrows at the end of his sentence, as if he was slightly impressed by his pun.

“I know, I know”, you mumbled.

“All done, mon Coeur,” Frenchie said quietly before getting up and disappearing into his room without a word.

 “Butcher, look, he-”.

He didn’t even let you finish your sentence. Instead, he waved at you and muttered some words under his breath. “Just stay away from him. You’re doing yourself a favor, believe me”. Butcher’s gaze traveled from your face, down your body, back to your wrist. His furrowed eyebrows showed he was deep in thought. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but then stopped. Without saying another word, he walked barefoot back into his room and rubbed his hand on the back of his head, slightly overwhelmed.

With a deep sigh, you sank back onto the sofa and closed your eyes. Your head hurt more than your wrist as your left hand slowly moved to your mouth.

Lost in thought, your index and middle fingers slid over your lips as you reminisced about the kiss with Ben. Those little thoughts alone were enough to make your heart stumble. It felt like a hot ball was traveling from your heart through your stomach straight between your legs.

You couldn't imagine that one kiss was enough to make you see Ben completely differently. You could still taste his lips, whiskey mixed with weed and mint. What would have happened if you hadn't broken the kiss? How far would Ben have gone? How far would you have gone? Your thoughts slowly but surely drifted away. You looked around. The living room was still dimly lit. Everyone was back in their rooms and you were alone. While your injured wrist rested on the armrest, your other hand automatically slipped into your shorts.

“Oh hell no! Don't fucking do this to me! Not now!”, Soldier Boy growled almost desperately as he heard your rapid heartbeat and breathing, while he lay on his bed. It wasn't the first time he had listened to you getting yourself off. And well, you're definitely helped him quite a lot without even knowing it. You always tried to suppress your moans and make your movements slow and quiet, but Ben was always so focused on you that his ears would immediately perk up when you gave yourself a hand.

At first, he was a little surprised that he couldn't stop focusing on it, but after a few weeks he was really enjoying it.

At the moment, however, it was pure torture. His emotions were already overwhelming him, so there was no way he needed to be any hornier than he already was. Especially after he had just hurt you in more ways than one.

However, his cock clearly had more to decide than his head or his heart.

Meanwhile, you couldn't stop yourself. As you pumped two fingers inside you, your thoughts were on Ben. You imagined feeling his lips on yours again, his rough hands on your hips. You imagined what it would feel like if your fingers were his. Or something else.  

_

Part 3

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Taglist: @deangirl96