#they turn five next month. lord

[hotshotriot]

jesus christ

[sansaorgana]

— STILL PURE

PAIRING — Na-Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x fem!Reader

SUMMARY — Feyd yells at his daughter for interrupting him at work. His wife confronts him about his behaviour as she tries to explain to the little Countess that her father was never taught how to express love.

REQUEST — (1)

AUTHOR’S NOTE — Feyd is already the Baron in this fic but I assumed women cannot inherit on Giedi Prime so the daughter is "only" a Countess while her younger brother is a Na-Baron. I used my headcanon that if half-Harkonnen children have hair, then they're white because they lack pigment. I also wanted her to have big black Harkonnen eyes so badly... Basically, I wanted Feyd's daughter to look like this:

WORD COUNT — 2,990

ENGLISH IS MY SECOND LANGUAGE.

STILL PURE

Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen was circling around the big table in the conference room where the huge orb of Giedi Prime had been replaced with Arrakis’ one as one of his advisors was explaining the difficult situation regarding the spice production. The new wave of Fremen rebels who worshipped the long gone and deceased Muad’Dib decided to continue their idol’s legacy as they sabotaged the spice production controlled by The Harkonnen forces. The Governor of Arrakis was slowly losing control over the situation and Feyd would rather avoid going there himself. He was needed on Giedi Prime – especially now when The Emperor was on his deathbed. He had to be around in case something important would happen and everyone knew The Baron had his eyes set on the Imperial Throne. Feyd had to choose a new Governor of Arrakis or provide the current one with good advice, hoping for the Fremen problem to disappear soon. It was worrying him because it was giving him a bad reputation at the moment for having problems on Arrakis – it could make some leaders of the great houses to think he was not worthy enough to become the next Emperor.

Feyd’s hands were clasped behind his back as he circled like a shark and all his advisors looked down, taking a step back whenever he approached them. They knew his temper would only rise when he was angered whenever he would experience problems of such nature when it came to reigning over The Harkonnen properties.

“What does the Fremen leader say? Stilgar? That was his name?” Feyd barked at one of the scared advisors.

“Stilgar says he has no control over the cultists. He does not support their actions. He wants nothing but peace, my Lord,” the man bowed his head.

“How bad is it? The most important thing so far is to keep the problem on Arrakis a secret,” Feyd hummed to himself.

“Five percent of the decrease in the spice production income,” the other advisor answered. “Not bad, but can be noticeable in the amount we export.”

“We shall export some of our own private reserves to cover the loss. In the meantime, we have to deal with the cultists,” Feyd decided, already annoyed at the fact he had to sacrifice his own supplies just to cover up the careless governing of Arrakis which was not his fault. “Send more troops there, the operation should be classified confidential. Threaten Lord Volonov to take care of it. He’s got a month before I replace him with someone more capable…”

Quiet pat pat pat sound coming from the corridor was becoming louder and louder until the black doors finally opened slightly and the guard standing by them spotted a pair of two big black eyes staring up at him. 

“My Lord,” he tried to catch The Baron’s attention but Feyd had his back turned on him as he angrily explained the details of the operation to his advisors.

Little Countess Sevina Harkonnen gave the guard puppy eyes as she struggled with the heavy doors. She wanted to come inside and he didn’t know what to do. He was aware that his Lord Baron did not want to be interrupted but he didn’t want to close the door in the girl’s face either. He peeked outside but there was no servant around and The Baroness was not there either. He decided it would be better for the girl to come inside instead of letting her roam around the fortress alone.

She smiled widely at him and jumped inside the room happily as her white hair bounced. She was lucky enough to inherit most of her mother’s looks although her skin was paler, her hair lacked pigment and her pupils were nothing but two completely big black orbs – those were the eyes even her father did not have but they were a result of the pollution her mother’s body had been exposed to on Giedi Prime at the time of her pregnancy.

Not realising how tense the atmosphere in the room was, she approached her father as all the advisors and servants were making wide eyes at her. She stood behind The Baron and pulled on his shirt to make him turn around.

At first, he flinched at the odd feeling of someone pulling him. Who would dare to do that? He turned around quickly with an angry expression on his face but then he looked down and spotted his little daughter. She startled a bit at the sight of his annoyance but she kept staring at him with her big black eyes filled with love and excitement.

“What are you doing here?” Feyd barked at her.

“Can you play with me, daddy?” She pleaded with a big grin.

A few lords smirked at that and Feyd’s jaw clenched. Not only had she interrupted him but also humiliated him.

“Can’t you fucking see that I’m busy?!” He lashed out at her and she took a step back as her eyes filled with tears and betrayal. “Get out of here!” He pointed at the doors.

They opened at that very moment as the nanny entered the room and looked around, surprised at the sight of scared faces and the little Countess being in the centre of attention.

“There you are!” She opened her arms at the sight of the girl. “I’ve told you not to interrupt your father, he’s in the middle of a meeting,” she reminded nervously as the girl ran up to her and hid her face in the folds of her skirt. “Forgive me, my Lord,” the nanny bowed her head at Feyd-Rautha.

“You’re useless,” he drawled. “Get out.”

“Y-yes, my Lord,” the woman held Sevina’s hand and walked out as quickly as possible.

You left the nursery where your son na-baron had just fallen asleep. On your way back to your chambers, you passed by the doors leading to your daughter’s room and you froze at the muffled sound of sobbing. Concerned, you decided to enter without knocking.

Little Sevina was crying on her bed as the scared nanny tried to calm her down by rubbing her back and shushing her.

“What is going on?” You asked as the doors closed behind you.

“M-my Lady Baroness,” the nanny stood up and straightened herself to bow down slightly.

“What happened? Why is she crying?” You asked her in an accusing tone.

“I… I lost her out of my sight when we were playing earlier today, I’m sorry… I found the young Countess in her father’s conference room. She had interrupted The Baron during a council… I think he lashed out at her, my Lady…” the woman tried to explain nervously as her hands shook.

“You’re useless,” you sighed and she widened her eyes. “Get out, I’ll deal with that myself,” you pointed at the doors and she bowed down once again before leaving quickly.

You approached the bed and sat on the edge of it as Sevina raised her head to look at you. Your heart squeezed in your chest at the sight of her cheeks covered in tears.

“What happened, sweet darling?” You asked her gently while you caressed her back.

“Why doesn’t daddy love me?” She asked with so much pain and sincerity in her tiny, shaky voice that you nearly cried yourself.

You knew it wasn’t true. Feyd-Rautha loved his daughter. Even though he had been a bit disappointed she was not a son in the beginning – he had only said not to worry about it much; that the boy would come next. He had been treating Sevina as if she was made of glass in the first months of her life, so scared of accidentally hurting her because hurt was all he knew.

“Oh, Sevina, don’t think that…” You sighed and leaned in to kiss her forehead. “Daddy loves you so much,” you assured her but of course she wasn’t convinced. “He would kill and die for you, little girl,” you added.

“I don’t want him to kill and die for me, mummy,” Sevina sobbed as those were the concepts she was too young to grasp. “I just want daddy to play with me.”

“He doesn’t know how to play, Sevina,” you fixed her ruffled hair while trying to explain calmly. “He didn’t have a mummy or daddy when he was your age. The way I kiss you or hug you and play with you… He has never had it, darling,” you felt a few tears streaming down your cheeks. You were angry at your husband for yelling at your daughter and making her feel unloved but you were also angry at all the suffering that he had gone through in his past.

There were scars and damages that could never be undone, no matter how much you loved someone.

“And you’re big enough to know that daddy shouldn’t be interrupted when he’s working. You know that he tends to get angry more easily then,” you reminded her. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I wanted daddy to play with me,” she snuggled closer to you and you kissed the top of her head, rubbing her tiny arms with your thumbs and cradling her softly to calm her down.

Feyd had been back in your chambers already when you entered. You froze at the sight of him, irritated. However, he seemed to act as usual.

“Five percent,” he snapped at you, although not angrily. “We will have to replace the loss with our own supply so the other lords don’t realise we are expecting problems on Arrakis. That stupid son of a bitch Volonov can’t handle a few cultists and…”

“I don’t care about any of that,” you interrupted him and turned your back on him to approach your vanity table and sit by it, pretending to be more interested in reapplying the powder.

“What?” Feyd was visibly surprised as he watched you in disbelief. You had always been a support for him, especially in difficult times. You both had been plotting on how to take over the Imperial Throne and now you weren’t interested in something as important as the problems with harvesting spice on Arrakis? It didn’t make sense to him.

You ignored him and focused on brushing your hair now, watching him from the corner of your eye in the reflection of the mirror of your vanity table. He approached you, hesitantly.

“What do you mean you’re not interested?” He tilted his head as he leaned in, trying to intimidate you but you didn’t even flinch.

“I’ve just spent an hour calming down Sevina. You yelled at her,” you eventually looked up to look deep into his eyes. He took a deep breath in, irritated.

“She should have learnt by now not to interrupt me,” Feyd straightened his back and walked away. “She’s spoiled,” he added. “Knows nothing about discipline. It’s your fault.”

“She’s a little girl,” you turned around. “You can’t expect military habits from her. She’s your daughter, Feyd.”

“She’s lucky I only yelled. If I interrupted my uncle as a child like that, I’d be punished!” He raised his voice at you, frustrated that you were defending your daughter and making a problem out of something that he considered to be normal.

You hated it when he would raise his voice at you. You stood up angrily and yelled as well.

“Oh, so you think she should be raised the same way you were?!” You asked. “Alright then! Go to her room, grab her by the neck and flog her back with a whip just because she wanted to play with her father!” You pointed at the doors furiously as your eyes were burning with wrath. “Go on! I dare you.”

But Feyd didn’t even move. His jaw was clenched as he was staring at you speechlessly.

“Go. What are you waiting for?” You kept pushing him. “Go on.”

You kept looking into his eyes with so much intensity he eventually gave up and looked down, awkwardly as the guilt started to creep in. You won.

“You rejected her. She thinks you don’t love her,” your voice calmed down but it was still vicious. “And I was assuring her that you do but it felt as if I was assuring myself, too,” you added, just to hurt him. “I can’t stand to look at you, Feyd-Rautha,” you drawled and approached the doors to leave him alone but not without striking the final blow. “I can’t believe I wanted to give you children so badly,” you turned your head to look at him as he looked up, surprised at your words, “because you don’t deserve them.”

The doors opened in front of you and you walked out to go back to your daughter.

You were sitting on the black fluffy carpet in the middle of Sevina’s room. She was on your lap, with her tiny arms around your neck, cuddling you. There were toys scattered all around the floor but she wanted to take a break for the loving cuddles. She was very unusual for a half-Harkonnen and you were very aware of the fact she was making most people around feel uncomfortable.

Not only her father but everyone in the fortress were stiff around sweet little Sevina who was so full of life and curiosity, always wanting to hug everyone – even servants and guards. Wherever she went, there was a sound of laughter and a sudden feeling of warmth. Countess Sevina Harkonnen was the very first little girl living in that fortress in a long time and she was so different from all its inhabitants. She was too young to know that she was a daughter of Baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen – a man feared all over the Empire. That her bloodline was cursed with death and violence. She was still pure and innocent. Perhaps she was a living proof that The Harkonnens were not born this way after all – but they were made in the endless cycle of abusive upbringing. You did not want the same fate for her. You knew she would have to get rougher with time but you hoped she would still remain gentle, too.

The doors to her room opened and you looked up. At the sight of your husband, you protectively put your arm around your little girl. You doubted that he wanted to do what you had angrily suggested before but you wanted to make sure he wouldn’t anyway. Sevina stiffened at the sight of her father and clung to you. It brought you pain to realise that at that very moment she was afraid of him.

“Sevina, we have to talk,” Feyd stood above you two as he started in a serious tone. You gave him a scolding look and your little girl hid her face in the crook of your neck, hiding. “You know perfectly well not to interrupt me while I’m working.”

Long silence occurred. You could see Feyd’s struggle as he had no idea what to do to fix this situation between him and his daughter.

“Sevina, apologise to daddy,” you looked down and she looked up with tears in her big black eyes. “You shouldn’t have interrupted him and you know that, darling,” your voice was soft and calm and she sniffed.

“I’m sorry, daddy,” Sevina turned her body around to face him but she refused to look at him.

“Now, you apologise to Sevina for being mean,” you looked up at your husband and you spotted panic in his eyes. “Now,” you insisted sternly.

“I’m sorry for being mean to you,” Feyd crouched down to be on her level. She hesitantly looked at him. “Can I get a hug, too?” He asked and his voice broke a tiny bit. 

Slitting someone’s throat open was less awkward and unusual to him than to ask for a hug. Your heart ached for him but you were an adult capable of understanding his patterns. Sevina was not. 

Her heart was big, though, and she loved her father, so she would forgive him everything. She nodded her head with a happy smile and ran into his arms to squeeze him tight. Tears pricked your eyes at the sight.

“I love you, darling,” Feyd whispered quietly with his cheek pressed to the top of her head. “I would kill for you. I would die for you,” he confessed.

“But she doesn’t want any of that,” you explained. “She just wants you to spend time with her.”

“Is that right?” He looked down at his little girl and she looked up with her puppy eyes as she nodded. Her tiny hands reached out to cup his face.

“I love you, daddy,” she assured him. “Can you play with me?”

“I don’t know how to play, I’m sorry,” he admitted with guilt in his voice.

“I will teach you,” she hugged him again.

Feyd put his arms around his little girl and pulled her closer. You crawled on the carpet to give him a hug, too. You could feel that he was slightly trembling, so you leaned in to place a kiss on his temple as your hand caressed his head soothingly.

“It’s not weak to show affection,” you reminded him in a whisper. “I’ve never loved you more than when you are like this.”

Feyd laid his eyes on you. They were filled with a mix of pain, guilt and relief. At the end of the day, the only approval he was seeking was yours. You had him wrapped around your little finger.

“So, how do you want to play?” He asked Sevina as he caressed her white hair with admiration. She clapped her hands cheerfully.

“I want to be a Princess,” her eyes sparkled. “And you’ll be my guard.”

Feyd chuckled at that, showing off his black teeth. Sevina giggled as she had never found them scary.

“Soon enough, my darling one, you’ll be a real Princess,” he assured her.

MASTERLIST

[silly-thinkings]

Batmoms biggest "fan"

A small thing that I wrote and completed a long while ago. I decided to go back to school and I'm now getting the hang of everything. enjoy this story wherein- You (fem batmom reader) have a sort of fanclub. This fanclub however has the rest of the family on edge. and your sons do something about it :)

You frown as you took a bite of of your food. You were stood up… by your own husband of all people. At a nice restaurant that he chose.

For a mission that he won’t even tell you the details about. That of course didn’t stop you from indulging in the food and wine that you’ve eaten multiple times. The people around you looked at you with the occasional whispers in between. But you didn’t mind. In fact, with the way you were eating it might as well been a night for Y/N Wayne to be by herself.

The waiter approached the table with a sheepish smile “the bill Miss Wayne.”

You gave him a smile that make even those who despise you blush . You pull out your purse and place cash in the folder, followed by the Bruce’s black card. The server Looked at you confused.

“The black card is for the bill. The cash is your tip.” You say with a wink.

“F-five hundred dollars” he shook his head in disbelief “I can’t accept this.”

You tilt your head to the side “why not? Is it not enough?” You look at his name tag before your phone rang. “You’ve done an excellent job today Jared. Please, accept the tip.”

Jared slowly nodded his head as he return to the back. You check the caller ID and smile “hey hey bird. What’s up?”

On the other end was your second eldest Jason Todd. Slowly he’s been talking to you more as of late. Which brings you joy, the last thing you’d want is for any of your boys to cut you off of their life over Bruce’s actions. Lord knows how hard you try to have both your eldest socialize within the family.

“Nothing much. You free?”

You look around the restaurant “not necessarily. Decided to get some dinner.”

“Where B?”

“Out. He’s busy tonight.”

There was a pause on the other line “right…”

The waiter returned with the card and you signed the receipt . You grabbed your belongings and left the establishment. “So, when’s the next time I get to see you?”

Unbeknownst to you, the very son you were on the phone with stood atop the apartment across from the restaurant.

“I don’t know Ma. I’m on a very important case right now.” Jason said pressing a pair of binoculars watching you intently.

“Hmmm. Well don’t stay out for too long. Honestly, you and your father act the same way when you’re working in a case.”

Jason moved his binoculars slightly behind you. He noticed the waiter watching you from one of the restaurant windows whilst holding a pair of white gloves. Your gloves, you must’ve forgotten them.

“Uh huh. Text me when you get home. Stay safe Ma.”

You look down at your phone slightly shaking your head. You place the phone back into your purse before raises your had at the passing taxi’s.

~Meanwhile~

Jason continued to watch both you and the waiter. It was only after you getting into a taxi that he put all his focus on the man in the restaurant.

Jason heard some shuffling behind him causing him to roll his eyes “Ya know, if you just want a hug you can totally ask.” The man announced his presence with a preppy tone.

Jason grunted “go away Dickhead, I’m busy.”

“No, it looks like you’re stalking mom.” Dick crossed his arms “what are your doing Jay?”

“Working. What are YOU doing? Shouldn’t you be in bludhaven? Doing police work.” Jason quipped as he watched the waiter put Y/N’s gloves in his pockets before returning to work.

“I’m… also working right now.”

Jason finally turned to face his older brother “so you know.”

Dick nodded “Babs has mom’s taxi being traced as we speak. Tim is also tailing the thing.”

Jason took a deep breath before turning around facing the restaurant. Five months, as far as Jason knows, his mother Y/N Wayne has been stalked by a group for five months. And it only seems to be getting worse. Word around the streets is that there’s a twisted fan club. A fan club that is too infatuated with the lady of the Wayne household. And the only way a person can be initiated into the group is by meeting Y/N Wayne.

“Jay. I know you know Bruce is working on this case. Why not join him instead of doing it alone.”

Jason scoffed “please, Bruce will just put the mastermind in jail. And then what? Tell me, are you comfortable with mom having stalkers trying to get to her any chance they get?”

Dick didn’t respond, which cause Jason to laugh “exactly. That man did nothing when I died. I’m not taking that risk. Not when my Mom is involved.”

Jason noticed the waiter walk out of the establishment and hastily walked towards a dark ally. Jason put his helmet back on “if you want to help, stay out of my way.” Jason, dressed as redhood Jumped down from the building to follow the man.

Dick watched as his brother followed the guy.

“You know he’s going to need some backup right?” He heard Barbra in his ear piece.

“Maybe he’s hungry.” Dick flipped off the building befit grappling the next one. Following his brother.

~~~~~

You arrive to the manor and went straight to the cave. “Bruce! Bruce Wayne show yourself right now!” You yelled into the void it seemed. Bats fluttered about as your husband dressed as Batman turned in his seat. He got up and walked towards you

You pointed a finger at him “you stood me up.”

Bruce rose his hands in surrender “I can explain.”

“It better be good. Because ain’t no way I went to your favorite restaurant only to be looking like a goof ball all alone. The gossip news shows are going to have a field day with this one.”

Bruce didn’t say anything. How could he, on the one hand he’s been trying to figure out who’s actively hunting you down. While on the other hand, he did use you for bait. And that he’ll have no problem taking to the grave.

“Bruce, talk to me. You and the kids have been tense lately. Is the world ending again?” You ask stepping closer to Bruce. You knew his actions were for a reason, but after years of dealing with this kind of thing, it’s starting to bug you slightly.

Bruce finally felt defeated. “You remember Dom? Dom rosenbloom from highschool?”

You giggled “of course. I’ve always found him sweet. Wonder what he’s up to.”

“He’s stalking you” Bruce said bluntly.

Your mouth hung open shocked by the sudden declaration “what? H-how?”

Bruce takes your hand and walks you to the computer. He pulled up multiple videos of this man following you at every instance. Galas, work, the gym, even at the supermarket.

“Bruce. Why didn’t you say anything’s“ you gasped before slapping his shoulder “you used me as bait.”

Bruce smiled slightly. Your tone was most definitely playful given the situation. “I might’ve”

You squeezed Bruce’s hand making him face you. His armored chest rising and falling slowly. You look up into his eyes. He then returned the gesture by placing one of his gloved hands on your face. “On a serious note Honey. You’re in danger so lay low for me alright.”

You nod your head. Your fingers dancing along his chest “That’s still not an excuse to stand me up.” You say standing up on your tippy toes before giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. You turn and began ascending the stairs. “I’ll be more carful from now on Bruce. Now… Could you at least join me in the bath~ I think that’ll make up for your silliness.”

Bruce looked at the time then back at you. “It’ll be my pleasure Mrs.Wayne”

~~~

Jason followed the waiter to a run down school. He loaded his gun before stealthily walking into the building.

“Rubber bullets?” Nightwing chirped beside him.

Jason swung his arm around pointing the gun at his brother “keep it up and I’ll use real ones. Just for you.” Jason scoffed “you’re a pain in the ass”

“Not as big of a pain at that one over there.” Dick pointed to the other side of the building. Damian dressed as Robin snuck in through a window before disappearing.

Stressed Jason put the gun away “Wheres his adult.” He said before the two followed the tween down the hall.

~~~

“My brothers! We are gathered here today to honor a priced relic. Mrs.Wayne’s gloves.”

A group of people gathered in the abandoned schools gymnasium. Y/N’s belonging from shoes, jewelry, even discarded hair products were put up on display. Ooo’s and ah’s can be heard from the crowd making Tim feel sick to his stomach. Before he hacked into the building lighting grid gunshots fired. Tim massaged his temple, there was only one other person he can think of that doesn’t have his kind of finesse.

“Alright. Which one of you is the leader?” Red hood parted the crowed of people as he pointed the gun at the man on stage.

Tim moved his head side to side before jumping down from his hiding spot. Knocking out one of the stage guards.

The man attempted to run on the other side but was stopped my a smaller Robin. Damian kicked the guard in the gut before crossing his arms.

The leader’s face turned red with embarrassment “What is the meaning of this. I , Dominic rosebloom will have all of you- ”

“Pfffft I’m sorry. Rose bloom? That’s your name.” Nightwing appeared from behind Redhood who still had the gun pointed at Dominic. “You were bullied weren’t you.”

Dominic opened his mouth to say something but Tim pulled out his laptop. “Actually yes. According to sources Y/n Wayne was his only friend throughout his high school years. Then uhh… Bruce Wayne stole her from him. Gross… anyway You guys didn’t know that?”

“Tsk what does it matter. Let’s settle this quickly. I have something important attend to.”

****

The sun shone through the silk curtains of your bedroom. Normally you’d wake up in bed alone but your husband laid next to you scrolling through his phone. He chuckled slightly before showing you what he was reading.

“Dominic RoseBloom found guilty for harassing and Stalking Mrs.Wayne”

The picture provided was a grown man left out in the open with heart underwear and a dunce hat on.

“No… who would humiliate him like that.” You say pressing a hand over your mouth.

Bruce look at the picture further, he noticed a green cape in the bottom of the photo “our children.”

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

imagine like reader being a detective or something, being on the case to catch Red Hood (while he’s still a crime boss)/ the Arkham Knight, but being in a relationship with Jason, unaware of his nightly business. And then boom, they find out one day and it’s all angsty 🤞🤞 love ur work btw hihi

Betrayal

Hi, nonnie! I thought I had this done earlier, but then I had to keep world building. Stuck with Red Hood on this one. Hurt/No comfort warning. Non-graphic, very minor character death. ~1.8k words

Gotham is cursed. That's what they told you when you transfered to the GCPD. Yeah, you've heard the stories, but they're just messing with you, right? Trying to scare the newest rookie cop.

Except they were telling the truth. A few years later, more cases than you can keep track of, enough masked rouges to fill arkham three times over, and a promotion to detective, you tell the rookies the same thing they told you. Gotham is cursed.

"Alright, Detective, this one is yours." You make a face at the case file the Commissioner drops on your desk.

"Sir, I took care of The Penguin robbery last week, isn't it someone elses turn to deal with the high profile cases?" You gingerly pick up the file, reading over the name Red Hood stamped on the front.

Gordan sighs at you, already turning away to move onto the next poor detective. "We cycled through everyone else after the Black Gate breakout. Anyone who didn't work on it has active cases. That makes this one yours."

You grumble reluctantly, cases like this lead to more press coverage than you want to deal with, but start flipping through the file, mentally noting down the sparse facts and theories about the up and coming crime lord.

That was four months ago. In such a short amount of time, Red Hood has taken over more territory in Gotham than any other crime lord and completely changed the game. No dealing to children, no human trafficking. You hate to acknowledge it, but crime technically has dropped since he took over the majority of gangs in Gotham under an iron fist.

The work is exhausting, he's always one– no, five steps ahead of you and your growing team of detectives and beat cops. You don't think you've even gotten a real glimpse at him that he didn't mean to let you have.

The closest you've gotten to Red Hood was out of uniform, weeks after you got the case, when he was still a new name on the streets.

It was a robbery, some desperate punk in a mask that didn't conceal anything, was dragging a little girl out of the store as a hostage.

"Take me instead, she's just a kid." You had protested, heart sinking at the terror in the little girls face.

"Not a chance." He barked back at you.

"Look, she's scared, she'll only slow you down."

The gunman stares at you, you see his fingers twitch. "Fuck it. Fine. Both of you are coming with me." That's how you ended up in some alley, familiar sirens wailing in the distance and your hand curled protectively with the child's.

"Shit. Man. Shit. The cops weren't supposed to be here. What am I gonna do? I can't go to jail." He's snapping. Rambling and desperate. Your eyes dart for some kind of plan, a way to help the little girl stay safe. But the alley is empty, not even a dumpster to seek shelter behind. "I just gotta get rid of the witnesses. Yeah. The witnesses."

Your eyes dart to him, he's lifting the gun. You don't hesitate to grab the little girl, wrapping your arms around her and turning your back to the man, tucking her to your chest to provide as much cover as you can provide.

A gun fires.

There's a thud.

You look over your shoulder, the girls face still hidden against you. He's not moving, gun unshot and laying next to him on the ground. There's a pool of dark liquid forming around him. You look up.

You manage to see a red glint, the shine of a gun, the eerie glow of a luminescent eyes. Red Hood.

That's all you manage to see before you're swarmed by cops, guiding you and the girl to safety.

It's a memory that plays in your mind sometimes, when you hear testimonies of how Red Hood saves people in crime alley, despite his crime lord status. It's confusing, exhausting even, to try and sort between the good and the bad, the duality of one man. At least you have your loving boyfriend to come home to.

Jason. He makes you feel like Gotham might not be so cursed. It's great, he gives you butterflies. He makes you happy. You cook meals together, and you both work the weird twilight/night shift hours. He holds you like you're precious under your shared comforter. You think you might love him. He whispers sweet nothings into your hair when he thinks you're sleeping. You kiss his palms when his eyes get that far away, haunted look he can’t seem to explain.

He's insisted on cooking dinner tonight as you watch him, a little starry eyed. You can't really blame yourself when he's shirtless and working over your favorite meal.

"Oh, Jason, I need to wash my clothes. Do you need anything done?" You ask, finally remembering that you do actually have a job and responsibilities and you can't stare at your handsome boyfriend all day.

"No, I'm good, baby. Go ahead and do your thing. Dinner's almost done." He answers idly, shooting you a lazy grin as you stand.

You smile back before leaving the kitchen to gather your clothes. As you dump the dirty laundry in the washer, you realize you never refilled the detergent. Mumbling an annoyed curse, you head to the spare bedroom you rarely use. There should be some extra necessities stock piled in there. You know, for the next time a criminal messes with Gothams chain supply.

You're more focused on the delicious smells floating through the apartment as you open the closet door, idly looking around for the detergent. That's why it doesn't really click in your mind what you're looking at. Guns. Armor. Your thoughts freeze to a stop. Are you dating some kind of henchman? A bright red helmet takes up your vision. Nope. You're dating a crime boss.

The helmet is in your hands and you're fumbling your way to the kitchen before you even have your thoughts sorted. Should you call for back up? Shouldn't you try to catch him by surprise? Sure. But, you need answers. You want this to be a misunderstanding. You want Jason to be your partner– not– not what the evidence that's heavy in your hand says he is.

Statistics run through your mind. Stories of Red Hood saving working girls. Stories of him leaving bodies of dealers that sold to kids. Then, memories of your boyfriend. How he leans down to kiss your forehead. How runs his hand up and down your arm while you watch movies together. If there was a sign. If you were too blind and in love to realize.

He turns to look at you when you stalk in. You throw the helmet at him. The helmet you'd recognize anywhere, even if you've never gotten close enough to touch it before. He catches it with the grace of a predator. "The hell is this, Jason?"

"It's a helmet." He says evenly, turning off the stove and placing the helmet down on the counter.

"No, duh, it's a helmet, Jason. Don't patronize me. Is it yours?" You nearly hiss, hands curling in anger and frustration and heart break you're not ready to admit you're feeling.

He studies you, eyes dark and calculating. It makes you bite the inside of you cheek. His eyes never looked at you like that before. "It is."

You laugh out of disbelief, stepping back. "So you've been using me? Is that what all this was? Just a way to get information about the GCPD and what we had on you?"

"What? No." He says your name a little pleading, "it's not like that. Not anymore."

"But it was." You bite out, cursing yourself for the sting of tears in your eyes.

He steps closer, you step back, trying to keep your hands from shaking. He whispers your name, and you think you see hurt flash in his eyes before it disappears. His voice goes steady, even. "It was. But I haven't tried to get anything like that since–"

"Since when, Jason?" You cut off, anger and hurt clear in your voice, in your face. "Was it before we raided the warehouse at the docks? Is my computer bugged? Did you hack my phone?"

He winces. You don't need to be a detective to know he has. "I haven't used them since we started getting serious."

"And when was that, Jason?" You ask, voice breaking at his name. "Because it's been serious this entire time for me."

He doesn't answer at first, gaze leaving you to stare at his helmet. "Since I– I saw you save that kid. Instead of going after that shooter. When I realized you weren't just another one of the corrupted cops. That you care about this city. And the people. I realized I couldn't keep doing that to you."

You go quiet. What can you say to that? "Were you ever going to tell me?" You settle on.

"I don't know." He shrugs helplessly, eyes leaving the helmet to meet your teary gaze. "I didn't know how. I don't– think I wanted you to know. " He stutters over his last sentence, and then says your name, pleading coming back to his tone. "I can't lose you over this."

"You never had me!" Your voice raises, a shout in anger before you can bury it down. You shake your head, wrapping your arms around yourself protectively and lowering your voice. "You never had me if everything this was was built on a lie."

"It's not a lie." He says firmly, snapping to attention and stepping towards you. He gestures between the two of you, says your name like he demands your attention. "This is not a lie."

"It is, Jason! You're only here to gain something from me! From my job!" You push back, throat tight and head spinning. Maybe you shouldn't be yelling at Gothams most dangerous and deadliest crime boss, but your heart is too broken for your head to think straight.

"No, pretty." You think he's pleading. You think his mouth might even be trembling as he speaks, but you can't make it out through the tears in your eyes. "No. It was like that at first. I know. I know that hurts you, but, it's not like that now. It's nowhere near that now."

"I don't care." You choke out.

"You don't mean that." Jason protests, but he doesn't sound certain.

"I don't want to see you anymore." You say the words before you're even sure you want that.

His face drops. "You don't mean that either."

"I do." It tastes like a lie. It sounds like the truth. You're turning and leaving before he can speak again, before you can unpack what you really want, locking yourself in the bathroom.

You fall asleep to the sound of your own tears, curled on the cold tile floor. You wake to silence. His helmet is gone from your counter when you enter the kitchen.

Your favorite dinner is wrapped in plastic when you open the fridge.

It makes the truth of it all worse. Gotham really is cursed.

Part Two

[parkerslatte]

Unspoken

Eris Vanserra x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1.6k

Warnings: mentions of Beron’s torture. mentions of nightmares.

Summary: Eris had been in love with his best friend for centuries. After a long, tiring day of his duties as High Lord, he just wants to sleep. But he would rather listen to Y/N talk to him more.

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

The moment Eris entered his own private chambers, he immediately shrugged off his jacket and let it fall to the floor. Next were his shoes, he kicked those from his feet and dragged himself to his large bed in the centre of the room. When he was near it, he allowed himself to fall, landing on the soft mattress and pillows. He always knew that being High Lord would be time consuming. But he hadn’t realised how long he would need to be on his feet all day. Eris was sure that he had only been allowed five minutes to rest his feet before he was demanded somewhere else. All he wanted was rest.

Eris closed his eyes and begged his body to drift off to sleep. Of course nothing came of it. Despite the fact that his father was dead, killed by his own two hands, Eris could never fully settle. Afraid that if he closed his eyes, his father would rise from the shallow grave Eris buried him in and come after him. For months, Eris was constantly plagued by that nightmare, his only reprieve from it was–

“Eris!” A voice called through the door. “Are you in there?”

A soft smile fell upon Eris’s face. “Yes, my dear.”

The door was pushed open and in walked Y/N, Eris’s best friend for the past few centuries. Since becoming High Lord, Eris had finally allowed her to enter his chambers for the first time. Always wanting to keep her out in case his father ever got the wrong idea and would use her to make him obedient. Now he had a hard time keeping her out of his chambers. She always demanded that they were much nicer than hers. 

“You will simply not believe the day I have had!” Y/N exclaimed, falling next to him on the bed. 

Eris moved to lay comfortably on his back and turned his head to look at Y/N. Her hair was simply a mess, sticking up in nearly every direction. Eris chuckled at the sight. “Tell me about it.”

Y/N huffed. “Well when I got to the shop, there was a vile woman already waiting outside demanding to be let in, insisting that the shop hadn’t opened on time. Even though I had written a note, with large bold letters I may add, fixed to the front door that explained that I would be opening an hour later than usual.”

“She sounds awful,” Eris commented.

“That’s not all!” Y/N exclaimed. “When I let her in, she said that the bread I baked was not fresh enough, even though I put an enchantment on it to make sure that it was, and demanded that I make a fresh batch just for her. I don’t have the time for that! I am the only one working at the bakery and there was a large line forming.”

“What did you tell her?” Eris asked.

He had now turned on his side and watched as Y/N told her story, her hand gesturing wildly. Ever since he had met her when she worked as a chef in the kitchens, he had always loved the way she emphasises her speech with her hands. Often when people noticed it she would try to stop, but not around Eris. Never around Eris.

Eris knew that their friendship was unexpected, he hadn’t expected it himself. But after she was sent by his mother to give him food when he was extremely ill, Eris had simply loved her since then. She never cowered away when he glared at her and tried to intimidate her. She never backed away when he spoke cruel words about her job and her station. She didn’t even leave when he dismissed her. She had stayed and asked him what was the matter and that was when the facade Eris constantly had up vanished. No one had ever asked him that before. The softness in her voice, the understanding. It was something Eris had never experienced. 

After that it was always quick yet playful glances in corridors. The occasional nudge when brushing past one another. And when Eris had endured another beating from his father, he would make his way to the kitchens. And remain with her. Those few days after the beatings, Beron never expected Eris to make an appearance anywhere so he could be in the servants quarters without the threat of his father coming after him.

Eris remembered the first night he had spent with her. They had only known each other for a few months by that point so Eris hesitated before knocking on her door. He knew that she had a room to herself, it was the size of a shoebox but Y/N was grateful for her own space. When Y/N brought him inside and cleaned the wounds on his back, Eris finally allowed himself to break down for the first time in a long time. Y/N only held onto him, soothing him, as he cried and let everything out. Not once did she complain. 

Even when he fell asleep in her arms, Y/N did not complain, she only held him closer. That following morning, Y/N never made him leave, she simply stayed with him the whole day. She took his mind off everything. She made him smile. She made him laugh for the first time in years. It was so easy to fall in love with her. 

And he was still in love with her. Even after a few hundred years. 

“Eris?” Y/N said, nudging his arm. “Are you still listening?”

Eris smiled. “Yes, I’m still listening. What did you tell her?”

Y/N laughed. “Well first I threw the bread at her and told her to stick it up her–”

“Y/N,” Eris said, laughing loud. “You are going to lose customers.”

“I’ll be glad to lose her,” Y/N said. “She was a prick.”

Eris continued to chuckle as Y/N turned onto her side facing him. His hand twitched to reach out and pull her against his chest. It was all he wanted to do. 

“Why would you burden me with running a whole bakery?” Y/N questioned.

Eris rolled his eyes. “I did not burden you. I remember you begging me to buy the building when it was planned to be torn down. And I keep suggesting that you hire more people but you never listen.”

“Isn’t that your job?” Y/N questioned. “Since you bought the building?”

“I gave ownership to you,” Eris said. “It is legally your business and, therefore, your job to hire people.”

Y/N sighed. “I wouldn’t know the first thing about running a business where other people depend on me. The thought terrifies me. And what if they don’t like me, what then?”

“It would be impossible,” Eris stated.

“Me as someone’s boss? Because I agree.”

“No,” Eris said, his voice soft. “People not liking you. You are impossible not to like.”

Something flashed across Y/N’s eyes but it was gone before Eris could even place the emotion. 

“You mean that?” Y/N asked.

“Of course I do,” Eris said, swallowing hard. “You are the easiest person to like.”

It is why I fell in love with you, Eris thought. The words he was never brave enough to say. 

Y/N smiled and Eris swore his heart skipped a beat. “Thank you Eris.” Her tone was sincere and far from her usual light hearted and playful tone.

“I could always help you,” Eris said. “In the bakery.”

“Eris, you have enough duties here. You already look ready to pass out and the sun hasn’t even gone down,” Y/N said. “And why would you want to spend any more time with me than you already are? I’m sure you are sick of me already.”

“I could never be sick of you,” Eris said. “You are my best friend, Y/N. I will always want you around.”

Best friend. Those two words Eris hated. Y/N was more than his best friend. She was the light of his life. The reason he woke every morning. The reason he breathed. She was a part of his soul even if she didn’t know it. Eris was so inexplicably in love with her that nothing else mattered when he was with her. 

Something akin to disappointment flashed on Y/N’s face before it was gone in an instant. “Well you are my best friend too, Eris.”

Eris forced a smile upon his face. She was laying next to him on his bed, yet she still felt so far away. 

“I should be letting you rest, I can tell that you have had a long day,” Y/N said. “I don’t think you want me bombarding you with stories from work.”

“I enjoy your stories.” Eris’s voice was quiet and pleading. Pleading with her to stay for just a moment longer. 

The smile on Y/N’s face was small but Eris wanted it tattooed onto his brain. “Perhaps tomorrow,” Y/N said.

Disappointment surged through Eris as his hope subsided. Y/N leaned forward and placed a quick kiss on his cheek. “I will see you tomorrow Eris.”

“See you tomorrow, Y/N,” Eris replied, his voice unusually quiet. 

Y/N slipped from his bed and left the room and left Eris alone once more. The silence was almost deafening. If it weren't from the heat on his cheek from where Y/N had kissed him, Eris was sure he would go insane.

Eris did not even bother to chance into more comfortable clothes, he didn’t even bother to get under his covers. All he did was pull his pillow closer and close his eyes, his mind filled with images of Y/N before drifting off to a dreamless sleep.

[nikkisheep]

To Be Alone With You (Part Five)

Anthony Bridgerton x female!sharma!sister!reader

Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Warnings: ANGST, ANGST, oh and more ANGST, Benedict and reader gets closer, reader is heartbroken, so much crying, talk of betrayal

Summary: Weeks after Anthony "dumped" you so he could be more serious in his courtship with your sister, you finally tell him that it is time that you both move on in an emotional confrontation.

I'm so sorry that it got so long. I hope that it's good given that I wrote this at like 12 am.

Song that I feel relates to it in a sense:

Illicit Affairs (Taylor Swift)

Tag List: @shealuna, @m-rae23, @littlepeanut03, @aellabridgerton, @sydney-m, @faatxma, @wildthoughtnananna, @uraesthete, @themadhattersqueen, @sydney-m, @theantiquehobbit, @theroyalmanatee ,@urfavnoirette , @budugu, @helen06dreamer, @galactict3a

The days passed. The days turned to weeks. The weeks turned into two months. Your days drug on as you prepared yourself for the next outing with your family. You faked a smile, beaming at the right time. Looking at your sisters, smiling and giggling over the hundreds of letters that Anthony wrote to Edwina.

You were staring out the window when you heard your name being called.

"Dear sister, have you read this new letter that Lord Bridgerton sent to me," Edwina beamed like a girl in love.

You turned your head to her, a small sad smile graced your face.

"No, I hadn't."

"I most certainly do not want to." Is what you wanted to say. You wanted to tell her how Anthony only makes those promises of love to you when you are both wrapped at the waist in the sheets of his bed.

Instead you tell her that you were overcome with sleep and preferred to go back to your bedroom. Standing up, you leave the room and put your hand over your mouth as a sob threatens to escape.

You sighed against the bedroom door when it closed and you let the tears fall. You sob right there on your bedroom floor, your dress creating a pool around you as you sank to the floor because your knees couldn't handle the weight of you standing.

You don't try to keep the tears in. You had been waiting to be alone to let them fall. You didn't understand why Anthony couldn't love you.

Why did it have to be you?

Why won't he end the courtship with your sister?

Why did you have to fall in love with him?

-----

The next few days carry the same thing. You smile. You nod. You pretend that you weren't silently dying inside because that is how you should be feeling. You should be happy when you see Anthony kiss Edwina's hand because that is her soon to be husband. He is respectful. He is a gentleman.

----

Your family arrives at the Featherington's house for the annual Featherington ball. Many families of the ton had arrived and were all gossiping to each other in small groups. When the Bridgertons walked in with the Sharmas, the entire room looked over in their direction. All of the Sharmas were there except for you. You had said that you were not feeling like going to the ball. When in fact you had to get ready in your dress that was going to be the best at the ball and you knew that.

You were getting your shoes on when you looked at the window. The night was set and you saw the carriage that waited for you. Stepping out of the house, your deep purple dress trailed behind you a bit. Your dress in the shape of a ball gown that had gems embedded in the fabric. Every time you moved, your dress sparkled. Your hair had one curl that laid gently against your collarbone.

----

Stepping inside the Featherington's home, the entire building went silent as they awaited your next move. Your gloved hands came to rest by your sides and you picked up your dress. You then took a step forward and soon the entire room opened itself up as you cast a smile that could blind anyone who looked too close.

Making your way to the lemonade stand, you bumped into Benedict and you gave him a smile as you looked up to him. You pat him on his arm and he smiles to you.

"You, Miss Sharma, look absolutely gorgeous. I need to have a talk with your Lady's Maid because you look," He said. "Like money doesn't know the price."

You smile and let out a laugh.

"You are too kind with your words, Ben." You set down your glass and then preceded to grab his arm. "Come. Come dance with me."

He leads you to the dance floor, holding your gloved hand. You get in line with everyone else and then preceded to dance. You hand was on his shoulder, his on your hip and holding your hand. You smile at him when he nearly bumps into someone, too busy looking into your eyes.

"Miss Sharma," He started. "I was wondering if you would be interested in another art session."

"As in the same as last time?" You giggle, raising an eyebrow.

"Not quite," He laughed. "I wanted to give you actual art lessons and perhaps actually finish the drawing that I was working on."

"I feel like that can be arranged," You laugh.

"And if anything happens like last time, I may have to marry you."

Your smile falls and you drop his hand.

'Miss Sharma?" You can barely hear him. Your heart was beating too loud.

"Have I said something to offend you?" He asked, confused.

"No, it is not you."

"I feel as though it was. I am terribly sorry for my words that have conflicted hurt onto you."

Just before you could reply, Anthony walked up and greeted his brother.

"I was not aware that you were escorting Miss Sharma to the dance floor," Anthony said. "After all she said that she wouldn't be attending tonight."

He finally turned to you and smiled. You didn't smile back. You eyes were dull. The light had faded from them when seeing Anthony.

"Good evening Lord Bridgerton," You bow quickly.

"I haven't seen you in a long time, Miss Sharma."

You looked at him and wondered if you should even react. You didn't want to see him. You didn't want to talk. But really, you did. You wanted to show him that you were perfectly fine without him.

"You look lovely tonight," he said. " Your dress is beautiful."

He was trying to get a reaction. He wanted to see you swoon for him. At least that is what you thought.

"You look decent." You don't look him in the eyes, knowing that you would fall back to where you started.

"Why thank you. Can I have a dance?"

You nod and you both go to the dance floor. Edwina, Kate and Lady Bridgerton and Lady Danbury all stand to watch.

Anthony takes your gloved hand and he placed your other hand onto his shoulder. He places his other on your hip and begins to move. His touch burns into your dress. You might as well have had nothing on with how warm his hands felt.

Your eyes are locked with his as you move. His eyes were so full of love and adoration that you almost had to look away. Your hand on his shoulder slides up to cup his neck as you both move along in the steps of the song. Your head comes to rest closer to his shoulder and you could feel his breathe fan over the loose curls on your neck. He brings his hand with yours to his chest and you can feel his heart beat.

When you look back in his eyes, it feels like it's just the two of you and no one else was here. It was the two of you and you would stay like this forever. His eyes told you everything you had whispered into the night together.

"I love you more than you will ever know."

---

"Don't they look like they are having fun?" Edwina asked. "I knew that if they spent time together that they would grow to like each other."

The other ladies looked at her.

"I do believe that they do make a good dancing couple," Lady Danbury said.

"A handsome dancing couple," Edwina agreed.

She soon left as Kate was left with the two women.

"Kate, tell me, has your sister always been terrible at hiding her feelings?" Lady Danbury said.

Kate looked confused.

"Her feelings about what?"

"It's more about who." She said as she turned Kate's head gently to the direction in which you were dancing with Anthony.

"Lord Bridgerton?" Kate asked.

"Indeed it seems that they have feelings for each other."

"Lady Danbury you believe that anyone around Lord Bridgerton is in love with him," Kate said.

"Not everyone. You are not."

"Well....no."

"Just keep an eye on them and see what I see," Lady Danbury said. "Now run along."

Kate left to find a glass of lemonade.

"Lady Bridgerton, your son is absolutely enthralled with that girl." Lady Danbury said with a knowing smirk.

"Miss Sharma and my son are not in love," Violet said. "They can't be. He is engaged to her sister."

They look back to you and Anthony. Your eyes seem to never leave each other. Both of your lips were parted slightly as you look like you can't see anything else but each other.

"The eyes can't tell a lie, Violet."

---

"I am sorry for how I left things between us," Anthony said.

"Why?"

"I didn't want things to end that way."

"But they did and now it's over. We are over."

"Over?"

You look at him for a second. You see a man who doesn't realize that he did this to the both of you.

"You ruined us when you decided to court my sister."

"I was courting her before I met you."

"Then you should have never gotten involved with me."

"I wasn't the only one who was involved," He said, pulling the two of you outside away from others. "You were also there in that lake when this all started. I asked you if it was okay and you said yes."

"I didn't know that-"

"You knew that you were betraying your sister and dishonoring yourself but you still did it so do not stand here and twist the blame onto me. I am not the only one who betrayed Edwina."

"You told me you loved me. You promised me that you loved me."

"And I never lied," He said, emotion slipping in. "You were..."

"Then why does it feel like a lie?" You started to feel emotional. "Why did you have to propose to my sister? Why did you have to make me love you?" You fall against him as you sob into his chest. Your hands ball up into fists and you slightly smack them against his chest.

"Why did you make me love you? You sob again. "Why am I not good enough for you to marry instead?"

"You are good enough. You are way too good." Anthony said as he holds you in his arms as your body shakes with sobs.

"What does she have that I don't?" You cry. "What makes you want her to marry her but not me?"

"I can't love her because she isn't you."

Your face is red with tears streaming down your face as you wipe your nose with the back of your handkerchief. You blankly stare at him with tears in your eyes.

"I love you. Can't you see that I'm doing all of this because I love you," Anthony said, desperation creeping into his voice.

"You love me and yet you are still going to marry my sister," You cry. "Someone you do not even love. Why can you not marry someone you love?"

"I have my reasons," He said, thinking of how his mother was after his father died.

"I need to stop loving you," You said.

"You....what?"

" I need to be free of the torment that you have inflicted onto me," You say, calming yourself down. "I need to be with someone else. I'm sorry."

"Wait-"

"Good night, Lord Bridgerton."

And you left the ball without looking back.

[zaldritzosrose]

Forelsket (Osferth x Uhtred's Daughter!Reader)

"Forelsket (Norwegian), the feeling of falling in love."

Summary: Summary: You both knew it was a risk. You were Uhtred’s eldest daughter, his first daughter. He adored you and was more than a little protective. Osferth was, if he was forced to admit it, terrified of his Lord in that regard. So, your relationship remained a secret, you both found it impossible to not be drawn to the other. But it wasn’t as secret as you both believed.

CW: MINORS DNI, she/her pronouns, afab reader, the show timeline barely exists here, Uhtred being a doting but oblivious dad, Finan and Sihtric being smug shits, Osferth being a sweetheart, mentions of sex, p in v sex, (in river)dry humping, fingering, profanity, loss of virginity (m and f), outdoor sex, mentions of alchohol and gambling.

Words: 4873

Thank you to @thenameswinter99 for betaing this for me!

You could remember the day Osferth had come to your father, asking to fight at his side as his uncle, Leofric, had before he died. You had found him so sweet, even then. The look of fear on his face as he approached Uhtred, which quickly turned to embarrassment when his status as a bastard was outed. You still hated Aethelwold for that – something you made known quite often.

And when he turned up before you were set to leave Winchester after Lady Aetheflaed’s wedding? You barely hid the smile that tugged at your lips when you saw him there with his cloak and pack. Giving your father a look that dared him to say no to the young monk.

Watching him try, fail and try again to fight like a warrior. Desperate to be like his uncle, you could tell. It took three offers for him to accept your help, not because he didn’t want help from a woman, but because he didn’t want any help to begin with. It was only with your insistence that Osferth even gave in. It was nice to finally teach someone what Uhtred had taught you.

But that was months ago now. The both of you were close as ever now, to most you were no more than friends. Brought together by your shared youth. The pair of you would ride side by side, eat together, even fight back-to-back. There were few times of day you were ever separated.

You both thought the truth of your relationship was a well-kept secret, a mutual agreement until you had convinced Uhtred you were no longer a child and perfectly capable of not only caring for yourself but also to seek out romantic endeavours. You had argued to Osferth that if your father was going to accept anyone as your other half – it would be him. But while he knew you were probably right, the time just never seemed right.

So, you managed as you were. Quick glances at each over the fire, sneaking off when you could to simply spend time alone. Though Osferth would never allow himself further than heated kisses and intimate caresses.

Little did you both know; your secret wasn’t as hidden as you thought.

The journey back to Rumcofa had been tiring and every single one of them appreciated the next words that came out of Uhtred’s mouth.

“We will rest here for the night; we have all earned the rest.” Uhtred commanded, slowing the five of you down near a small clearing in some trees.

Sihtric made quick work of tugging packs and bedrolls from the horses while Finan volunteered himself to collect wood for a fire. Uhtred began unpacking the food that was left and handing it over to you. You didn’t mind cooking being your task, considering it meant you would stay close to your father – for his comfort more than yours. But more importantly, it meant you spent more time with Osferth.

The monk had well established himself as a good cook, his soups and stews being group favourites. You were more than happy to take a backseat and aid him where you could.

With Uhtred occupied, having wandered off to help Sihtric lay out bedrolls and build the fire in preparation for Finan’s return, you slid across the log you both sat on, brushing your shoulder and leg against Osferth’s.

You felt him freeze, almost dropping the knife he was cutting vegetables with.

“Careful…” he whispered, concentrating on the food before him.

But you could see him glancing up towards your father and Sihtric. He didn’t sound upset, just worried as he usually was when you tried to dance on the line of secrecy.

“My father is well occupied, Sihtric wouldn’t say a word to him if he saw,” you whispered back, seeing Osferth’s gaze now flick to you. That smile you loved so much finally tugging at his lips.

But he didn’t push you away, if anything he relaxed, his leg falling to the side and resting on yours. Seeing you sit close would barely be unusual, everywhere you were you both sat close beside each other. Be it an inn, a camp, or even a feast table.

The pair of you sat in silence, simply enjoying each other’s presence. Soon, Finan returned, and the fire was lit. All the stew was prepared and boiling. Everyone relaxed around the fire, you and Osferth taking it in turns to stir the food before serving. The others talked as they ate, but you and Osferth remained silent, stealing glances at each other and smiling.

Nothing would seem out of the ordinary to a stranger. Just two friends enjoying a meal. But if anyone were to take a closer look, they would see the affection that far surpassed friendship. Or the soft blush that would find Osferth’s cheeks when your hand brushed his as he handed you something. Or how you seemed to inch ever closer to him throughout the night.

And everyone but your father, had begun to take that closer look.

Morning soon came and you were woken by Uhtred calling out that he, Finan and Sihtric were going to bathe in a nearby river. You wondered why Osferth wasn’t included, but when you saw he remained asleep, you simply smiled and set about serving yourself leftover stew for breakfast.

You could hear your father and friends, so you knew they were not far, and while Osferth was asleep you took the chance to press a kiss to his cheek before heading down to the river. Finan and Sihtric were somewhere between brothers and uncles to you now, so seeing them and your father minus their shirts in the river wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

Simply for privacy, you would always bathe after them, which you appreciated. You sat at the bank, legs outstretched and staring into the distance when you heard the three men shouting something out. Something you soon realised was Osferth’s nickname…

“Baby monk! He lives!” Finan called out, opening his arms to both welcome Osferth and splash water nowhere near him.

You glanced up, seeing your monk in only his undershirt and trousers, his shoes and robe long discarded. Your eyes widened a little when you saw him tug the shirt over his head and you looked only at the ground when he began to untie his trousers. And you silently prayed no one else had noticed.

But when you looked up, you could see both Sihtric and Finan looking at you. Brows raised and annoying smirks on their faces.

Your cheeks felt hot, and you were sure the red flush could be seen. You kept your eyes trained down until you heard your name being called. Trying to block out whatever jokes were being sent your way, until your father called your name.

“When Osferth is done, you bathe, then we leave alright?” Uhtred called to you, and you nodded in response, not trusting your voice.

The three men passed you, Finan stopping to whisper to you.

“Might want to work on that blush, wee one,” he smirked, ruffling your hair as Sihtric laughed.

Thankfully, Uhtred seemed to still be entirely oblivious.

You remained on the bank, waiting until you knew you and Osferth were entirely alone before you even dared look up at him. His back was to you now, but you could see him splashing the water over his face and hair. You had never gone further than touching each other, hurried hands taking what pleasures you could whenever you were left alone.

But the sight of him, creamy skin damp and glistening, the muscles in his back more prevalent now he fought with a sword. You could barely stop the sigh, probably louder than it should have been, and the need to you cross your legs, seeking some friction to soothe the throbbing in your core.

Osferth turned around and looked up, hearing the sigh that fell from your lips, and he couldn’t help his smile when your eyes widened at the sight of him from the front. He wasn’t as well built as the others, he had yet to clock the years as a warrior for that. But he was long and lean, soft lines of muscle over his torso. If you were standing, you might have swooned – though you would never tell him that.

You barely noticed him leave the river, not until he appeared at your side. His shirt remained off, but his trousers were back on, he couldn’t have brought himself to bare himself quite that much to you…yet.

“You should get yourself bathed, otherwise your father will come looking,” Osferth said softly, noticing how your eyes still remained focused on his torso.

It was only his hand on your shoulder that pulled your thoughts back to reality. You closed your eyes, giving your head the slightest of shakes before you stood.

“Right, bathe…”

You knew if you didn’t move now, you would never move. You expected Osferth to leave, ever the gentleman and respecting your privacy. You walked down to the water, assuming he had walked off, tugging at your own shirt and trousers as you went. It wasn’t until you reached the water, that you realised he was still on the bank. He had even sat in your place.

Your back remained to him, discarding your clothes and quickly sinking below the water. If you had turned, you would have seen Osferth completely turned away as you stripped. The idea that he was watching made your whole body hot, your stomach twisting in both nerves and desire.

Only when you were submerged to your shoulders did you turn.

“Staying, Osferth?” you teased, trying to hide the slight quiver that seemed to creep into your voice.

It was Osferth’s turn to stare. He knew he should look away, but he couldn’t seem to. His eyes trailing to where the water rippled around you as you breathed, imagining what was hidden beneath. He was so focused there; he didn’t notice that you had swam closer to the bank.

“My father will not come look for me, and he will assume you are not nearby…you could join me?”

Osferth choked on his breath at your question. You wanted him to what…?

It wasn’t until you asked him again, did Osferth even try to answer. He couldn’t deny that he was tempted, the sinful thoughts in his mind right now would make even Finan blush. But he knew it was still risky. And you could see his hesitation. In an act of both mercy and the desire to have some alone time with him, you decided to find a compromise. You quickly leaned out to grab your shirt, slipping it over your head. Your body covered in a perfect opposite to Osferth’s.

“Now I am almost as covered as you, does that change your mind?”

Osferth knew you both might not get another moment alone before you reached Rumcofa. Plus, you were of the same mind as him, you would never push him further than he wished to go. He said nothing as he made his way down the bank, barely stopping as he slid into the water. He’d find a way to explain his wet clothing later.

“You’re a walking temptation, you know that?” he smiled, slipping his arms beneath the water to tug your body to his.

“Then let me tempt you…”

Your hands rested on his chest, taking a moment to savour the feel of his skin beneath your palms. One day, you’d be able to take your time, truly savour every moment. But for now, this would do.

There was barely an inch between you both, your shirt soaked and stuck to the dips and swells of your body. Osferth’s hands found your waist, leaning down to press his forehead to yours, breath fanning over your face. He could feel every ounce of blood in his body rush to his length, already feeling himself harden and he’d barely touched you. You were his first, in truth, and his body liked to remind him of it.

Your eyes closed as his lips pressed to yours. Gentle at first, but it wasn’t long before he got a little more heated. His tongue licking softly over your lower lip, asking for entry. Which you gladly gave, desperate to have as much of your monk as he’d give you.

His kiss deepened, arms wrapping around your waist, holding you impossibly tight to his chest. You gasped into his mouth as he lifted you, turning until your back rested against the firm bank of the river.

“Osferth…” you gripped tight to his shoulders as you sighed his name.

His lips drifting down until they latched onto your neck, your head dropping back in pleasure. Osferth was so lost to pleasure that he barely registered your leg hooking around his waist, or his own hand supporting it on instinct. He just wanted to feel you. He drank down every one of your moans, his hips begin to rut up into you in a primal need for more. More you, more pleasure, more…anything.

Pleasure rippled through your core; you’d only ever felt him like this once. The last time you had ever been left alone and you had found yourself straddling Osferth’s lap. Rolling your hips down onto him until you both found your releases.

But this…this felt far more intimate. His large hand gripping the meat of your thigh in a bid to keep some control of his urges. Your own hands dug into the flesh of his shoulders for the same reason.

Osferth’s lips remained on your throat as his focus turned to the rhythm of his hips. You could hear him muttering under his breath, and you were sure you heard a few curses mixed in with your name.

You were both so lost to pleasure, Osferth already twitching against you, that neither of you heard a voice in the distance calling your names. It was only when you heard a rustle of leaves, and the crunch of footsteps did you push Osferth back.

“Shit…” you muttered to yourself and Osferth quickly snapped back to reality.

He almost threw himself back up into the bank and tugging his shirt over his body. You were more impressed by the speed at which he put distance between himself and you. You were also quick to leave the water, pulling on the rest of your clothes and sitting down at the edge to wring out your hair.

You could hear Osferth talking but you didn’t dare look up to see who. But when you heard him walk away, you waited a few minutes before you chose to follow.

The looks on Sihtric and Finan’s faces, however, when you returned to the camp told you it had been one of them that had interrupted you. Lucky for them, you didn’t notice the coins that passed between them as you sat opposite Osferth, a tinge of pink on your cheeks..

The journey that afternoon was quiet, though you knew Sihtric and Finan were keeping their eyes trained between you and Osferth. You did your best to drown out their snickering, knowing for sure they were talking about that morning.

Osferth rode quietly at your right, though you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at him, knowing it would only prompt more chatter from your two quite annoying friends. Uhtred, thankfully continued to remain unaware, focused on the destination rather than the journey itself.

Thankfully, Rumcofa soon appeared in the distance. You had never been happier to see those wooden buildings and the shouting of the merchants arriving by boat. You hoped that you could just disappear the moment you arrived, sparing yourself the torment you knew would come from your friends.

Your horses were stabled for you the moment you arrived, and you barely looked back as hurried towards the inn your father usually had everyone stay in. By the time the others entered, you had already collected your key and disappeared up the stairs to your room. You didn’t even turn to see Osferth’s face drop into what could only be disappointment.

You still didn’t come down from your room for food, asking the innkeeper if you could eat upstairs instead. That certainly didn’t go unnoticed by your father, but he knew you well enough to know it was useless bothering you. You were much too like him, stubborn to your own detriment.

Instead, you ate in silence, though you could hear the laughter and shouting from the inn below. And you recognised four very distinct laughs without a doubt. But you were embarrassed. Not of Osferth, you could never. But of the way your friends reacted. As if they found it ridiculous – which hurt your feelings. Or were being horrendously smug about finally having their thoughts confirmed.

You did your best to ignore it all. Forcing yourself to sleep through it.

During the day, you were present. Following your father where he needed to go. Eating your meals with your friends. But Osferth could see you were more careful with your actions. Not sitting so close, glancing up at Sihtric and Finan as if gauging their reactions.

But when the evening came, you would excuse yourself back to your room – saying you were tired from the day and simply wished for sleep.

Everyone knew better than to argue with you, solely because you would rarely relent. If you were going to do something, you would do it. No opinion needed.

So, for four more nights in a row, your father and the others remained drinking downstairs whilst you disappeared and slept – as far as they knew.

In reality, you lay awake mostly. Temptation to join them gnawing at you but you knew if you went down and drank, you would be more likely to slip up and reveal what you had kept so well hidden.

But on the fifth night, shouting outside your window pulled you from your bed. From what you could hear, it was two women fighting. Fighting over what, however, would surprise you.

“He’s mine!” you heard one voice shout, only to be followed by a slapping sound and another shout.

“No! He’s mine, you bitch!”

Your eyes widened a little, curiosity taking over as you tugged a blanket over your shoulders before poking your head out of the window. But what, or who, you saw changed your curiosity to anger.

Osferth, quickly followed by Uhtred and Finan, the monk calling out to Uhtred for ‘some help’.

“What the…” you hurried out of your room, footsteps thundering down the wooden steps as you all but ran through the inn. You hadn’t seen Sihtric in the corner of the inn, smirking when he saw the pure rage on your face.

You exited the inn, the rain making you pull the blanket tighter around your shoulders, to see your father and Finan pulling to women apart and Osferth standing looking more than embarrassed.

The woman in Finan’s grip struggled, and you realised immediately…

They were fighting over Osferth.

None of the men had seen you, yet. Uhtred and Finan escorted the women away and Osferth turned to re-enter the inn when he saw you. You jaw tight and your eyes filling with angry tears.

“Are you fucking serious, Osferth?” you snapped, the rain hiding the tears that hit your cheeks.

His eyes dropped to the ground, feet fidgeting as he tried to figure out what to say. But his silence only made you angrier.

“I leave you to your own devices and you have two women fighting over you, after four days without me?”

You knew your words were probably a little harsh, you had both decided to keep your relationship a secret. And you would never deny Osferth was handsome, so it made perfect sense for other women to find him attractive and desirable. But you hated how jealous it made you.

Osferth finally looked at you, his eyes sad compared to your angry.

“I didn’t do anything…they just…wouldn’t leave me alone…”

Always so polite. You had never really noticed it, because when you were with him, Osferth would be entirely focused on you. But apparently without you, he hadn’t the heart to reject any woman who approached him.

His words made you falter, just a little.

“So, you didn’t want them?”

Osferth took a few steps forward, frowning as you stepped back. As the rain got heavier, you walked back until you were sheltered under what turned out to be an empty stable.

The monk followed, trying to reach out to you but quickly changing his mind.

“I could never,” his voice was so soft you could barely hear him over the rain, but you heard enough.

He stepped forward again, his hand stretching out just a little. But you didn’t move this time. Soon, he was mere inches from you, pushing the wet hair out of your face.

“Why would I, when I have you?” Osferth kept his hand on your cheek, smiling when you didn’t push him away.

He wanted to ask why you had pulled yourself away, but he didn’t want to upset you more. It could wait. What he really wanted to do was show you what you meant to him. You let him tilt your face up, nuzzling your cheek into his hand as your eyes closed.

“And I only want you,” he whispered, leaning in so slow you were almost ready to pull him closer just as his lips brushed against yours.

It wasn’t long before the kiss deepened, Osferth’s tongue sliding between your parted lips as the blanket slipped from your shoulders. The rest was a flurry of rough kisses and wandering hands. You didn’t know when Osferth had backed you against the wall, but you didn’t stop him. With one hand on your waist and the other gripping your jaw, his whole body pressed impossibly close to yours.

“Please…” you whispered, breaking the kiss and tugging a little at his robe.

Osferth leaned his forehead pressed against yours, reminding you almost perfectly of your little moment in the river. His eyes were closed, his breath hot on your skin. He could feel the desire pulsing through his veins, the need to show you just how much he did truly want you. This was not how he planned it, but it felt perfect.

It was too cold to bare yourselves fully, but with your soft nightgown – something you wore only when you stayed at inns – and he being dressed only in his robe and trousers, there was enough to work with.

He knew enough of the pleasures other men pursued to know that you needed to be prepared. That it would hurt you. His eyes opened slowly, glancing around for the best…location in the stable.

“Are you sure?” he asked, but you only pressed your lips to his, trying to slip your hand beneath his robe. But he gripped your wrist gently.

“Say it, love, please…”

You smiled, even now, your monk was a gentleman.

“I want this, and I want you.”

It was like something had ignited inside him. His grip on your wrist loosened, capturing your lips in a kiss you didn’t think him capable of. Your eyes fluttering closed as you moaned into his mouth. You quickly pulled your dress, bunching the fabric to the top of your legs. Osferth had managed to tug off his robe, leaving him in an undershirt and his now untied trousers.

Your mind reeled, it was like you were back in the river, except this time it was really going to happen. But your mind went blank the second you felt his fingers travel down between your thighs. Easing down inch by inch until they pressed against your pearl.

“Osferth,” you sighed, the sensation already sending waves of pleasure through you.

His fingers were tentative, though his movements became surer as he listened and responded to the sweet sounds that fell from your lips. Your hands finding purchase on his shoulders and soon your hips began to rock down to match his rhythm.

With his forehead pressed against yours, he dared to slip a single digit between your folds. Swallowing your moan with his kiss. He knew, from the loud and sometimes unnecessarily descriptive conversations Finan and Sihtric would have, that a woman needed to be well prepared – especially if it was her first time.

And he had every intention of bringing you all the pleasure he could.

“Does it feel good, love?” he whispered, internally cringing away from the words but the way you bit your lip and kissed him harder gave him his answer and only spurred him on more.

“Yes, gods, yes…” you panted, hand raising to tangle in his damp hair, pulling his lips back down to yours as you felt the familiar pressure make your walls clench in anticipation.

Osferth let out a groan at the feeling, his mind immediately wondering if this is how it would feel when he buried himself inside you. Your moans pitched higher as your peak washed over you. Osferth let his fingers move a few more times before pulling away, his lips pressing to yours in another heated kiss. You had barely relaxed when fumbling hands found your thigh and wrapped around your back, hoisting you up with your legs soon wrapped around his waist.

You could hardly contain your gasped moan when you felt the length of him push against you, still clothed with his trousers. But Osferth spared now more time freeing himself. He would find time to be sweet and slow later, right now, he needed you.

“Slowly, I’ll go as slow as I can...” he mumbled, mostly to himself as he held himself by the base, sliding his swollen cockhead between your folds.

It took every fibre of his being not to slam his hips up into you. He could hear you wince a little the deeper he went, and he kept his eyes on you the entire time. Watching for even the smallest sign of discomfort. You nodded, gripping his shoulders tight as he pushed further in, feeling the sting of your maidenhood breaking.

You barely hid your hiss, but a deep kiss to Osferth’s lips assured him you were fine. Slowly but surely, he was into the hilt. His breath was heavy as he waited for your permission to move, just the squeezing and clenching of your walls around his cock was enough to almost having him spilling there and then.

“Move, please…” you whispered, and Osferth began a tentative rhythm.

With your legs wrapped tight around his waist, his hands and body supporting you, his thrusts slowly got faster. Drinking down every gasp and moan with hungry kisses. Your hand tight in his hair as he chased his own end.

Osferth knew it wouldn’t be a long embrace, but he could already feel himself twitching and pulsing with impending release. Another wave of pleasure took over you, his name like a sordid prayer on your lips.

That was his undoing. The squeeze of your walls, the delicious sound of his name on your tongue. Just as he felt the heat rush down his spine, he pulled back, spilling himself with a few quick tugs onto the stone floor below.

You didn’t mind how ungracefully your feet hit the ground, the muscles in your thighs however were already aching.

When Osferth was finally spent, he turned back to you, a soft and tired smile on his lips.

“I love you,” he whispered, eyes wide when he realised what he’d said.

But you only pulled him closer, laughing as he frantically stuffed his cock back into his trousers.

“I love you too.”

Finan and Sihtric almost had to hold Uhtred down when the sound of moans filtered across the small road between the stable and the inn. It wasn’t until they all heard Osferth’s name, followed by a groan of your name did they actually have to hold Uhtred back.

“She’s my daughter and he’s…” Uhtred growled out as both men tugged him back to his seat.

The two men looked at each other with soft yet smug smiles.

“They’re in love, lord,” Finan stated, watching as Uhtred’s anger turned to confusion.

“In love?”

Sihtric stifled a laugh as, yet another moan was heard as someone opened the inn door.

“Have been for a while now, I wager, they thought they were excellent secret keepers.”

Uhtred slumped in his chair. Knowing you, it wouldn’t be worth telling you not to pursue Osferth. And, if he was honest with himself, there were no kinder men more suited to you than the young monk. But he’d never tell either of you that.

The sounds of pleasure seemed to, thankfully, reach an end and Uhtred made a quick exit to seek out another drink. As he left, Sihtric begrudgingly slid the coins he’d won at camp back over to Finan.

While the Dane had been right about your relationship with Osferth, it seemed Finan had been more right about when the two of you would finally make it physical.

Taglist:

@legitalicat @thenameswinter99 @aemondsbabygirl

@aemondsbabe @tumblin-theworldaway @arcielee

@sylasthegrim @hoosbandewan @thought--bubble

@kaelatargaryen @towriteloveontheirarms

@alexagirlie @anjelicawrites @multyfangirl

If you want to be added, please let me know!

[chuunai]

Hi hi! Would love to participate in your event if that’s cool

I was wondering if we could hav a Fyodor with scenario 2 and prompt 14

Idk if you want more details but I discovered your blog and I kinda got baby fever too sooooooo

Fire away friend

I’m sorry for making you sick : (

✧˚ · . my days are yours, yours - fyodor dostoevsky

how can a baby control his heart?

summary ⋆ ★ comfort, fluff, established relationship (marriage with reader), babies, babies and babies, SFW → minor mentions of death and overall fyodor trying to be a daddy while juggling killing the entire world. Spoilers for the last episode of BSD season five and the latest chapters of the manga.

Lord, she looked so much like him.

Rounded purple eyes and thick strands of black hair, she was his copy. Of course, genetically speaking, she was half his. And half yours. But Fyodor had a greater influence on your baby daughter. A squirming seven month old named Avdotya Fyodorovna Dostoevskya. Ironic, wasn’t it? That his child’s name meant good while he was evil?

It made sense, though. Yin and yang.

Putting down his pen, Fyodor looked over at the small makeshift crib that was next to his desk. In it was the sleeping Avdotya—Dunya, for short—wrapped up in cozy blankets and stuffed animals.

He’d worked enough for today.

Carefully picking up the newborn, his pale anemic hands cradled her, supporting her head as he held her to his chest. His heart sped up a bit when Dunya stirred a bit, but she ultimately didn’t wake up. She looked so calm and content in the moment. Fyodor shared the same feelings. Besides awe, of course.

For all of his planning and manipulation, he had never planned for a baby.

Sure, you were his wife, but he’d always use protection. An infant wouldn’t work with his current dangerous plans. Yet he somehow managed to knock you up. A completely unplanned variable in his plans. Yet it seemed so right. As a man of god, Fyodor couldn’t deny the blessing that God gave him.

His study door soon freaked open by your arrival as you quietly walked behind him, arms sliding around his neck in a tired way as your cheek pressed against the fluffy material of his ushanka.

“She’s doing okay?”

As if his little angel would ever be harmed.

“Of course, дорогой.”

He replied in an equally hushed tone. He turned his head slightly to the left, placing a gentle peck on your arm affectionately. For someone who regularly manipulated people who trusted him (albeit in a scared way), he could never find himself using you or his newfound family for his plans. God would disapprove of a man who hurt his family.

“You should rest. I’ll watch over her.”

It was only fair.

You had been watching Dunya constantly—babysitters and nannies couldn’t be hired due to his prolific crime record—while he was gone setting up his plans and relations. Fyodor had seen you cry over the stress multiple times. Each time he reassured you all would be better in due time. And it would be. When all the sinners of the world were gone, angels like you and Avdotya would be safe.

In the meantime though, he’d make you as happy as he could.

Feeling a gentle kiss on his cheek, Fyodor faintly smiled as you left for some much needed relaxation and sleep. Tucking his baby’s hair behind her tiny ears, he hummed a small lullaby.

He remembered that as a child his mother would sing some to him. It was one of the few comforting memories he had.

And his Avdotya should have the same experience.

Reaching the second verse of the lullaby, his deep voice quietly filled the room. He slowly rocked his baby, warmth flooding through his usually cold body. A peck on her perfect head.

He’d have to teach you these sorts of lullabies and cradle songs. While you knew a bit of Russian—limited to affectionate nicknames and general greetings—, you could do better. Perhaps you two could study together when Avdotya would nap. Him struggling with kanji, and you resting your head on his shoulder as you stared at Russian characters and committed them to memory.

Fyodor relaxed back into his chair, content with the familial moment.

The finale soon came.

He sat there for minutes afterwards, just taking in the sight of the life he created. Dazai was wrong. Fyodor was no demon, no, he was a god. He had created life, and so had God. And while others may point out the billions of other parents in the world, he’d merely dismiss their claims. They had birthed normal children.

Not an angel like his Dunya.

Could other children have such awe-inspiring eyes? Or the affinity she had for music just like her father—how she babbled and cooed in your lap while he played cello for the two of you. He knew she’d grow up to be something great like him. A firstborn always took after their father, in his opinion.

Standing up with little Avdotya in his arms, he walked to the nursery, passing by your shared bedroom where you were sleeping by now. Creaking open the door, he carefully navigated the dark room, lowering his daughter into her crib before carefully covering her with a warm blanket and her favorite stuffed toy.

A fuzzy penguin gifted by Sigma.

A lot of the nursery’s decorations were bought by Fyodor, but there were a few given by his fellow DOA members. Sadly, a majority of Nikolai’s gifts had to be scrapped. Dunya couldn’t use clown makeup or the miniature cherry bombs. A pity, really.

Fatherhood suited Fyodor rather well.

Flicking on a small nightlight, he soon left after a goodbye to his daughter. His footsteps pattered on the wooden floor, making his way to your bedroom to finally sleep off the day’s events.

Once again, the door slowly creaked open as he walked in. He already had his pajamas on—a baggy long black shirt and some black pants—, sliding into bed next to you as one hand found itself on your stomach, the other already playing with your hair. Fyodor admired your body. It grew his angel, and now it nourished her.

While you were adamant that you looked worse after birth, he could only say the opposite. All of the Renaissance paintings and sculptures had been wrong in their depictions of goddesses and heavenly figures. He could only see you as a true goddess who fell for a sinner like him.

Would such a goddess permit him to have another child with her?

Fyodor had grown up in a small family back in St. Petersburg. Just him and his mother. His father had left him long ago.

He didn’t want Avdotya to feel the same. Lonely.

Siblings would prevent that. Maybe two? Even three, if you felt up for it. He hadn’t said anything about it since you were still recovering and getting used to being a mother just to one child, but he oh so badly wanted a bigger family. More look a-likes of him and you.

“My goddess.”

His lips nuzzled against your hair, murmuring sweet affections and praise. Even he couldn’t have predicted such a thing like this. A wife. A daughter. A family of his own.

And even when weeks later he was stuck in Meursault with four other men playing Nikolai’s twisted game of escape, he thought about you. The plan would work, and he’d see you again after he faked his death. Sure, it might take weeks or months, but he’d come back. He’d made sure of it—having thought of the betrayal of his subordinates a while ago.

And when Dazai would later tug his severed arm out of the helicopter’s crash site, it wouldn’t have a ring on the ring finger.

That ring would be snugly set on his other hand.

They could take his body, his wealth, his intelligence.

But they couldn’t take him away from you and the vow you two had made. Until death do you part.

Tags: @twst-om-lover, @sinfulthoughtsposts, @xxcandlelightxx

Help this took so long

[tothosewhoyearnforit]

stress relief - itzy yeji

-word count: 3245 words (longest to date :D)

-the yeji fic from many weeks ago. i finally finished it. i have something special that's nearly done. (i promise this time. it was a collection of spare time over a few months)

-dom!yeji, aggresive blowjob, riding, doggystyle, sweaty sweaty sweaty, facial

The stale stench of the air conditioned office clung onto you as you entered the bar.

Being in the bar was the last place you’re supposed to be this month. After just receiving a promotion at your workplace, the workload placed on you gradually kept snowballing to a point of no return. But you couldn’t just give up. Well, first of all, you really needed this job. It paid well, now that you had the promotion. Furthermore, times are changing, there really isn’t very good job stability now and getting fired and being “free” was not to be an option. 

You should’ve been at home, working and completing the reports due next Monday and getting ready for the presentation on Wednesday. Then taking note of all the shipments and settling the deal with the customer from Italy. But eh, it was a Friday, one night wouldn’t hurt right ? 

Or so you thought.

Three quarters through your drink, at around what was probably 11pm, a show begins.

The lights were cut for a brief moment, before spotlights focused onto the pole in the middle of the room. And out comes 5 gorgeous vixen clad in jet black costumes. Then, the music cues. 

Guess who loves you, naya na.

It’s a really, really catchy song and it made the atmosphere super stiff, as if all five of the women were demanding attention and silence as they performed. 

Do I show you? Noya-no.

Okay, this is actually really good music. And good lord those women are gorgeous. 

Ajik time-i anya nan

Jom deo gakkai jom deo gakkai geureoda gapjagi ssak

The choreography too, jesus christ.

But in particular, one of the women is catching your eye. The way her luscious firey orange hair, jewelry embedded within, moves in perfect tandem with her body, which by the way, is absolutely killing it. Every single dance move, to the smallest body pop, is quite literally perfect. Flawless. She’s wearing a sleeveless top and it’s really turning you on. Her arms are so gracious, and you’d love to feel them all over your body. Her collarbones and neck, they’d look so much better with your lovemarks on them. And the little bit of breast peeking out from the top. It’s more than enough to get your heart racing, and you take another sip of your icy cold drink to properly brace yourself for whatever they have left in store.

Imma steal it mameul humcheo

You are gonna love me.

That’s absolutely incorrect. You’re more than loving them, you’re fucking captivated by them.

Gyeoljeongjeogil ttae ippareul deureonaeneun type 

And suddenly, the orangehead takes the stage. 

The lyrics become an absolute blur to your ears as all your mind is fixated on is the absolutely stunning woman. God, she fucking looks like a cat too. Those damn fucking eyes are so… succubus like. And after twirling her fingers in your direction, she suddenly does a slut drop, squatting while spreading her legs apart. Now your eyes are staring at her milky thighs that are on full display under the spotlight. A million things are running through your mind right now, and none of them was related to your work life in any sort of way.

You’ll never know.

Her left thigh moves,snapping you out of your momentary hypnosis and your eyes quickly dart back up and you see her staring at you, a smirk dashed across her face. 

The rest of the song plays on but your mind is now playing that same slut drop moment over and over again. Eventually, the song ends and all 5 of the women are panting, sweat starting to collect at their foreheads. They retreat behind the stage quickly and the rest of the club goes on like the performance of their lives didn’t just happen. 

.

.

Give or take 10 minutes, you are on the way back from a toilet trip. At your table, you are greeted with a very much welcome surprise. The same fiery haired girl is sitting in the seat opposite of yours, watching you make your way back to your seat. 

“Hey there oppa.” Her voice is a knife full of confidence, laced with venom. 

“H-hey. Nice performance out there.” You grab your drink again, needing a punch of ice to hide your nervousness. But it’s so hard to maintain composure, especially when your eyes are looking at everything but her own cat eyes. 

“I know. You clearly enjoyed it. Or rather, you enjoyed me.”

“Was I really that obvious?” That was definitely the alcohol talking. You would have said something like “Sorry” or “I didn’t mean to.”, but no, you were playing the fool, like an absolutely rizzless bastard.

“My group has 5 members, yet every time I moved position, your gaze was glued onto me.”

“Well, you are really, really hot.”

“Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself.”

Bring the glass to your mouth again, shit. It’s fucking empty.

“So, what’s a young office worker doing in our bar?” She asks, elbows on the table, her head supported by her cupped hands as she leans in. 

“Well, to be fair, I walked in thinking it was a regular bar. I just needed a drink to take my mind off of work.”

“Are we not a regular bar? Anything special about this bar?” She asks, clearly trying to poke at you, like a cat playing with a ball of yarn.

You take another awkward sip of your drink, which was just melting ice at this point.

The conversation continues hazily and you guys chat for what must be hours until the distance between both your faces was probably the size of your drink.

“Can't imagine how stressed you must be.” Her right hand falls into your left, fingers tracing your forearm as she whispers. “Want to get out of here? I’ll get rid of all your stress for you…”

Ah, an offer you couldn't refuse. Now that’s some business I don't mind getting done right now.

“Say less… Um, I didn't catch your name?”

“Name’s Yeji. Don't worry oppa, you're gonna be moaning my name all night.”

And in a flash, you're both out of the club and in your car. You don't waste a single second. Foot on the pedal and you're on the streets of Seoul, zipping past the buildings of the city. 

Yeji, in the meantime, has other plans.

She takes your hand, and places it on her thigh. You can feel her gaze, waiting to see what your next move is. Were you gonna retract your hand and focus on getting home quick and safely? Or were you gonna start the study of Yeji’s body right then and there?

Obviously the latter.

Your hand roams around the silky smooth skin of hers. Pinky occasionally dipping into the gaps in her pants and rubbing against her inner thigh. You hear Yeji suck in a deep breath, the horniness evidently getting to her.

Fuck, fucking red light!

You seize the opportunity to look at Yeji, she’s now grinding against your exploring hand and you can't help but sneak a finger into her pussy. 

Green light. And your foot is back on the pedal. Finally, you reach the last turn into your apartment.

As soon as you get out of the car and into the elevator, Yeji pounces on you. Your hands catch onto her thighs for stability. Your lips crash against one another, her teeth biting your lower lips. 

Ding. Elevator door opens.

Door. Open. Bedroom. Bed.

No time to even register a logical sequence of actions. You toss her against your bed. Yeji is now a panting sweaty mess, but it doesn't matter. She looks even more gorgeous with the thin layer of sweat across her skin. Collarbones, arms and armpits glistening with sweat. You pin her hands above her head and nibble on her neck. Then, tongue out, you start collecting the sweat, from her armpit, across her chest and then from the middle of her neck to behind her ear, where you whisper, “You taste fucking amazing.”

“I know.”

You reach behind and pull down the zipper leading right to her tailbone, then help the foxy girl out of the one piece top. You pause for a moment to take in the sight before you. A smoking hot dancer is lying on your bed in nothing but a strapless bra and a thin black thong and some knee high boots. Yeji’s body is fucking picture perfect. Tight midriff, perky breasts, juicy thighs, not to mention her pretty face.

“Let me put on a show oppa. Just for you.”

She gets off the bed and you take her spot on the edge of the bed. Yeji turns around and takes off the bra, placing it on the ground next to her. Then, she bends over, putting her perky ass on display for you as she pulls off the lacy thong from her slender toned legs.

“You know, I should charge extra for this performance.”

You wouldn’t mind paying any amount to see this performance if you were being honest. 

“Boots on or off oppa ?”

“On.”

Yeji then smiles, tosses her thong onto your face, allowing you to grab a deep whiff of her sex. In front of you, Yeji is back in her slut drop position, but this time it’s even more erotic because she’s wearing nothing but the boots. Her pussy is on full display as she spreads her legs open, with just a little bit of hair going down the middle.

“Fuck, Yeji…” Your cock was throbbing within the confines of your pants with her tiny little strip show.

“Told you you’d be moaning my name.”

Yeji then straddles your lap, looks into your eyes while unbuttoning your shirt. 

“Let’s get all that stress out of your body, oppa. Think about nothing but me, okay?”

“You don’t even need to ask Yeji-ah.”

You pepper her neck with kisses as she peels your shirt off. She then lowers herself, hands grazing across your body, down to your pants which she pulls down. Finally free, Yeji purrs when she sees your length. 

“Wow, it's huge, oppa. Can’t wait for it to be deep inside my pussy.”

She gathers some spit on her hand and uses that same hand to stroke your cock, taking a cold fingertip across your sensitive tip each time she reaches your head. Each swipe across sent you nine realms ahead. It wasn’t clear if it was the alcohol or Yeji’s pure skill at this, but all you could hear was the loud hammering of your heartbeat. Or maybe that was the lewd sound of her saliva being spread over your length. Then, after spontaneously deciding that your cock was ready for the onslaught that was to come, Yeji pushes both your legs off the ground and onto her shoulders and lets the front portion of your cock rest in her mouth. Your balance is shifted. You’re now staring at the ceiling, stimulation after stimulation speeding down your nerves from your cock to your brain. You feel her mouth bobbing up and down on your length, her skillful tongue working its way across its veiny landscape. You try to will yourself to get up to watch the spectacle happening before your eyes but the pleasure drags you the fuck back down and all you can do in response is let out weary breaths and sinful moans while your toes curl and leg muscles spasm. 

And your cock isn’t even all the way through.

Yeji plunges her head down like a vulture diving into the carcass of a dead buffalo, and you feel that sharp nose of hers bump into your pelvis. The sudden action takes you by surprise and, from god knows where this submissiveness came from, you arch your back and let out a sound that you swear to never to make again. You feel saliva coating your nutsack now but when Yeji slowly removes her mouth from your cock, letting the cool wind graze your cock, all you want to do is beg Yeji to put your cock back inside her mouth. But that need not be done, because as you have a brief moment to register the influx of sensations, she hungrily goes back down onto you. Her prey. You would kill to see her eyes right now, staring straight into your own as she watches you submit to her. But then again, from the amount of noise you were making, it was pretty evident that she had you in the palm of her hand. It was just twice. Just twice that the whole length of your cock was engulfed by her mouth, but it drived you to the absolute edge and you felt like your first load was about to come.

“Fuck, Yeji. I- I- I’m gonna fucking…”

Maybe you shouldn’t have given her the verbal cue. Because just as you feel the gates of heaven about to open, she quickly withdraws. The feeling of the climax fading away throughout your crotch. You look at her with a face of discontent, displeasure and anger.

“Can’t have you busting so soon,” she says, chuckling to herself as she climbs over your vulnerable naked body after kicking off her boots, rubbing circles on her slickening pussy. “I'll let you cum deep down my throat some other time.” 

She climbs over you and hovers above your crotch. Grabbing your stimulated, twitching cock in one hand, she lines it up with the folds of her pussy and in one fell swoop, with no prior warning that she was going to go all the way down in one shot, she sits on your pelvis, practically impaling her pussy with your cock. 

“Anggh! Fuck!” A sharp, shrill moan of pleasure erupts from her mouth as her ass rests on your pelvis. Your hands wondrously find their way to her toned sweaty thighs, grazing the muscle on it in pure wonder and amazement. 

“You’re so fucking hot Yeji ah, and so freaking tight!” The fiery redhead doesn’t say a word, but she continues the ride. Hands on your pectoral muscles, Yeji displays her body isolation skills learned from dance. Her gaze fixes onto yours once again as she moves her hips up and down and you can only imagine what her ass looks like as it does this motion. But imagination always becomes reality when Yeji is around. The sexual chemistry between the two of you is just perfect, or maybe Yeji just knows what you so desperately want but is too shy to voice out. She turns around, her hands resting on your legs this time as she does the same vertical wave motion with her hips once again. Her beautiful butt is like a hypnotic pendulum, your eyes fixed on the gorgeous peach in front of you, it’s just irresistible to slap. And so you do. 

Slap! 

“Angh!” Crimson locks of hair get flung up into the air as Yeji throws her head back in response.

You bring a palm down on the flesh and watch how it ripples in response, a red handprint faintly appearing at the spot that was struck. Such a goddamn vixen. Is the only thought that runs through your mind, perhaps the only thought that has been running through your mind the entire night as soon as you laid your eyes on the foxy woman. Her pulsing butthole intrigues you as her hips work their magic, and you can’t help but take your index finger, and slowly slide it into her puckered hole. As your finger snakes its way in, her anal walls clamp down on it until your whole finger up till your knuckle has been engulfed. 

“Holy shit! Just like that oppa! Stuff both my holes up!” 

You withdraw your finger and this time, using both your index and middle finger, you embark on yet another tight fit into her anal cavity. Yeji’s hips start to slow down as she reaches the pinnacle of her stimulation. 

“Fuck-ah! Cumming!”

Her body convulses violently and you feel her muscles contract around your submerged fingers and your cock. You give her alluring buttcheeks another firm slap that echoes throughout the darkness of the night and watch as she slowly climbs off of you.

“You haven’t cum yet oppa…”, she whines, still in her lustful trance. “And my pussy is still yearning for a good pounding.” She wiggles her hindparts in front of you in a doggy position, spreading her pussy lips for you to see. You line yourself up behind her, give that gorgeous ass of hers another firm slap before sending your cock back into its rightful embrace. 

“Oh fuck…” Your cock’s reentering of Yeji’s tight pussy is like getting back into the swimming pool after being exposed to the cool air for too long. Warm. Wet. Refreshing. Her vaginal muscles are still so full of vigor despite having just came, almost as if they were desperately trying to wring you dry. Her scarlet nails dug into the bedsheets as you picked up a steady pace of thrusting your hips. From the back, you bunched up her fiery hair into a makeshift ponytail while your other hand rested nicely on her hip.

“That’s it! Fuck me harder! Use me as your fucking stress relief toy oppa!” That entire dialogue was more than a green light to you. Tightening your core to its limits, you picked up the pace, slamming your hips ever so desperately, with Yeji letting out a raspy moan with every smack that reverberated throughout the night. 

“Holy- Angh! FUCK! I’m gonna cum oppa! I’m gonna fucking cum!” Yeji cries out. Her pussy constricts around your cock for the second time of the night, this time an erotic geyser of squirt ensues, covering your thighs in her slick. Your own orgasm starts to surface. Pulling out of her pussy, you flip Yeji onto her back and climb over her. You point your cock at her and aggressively jerk yourself off to the finish line. 

“That's it. Cum for me. Cover me in your cum oppa. Paint your slut in-”

Yeji is interrupted by streaks and streaks of cum erupting from your cock in what must be your biggest orgasm to date, painting her sharp features, her chin, nose and eyes. The sweaty, panting mess sticks out her sharp tongue in an attempt to collect some food samples. 

“Oh, fuck… Yeji ah.” is all you manage to squeeze out as the last drops of your semen land on her face. 

“Gosh, you sure came a lot.” 

You collapse beside her, both of you sweaty messes. “What can I say? I had a lot of stress pent up inside me.”

Yeji gets up, and walks away from the bed. You still lay there, utterly spent, watching her hypnotizing body sway from left to right.

“Where are you going?”

“To the shower you dummy.”

A brief moment of silence follows as you are unsure of how to reply. Do you join her? Maybe she’s tired and doesn’t want round two.

But your thoughts get interrupted as she makes the choice for you.

“Oppa, are you not joining me?”

Suddenly, your body is full of vigor once more as you imagine the two of you soaped up together in the shower, feeling each other and exploring more of each other’s body. You excitedly hop off the bed and scurry to the shower. It was going to be a long, long night.

[wonryllis]

미래, 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐆𝐔𝐄: the backstory

FEATURING. insanely love struck BRAT TAMER lee heeseung with his SPOILED BRAT RICH GIRL reader GENRE. smau, fluff, smut, crack WORDCOUNT. around 800 ( MASTERLIST )

to say you and heeseung were from two different worlds would be an understatement. you were from two completely different galaxies. emphasis: completely.

if the world was your home and the galaxy was your entire lifestyle, then heeseung swears it would take him more than a billion light years to reach even the place he could stand to have a little glimpse of you who lights up everyone else's worlds around you.

reaching you is a long journey and attaining you: impossible in the advancement of science.

yet you were merciful enough to let— to want someone like him to stay, to hover around you like a housefly, to grow to have the guts to want you.

heeseung's uncle and aunt, deprived of parenthood for various reasons, had always loved to have him stay with them during summer breaks. an hour's drive from his house, a duplex that resembled his own albeit a bit smaller and two months of enjoying trips to water parks, amusement parks, aquariums and everything he ever wanted all in the short span.

he remembers little of it now, but sometime around when he celebrated upgrading from preschool to elementary with a little toy plane they gifted, came the news that their small business took a turn for the good and within a few months of it they moved.

the first time he went over after that was like stepping into a dream. the big mansion, the rich neighborhood and the nice neighbours, the pretty neighbour.

even for a five year old with the memory of a pea sized goldfish and a mind that had no sensible knowledge of romance and love, heeseung can precisely recall the moment he fell. fall, fall, fell, fallen. down that rabbit hole of special feelings that took him seven years to realize.

your brothers were nice enough to let him wander around their precious baby sister they so obviously were overprotective over, yes even for a six/seven year old. and soon that hospitality and little playdates turned into actual and genuine friendships and relations that heeseung grew to cherish, his prized little treasured found family. and love.

summer breaks turned into winter breaks and then into every opportunity he could find to pay them a visit longer than a week.

he was there during every big occasion of your lives and you and your brothers were there for his. probably because your families never minded the difference in class and always welcomed the other's presence.

it was just before the fall of his senior year in high school when heeseung took the decision to apply for scholarships in your city. his middle class family still lived in their cozy old house in the small town he had known his entire life and the city waited him a lifetime of opportunities he couldn't dare to lose. especially if he ever decided to woo you in the future he must have the capacity to pamper your spoiled heart.

you weren't just the daughter of a rich family. you were the only precious little lovely, beyond spoiled rotten daughter of a family that came from old money. old money bridging middle class. something he could never achieve, but to have the slightest chance he must be in position to give you whatever you want (besides an island like you asked for your 18th birthday, but that's okay he loves that side of you and perhaps he's sick for that, but he's far too in love.)

when his scholarship was approved and he scored a seat in one of the prestigious colleges near your neighborhood, it gave him the perfect opportunity to move in with his uncle and aunt, to move in next door to you.

to be blessed to have the chance to catch sight of you everyday. and to have the chance to hangout with you whenever he wished to and whenever you wished to.

always at your beck and call like your obedient little lord in waiting.

heeseung's actual love life (his efforts to get you to fall for him as he calls it) started in the third year of college when you joined as a freshman. and two years since, he's been trying. you're just way too oblivious to notice his subtle moves and heeseung is way too scared of your brothers to confess bluntly.

it's all just been a huge mess, and everyone (his and your friends) is just here for the comedy heeseung's life has turned into .. especially with you crushing on beomgyu—

PREV | NEXT

PREVIEW. you always get what you want, spoiled with the love of everyone around you. and it's all innocent love, at least that's what everyone thinks. it comes with much surprise therefore, when heeseung makes a move on you. thirteen long years of being in the brother zone having made him utterly clueless that if he’s going to date you he has to pass through your actual brothers first. and he knows how scary they can be. especially since they are known to have a sister complex and he’s been the third scary one with them, numerous times before.

taglist ( open ) @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @aaa-sia @snoopypupp @criminalyun @oddracha @satan-223 @diorsyun @hooniehon @fakeuwus @caramelcandescence @intromortal @kookify @yutasberryy @sumzysworld @nikiswifiee @shuichi-sama @primroselover @rayofsunshineeee @aishigrey @yjwluvs @soraokkotsu @nyfwyeonjun @srhnyx @trashx678 @wondipity @winuvs @hoondiors @niniissus @firstclassjaylee @biancaness @enhaz1 @sophi-ee @un06 @heelariously @d-earlog @pharaways @ethelia send an ask to be added! (if your comment goes unnoticed it is not my responsibility)

[sodaabaa]

reunited a court of thorns and roses

rhysand x reader after reader is taken by tamlin, she yearns for the day she can be reunited with her mate.

tw: none

Five months. That’s how long I’d been trapped with Tamlin and his court of thorns. Once upon a time I was happy here, happy with him. Now, it took everything I had to control myself from scratching his eyes out every time he looked at me. Every word he said, every condescending explanation he gave me as to why he thought, why he believed that Rhys had manipulated my mind, drove me insane. Leaving this godforsaken place with Rhys all those months ago was the best decision I’d ever made. Now I was stuck here all over again. Caged in a rose covered prison, suffocated by piles of tulle and chiffon and silk.  

I hadn’t shown Tamlin, or anyone, any of the powers I had. I didn’t tell him what I was. Rhys and Amren had figured out that I was an angel. Centuries before the fae emerged, angels ruled the heavens and the Earth. Once the fae were created after years of evolution, the angels died out. But while the physical form of these beings may cease to exist, their souls don’t. Their souls are still here, roaming through the heavens. I guess the angels knew war was imminent in my lifetime so they breathed an angel’s soul into me when I was born and I’d gone all those years unknowing of what I was, what I was capable of. Until I had found out what Amarantha had done to Rhys. 

As if one cue, a piece of paper appeared on my nightstand with a coal black pen. 

“You’re thinking about me aren’t you” I could hear his arrogant smirk in those words.

I smiled, that bastard always knew, even if we were thousands of miles apart. I picked up the pen to write back but as I was doing so, the door opened and I quickly hid it under my pillow. My smile fell.

“I brought you some paints.” Tamlin paused, unsure of what to say next.

I merely looked out the window and said, “I have no inspiration.”

He frowned, “you’re in the Court of Spring, what more inspiration do you need?” 

The swirling night sky. The shimmering golden lights of the City of Starlight. His black, satin wings that carried the midnight sky with him. 

Oh, how sweet, your description of my city and my wings flatters me darling. 

I had to dig my nails into my palms to keep from smiling like a fool. 

Tamlin must have taken great offense to my comment, he left without giving me a chance to respond. Good. 

I anxiously pulled out the pen and paper. 

“He could have seen the note, be careful next time you prick.” 

I set the items on the desk and within seconds it vanished, and reappeared just as fast.

“I miss bickering with you. I miss you.” Such simple words yet my heart ached with longing.

I wrote back, “I miss you too. Just a few more days, I need to convince him to side with us.”

The paper vanished and never returned. 

I shifted in the bed I’d been in for hours, refusing to socialize with anyone at the manor. Everyone was blindly loyal to Tamlin and I knew if I left the manor grounds, they’d instantly report to him so I had no reason to even bother faking a smile towards those vipers. I looked out to the night sky, it wasn’t nearly as beautiful as the velvety blue skies of the Night Court but it was still a reminder of who ruled those skies and it comforted me regardless. With that thought, I fell into a deep sleep.

The voices of Tamlin and Lucien could be heard from a mile away. They were arguing over my freedom. I paused on the stairs, my blush pink dress swaying with the movement.

“How long are you going to keep her locked up hm? You can’t keep her here forever.” Lucien spat.

“Until Rhysand isn’t a problem anymore. Until I know he won’t come to take her again.” 

I rolled my eyes. Imagine being deluded enough to think you could beat Rhys, the most powerful High Lord in history. I scoffed. Their heads turned in my direction. I covered it by clearing my throat and smiling, resuming my path down the stairs.

“Good morning my love.” I held back a gag. 

Tamlin smiled, the fool really thought I was in love with him. “Good morning, we were just finishing up our conversation.” He shot a pointed look at Lucien. 

I smiled, lips in a thin line. He wanted to keep me locked up like a prisoner, still. 

I took a seat between Tamlin and Lucien. “Can we speak in private please Tamlin.” 

He gave me an exhausted look, he knew what I was going to ask. Despite that, he sent Lucien away with a wave of his hand. 

“I know what you want to say and you already know my answer.” He said.

I stood up and slammed my hands on the table, rattling the silverware.

“It’s been three months since I saw something outside these walls. Send an escort of guards with me if you want but let me go somewhere, anywhere.” I shouted.

He looked at me through his brows. “You know better than me, I could send an army of guards with you and Rhysand would slice through the brigade like butter to take you away. I won’t risk it.”

He was standing now, trying to intimidate me into compliance. 

“And I won��t be kept here like a prisoner! In what world is this love?”

“I’m protecting you!” He growled

“You’re suffocating me!” I yelled.

“Enough. There will be no further conversation about this matter.” 

I stilled. And then I felt it. I could sense him before he’d even arrived. I looked past Tamlin and to the doorway. 

Rhys. 

He was standing tall, his hands in his pockets, ever the nonchalant High Lord. His violet eyes looked over me head to toe, scanning for any signs of injuries. 

Tamlin must have noticed I was looking past him and turned. He moved to shield me, beginning to shift into a beast. I didn’t pay any attention to it. Every bone, every nerve, every cell in my body was shouting for me to run to him. So I did.

Tamlin shouted after me and guards ran in but they froze as soon as they ran into the room. It felt as if I’d been running for miles before I crashed into his chest, he stumbled back but his arms wrapped around me and lifted me up. My entire being relaxed into the embrace as I held him tight. 

“Miss me?” He breathed into my ear. 

Tears welled in my eyes as I nodded into his neck. He let me down just as Tamlin was approaching, rage burning in his eyes.

I stood in front of Rhys as Tamlin began charging. I crossed my arms and Tamlin met with a wall of light. He bounced back but got up instantly. Like twin flames, Rhys and I let out our wings, his midnight black wings contrasting with my soft white.

Tamlin froze, he hadn’t known about my abilities.

“What are you doing? He’s manipulating you, turning you against me.”

I scoffed. “You turned me against you.” 

“I love you.” He said in a not so loving tone. 

“Rhys loves me. And I him.” 

Unexpectedly, he shoved me away and lunged for Rhys who easily dodged his advances.

“You’ve gone soft Tamlin.” Rhys taunted. 

Tamlin lunged again, this time he managed to grab Rhys, who was unimpressed. 

“I’m going to skin you alive.” He said through his teeth.

Rhys merely rolled his eyes and looked at me as if to say, ‘look at this guy.’ 

Rhys grabbed Tamlins arms and twisted them, kneeing him in the gut and throwing him onto the floor all in one swift motion.

“You’re gonna have to try a lot harder to even land a punch, dear Tamlin.”

This time, Tamlin didn’t get back up. Rhys was holding him down with his mind. 

“We’ll spare your life on one condition.” I spoke to him. 

His nose flared, he’d rather die than submit to Rhys.

“You ally yourself and your army with us for the war. Hybern will slaughter your people and take your court as soon as the war is over and you know it. Don’t lead hundreds of innocent lives towards their death because of a grudge you hold towards Rhys.” I continued.

“I’d sooner die than work with him. And you. After all I did for you, traitor.” He spat.

I could feel the anger roll off Rhys. He stepped in front of me but I grabbed his arm.

“After all you did? After Amarantha, I was wasting away. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t breathe. And all you did was lock me up like a caged animal. You couldn’t even look at me longer than a second.” My voice rose.

“Do you know what the first thing Rhys did to me when he took me away on our wedding day?” I didn’t give him the time to respond.

“He looked at me, listened to me, he made me feel alive again. It’s ironic isn’t it? Living in the Spring Court where all bloom to life. Except me. I withered away like a dead rose. But I blossomed with Rhys at the Night Court, the realm of death so many call it, but it breathed life into me again.” 

Tamlin stared, blank. “Go to hell.” 

With that, I left the Manor and let Rhys have his fun. 

We landed in Velaris, my beloved City of Starlight. I was ecstatic and Rhys felt it as we walked up the steps to the town house. Home. The word kept repeating in my head, I still couldn’t believe it. 

When we walked in, we were greeted by Cassian, Mor, Azriel, and Amren. They kneeled as we stood in the doorway. 

My hand slipped from Rhys’ and I ran towards them, dropping to my knees. 

“Please don’t kneel. I just want a hug from each of you.” Tears fell from my eyes. I missed these four with my whole heart. Last I’d seen them, Cassian’s wings had been shattered, Azriel and Mor were bloody and bruised. I was worried sick. 

They all hugged me at once, I was squished in between the four of them. I let out a laugh as we withdrew from the group hug and Rhys chuckled behind me. 

“You bastards never react that way when I come home.” He walked towards us. 

Amren sent daggers at him with her eyes.

“Maybe we don’t like you as much Rhys.” Cassian said. 

“Then maybe you can find a place at the Court of Nightmares instead of Velaris, Cas. They’d be happy to take in an invalid such as yourself.” He threw. 

Cassian shook his head laughing. “You’d miss me too much.” 

The five of them began to bicker, their voices booming throughout the house. My eyes fleeted between them, trying to keep track of who was saying what. 

I smiled, It felt like I never left. 

[ozzgin]

HIIII I was wondering if I could request an Inuyasha x Reader lime of the reader trying to explain to him that in the modern era people have sex for *fun* not just to have kids?? I think it’d be really silly lol!! If not that’s ok :3 take your time and take care of urself <333

—⛓️ (chain user anon)

It’s something I have considered given the amount of kids that popped up in the sequel, haha. I shall do my best, I’ve never written limes before so I’m curious to see if I can actually expand on more provocative topics. Thank you for the suggestion!

Inuyasha x Reader Headcanons

Featuring Inuyasha and a reader showing him the ways of casual intercourse. This is a lime so expect vaguely NSFW content.

You’ve been dating for months now and yet Inuyasha has barely touched you, save for the occasional kiss. Which you partly understand, you wouldn’t expect him to aggressively start groping you in front of the others, but even when you’re alone he keeps a certain distance and it confuses you greatly.

It doesn’t help that he’s a massive tsundere and getting him to talk about his feelings is a Herculean task. He’ll blush, avoid eye contact and just bark short, vague responses in hopes that you’ll stop pestering him.

You reach the point of exasperation when you ask him point blank if he’s just not attracted to you, in which case why even bother dating? His eyes widen in shock, completely taken aback by your statement. Was that what you’ve been thinking? He vehemently denies it but you don’t back down without an explanation. Finally he mumbles a barely audible reasoning. “I just don’t want any kids right now.” Now it’s your turn to stare. “Wha- How is that related to anything?”

It dawns on you that Inuyasha associates sex solely with reproduction. It’s not like he’s had any context to be provided a different view. You hold back the snicker that was about to escape your lips, as you don’t want to embarrass him any further. You find his archaic beliefs cute. Thankfully you’ve been prepared for quite some time now, so you quickly reassure him that it is, in fact, entirely possible to avoid offspring while still having fun. As you expand on your explanation you pull out the small box of condoms that you’ve been keeping in your backpack.

He doesn’t really understand the object you’re showing him so you decide that a concrete demonstration will clear up any confusion. Although you have to wrestle him onto the ground to convince him to take his clothes off. There are five stages of grief and you wonder if there’s a similar concept regarding someone too embarrassed to have sex. Refusal to undress, anger at being seen naked, bargaining to leave it for another time - and this is where it takes the turn - curiosity about giving it a try and finally, acceptance.

You don’t have to struggle too much, truth be told. Your body is the final argument and he can’t say no to the sight. Within moments he’s biting your collarbone and panting for more.

Once he gets over the initial shyness he’s almost like a dog in heat. He’ll constantly find excuses to temporarily separate from the group and have his alone time with you. He’ll insist on following you trough the well and to the store so he can proudly stand next to you when you restock on condoms. “You bet I’m the one hitting that” he thinks with a smug expression. Dear Lord, you’ve created a monster.

Though sometimes after your special time together, as you rest your head on his chest, he will lazily daydream about leaving the safety aside and actually starting a family with you. His ears twitch excitedly at the thought. And then a new idea strays away from it: can he still do it with you if you’re pregnant?

[youryurigoddess]

I was minding my own business and analyzing another part of the A. Z. Fell & Co. bookshop from the Radio Times footage when I noticed something interesting on Aziraphale’s desk. It looks like the angel was studying a handwritten copy of someone’s last will and testament and left in a hurry, with a bronze medal and a fountain pen on top of it. And… an attachment of a land registry plan, barely visible underneath.

Obviously that’s when my South Downs obsessed brain turned all of its alarms on and decided to read the whole thing. And look for the missing parts, since only a portion of the original document was visible on screen. Unfortunately the full text is much longer and less exciting than anticipated, and — spoiler alert — related to a different area of the country, but still relevant to the Good Omens universe. We’ll look into that in a moment.

Let’s start with the struck bronze medal — acting here as a paperweight, which makes the documents in question already stand out from the usual bumph and bric-a-brac accumulated by Aziraphale over an unknown period of time on his desk.

It’s a very interesting rendition of the mythological scene centered around Daedalus fastening the wings onto his son Icarus (little does he know that this attempt to escape imprisonment will lead to his son’s demise). Contrary to popular sentiment in the history of art, this particular version of Icarus isn’t depicted as a child or teenager, but as a warrior donning a helmet and preparing himself to battle. Which makes perfect sense after discovering that it was made for the Royal Air Force Athletic & Cross Country Association’s WAAF Athletic Championships in 1945. There’s some poetic irony in the fact that the medal was apparently given to the third place winner in a high jump category.

Apart from its obviously military style, this concept seems inspired by a 1885-86 medal by Auguste Patey commemorating the experimental flights at the first French wind tunnel at Chalais-Meudon, a town on the banks of the Seine near Paris. On 9 August 1884, engineers Charles Renard and Arthur Constantin Krebs made the first controllable free flight there when they piloted their airship, La France, over a course and returned to their starting point. From 9 August 1884 to 23 September 1885, La France made seven flights and was able to return to its starting point five times.

The last Will and Testament of Josiah Wedgwood

The last Will and Testament of me, Josiah Wedgwood, of Etruria, in the County of Stafford, made the second day of November, in the year of Our Lord one thousand seven hundred and ninety-three, in manner and form following (that is to say): I give and bequeath unto my dear and affectionate Wife, Sarah Wedgwood, all that messuage or dwelling-house situate at or near Etruria aforesaid, with the buildings, gardens, and appurtenances thereto belonging, late in the holding of Mr. Thomas Wedgwood; and also all that field or piece of land in which the same stands, containing eight acres or thereabouts; and also all that close, piece, or parcel of land lying contiguous to the said dwelling-house, called the Horse Pasture, containing by estimation twelve acres or thereabouts; and also all that piece or parcel of land situate at Etruria aforesaid, heretofore purchased by me from Mr. Hugh Booth; To have and to hold the said messuage or dwelling-house, pieces or parcels of land, hereditaments and premises, with their and every of their appurtenances, unto my said Wife, Sarah Wedgwood and her assigns, for and during the term of her natural life. And from and after her decease, I give and devise all and singular the said messuage or dwelling-house, pieces or parcels of land, hereditaments, and premises, with their and every of their appurtenances, unto my Son, Josiah Wedgwood, his heirs and assigns for ever. Also I give and bequeath the sum of three thousand pounds unto my said Wife, to be paid to her within twelve months next after my decease. Also I give and bequeath unto my said Wife so much and such part of my household goods and furniture as is mentioned and specified in the Schedule or Paper Writing hereunto annexed, marked with the Letter A. Also I give and bequeath the sum of ten thousand pounds unto my Executors hereinafter named, upon trust that they, my said Executors, do and shall place the said sum of ten thousand pounds out upon some good and sufficient public or private security or securitys, at interest, to be approved of nevertheless by my said Wife, and do and shall pay to, or permit and suffer my said Wife to receive and take the interest, dividends, and produce of the said sum of Ten thousand pounds, as the same shall from time to time become due to and for her own use and benefit for and during the term of her natural life.

And from and after the decease of my said Wife, I direct that the said sum of ten thousand pounds shall be applied for and towards payment and satisfaction of the several legacys or sums of money hereinafter given by me. And I do hereby direct that the provision hereinbefore made or intended for my said Wife shall be in lieu, bar, and satisfaction of dower and thirds at Common Law. Also I give and devise unto my said Executors, for the use of my said son, Josiah Wedgwood, his heirs and assigns for ever, that part of Etruria Estate which I now occupy, upon the north side of the Turnpike Road leading from Newcastle to Leek, with the house I now live in, the outbuildings belonging to the same, with the pleasure grounds and all appurtenances thereto belonging, being about sixty-five acres; and also another part of the Etruria Estate, now in the occupation of Richard Hall, being about sixty-eight acres; And also another part of the Etruria Estate, now in the occupation of Thomas Ford, being about forty-five acres; and also the Estate late a part of the White House Estate, on the south side the Turnpike Road leading from Newcastle to Leek; and likewise the land purchased from Thomas Heath, with a small meadow on the north side the said Road, and lying in the Parish of Woolstanton; and likewise a meadow lately purchased from John Mare, of Handley, — all in the holding of Richard Billington, being altogether about eighty-one acres; and also a piece of land on the south side of the same Road, now in the holding of Daniel Haywood, being about two acres; and also an Estate bought from George Taylor, and now in the holding of Jonathan Adams, being about nine acres; and also a small piece of land adjoining the land bought from Hugh Booth, together with a part of the Hough Meadow, and now in the holding of John Ryder, being about four acres; and also an estate called the Spittels, situate in Penkhull, in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, and lately purchased from James Godwin, containing sixty-three acres or thereabouts; and also an Estate adjoining to the Spittels on one side, and to Stoke Lane on the other, situate in Penkhull aforesaid, in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, late in the holding of Humphrey Ratcliff, containing fifteen acres or thereabouts; and also a piece of land called the Woodhills, situate in the Parish of Stoke upon Trent, lately purchased from Ralph Baddeley, and now in my own occupation, being about eleven acres; and also all buildings, tenements, houses, farmhouses, outhouses, pot works, warehouses, workshops, and other buildings, of what kind soever they may be, situate, standing, and being upon any of the land or premises above named, and not hereinbefore devised; and also all my share of the models and molds of the Manufactory in Etruria aforesaid. Also I give and bequeath the sum of thirty thousand pounds unto my son John Wedgwood. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-nine thousand one hundred and ten pounds, and likewise twenty shares in the Monmouthshire Canal, unto my Son Thomas Wedgwood.

Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my daughter Susannah Wedgwood; and which said several legacys or sums of thirty thousand pounds, and twenty-nine thousand one hundred and ten pounds, and twenty shares in the Monmouthshire Canal, and twenty-five thousand pounds, so given to my said Son John Wedgwood, and to my said Son Thomas Wedgwood, and to my said Daughter Susannah Wedgwood, I do hereby direct shall be paid to them as soon as conveniently may be after my decease, together with interest for the same in the mean time, after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my Daughter Catharine Wedgwood, to be paid to her as soon after her age of twenty-one years, or day of marriage, which shall first happen, as conveniently may be, with interest for the same in the mean time after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Also I give and bequeath the sum of twenty-five thousand pounds unto my Daughter Sarah Wedgwood, to be paid to her as soon after her age of twenty-one years, or day of marriage, which shall first happen, as conveniently may be, with interest for the same in the mean time after the rate of four pounds and ten shillings per centum per annum. Provided always, and I do hereby direct, that in case my said Daughters Catherine Wedgwood and Sarah Wedgwood, or either of them, shall happen to die unmarried before the age of twenty-one years, then that the legacy or legacys of her or them so dying shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal Estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly, as shall hereinafter be mentioned. Also I do hereby declare it to be my will that all the rest, residue, and remainder of my said stock in trade, goods, wares, implements, materials, and utensils of trade, and other matters and things used by me, in or belonging to my said Manufactory, except the models or molds therein used or kept, shall, at the time of my decease, sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly. Also I give and bequeath all and singular my household goods and furniture not hereinbefore given to my said Wife, together with all my books, prints, books of prints, pictures, and cabinets of Experiments, of Fossils, and of Natural History, unto my said Son Josiah Wedgwood. And I do hereby commit the Guardianship and Tuition of such of my said children as shall not at the time of my decease have attained the age of twenty-one years unto my said Wife and my said Son John Wedgwood, until such children shall attain the said age. And I do direct that the fortunes or portions of such of my said children shall in the mean time be managed by my said Wife and my said Son John Wedgwood, and a competent part of the interest and produce thereof be applied for their maintenance and education, and the residue of such interest and produce be suffered to accumulate for their benefit and advantage in such manner as my said Wife and Son John Wedgwood shall in their discretion think most meet and proper.

Also I givo and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of twenty pounds unto my Brother in Law, Philip Clark, for and during the term of his natural life. Also I give and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of Twenty pounds unto my Niece, Sarah Taylor, for and during the term of her natural life. Also I give and bequeath one annuity or yearly sum of twenty pounds unto Mr. Alexander Chisholm, for and during the term of his natural life; recommending it to my Son Josiah Wedgwood to give him any further assistance that he may stand in need of, to make the remainder of his life easy and comfortable. And I do hereby direct that the said several and respective annuitys of twenty pounds, twenty pounds, and twenty pounds shall be paid and payable quarterly, at the four most usual feasts or days of payment in the year, (that is to say) on every twenty-fifth day of March, twenty-fourth day of June, twenty-ninth day of September, and twenty-fifth day of December, by even and equal portions, free and clear of and from all taxes, charges, and deductions whatsoever; the first payment thereof to begin and be made on such of the said days as shall first and next happen after my decease. Also I give and bequeath the sum of ten guineas unto the said Alexander Chisholm, as a testimony of my regard for him. Also I give and bequeath the sum of two hundred pounds apiece unto all and every the children of my Nephew Thomas Byerley, who shall be living at the time of my decease, to be paid to them at their respective ages of twenty-one years: Provided always, and in case any one or more of the said children shall happen to die without issue before he, she, or they shall attain the said age, then I direct that the legacy or legacys to him, her, or them so dying shall go and be paid unto and amongst the survivors or survivor of them equally, share and share alike, in case there shall be more than one, at such time and in such manner as is hereinbefore directed and expressed of and concerning the said original legacys or sums of two hundred pounds: Provided also, and in case all the said children shall happen to die without issue before they shall attain the said age, then I direct that all the said legacies or sums of Two hundred pounds so given to them as aforesaid shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly. And I do hereby expressly direct and declare that no interest shall be allowed or paid upon the said respective legacys or sums of two hundred pounds in the mean time from my decease to the time that the same shall become payable by virtue of this my Will; such legacys or sums of two hundred pounds being given by me in lieu of legacys or sums of one hundred pounds, which it was originally my intention to have directed to be placed out at interest, and to have accumulated for such children of the said Thomas Byerley as aforesaid until they should attain the age of twenty-one years. Also I give and bequeath unto each of my Nephews Thomas and John Wedgwood, Sons of my late Nephew Thomas Wedgwood, of the Upper House in Burslem, the sum of two hundred pounds each, to be paid to them at their respective ages of twenty-one years: Provided always, and in case they shall either or both of them die before they arrive at the age of twenty-one years, I direct that the legacy or legacys of the party or parties so dying, of two hundred pounds so given to them as aforesaid, shall sink into and become part of the residue of my personal estate, and be applied and disposed of accordingly.

Also I give to my Servant George Jones the sum of twenty guineas, as a token of my remembrance of his faithful services to me. Also I give and bequeath to the several persons whose names shall be mentioned and comprised in the Schedule or List hereto annexed, signed with my name, and marked with the letter "B," the mourning Rings or other small legacys or sums of money which shall be therein specified and expressed. Also I give and bequeath unto James Caldwell, Esq., of Newcastle under Lyme, in the County of Stafford, the sum of one hundred pounds, which I desire he will accept as a testimony of my friendship and esteem for him. And I do hereby direct and appoint that my said Nephew Thomas Byerley shall, under the direction of my Executors, settle my accounts and manage and conduct the collection of my debts and other matters relating to the settlement of my concerns in business; and that a Salary of one hundred pounds per annum be allowed and paid to him for such particular service, so long as he shall be employed therein, over and above all charges and expenses attending the same. And it is also my Will that an estate at Burslem, late in the occupation of Joseph Wedgwood, consisting of a newly erected dwelling house, a set of pot works, with other buildings, and a field called the Cross Hill, containing altogether about two acres; and likewise an estate in the Parish of Astbury, in the County of Chester, called Spengreen, and now in the holding of Thomas Johnson, containing about seventy-five acres or thereabouts; and also a piece of land on the east side of the Bridge in Congleton, in the said County of Chester, being about two rods; and also all the rest, residue, and remainder, messages, lands, tenements, hereditaments, and real estate, money, securities for money, debts due and owing, personal Estate and Effects of what nature or kind soever or wheresoever, not hereinbefore particularly devised or disposed of, together with such or so much of the several sums of money hereinbefore mentioned and bequeathed as shall, by means of the contingencies and directions hereinbefore expressed, shall all of them sink into and become parts of the said residue of my personal Estate. And I do hereby give, devise, and bequeath the same unto my said Executors, for the payment of the legacys and annuities hereinbefore mentioned; and provided there should be a residue after the above mentioned payments, then I direct that such residue shall go and be divided unto and amongst my said children, John Wedgwood, Thomas Wedgwood, Susannah Wedgwood, Catherine Wedgwood, and Sarah Wedgwood, their heirs, executors, administrators, and assigns, equally, share and share alike, as tenants in common, and not as joint tenants; and if there should be any deficiency of real or personal estates for paying the said legacys and annuitys, such deficiency shall in that case be born equally amongst and made up by those my said children above named, (that is to say) John Wedgwood, Thomas Wedgwood, Susannah Wedgwood, Catherine Wedgwood, and Sarah Wedgwood, share and share alike, in proportion to the amount of the legacys to them herein left and bequeathed. And I do hereby nominate, constitute, and appoint my said Wife, my said Son John Wedgwood, and the said James Caldwell, Esq., Executrix and Executors of this my Will. And lastly, I do hereby revoke all former or other Will or Wills by me at any time heretofore made, and do declare this only to be my last Will and Testament.

In witness whereof I have to this my last Will and Testament, contained in six sheets of paper, and have to each of the first five sheets thereof set my hand, and to the sixth and last sheet thereof my hand and seal the day and year first before written. — Jos. Wedgwood (L.S.)

Signed, sealed, published, and declared by the said Josiah Wedgwood, as and for his last Will and Testament, in the presence of us, who in his presence, and in the presence of each other, have hereunto subscribed our names as witnesses thereto; the several following words being first interlined: money—my—happen—said. — Alexr. Chisholm, Thomas Mitchell, Joseph Mitchell, Joseph Rutland

John Wedgwood, of Etruria, in the County of Stafford, Esquire, maketh oath, and saith that he has searched among the papers and writings of his late Father, Josiah Wedgwood, late of Etruria aforesaid, Esquire, deceased, in order to find certain Schedules or Paper Writings referred to in the last Will and Testament of the said Josiah Wedgwood, and therein mentioned to be annexed thereto, and respectively marked A and B. And this Deponent further saith that he has not been able to find such Schedules or Paper Writings, or either of them; and this Deponent further saith that he has never heard or been informed, nor does he believe that the said Josiah Wedgwood ever wrote or made out, or caused to be written or made out, such Schedules or Paper Writings, or either of them. — John Wedgwood

Sworn at Newcastle under Lyme, in the County of Stafford, the 29th day of June, 1795, Before me, John Lloyd, a Commissioner.

Proved at London, 2nd July, 1795, before the Judge, by the Oath of John Wedgwood, the Son, one of the Executors, to whom Administration was granted, having been first sworn by Commission duly to administer. Power reserved of making the like grant to Sarah Wedgwood, Widow, the Relict, and James Caldwell, the other Executors, when they shall apply for the same.

That was… certainly a lot of words. Let’s see if they mean anything! Turns out that this isn’t another John Gibson, rural postman and shoemaker from New Cumnock, Scotland, but a prominent historical figure with close familial connections to someone whose name you definitely know.

Josiah Wedgwood (12 July 1730 – 3 January 1795) was an English potter, entrepreneur and abolitionist. Founding the Wedgwood company in 1759, he developed improved pottery bodies by systematic experimentation, and was the leader in the industrialisation of the manufacture of European pottery. He is credited as a pioneer of modern marketing, specifically direct mail, money back guarantees, travelling salesmen, carrying pattern boxes for display, self-service, free delivery, buy one get one free, and illustrated catalogues.

As well as pretty, decorative vases and crockery with aesthetics and technology rooted in antiquity, Wedgwood put his designs to a more radical use. He was elected onto the Committee of the Abolition of the Slave Trade and designed an anti-slavery medallion which became the most famous image of a black person in all of 18th-century art. Covering the costs of distribution and production himself, Wedgwood ensured that it became a powerful symbol of public support.

Josiah was also a founder of the famous Darwin–Wedgwood family and the grandfather of Charles and Emma Darwin. It was the considerable inheritance Josiah left to his son, Josiah II, that enabled young Darwin’s survey voyage aboard HMS Beagle and, consequently, the development of his theory of evolution.

Okay, but what links the “Prince of Potters” to Aziraphale and his bookshop?

In 1774 Josiah Wedgwood and his longtime business partner, Thomas Bentley, opened a new warehouse, enamelling rooms and most handsome showrooms at 12-13 Greek Street, Soho. In 1795, after Josiah’s death, the Wedgwood studio moved to 8 St. James’s Square and the buildings were later occupied by coachmakers, writers and other artists.

Now, through Word of God we already know that Aziraphale spent the 1600s using his personal savings to gradually buy out portions of the neighboring land in order to build the original bookshop “on Greek Street just off Old Compton”, which finally opened in its current form in 1800.

This means that for the time Josiah’s company operated in Soho, they were at least neighbors.

[thoughtsfromlayla]

Dreamweaver's Heart

Summary: The Dream Lord takes fascination to a new lucid dreamer in his realm, his Dreamweaver. The waking world is less than kind and he will travel dimensions to make sure you are safe.

Notes: ~8.6k, this was a request sent in by Anon based on this post! Otherwise, I'm sorry for having this fic take such a dark turn? It was supposed to be sweet but then in my search for more Tom Sturridge films, I came across Like Minds and it fucked with me. So now it fucks with my writing until further notice.

Warnings: Don't ever get attached to the characters I make for the plot, graphic descriptions of gore, death, murder, and drowning, betrayal of a friend, nonconsensual kissing (not from Dream), graphic serial killer activities, run in with a serial killer. Dream's a dream tho, a knight in black armor <3 Happy ending :D

I'm not going to say it's 18+, because it's not NSFW, but some of these themes can be disturbing. Please read the tags carefully.

Masterlist

“One, two, three, four, five, okay,” You count your right-hand fingers to yourself. Then cast your eyes on the watch you always carried on your wrist.

“8:13,” You take another look at your surroundings and take in the fresh air and kind sun. “AM,” you concluded.

You look back to your fingers and count again. “One, two, three, four, five,” You listed off in your head. Then one more time look at your watch. This time it read 5:15 PM, but the sun hadn’t moved. A grin crawls up to your face as you realize that you were dreaming. Lucid dreaming to be more specific. 

When you first heard about lucid dreaming in some off-handed news article you rolled your eyes and went on with your morning. There wasn’t much time in your life to worry about those things, not when another project was due, you had another meeting to attend, or another email to look at. But then life got unbearably hard to live with, stress kept piling up, and your vacation hours kept being declined. 

Your dreams turned from weird but forgettable dreams to nightmares of being chased, drowned, or murdered, only for you to both feel and witness again and again. When you wake up in a sweat at the ungodly midnight hours, you open your phone to find the news article again. It took you well over a month to get the hang of lucid dreaming but it was all worth the cognitive effort. Each time you go to sleep you count your fingers, then your clock, then your fingers, and then your clock again. There are always telltale signs that you were dreaming, dreams tend to never make sense so you look for those things. 

You intake another fresh breath of air and smile, head tilted towards the sun. The city air was polluted with car fumes and sewage smells, and while you loved the city, you do miss the easier days back in the countryside. You imagine the lush meadows, old trees, and the house that your grandfather hand-built for him and his wife. Before you the scenery changes and you’re sitting on a hand-carved rocking chair in a thin shirt and shorts. 

“This is the life,” You groan out to yourself as you begin the rock back and forth, thighs and arms trembling from a stretch. You stay like that for god knows how long, the waking world not a priority of your thoughts as you had the next day off. 

You only get up when sweat begins to collect along your hairline and the sunhat you are wearing begins to become itchy. A farm dog comes up to you and pants at your side urging you to go inside the house, maybe for a cup of lemonade, which sounded delicious the more you thought about it. 

When you look into the house from the windowed front door, a black figure briefly catches your eyes. It walks within the kitchen, running a finger across the worn wooden table and tracing lines of chipped paint over the tops of chairs. Confusion eclipses your face as his figure distorts on the thick glass and you open the door quickly. 

Much to your surprise, there was no such figure when the door opened. Your heart beats inside your chest and you look down at your fingers again. One, two, three, four, five… six. Six fingers, which is odd. You exhale slowly, it’s just a dream you say to yourself and carry on.

While sitting at the kitchen table you pinch your index and thumb together then bring both hands until they meet the other’s fingers. You pull them apart and a delicate golden string connects the fingers together. With a calming inhale of breath you move your fingers purposefully, drawing a picture of lemonade with a glass cup. If only it were this easy in the waking world. 

Lemonade appears on the kitchen table in a glass pitcher and you pour yourself a cup, chugging down the citrusy-sweet drink with a smile. You sit for a while, not particularly thinking of anything, your job had you doing enough of that. The kitchen window was open and you could feel the summer wind and hear the leaves rustling and mourning doves cooing. It was a scene straight out of your childhood, and if you concentrated enough you could hear the lawn mower going in the distance, the smell of freshly cut grass invading the house. 

A bark interrupts your serenity and you look over to the farm dog. He’s patiently sitting by his food bowl with a wagging tail. A small box of dog food appears on a nearby shelf and you go to him with a smile. 

“Are you hungry, boy?” You ask and reach for the kibble. He barks back in return and watches you intently as you pour a small serving. You then thought to yourself that, well, this is a dream and can dogs get diabetes in dreams? Probably not, so you dump the rest of the kibble into his bowl. It piled higher and higher and you can see a satisfied glint in the dog’s eyes as it begins to chow down on its food. 

You wipe your hands off on your shorts and toss the empty box into some unknown void in the hallway and go back to the kitchen. This time, however, two glasses were accompanying the pitcher. One, the glass you just drank out of, and the other, a half-drunk glass of lemonade. The condensation of the cool drink was still on the glass and you could see a clear handprint of where someone had grabbed it. 

You look back at the dog and notice that he is missing and panic sets in again. You look outside the window and the sun disappears, clouds rolling in with a sheet of rain. The ground around you starts to become wet despite the intact roof and it floods over your feet. The water fills up the space quickly. 

You try to calm your breathing and will the water to go away, for the sun to come back, anything to have your hours of peace before you have to wake up. But, nothing worked and the water came over your hips, and you’re hyperventilating now. The rain comes in through the windows in large gushes of water and you find yourself stuck in place, unable to move. 

“Wake up, wake up!” You chant to yourself, tears beading along your lower lash line. You pinch at yourself and are exasperated when you still don’t wake. The water felt too real, it was cold and piercing and you could feel the twigs and leaves of debris that brushed against your legs now and then. “This isn’t funny, wake up!” You cry to yourself again as the water rises higher. 

Behind you, in the shadows, the Dream Lord watches with intent. He always had a fascination with lucid dreamers, after all, they were able to minorly manipulate dreams to their whim. Something that the Dream King wouldn’t admit hurt his ego a little bit… just a smudge. But he had been watching your dreams lately and found it fascinating that you never dreamed of anything grand. No mystical adventure, no aspirations, and certainly no dreams of a more… sexual nature. Which, if he was allowed to comment, may be the reason why you were so stressed in the waking world and needed to find peace in his instead. 

“This dream is over,” He commands and waves his hand over the scene. 

You wake with a start, the sweat you produced while sleeping made your shirt stick to you uncomfortably and reminded you of your dream. You’re quick to get rid of it and throw it into your laundry hamper, now topless and rushing to the bathroom for a cold shower to calm you down. When you were done, your weekend alarm still hadn’t gone off and you were tempted to go back to sleep again. 

Eventually, you decided against it, unless you wanted to repeat what just happened. Purposeful, dreamless sleep hasn’t found you in a long time and you doubt it would come back just on a whim. You watch the sunrise in your apartment, sighing as sleep tugs at your body still. The cup of hot coffee in your hands felt more like decoration than anything useful as it didn’t give you the energy you craved. 

Thankfully you had nothing to do on your day off and you pat your past self on the back for going grocery shopping last night instead of making you do it today. You spend the rest of the day in bed, reading books on your Kindle and taking breaks by mindlessly scrolling through different forms of social media. Sleep tugs on your eyes but no matter how much you try to sleep, even a nap escapes you. 

The day goes by at a molasses-like pace, you don’t even remember eating. But once the sun has set and the stars made their debut, you happily resign as sleep overcomes you. The Kindle falls somewhere off your bed as you lose consciousness. When you come to your dreams, you’re greeted by a whale… in a tutu. 

Your laughter is hard to contain at the sight as you watched it dance on its fins to Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy, part of your favorite ballet to watch when you were younger. It splashes some water on you and you use your hands to cover your face. It’s then that you remember to count your fingers.

“One, two, three, four, five,” All five fingers. What time was it? You repeat the ritual that has been so ingrained in your head and when you notice that you only have four fingers on your second count, you know then that you have control over the dream. 

“Thank you for your entertainment tonight, my friend,” You wave goodbye to it as the scenery changes around you. 

You’re back out in nature. A low-hanging tree greets you instead and a white and red checkered blanket is laid before it. The blanket had a mighty spread of slices of bread, jams, cheeses, meats, and tea. You make your way over and sit on the soft blanket, slowly picking the foods to taste. The atmosphere was perfect and the wind blew the smell of fresh water into your nose from the nearby pond. Ducks and geese honk at each other in greeting as they swim by. 

Deeper in the picnic basket was more food, but you found them in pairs. Two sandwiches, two teacups, and two dessert cakes. You quizzically stare at them as you hold the two sandwiches, one in each hand. You didn’t eat that much, did you?

“I see that you have started without me,” A voice comments. 

You jump in your skin at the sudden intrusion and look up. You see a man, dressed in casual black with an impressive coat. 

“Isn’t it a bit too warm to wear such a long coat?” You ask instead. 

You don’t protest when he sits next to you and hand him a sandwich instead. He places the wrapped food gently on the ground before taking off his jacket. 

“Better?” He asks as he goes to grab his sandwich again. 

“Hmm,” You only hum in agreement and start to unwrap your own. It’s a few minutes of silent chewing before you realize how weird this is. “Wait, who are you?” 

“No one you haven’t met before,” He answers vaguely. His sandwich was left untouched except for the bread which he threw at the ducks near the pond. 

You chew slowly as you try to digest his answer. He pours you a cup of tea which you drink freely from, murmuring a thanks as he hands you the fine china. The smell of vanilla and peaches invades your senses as you sip on the sweet tea. The favor takes you by surprise at how wonderfully it paired with the sandwich. By the end of the picnic, you have learned two things, your mystery man was great company, and that carbs made you comatose. 

“Oh, my god. I don’t think I’ve ever eaten that much food in one sitting,” You sigh happily as you lay down on the blanket. Your head hits the hard ground and an idea sparks in you. 

Once again you pinch your fingers together and then bring your hands together. You intertwine and loop the golden strings that emit from your movements, much like an old childhood game of yours, Cat’s Cradle, and produce a small pillow. 

You place the pillow down and give it a good smack before laying down again. The sun envelopes you in a kind warmth that makes you smile. You see dancing shadows behind your eyelids when you close them to enjoy the moment. 

You hear rustling beside you and turn your head towards the man lying down beside you. He really was quite beautiful, something more than a man, perhaps a deity. He is lost in thought, almost, as he thinks about your abilities, but he keeps his thoughts to himself. 

“You have a great side profile, you know?” You don’t know why you said that, but rarely in dreams do you know why anything happens. 

Your comment makes him chuckle, a sound that you wish to hear again. It was light-hearted and pure, something that you wouldn’t expect to hear from someone who looked like him. You couldn’t help but laugh along, finding his happiness contagious. 

“Thank you,” He says when he is done laughing. 

When the giggles leave your body, you go back to relaxing and soon you doze off. The rest of the dream is peaceful and pure, no more nightmares to haunt you tonight. The Dream Lord looks at you fondly as the wind blows some of your hair astray, happy to assist you for once in his realm. As long as he is here, you won’t have to fight your demons on your own again. 

The next morning was the first time in a long time that you felt energized. The old coffee pot is nearly forgotten as you get ready to go on a morning walk, something you have done in a long while. Afterward, a shower, and then lunch with an old friend you haven’t seen in months. He had decided to drop by after his work allowed him to come into the city. 

You meet with Oliver at a local cafe and you order tea this time around, along with some soup and a side salad. The AC is on full blast as more and more people come into the small building. You were lucky to find Oliver already waiting for you at a small table by the large windows. He waves at you when you come close enough and then pushes his glasses back into place. 

“How have you been, Poppet?” He starts right off the bat with a smile, using the same nickname he’s been using since grade 3. That smile brings you back all the way to your younger days when you first met him as your new neighbor. 

You think briefly about possibly mentioning your horrid dreams to him but decide to skip it, seeing as you didn’t want to ruin the mood for today, not to mention the peaceful dream you had last night all but almost made you forget it in its entirety. 

“Oh, you know me, running around like a chicken with its head cut off.” You joke with a self-deprecating laugh. Your comment makes you realize that you have to go to work the next day and deal with annoying clients all over again. “Same shit, different day,” You mutter in conclusion. 

Both of your foods arrive just in time for you to ignore the glare he sent your way. Instead, you find fascination in the soup you choose, the same soup you had for the past three years of your life. 

“What brings you into town?” You ask as you pick apart the complimentary bread. 

“Work, of course. Though I never thought it would bring me to this place.” He gestures to the city around him. 

Oliver works as a farm veterinarian so, rarely, does he come into a large city where each piece of green is covered in concrete or chewed gum. And, of course, there are no farm animals around. He goes on to talk about a conference that he was invited to, something to do with the fight on farm animal antibiotics. You only nod along as you ate your lunch, your talents lie elsewhere but don't want to seem rude. 

Only scraps of your meal are left when the two decide that it is time to depart ways. 

“How long are you staying in the city?” You ask outside the cafe. The weather was almost perfect today, save for the slightly chilling wind that came every now and then. 

“About a week.” Oliver puts on his jacket and then pushes his round glasses back in place. 

“A week, huh?” You thought out loud before a smile came to your face. “You should come by the exhibit later this week. My client is showcasing their art, and going together would be fun.” 

“I’ll be there.” Oliver takes the business card you hand him, the heavy paper turns from warm white to gray as the sun disappears behind some clouds. 

Rain begins to drizzle and splatter on the card. 

“Aw, man. What?” You complain and put your jacket over your head as the rain continues to fall. “There wasn’t a rain forecast today,” You grumble to yourself. 

The two of you step under the cafe awning, the thin fabric providing little protection. 

“Do you want to stay at my place until the rain lets up? It’s just a few blocks from here.” You offer. 

“Lead the way, Poppet,” Oliver says with a smile. 

You smile back as you hype yourself to run through the rain. Thank god you wore sensible shoes today. With a squeal, you run in the direction of your apartment. You hear Oliver laughing behind you as he follows closely behind. Your laughter and giggles continue when you two find the comfort of your apartment and quickly turn up the thermostat when you get inside. 

“Wow, you’ve decorated the place nicely,” Oliver whistles his approval. 

He kindly sets his dripping jacket on the coat rack before you do the same and thank him. He shakes his head, much like a dog, you mused, to get rid of the water as his hair splays out from his actions. You, the more sensible one, simply wrung it out over the kitchen sink. 

“Yeah, if work can’t destress me why should my own home be?” You nodded along. 

The storm had raged harder ever since you got inside, the rain pelting on the window. If you didn’t have company over, you would’ve tossed all chores to the side and huddled up for a nap. Sleeping has been wonderful ever since you figured out lucid dreaming. 

“Poppet, you got a remote for this giant T.V, or what?” Oliver says as he pokes his hands between couch cushions. 

“Erm, yeah, somewhere on the T.V. stand.” Your comment was absent minded as you poke around in your small pantry for some snacks. 

Your eyes lock on packets of hot chocolate you didn’t know you had and what could be more perfect than a rainy day and hot chocolate with a friend? You squint at the box, looking for the expiration date. When you find it, and see that it’s been expired since last christmas, you pretend you don’t. 

There’s probably enough preservative to make the powdered drink last until the end of days, right? Plus who is throwing out food like this? In this economy? You scoff to yourself. 

“Want hot chocolate?” You ask, peeking at Oliver’s form in the living room. 

He stands in front of the T.V., hip slightly popped out to support himself with a hand on his hip and the other on the remote. The news comes on instead of your usual menu of different streaming services and a confused look takes over Oliver’s face when he turns around. 

“No, not that remote, the other one,” You laughed and went ahead to the fridge to warm up some milk anyway. 

“Which remote, you have, like, 13 for no reason!” He cries out exasperated but goes to the stand to find the correct remote.

The news continues to play and with nothing better to do, you listen in while you wait for your milk to warm up. 

“There has been a recent murder here in our lovely city and we encourage citizens to remain vigilant. The killer has not yet been caught and there is no pattern as to what kind of victims they take.” The news anchor speaks. 

“Oh, shit.” Oliver stops his search as he, too, starts listening in to the news. 

“Welcome to the city, I guess,” You shrug with a defeated sigh. The milk starts to shimmer before you turn off the stove. 

“Still, you should stay safe,” Oliver comments as he finally finds the correct remote, turning in to a streaming service and picking a light hearted movie. You’re mixing the chocolate powder, spoon clinking against the non-matching mugs, and when you don’t answer right away, Oliver presses again. “You will be safe, right?”

“Yes, mom,” You sarcastically groan. “I’ll be safe.”

“That’s my Poppet,” He chides, some of his accent slipping through, and sits down. He opens an arm for you to sit next to him before you hand him the hot chocolate that you made. 

“Careful, it’s ho-”

“JESUS!” Oliver exclaims as his face flies away from the mug. His shocked face makes your own burst out into laughter, so much so that you have to set down your mug so that you don’t spill it all over yourself. 

“Are you laughing at my pain?” Oliver jokes and pokes your sides.

The ticklish action only makes you laugh harder, if that was at all possible. Seeing your reaction, Oliver goes to poke you again, and you defend weakly as your laughing makes you all but weak. 

“Sto-stop, you’re going to make me pee,” You choke out between fits of giggles. Your hands were clenched to your sides as a last ditch effort to conceal your weak points. Your cheeks were starting to hurt and your smile was so wide that you couldn’t even open your eyes anymore. You were simply at the mercy of feeling true happiness.

Oliver eventually stops and the T.V. goes into a mandatory ad break (I mean, you’re not going to pay for no ads after already paying for the streaming service, let’s be real). Your energy is sapped out of you and you deflate into the couch with a satisfied sigh. 

“That was the first time tonight I heard you laugh that hard. Has the city been that mean to you?” Oliver asks, now cautiously sipping his drink. 

“The city is not mean, it’s just different than home,” You reply with a roll of your eyes. “I wouldn’t change it for anything though.”

Oliver hums in response, whipped cream stuck on his upper lips. You could tell he wanted to say more but decided to keep quiet instead. Eventually, the two of you fell into a comfortable and familiar silence as you watched the rest of the movie. 

You ended up crying at a particular scene and Oliver, same old Oliver, poked at you again to try and get you laughing. The rain still hasn't stopped and you’re glad to live on a higher floor of the apartment complex or else you would’ve had to worry about potential flooding. 

At the end of the day, you ended up cooking dinner for the two of you as well, convincing Oliver to stay and have a warm meal before going home alone. Especially considering the news about the killer on the loose. You’re on your third movie when the two of you finally finish your late dinner and you fall asleep on the couch against Oliver’s much warmer body. 

The body underneath you shifts and your eyes snap open. 

“Sorry, Oliver, didn’t mean to fall asleep on you,” You apologize before you’re completely awake. 

“It is nothing of note,” Someone else’s voice responds instead. 

You rub your eyes and take a closer look at him and are surprisingly greeted by your mystery man. He wears the same clothes as the last time you met, only this time it’s warranted as you feel the chilling wind brush against your prickling skin. Unconsciously you crawl closer to him again and he wraps a protective arm around your body. 

Looking around at your surroundings you notice that the two of you were huddled amongst the clouds. Stars and nebulas dance around the two of you in sparkling wonder. When you reach out your hand to touch a star and find it surprising when you are greeted with a cold feeling. Your hand snaps back quickly and you tuck it under your arms to quickly warm up. 

“Guess I’m dreaming again,” You comment nonchalantly and lean back. The clouds seem to know where to stop and you’re lying comfortably by the man’s side again. 

“Ever the perceptive one,” He responds back. 

“I didn’t know I could dream of something this… spectacular,” You think to yourself, taking the risk to rest your head on his shoulders. Besides momentarily stiffening under your touch, he doesn’t move away, something you took as a good sign. 

“You did not, I did,” He says slowly. 

“Hmm, it’s nice, thank you.” You close your eyes and enjoy his warmth. 

Besides you, the Endless smiles to himself at your compliment. To him, it was nothing more than the wave of his hand to gift you this dream. He would be lying to himself if he were to say he hasn’t been waiting for you to cross over to the Dreaming since your last dream. His fascination for your abilities grows stronger yet. 

Yet, he has created a beautiful enough dream that you didn’t find the need to change anything, something he takes pride in. Your waking world has left you tired and weary, and he is here to provide. A tugging sensation pulls at him and he remembers why he is here. 

“My Dreamweaver, I have something to tell you. You must listen carefully.” His words were calculated when he spoke. “You are in danger, be cautious.”

“What?” 

“This dream is over.”

You wake up in your bed with a dry mouth and a pounding headache. When you roll over to look at the glowing digital clock, it reads 3:00 AM. With a groan, you leave your warm bed to tread the treacherous cold apartment for a glass of water. 

You fill up a small cup with some water and notice that by your sink is a small note, scribbled in red crayon. Your tired eyebrows shoot up at the note and grimace at the atrocious handwriting that was undoubtedly Oliver’s.

“Poppet, I can’t find your pens but I found this crayon by the TV remotes Don’t worry I called a cab I won’t get murdered tonight cause I’m vigilant unlike some people Mwah, Oliver” 

That night, your mystery man didn’t visit you again. He only leaves his vague message that echoes in the empty chambers of your heads. You’re plagued with dreams of drowning and despite all you can do to take control of the nightmare, there is nothing you can do but subject yourself to the violent, crashing waves. To constantly inhale gallons of gallons of salty water, to feel your muscles tired out, to feel yourself lose control. 

Your only salvation throughout the week was seeing Oliver again at the art exhibit. The murders haven’t stopped and it’s gotten enough traction for everyone in the office to talk about it, too. Yet, you could turn to your dreams instead to find relief. 

The man clad in black follows you still into your dreams, any mention of his message is quickly shut down or ignored completely. At the end of the day, you don’t mind, his company is more than enough to make your dreams sweet. He accompanies you through wildflower fields and stardust skies, he brushes your hair by the seashore and tells you the myths of old. Each day is a new dream and brings forth a reason to keep going. 

“A few nights ago,” He starts as he watches you gently touch the petals of a flower made of snow and glass. You turn to him expectantly and urge him to continue silently. “You did not call for me when you were having that nightmare.”

It takes a few moments for you to realize he was talking about your drowning nightmare. The one you so “wonderfully” had after an amazing time in the swirling cosmos. You begin to walk again, your shoes making no noise against the cold snow. The man follows beside you, face tilted towards yours in anticipation. His question had been burning at the back of his mind since it happened and he held on, barely, for the answer. 

“You can’t really scream when you’re drowning.” Your lousy excuse comes out and even you flinch at the words. 

You don’t dare to look at him, knowing the disappointed look he was surely giving you. Everyone knows that anything is possible when you dream, even more when you can lucid dream. After a very pregnant pause you give you real reason. 

“I don’t know your name, how would I call out for you, my sweet mystery man.”

It’s now that he stops walking and after a few steps, you too pause and turn to look at him. In the cold mountains of your dream, the snow is stark in contrast to his ebony form. It is here that you recognize how different he was, like the snow pulls away from any distractions and you look at him, really look at him. The facade of just a man falls away, and within, you see a being beyond your comprehension, held together by sheer will. You were right, he was more than mortal, more than a god, something more in every sense. 

“I am Dream of the Endless,” He says, voice slow, calculated and raspy as he closes the gap between the two of you. “I am the very dream you are in, the voice inside your head, the person you think you’ve met before while walking the street.”

You’re very aware of how close he was to you now, to see the precipitation of his breath, and the way his eyes are never truly one color. His form keeps the winter chill away from your body, warming the very spot you stood in where snow turns into sunlight and the ground beneath you turns to soft valley grass and wildflowers made of toffee candy and sour rope candy. 

“Would you really have come if I called for you?” You ask timidly, head turned down and away from his gaze. 

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You say with a smile, cheeks crinkling your eyes as you look at him again. All Dream could think about was making a sun that shines as brightly as you. 

Your dreams seem to start leaping out into your waking life as the words of the Endless follow you. Every now and then you would notice a flurry of black and alabaster skin in the peripheral of your vision, but when you go to look it’s nothing but a chair, or a stack of books. His familiar face haunts you when you space out on the bus ride home, or when you’re simply walking down the street and someone bumps into you that just barely looks like him.

Each time you shake your head no, it was impossible, he was only a dream. 

The night before the exhibit, Oliver gives you a text message that explains that he would need to be picked up from another location. A client had called him for an at-home euthanasia early in the morning right before the exhibit. You agreed and were sent an address. You brush your teeth and wash your face before turning into bed, sleep coming easily. 

Your dream starts, as always, with you counting your fingers. Then you look at your watch, and then you count your fingers again. Your clock had 5 hands instead of two and with control over the dream, you find yourself standing in an Asian inspired pergola surrounded by water for miles around. The only sounds that accompany you are the sound of the sloshing water and the wind’s percussion between the mountain cracks. 

You sit on the wooden flooring, cooled by the water, and inhale the scent of fresh water. You bring your fingers together, just like always, and watch as the golden strings move with your movement, producing a pouch of fish food. Large koi fish swim beneath you and you run a finger across the water’s surface and watch with a small smile as they chase your fingers as you sprinkle some of the golden kibble along the water's surface. A koi leaps up and bites your finger and the sharp pain flings your arm away from the water. 

“Ow, what the hell?” You frown and look at your finger, the pouch dispersing into gold dust. Pressing into the digit allows blood to leak from the wound. You don’t have time to think about it when your alarm blares at you and you wake. 

Your day starts in a rush, slamming your hand over the off button of the alarm clock. You skiddy your way into your bathroom, brushing your teeth, combing your hair and doing your makeup. Your outfit was ready on the door of your bedroom. The casual formal wear was perfect for the day ahead. Comfortable but respectable and easily spotted if someone were to come looking for you. 

You look at your watch before briskly walking out the door, a few minutes ahead of schedule and traffic. When you arrive at the house Oliver had told you to, you stand outside the door as you hear murmuring from inside the door. You remember why Oliver was here in the first place and slowly lean against the wall to wait for him. 

“He was the most perfect dog, he was loved, he was cared for. And it gives me great honor that you allow me to ease his suffering so he may continue to run in the never ending fields of the afterlife.” Oliver’s voice carries through the thin wall. 

Sobbing follows after and hushes of comfort as the dog passes in the arms of the owner. Uncomfortable that you were involuntarily eavesdropping in such a private conversation you start to play with your hands, picking at the nails and the cuticles around them. It’s now that you see, with a quickening heartbeat, a closed over wound on your finger. When you run your thumb over it, the pain long since subdued, you are reminded of a feisty koi bite from a certain dream. 

Was it real then? The dream, or merely the pain?

“Ah, Poppet, you’re here already,” Oliver’s whisper pulls you out of your thoughts slowly. “Is your finger hurt?” He notices and reaches for your hand.

“No,” You say quickly, perhaps too quickly, and move your hands away. “It’s just a scratch. Shall we go?” You turn before you give him a chance to answer. 

The exhibit, while productive, was blanketed over by a feeling of grief and melancholy. Your artist was soaking in the praises of success, but you find yourself sticking by Oliver’s side, drinking mimosas hoping the little alcohol could erase the uneasiness in your throat. Your finger gives phantom pains now and then, reminding you of the breaking cracks between dreams and real life. 

It’s only noon and you’re exhausted, giving the keys to Oliver to drive you back to your place. As if to taunt you even more, the elevator was down for repairs and so arm in arm, you and Oliver make your way up the seven sets of stairs until you reach your own apartment. 

“Oh my God, I can taste blood,” You whine, leaning all of your weight onto Oliver by the fifth floor. He, on the other hand, could not have looked more pristine. 

“When was the last time you exercised?” He chuckles as he lets you rest for a moment. 

You groan as your hand grasps onto the worn metal railing. “I briskly walked to my car this morning,” Your voice is gravelly and hoarse as you use your arm to continue upwards. “After the elevator ride down to the main floor.”

“Good grief, woman,” He jests. “We need to get you to the gym.” 

“Over my dead body,” You huff as you make your way again, steps heavy and stomping, the sound echoing in the empty chamber. 

The barren of your door gave you the last bit of energy to finish. The sight of your couch was enough for you to flop onto it and simply wish to perish. You’re breathing heavily out of your mouth, face to the ceiling and bounce when Oliver sits down next to you with exaggeration. 

“Don’t be dramatic,” Oliver teases, barely winded by the seven flights of stairs. You on the other hand felt like you had just come from a week at sea with nothing but a row boat and canned crackers. 

“I’m going to go shower, do you want to stay for lunch?” You ask, already halfway to your room after you caught your breath. 

“No, I’ve got my own thing to do, packing mostly.” You hear Oliver’s voice from the bathroom. You turn on the water to let it warm up and peek out of your bedroom. “Alright, I’ll see you off in a few days, yeah?” 

Oliver’s outside your door and the sudden proximity makes you jump in your skin. 

“Geez, you scared me. I thought you were still in the kitchen,” You say behind a small laugh. 

“I’m going to head out, alright? But yeah, let’s meet one more time before I leave later this week.” Oliver smiles and pokes your forehead. 

“Sounds good,” You agree, staring at the finger. 

“Stay safe out there, Poppet.” He waves and goes for the door. “I’ve got a cab waiting for me downstairs.”

You use the shower to cleanse yourself of not only the physical properties of today, and more importantly the sweat you accumulated walking up the steps, but also the more emotional toil. The warm water seemingly soaking up all of your depressive thoughts. It runs down the water and out the drain, and you feel lighter when you step out. 

You’re drying your hair with your towel when you see the brown square that is Oliver’s wallet sitting on your couch - opening it and seeing his ID card clarifies it. You groan as you know that he can’t get anywhere without his wallet, especially if he wants to leave. 

An internal debate was settled with going to his place before you pick something up for dinner. You place the wallet by your keys near the front door and make yourself some lunch, and put some much needed laundry into the washer while it cooks. You watch a small episode while you eat before returning to your work laptop and answering emails. 

The day goes by quickly and the rumbling of your stomach tells you that it’s time for dinner and more importantly, returning Oliver’s wallet. You redress in the same clothes you wore earlier that day, deciding to just deal with the high heels as any other shoe wouldn’t tie in well with your outfit, and you were not going to go out looking anything less than put together. 

How lucky you were when you walked down the hall to find the elevator back in operation. Down, down you went, seven flights of stairs to the parking garage. The echoing beep of your car tells you where Oliver had parked for you and you climb in. 

Traffic was a pain in the ass and you couldn't take another slow minute during dinner rush. Beeps and honks accompany you all the way to Oliver’s home and it takes a solid 45 minutes to travel 10 miles. You knock on Oliver’s door and you don’t know why but you’re nervous. There wasn’t an answer and you knocked again. Nothing. The door is unlocked and with a shrug to yourself you enter. 

All of the lights were turned off when you entered, fumbling about to turn on the lobby light near the door. The rented home was much bigger than your medium apartment and you seriously start to regret your career choice. 

“Oliver?” You call out, taking off your shoes and putting them aside. 

No answer.

“Ollieeee…” You sing out as you make your way further into the house. You drop the wallet on the dining room table and still nothing. You knew he was here, somewhere, the rental car he had was still in the driveway when you pulled up.

You bring out your phone, about to call him, when a small noise directs you to a staircase that leads downstairs and you make your way into the finished basement. When you open the door, something you never thought you would see greets you instead. Yes, Oliver was there but so was another woman. She’s tied down to a wooden table and you think you’re interrupting something if it wasn’t for the way her teary eyes snap towards you. Despair is washed out with a small glint of hope as her trembling hand reaches for you. 

“Help me,” She pleads. 

Oliver calls your name, almost breathlessly, and walks closer to you. In his hand holds a small knife, blood already smeared on the glinting metal. He greets you with a smile, but your attention is on the woman on the table. 

“Please.” She sobs again. 

You’re numb, on the brink of hyperventilation, and you’re sure that if you had gotten dinner before coming here you would’ve thrown up all over the vinyl flooring. 

“Oliver,” You gulp down as you take a step back.

He advances with another step, knife still in hand as the blood drips down onto the floor. He approaches you like a predator to scared prey, and he wouldn’t be wrong. His weaponless hand wraps around your wrist, warm and alive just like all of the other times he has done since you became friends all those years ago. 

“Come here.” He guides you closer. “This is our guest, Poppet.” He introduces. 

The woman squirms against her restraints and cusses. “Stop calling me Poppet, my name is fucking Alora, let me go!”

Oliver guides you closer and then slinks behind you, using his body to trap you from the exit. From this distance you can see the cuts and bruises Alora endured and you lean away in denial. Bile crawls up from the bottom of your throat begging to be released, it’s acidity painful to swallow. Alora’s tear stains seem permanent as another one follows its path as she watches the two of you lean over her. 

“Let.. let her go,” You say with a shaky breath. It’s the opposite of assertive, the opposite of a demand.

Oliver sighs behind you and slams the blade down on the table and both you and Alora flinch at the sudden noise. He laughs behind you, the breath tickling the nape of your neck. 

“I thought we could… share her,” He responds. You feel his lips on the junction of your neck and your body trembles again. 

“Share… her,” You echo.

This wasn’t real, there was no way this was real. No, you were definitely dreaming, Oliver took you home and then after your shower you fell asleep. He never left his wallet at your place. Oliver heals, he would never… 

You look down at your fingers, they’re shaking but still countable. One, two, three, four, five. You look at your watch, and with dread you notice that everything is in its place. One, two, three, four, five. It’s still the right time. One, two, three, four, five. 

“A dream, this has to be a dream. A nightmare.” You lie to yourself. Your thumb presses into each of your fingers and to your dismay, there are still five. 

You look down at Alora again, her eyes wide and begging and her fingers go to grab at you. 

“Ah, ah, none of that.” Oliver notices and pushes her fingers away from the two of you. 

His attention turns back to you again. “What do you think of it?” He asks, his hands resting on your hips and to your further disgust inhales your scent. 

“What do I think of it?” You echo again except this time it was more harsh, judgemental as it should be. 

Oliver scoffs and leaves your side. He walks to the other side of the table, knife back in hand as he points it to Alora’s face. 

“Look at Poppet here, notice anything?”

That’s when you look at her, really look at her. At first you didn’t see it, or maybe your mind was simply trying to prevent you from seeing it, but under Oliver’s scrutinizing gaze you notice with teary eyes. Her hair was the same color as yours, so were her eyes, they even mimicked the way yours were shaped. Her lips curled just like yours as they’re upturned in agony. 

“I think I’m going to be sick,” You gag, your hand flies to cover your mouth as you dry heave. 

“No, don’t be, my sweet Poppet,” Oliver comes to you again and holds your face steady. His eyes have always been like they are now, caring, soft, non-dangerous, but seeing his actions made you doubt everything. “Here, you can watch for the first time instead, how about that?”

“Wh-what?” You gape and he pulls away from you. He places the knife over Alora’s throat and her sobbing and pleas grow louder. 

“NO!” You scream and go to reach for the knife, unsure where the sudden bravery comes from. But, it’s too late, he slices, you feel the way his muscle moves under your palm, how it grips the blade, how it ticks when it kills.

The blood sprays and decorates you in its red and sticky liquid and you’re left stunned. Beneath you, you hear as Alora chokes on her own blood as her body trashes as a last ditch effort of escape. Oliver looks at you with a smile, his white shirt decorated just like yours. He looks at you with adoration and something like pride as he places the knife down and comes to you again. 

“You look even more beautiful in red, Poppet,” He compliments, but it falls on deaf ears. His lips press to yours in a one sided kiss and you weakly push back. “Let me clean everything up and then I’ll take care of you, okay?”

You stand still as you watch him, rag in hand as he begins to clean. 

“You were the most perfect person, you were loved, you were cared for. And it gives me great honor that you allow me to ease your suffering so you may continue to live free in the never ending fields of the afterlife.” Oliver’s familiar eulogy snaps you out of your shock, if not for a brief moment. 

It’s enough for you to run out the door, adrenaline blazes down your spine and pumps to all of your limbs. The door almost flies off its hinges as you open it into the dark night. You don’t know where you’re going to go, but anywhere is better than here. 

“Poppet! Wait!” Oliver screams behind you and he’s fast to catch you. 

Your bare feet scrap across the concrete sidewalk as your vision blurs with salty tears. You trip into an alleyway and sob, your pristine clothes now covered in dirt and blood, and you hear the crack of your watch as it breaks under the fall. At the edges of your mind, a small girl with wild and colorful hair peeks at you in fishnets, the world warps, distorting the difference between reality and delirium. 

A moment of clarity comes to you as you remember something. It tries to fall between the crevices of your mind but you grab onto it and hold it close. 

“Would you really have come if I called for you?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.”

“Dream,” You cry out into the darkness. Oliver finds you on the ground and his arms pick you up. “No, no, let go of me!” 

The man clad in black doesn’t show his face and you beat yourself over it, because of course he doesn’t. It was just a dream. This is reality. Despite it all, you try one more time. A name falls on your tongue, one you didn’t previously know. 

“Morpheus!” You scream and the calling echoes in the suburban neighborhood. 

Oliver pays you no mind and hoists you onto his shoulders. You’re pounding at his back but his muscles never falter. He walks back with heaving breaths to his house when he is suddenly stopped and drops you. You unceremoniously roll and then sit quickly to run away again. You’re stopped short at the sight. 

In front of Oliver stands a man, his form fuzzy at the sides and blends in to the night around them. He wears a helm made of bones, accompanied by a bright ruby necklace, and a leather pouch of sand. 

“Dream?” You question and his gaze turns to you. You can’t see his eyes past the large bug-like design of the helm, but you know he sees you. 

“Who the hell are you?” Oliver sneers at him.

Dream doesn’t reply and instead he shrinks back into the shadows and wisps around until he stands in front of you. You hide behind his back as he protects you from Oliver. 

“Hey, get away from my Poppet.” Oliver takes a step forward but is stopped by Dream’s words. 

“Be quiet,” He commands. It’s two words, but it renders him speechless. “I turn you into prey. Your judgment upon you is to be hunted. Even after you wish for death, you will form into another and be hunted again. This is my gift to you, Oliver Barlowe, make good use of it.”

The curse is etched in stone as he speaks. He pours from his leather pouch and sand falls between his fingers. He curls then unfurls them before blowing the particles into Oliver’s face. You watch with horror as his form shrinks under the swirling sand and he turns into a shrew. He runs into the grass, his brown fur lost amongst the foliage. 

“Hello, my Dreamweaver,” He whispers and crouches to your height on the cold concrete. He extends a patient hand and you grab hold. “Come, nightmares shall hunt you no further.” 

“You came,” You say, still in disbelief as he helps you stand. 

“I kept my promise. I do not break such vows, ever.” His fingers gently wipe away the tears from your face. 

"You're real," You whisper, still not believing that he stands before you.

His fingers trace across your bottom lip as he comes closer to you still. Dream doesn't say anything, he simply soaks in your presence, drawn to you in a way neither of you could comprehend. His fingers still trace your face, running over your nose and the apple of your cheekbones.

You feel the swirling of sand around your feet and the world changes around you. You’re in the meadows again, surrounded by flowers made of snow and glass, and you see the cabin your grandfather built. Dream sits you down on a white and red checkered picnic blanket with two glasses of lemonade. 

“Will you stay?” You ask as you grab the cool glass cup of lemonade. Your gaze turns to the sweet yellow drink and you rub the smooth glass as a way of calming yourself. 

“Yes.”

“Okay.” You smile. 

Alsooooo, very inappropriate use of being a veterinarian, we don't kill people and we don't make that much money, sigh

My Sandman comics came and they're so heavy... Second also, Comic Dream is such a mood

Maybe a more lighthearted fic for next time, hmm?

♡ Yours, Layla

[fantasyandshit]

Replaced part two

Omg I’m so upset- it won’t let me tag like anyone with dashes in their name at allll soooo if you commented on that post I am so so so sorry I couldn’t tag you guys

Type: one shot turned more

Part: 2/2

Part 1 here

Masterlist here

Pairing: Azriel x reader/ mystery character x reader

Seriously guys thank you so much- I’m so glad that the first part had so much love and I hope this one is just as good.

“So, what did you need my love?” I lean down to kiss my fiancés temple. He’s stressed, I can tell. His fingers tap away in rhythm with his foot. “Baby- what’s going on? Why are you so stressed?” My hands run down the length of his arms in a soothing motion. “How can I help you?”

The new high lord of autumn’s head meets my shoulder, a small smile gracing his lips. His head raises till his lips meet mine in a soft kiss. “Baby I need you to sit down.” His smile disappears as soon as it came and I frown, moving to the seat on the other side of his desk. I raise my brows expectantly as his hands move to reach mine. “Love- we have a high lords meeting in two weeks time. They have requested it be held here in order to see how I’m handling the court now.”

“Ok? And?”

“Darling I want to introduce you as the new high lady of Autumn. I want you come along.” He sighs, “it means you will have to see all of them again.”

The realization hits me like a ton of bricks. I breath for a moment, thinking about it, it’s been nearly five years since I left, the last time I saw any of them was the battle with Hybern, and even then Eris kept me mostly away from them so that I wasn’t distracted. “I’ll go.”

“Are you sure darling?”

“Very. I want them to see me as the high lady of autumn. Not the girl that left all that time ago.”

He smirks his signature smirk, pride filling his eyes. “Very well. Shall we begin planning?”

———

Everyone has finally arrived- or what is usually everyone, confusion sets in as Eris seems to sit in waiting, an empty chair beside him at the head of the table. “Are we waiting for someone Eris?”

“Yes actually. Shell be here any moment, she likes making an entrance.” Something bothers Azriel with the way the high lord smirks. He didn’t know who was going to walk through that door but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like it.

The door swings open, a woman stepping through, decked in a gorgeous burnt orange dress, green and gold accents around her body, a golden crown, one looking like leaves woven together rests on her head. As her eyes catch Eris’ she smiles. “Sorry I’m late. Hope you haven’t started without me.” She surveys the room before stepping towards the empty seat. Eris stands, going to pull it out with one hand and take hers on his other. The pause for a moment, facing the table together.

“Everyone. I’d like you to meet my fiance and the high lady of the Autumn court. Some of you may already know her.”

As the female turns to kiss Eris, it clicks for Azriel. “Yn.” He can’t help but gasps and that is when it finally hits the inner circle of the night court.

“Hello guys. Long time no see.”

Cassian speaks this time, his brows furrowed and mouth agape, “you- your with him? Your the high the high lady?”

“Yes, in fact our wedding is next month. I am terribly excited. Especially after being named the high lady of Autumn.” She and Eris sit finally, hands staying tied together

An agony Azriel has never felt tears through him as he stares at his mate. She looks back to him as he gasps, clenching his chest wildly.

“Azriel. I’d like to get through my first meeting as high lady. So if you could stop…flailing. That would be preferred.” Yn clears her throat before turning to the others at the table. “I’ve seen some things. I see Koshei. I thought we took care of our issues with him, however I-“

The meeting continues, the night court still trying to process the news. After the meeting is finished, the high lords are given a walk through of the new Autumn court. “Yn. Yn can we speak please.” It was towards the end of the tour, courts had been led to where they’d be staying, only the inner circle trailed behind, minus Morrigan and Cassian who had been dropped off to their respective rooms.

I choose to ignore the shadowsinger, instead stopping at the next door and turn back to Rhysand and Feyre, “You two will be staying here. This castle works much like the house of wind. It will cater to you, we do tend keep things much warmer here for obvious reasons so if you are uncomfortable with the temperature just say the word and it will be brought down by the house.”

“Goodnight Yn.” I nod before turning back to lead the final male to where he’d be staying, Eris never leaving my side. We barely make it three steps down the hall before I feel Rhsyand pry at my mental walls.

‘What do you want Rhysand.’

‘You should talk to him Yn. He’s been devastated since you left and see you with Eris killed him I-‘

I shut it down. I don’t want to hear some sob story from my mate who didn’t even want me till I was gone. “You will be staying here Azriel. What I said to Rhysand and Feyre goes the same for you.”

Me and Eris turn to leave before I’m grabbed by the arm. “Wait. Yn can we please just talk.”

Eris growls. “Get your filthy hands off my fucking finance.”

The shadowsinger seems to get just as upset, opening his mouth to speak before I rip my arm from his grasp and turn, a glare resting on my features.

“Don’t you fucking dare! You have no right- no fucking right to get angry at my fiancée! Do you understand, you didn’t want me and I don’t fucking want you so go wallow in your self pity but stay the hell away from me!” Eris rubs soothing circles on my arm, a glare that could kill sent towards the shadowsinger as he grabs me, winnowing us to our room.

—————

Sooo I hope this lives up to your guys’ expectations!

[runningfrom2am]

in this life or the next

summary: It's the seventy-fifth annual Hunger Games, and you were just unlucky enough to get picked; but lucky enough for this Quarter Quell to feature pre-selected teams. You get paired up with District One's pride and joy, the one and only Rafe Cameron.

pairing: rafe x fem!reader

wc: 15k (oh my LORD)

tags/warnings: its the hunger games so like... yeah... violence and gore and stuff. definitely swearing, spoilers for the og Hunger Games movie I guess (but also not bc i changed it up a bit- you'll see), reader has a special talent that i won't spoil here, Rafe is lowkey a dick at the beginning, Ward being a shitty dad (what's new). also this isn't thoroughly edited bc.. its 15k words and i'm lazy.

masterlists // nav // requests

join my taglist here

a/n: hello lovelies!! oh my gosh i have been slowly chipping away at this for actual literal months, and i am so proud of how it turned out!! i’m really glad i could finally post it by my birthday!! (i’m 23 wtf??)

thank you so much if you're going to put in the time to read this, but it honestly means a lot to me that you've made it this far. reblogs and likes would be so appreciated and let me know your thoughts in the replies! i really, really hope you guys enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it. let me know if you want a part two of what happens post games, bc i think i left it at a minor baby sized cliffhanger. anyway, i’m off to eat cake now! enjoy!

Staring blankly out at the crowd in front of you, you attempt to process the echoing of your heartbeat in your ears.

"I'd like us to give a round of applause for our brave, brave tributes this year, and wish them the best of luck in this year's quarter quell!" Your attention is drawn to the woman next to you, the District Five escort, Opal, dressed head to toe in bright yellow. A universally happy color- what a joke.

The crowd is mostly silent and you can't bear the thought of even glancing in the direction of your parents. You turn silently as you're ushered back into the building from the stage, tripping slightly over your feet as the shock sets in. People are talking, possibly to you, but you can hardly hear a thing. You almost made it. You were almost eighteen- one more year and you would have been free.

You were granted the briefest of goodbyes to your family, but you were tempted to even turn that down. An action you regret not taking as your parents walk into the room, your mother with tears already coating her cheeks and your father trying to keep a strong resolve for you and your siblings.

"We'll see you soon, Bug. Remember we love you," He whispers into your hair as you sob into his shoulder. You know he doesn't necessarily mean in this lifetime.

Your tunnel vision settles back in as you're walked out of the room, glancing one last time over your shoulder only to see your dad's shoulders shaking from his silent cries as he turns his back to you.

You are quickly pushed onto the train taking you out of District Five, ignoring the other three tributes and your mentors as they talk. You just stare out the window with tired, red eyes and say a silent goodbye to the home you're already sure you'll never see again.

"Y/N..?" The girl next to you says, tapping you on the shoulder and making you jump.

"Hm?" You hum your acknowledgment, looking at the girl beside you. She's only a year older than you, and you went to school together for years; Maisie, you remember.

"I just wanted to make sure you hear them," Maisie whispers, gesturing to Opal as she starts to explain what the premise of the games is this year.

"So," she claps her hands together, clad in tacky yellow gloves. "I'm sure you have noticed that this year there are four of you, and you'll each be paired up with another tribute to compete. Not necessarily from your own District, but, anything is possible, I suppose. The exciting news is that there's a possibility for two winners this year! You and your teammate will be given a score throughout the games, and if your score as the final two is above ten, you will both be crowned victors!" The woman says excitedly- like it's a good thing.

"And if we don't have over ten?" The boy sitting across from you asks flatly.

"Well... the games shall continue," Opal explains vaguely, but you know what that means. You've seen it before.

"Okay, well, how do we get a good score?" The boy asks.

"I-" The escort starts, hesitance clear in her tone as she's quickly interrupted.

"You kill people," Your female mentor answers. She's leaning her elbows on the end of the table, standing with a knife in her hand, spinning it around like it's some kind of toy.

Your eyes drop from her form, staring down at the table in front of you, suddenly remembering your glass of water and quickly grabbing it when you realize your mouth has gone completely dry just from the idea of what's to come.

You arrive at the Capitol in the middle of the night and despite this fact, the crowds are still there. You didn't expect this, even though you've seen it on the beat-up television in your living room every year. It feels less real, somehow, when you're the one getting pushed through the crowd, not knowing what to do besides give awkward smiles to people yelling your name.

Your room is beautiful. You've never seen anything like this, but you can fully customize it at will with a remote, and this level of technology fascinates you. You spend hours flicking through different images that can appear on the walls, surrounding you in another world. Exhaustion and the sound of an artificial thunderstorm put you to sleep with the remote still resting in your palm.

"Up, up, up, my dear! We've got a big day ahead!" Opal's cheery voice startles you awake from your less-than-cozy spot on the floor. "There's breakfast on the table then we've got to get you down to prep, so hurry up, please." She says, and just like that she's gone, no doubt off to wake the other District Five tributes in a similar fashion.

"You're going to be meeting your teammates for the first time today so you can train together- gosh isn't that just so exciting!" Opal claps as you all stand in the elevator. There's a silence that follows as you and Maisie just nod, not excited about the whole idea. You're about to meet someone who will either be spending the last days of your life with you, or be killing you themselves, and you're not fond of either.

"This way you'll get to train together first, which I do believe to be a very generous act on behalf of the game makers." She adds, making you roll your eyes. How considerate. The most you can hope for is someone who is capable, and preferably someone who isn't in the twelve to fifteen age range, having seen that there were several drawn from different districts.

You shift on your feet as you try to adjust to the uncomfortably tight catsuit they squeezed you into, covered in what must be sapphire and diamond rhinestones, pinching your skin with every slight movement. Gold accents line the seams of the suit, extending out into something that resembles wings and lightning bolts protruding from your back. District Five; power. You get it, but we're the diamonds necessary? You hardly take note of the varying outfits you're surrounded with from the other kids in your district, before Opal is guiding the four of you up the line of extravagant carriages you're meant to parade out on for the people of the Capitol to fawn over.

You take note of where all of the other tributes from Five are lead, guessing based on the order of carriages that Maisie got paired up with another girl from Eleven, and the boys somehow ended up paired together. There must be some sort of personal aspect to this decision, considering you have watched those two boys fight back home. You're last, and Opal looks at you excitedly as you follow her up, and up, and up- to the very front of the line.

"Surprise!" She grins, clapping excitedly as you approach the very first carriage. "Y/N, getting paired with a career is huge. Your odds are good already, your partner has trained his whole life- he even volunteered."

"Sucks for him." You mutter under your breath as you get closer, eyeing up the boy in front of you, wearing an almost matching outfit. All the rhinestones make sense now, blending power with luxury could only mean as much.

"Y/N Y/L/N, meet Rafe Cameron. He'll be your teammate in the games." She smiles as she introduces you.

"Hi." You say quietly, taking his hand as he holds it out to you to help you up onto the carriage.

"Hey." He mutters, avoiding your gaze. It's off to a rough start for him for sure, seeing he's being paired up with someone from an outlying district must be daunting, when for you it should be exciting. Rafe did volunteer, yes, but he doesn't want to risk any kind of attachment- despite what the people of the Capitol want for their entertainment. He wants to come out alive, he doesn't care so much about who he's with.

"Okay, Y/N, remember to smile, please." Opal reminds you and you nod, looking down at her as you hold onto the handle in front of you.

You promise her with a nod, willing to do almost anything at this point to win the favour of possible sponsors. Again, your odds look better next to a career on that front, as well.

Quickly everyone is cleared away from the horses and the carriages and you start moving, catching you off guard and you stumble a little, readjusting your grip on the railing. "Careful." Rafe says beside you, quick to reach out to steady you if you needed it. You think you see the smallest of smiles on his face, but that must have just been your own mind trying to find comfort in anything around you.

"I got it." You whisper, blushing slightly. You've been with your teammate for all of a minute, and you're already proving yourself to be clumsy.

The lights hit your eyes the same time all the cheering does, being the first carriage, it's already so loud you can hardly hear yourself think. You snap out of it quickly, plastering on a smile once you see your own face on a giant screen ahead of you, you don't even look like yourself anymore. Your eyes land on the screen adjacent to the one showing you, seeing Rafe as well. He's smiling too, clearly having headed Opal's advice, or his many years of training is getting to him and he's excited. You really don't know. Then his head turns, and you turn your head as well, making dead eye contact with him for only a moment before he's looking past you into the crowds, taking in the moment.

When you finally get out of the extremely public eye and back into the building you exited from, you feel like you can finally breathe again. Not fully, in the tight, rigid suit they had you dressed up in, but more than you realized you were with all that yelling in your ears and lights in your face.

"District Five, right?" Rafe asks you as you're both stepping down and you nod. "Jeez, you don't talk much, do you?" He follows up with, taking a water bottle from someone who's walking by with them.

"I talk." You reply quietly. "Just... not much to talk about at the moment."

"The shock? Yeah, that'll do it." He nods, taking a sip from the water bottle and holding it out to you. You shake your head and push it away, making him shrug. "Shitty bust when you're not a volunteer."

You just stare at him, taken off guard by the comment. "That being said..." He leans in closer to make sure no one else hears. "I've been waiting my whole life for this, so don't ruin it for me, yeah?"

You pull back away from him and just nod again, not wanting to get on his bad side already. He won't be the one to kill you, probably, but it would still be nice if you spent your final days without your teammate hating your guts. "Thanks, darling." He smirks, patting your shoulder and brushing past you to go to the elevators.

The next day, bright and early yet again, you have your first day of training. You're sure Rafe won't even need it, but you certainly will. Your mentor told you he will likely be using it to size up the other tributes, especially considering there is a staggering amount of them this year, and you will need to focus on survival skills. Only survival skills, if you had to pick one thing- and your mentor drove that into your head until it was all that was echoing in your mind when you entered the training center.

After the trainers speech which ironically tried to do the same thing, you beeline straight for the fire making station. You're shocked to see almost no one else listened, definitely none of the boys, mostly lining up to show off their physical strengths, likely to try and intimidate each other. You'd be lying if you said it wasn't working.

You look up as you hear echoing laughter coming from the other side of the room, eyes scanning over the wall lined with silhouette targets, and racks with an array of weapons before landing on your teammate, laughing away with the other career tributes over a joke you didn't hear. He's got a spear in one hand, leaning his weight on it as his head drops back with laughter. You shake your head to get back on task, rolling the rough wood in your palms in hopes of making a spark. Good to see at least one of you is having fun, especially in your final days.

After a few minutes you get it, sitting back into your calves where you were kneeling on the ground, taking a breath of relief as you're satisfied with your success. You glance around to see how others are doing, giving a small smile and wave to Maisie when you see her, reading a book about different edible plants and trying desperately to memorize every image. You watch as Rafe takes the same spear he was leaning on before, hurling towards one of the targets. A direct hit, right in the chest, slightly right of the centre. You jump a little at the sound it makes on impact, looking finally at the boy who threw it.

He's pacing, huffing and looking a little frustrated with himself. A little to the left would have been perfect, but it was a kill shot nonetheless. There would be no coming back from that, and you count yourself lucky that it likely won't be you in place of the target in the games.

You quickly put out your fire and try again, making sure you've got the hang of it. You'll sit here all day if you must. After three more successful attempts, you're satisfied for the day, deciding you'll return to that station tomorrow and try again. You get up and brush the dirt off your knees, trekking over to where they have supplies to make game traps. You've never done this before, but there's no better time to learn, especially since your teammate has shown no interest in survival skills so far today.

"What are you doing?" Suddenly Rafe is standing behind you, as you're once again kneeling on the ground attempting to get the trigger on your bladeless trap to work.

You jump a little, startled by someone talking to you. "Uh, trying to make a snare, I think." You answer, turning to look up at him.

"Looks good." He nods, crouching down next to you. "Uh, isn't there supposed to be a blade or a spearhead or something on that piece?" He says, pointing to it.

"Well, yeah, I just didn't want to stab myself by accident." You laugh slightly, trying the trigger again- and this time it works, snapping forward into his arm.

"Ouch, yeah, fair enough." Rafe chuckles, rubbing the spot on his arm where the wood made contact.

You just nod and begin to reset it to test it again. "What if you can't get any of this shit in the arena?" He asks.

"What, a stick?" You ask, hitting the trigger one more time, sending the stick into his arm again, which he had decided not to move.

"Ow! Yes, a stick. We don't know what it will look like." He rubs his arm, examining the trap you built closer now.

"Then we're screwed I guess." You joke, leaning back on your calves again, watching him dissect it piece by piece to figure out how it works.

"So, is this like, your thing?" Rafe asks, and you tilt your head at him as you think it over.

"My thing?" You ask, unsure entirely what he meant. "I've never made one before, if that's what you're asking."

"Really?" He seems shocked by this.

"Uh, yeah, really. Unfortunately for you, you got paired up with someone who has zero survival or combat skills."

Rafe looks at you, a smug grin crossing his features. "Ha ha, very funny." He clearly thinks you're joking, but you're definitely not.

"I'm serious." You say, confused as to why he doesn't believe you.

His smile falters, replaced with wrinkles of confusion on his forehead. "But- I just watched you look at the instruction book for no more than like, three seconds before sitting down to make this."

"And..?"

"If you've never done it before it's supposed to be harder than that."

"Well, I've seen other people do it on TV and stuff every year for like, ever." You shrug. "I've just got a good memory, I guess."

Rafe nods, looking at the deconstructed trap in front of him for a moment, thinking about the implications of this. How far does this go? Could he use it? He'd never dreamt of having to work in a team in his games, but maybe it would benefit him after all. "Come with me." He stands up, and you follow as he paces over to two big screens, covered with a large array of different symbols.

"Try this, I just want to see something." Rafe says, standing next to you with his arms crossed as you quickly look over the screen, reaching down toward the one in front of you. You notice quickly that the screens mirror each other, all the images placed in the same spots as they are above. You look up at your teammate briefly who nods at you and then you tap one, watching it disappear from both screens before you tap the matching symbol. It's a matching game.

Your eyes are locked on the top screen as you tap away at the bottom one, quickly making all the images disappear one by one. It takes you no more than a minute to get rid of them all, and then a timer appears on the screen replaying your every move in real-time. Forty-two seconds. Were you really going that fast?

"Neat." Rafe says to himself, nodding as he watches it replay on the screen. That was impressive, sure, but his mind is straining to find a practical implication for this in the arena. "Go back to survival stuff. Learn as much as you can." He settles on, turning and walking off back to where he was before, returning to combat training.

The four days of training fly by insanely fast, and that's likely due to your dread of what's to come. you've got through everything in survival no less than three times, and you're pretty sure last night you dreamt of plants and making a fire. Not surprisingly, Rafe has left you pretty much alone the whole time, but you did watch from a distance as he cycled through every weapon the training center had to offer, proving he's almost mastered every last one. Of course, with over ten years of training, anything less wouldn't make sense. What scares you is the other careers showing a similar skill level to that of your teammate, but he seems to be on good terms with them. Again, maybe this would be a good thing in the beginning of the games.

You sit down for your last day of making fires and fishing hooks, working solely on memory since day one, you're feeling pretty confident that the elements or exposure won't be what takes you out- but you don't know if that's a good thing or not. You just hope your death will be quick.

"Y/N, c'mere." Rafe is suddenly calling to you, motioning for you to join him in the combat area. Not seeing much of a choice, and not looking forward to another day of doing the same thing over and over, you listen.

You make your way over, avoiding the gaze of other tributes who are looking at you like you're about to make a fool of yourself. It's possible you are. "I want you to learn how to use this." He says as you walk up, holding out the handle of a knife to you.

You take it, turning the sharp blade over in your hand. "I thought you were the weapons master." You joke, looking up at him briefly.

"Well, I need you to make fires and shit so you have to stay alive somehow, and if we get separated or something I need to know you can at least defend yourself. These are good from a distance and up close, but remember that any weapon you have they can take and use against you. So keep distance whenever you can." He answers, pointing over to the target about fifteen feet away. "So, throw it."

You look over to where he was pointing, adjusting your grip on the handle as you nod, taking in the information he's dumping on you. He is probably right, especially since you don't think he plans on protecting you himself. Why would he? If you die, he can still win without you.

You lift your arm over your shoulder, closing one eye to narrow down your aim before throwing it hard towards the target, which the knife bounces off of and clatters to the ground. You and Rafe both turn at the same time to look at the group that's laughing at you, the clang of the metal on the cement echoing loudly in the vast space.

"Don't worry about them. They're not there." Rafe is quick to grab another one, handing it to you the same way. "Try again, this time, hold it like this..." He says, grabbing your hand and placing your fingers in the correct spots on the handle. "Keep your wrist tense and straight, don't flick it or anything. Yeah, like that." He nods, taking a step back.

You look over how you're holding it, committing the feeling and finger placement to memory before raising your arm again. You throw it again, and this time it sticks, but your aim is off and it ends up in the target's leg. You look over at Rafe, unsure if you're hoping for approval or just satisfaction. "That's perfect." He nods. "Not a death blow, but that'll buy you time to get away. which is all you need."

"Okay." You agree quietly.

"Would it help if you watched me?" He offered, already grabbing a new knife while you nod. "So, you want to follow through with the throw, your shoulders should end about here if you're doing it right. You get more power that way, and better aim." He explains, standing with one foot forward, parallel to the target.

You step back to watch his strategy, noting the way he held the blade and his form when he aimed to throw it. He lets it fly from his fingers as his shoulders fall forward, smirking to himself as it hits the bullseye circle, right in the chest.

"You got it?" He asks, standing up straight again. You nod in response and he's handing you yet another knife to try again.

You go back and forth for hours, not caring that you're keeping anyone else from practicing. You're not the best at it, but it's become muscle memory now, and every time it sticks, most of the time hitting the silhouette somewhere. You tried the moving targets briefly, the gold, pixelated figures running at you quickly. You were immediately overwhelmed, and Rafe ended up having to step in to help. He said after that the minimal skill you had would be good enough to get away, and that is all you would need. You just have to focus on that.

You didn't talk a lot, besides taking a few short breaks to gather the knives and his arrows as Rafe explained the pros and cons of every weapon they had present, showing you briefly how to use some of them. Mostly how to defend yourself against them. It's hard for him to sum up years of training in one day, but he's dead set on the idea that you won't need most of it- just having to focus on keeping the two of you sheltered and fed, he can handle the rest; hopefully.

You sit outside the training center next to Rafe, waiting for your name to be called. It was the youngest female tribute from his district first, so if you had to guess, you would be third and fourth to go, which doesn't buy you a lot of time to decide what to do to best show your skills.

"What are you gonna do?" You ask, whispering in the deathly quiet room.

"Huh?" Rafe hums, leaning closer to hear you better.

You clear your throat, before speaking this time, unsure if you were clear enough. "What are you gonna do? Like which skill?" You clarify.

"Oh, uh..." He mutters, adjusting how he's sitting as he thinks about what to say. "I'm just going to cycle through some different weapons, different distance targets, I think. My mentors want me to show like, a variety of what I can do."

You nod at this, making a mental note of that. Maybe you should do the matching game and then try the knives. Opal told you that you would be scored both individually, and as a team. You hope you won't bring down his score too much, since you know he's aiming high. You planned on going for a mid-level score, not to be seen as a threat but also not as an easy kill. A perfect six would be your ideal score. "What about you?" Rafe interrupts your thought process.

"I'm not sure." You answer honestly.

"You should do your survival stuff. That will improve our team score, if we show them we have strengths at both." Rafe suggests. That's not actually a bad idea. Your individual score will likely be lower, but that's a risk you're willing to take.

"Yeah, I'll do that."

You ended up scoring a six, the judges obviously not seeing you as any kind of threat. This is what you expected, though, and you were correct about your group score as well. Rafe and you together scored a ten. On his own, he scored a ten, so you hadn't affected it in the way you feared. This left you reeling over the idea of other tributes seeing you both as a threat as you stand in yet another extravagant dress, waiting in line to be called out for your interview. The games were tomorrow, and the last thing you wanted was to get in front of a crowd and subtly plead with them to let you live, to send you gifts, and to give you their sympathy.

So far it's been in the same order they called everyone for assessments yesterday, which means you would be next. Rafe stands behind you, arms crossed in a suit that looks more expensive than any you've seen back home in all of your life, but he looks comfortable in it. Your dress is once again covered in rhinestones, and your waist is cinched in so tight you can hardly breathe as it is, so you're not looking forward to going on stage.

"Our next tribute, welcome to the stage from District Five, Miss Y/N Y/L/N!" You hear the familiar voice of Caesar Flickerman calling you out and some guards usher you forward onto the stage, very briefly glancing over your shoulder at Rafe.

You're quick to smile as you turn back around, giving a small wave to the host and then out to the audience as they cheer for you. For a brief moment, you feel as if they don't plan on watching you die as early as tomorrow, you feel as if they're rooting for you. "Hi!" You say as you get closer and Caesar stands up to greet you, shaking your hand and giving you a quick hug before gesturing for you to sit down across from him.

You look around the large theatre, spotting every camera you can. Your family is out there watching, somewhere, and you know they'll see right through this show you have to put on. You wish they wouldn't. You can picture so vividly your living room back home, with your parents and siblings scattered across the couch and the floor watching you with bated breath, they can see you- and on some level, you can see them too.

"Miss Y/L/N. Thank you for being here." Caesar sighs, reaching out and patting your hand where it sits on the armrest next to you.

"Well, I didn't have any other plans for the night, so..." You shrug, making him laugh. Laughter echoes from the audience and you smile, hoping that your plan to win people over is working.

"What? A beautiful girl like you?" He asks after he's done laughing. "You weren't planning on spending some of your free time with your teammate?" As if you got even a minute of free time since you've been here.

"Well, I guess we'll never know." You chuckle, looking back at the boy where he stands in the wing, giving you a small smile.

"Now listen, Y/N, Rafe is..." He has to stop after mentioning his name as cheers erupt again, laughing as he waits for the audience to quiet down. "Your teammate is, as you may have guessed, a popular face in the Capitol right now. Are you feeling lucky about your pairing?"

Rafe crossed his arms as he watches intently, feeling smug about his odds, especially now knowing the Capitol's opinion of him. He knows his dad is back home watching, full of pride that his son has become a fan favourite.

"I am." You answer honestly. "He's very talented."

"And handsome, don't you think?"

"I mean, who am I to argue with the people?" You joke, waving your hand dismissively as you hear the cheers pick up again. "Besides, his looks won't save us. We will save ourselves." You add seriously.

Caesar nods in acknowledgment, showing that to an extent, he agrees with you. "Well, I hope that you are right, dear." He smiles, getting up to signal you've run out of time. You stand as well, taking his hand as he holds it up above your heads. "It was so lovely to meet you, and may the odds stay ever in your favor. Y/N Y/L/N, everyone!"

You smile and thank him quietly, waving to everyone with both hands as you walk across the stage to exit on the other side. You take a few deep breaths as you step into yet another waiting room, watching the screen as Rafe is called out right behind you.

Rafe sits down on the chair across from Caesar after his introduction, which allows a few moments for the audience to quiet down. He smiles proudly as he rests one of his feet on his other knee, bouncing his leg with anxiety. He hopes it's interpreted as excitement. "Rafe." Caesar smiles at him, sitting back down as well. "I'll be honest, I have been so excited to finally meet you."

"It's good to meet you too." Rafe grins, chuckling slightly at the few whistles he gets scattered from the crowd.

"You got a fabulous score, how are you feeling about that?"

"Really good, yeah. Obviously I've been waiting my whole life for this opportunity, so it feels amazing to see it all paying off." Rafe answers, focussing on keeping the confidence in his tone.

"We can tell, can't we?" Caesar laughs, riling up the audience again, making Rafe laugh to himself as he softly shakes his head. "Yeah, yeah. So, with all this planning you've been doing, how do you feel about getting paired up? You probably expected to be going in solo."

"I did, for sure, but I don't think this is a bad thing." Rafe admits.

"Oh, getting along well with your teammate?" Caesar asks, a hint of suggestion in his tone.

"Yeah, we get on really well." Rafe exaggerates your relationship a bit, knowing it will earn you more sponsors, and maybe keep other tributes away from you in the games. "At least I think we do, I'm not fully sure about her thoughts on me, though."

"You scored incredibly well together, despite Y/N having a fairly average score on her own. What are your thoughts and feelings on that?"

Rafe chuckles as he leans forward a bit, pointing out to the audience as he speaks. "Don't underestimate her based on the score. I won't give you any spoilers, but trust me, don't overlook her. She's got as good a shot as any of us. Maybe better."

Caesar makes a surprised expression as he nods. "Well okay! Does she have some sort of secret weapon we should be worried about?" He chuckles, gripping the armrests and looking around as the audience laughs.

Rafe just shrugs in response, smirking slightly, which you can tell the audience just eats up. You're trying to decide if this is good or bad for you, though, as you watch, gnawing at your nails in anticipation as you stare at the screen.

"Okay, alright, don't spoil anything then." Caesar laughs. "It'll make for a better show, and I can get behind that."

After a moment of waiting for the cheers to die down, Caesar speaks up again. "Rafe, if I can ask, I know your father has a lot of influence in your district- how is he feeling about your selection for the games?"

You furrow your brow a little bit as you look at the screen, finally learning something interesting about your teammate. If he's from a prominent family in District One of all places, that would certainly explain his attitude. Rafe, on the other hand, doesn't want to talk about his father at all- but of course they would bring him up.

"Yeah, of course." Rafe replies, shifting in his seat. "He's thrilled, it's a huge honour to be here, and to be the first out of his children to be chosen is really special to me. I just hope I can make him and my sisters proud, he's always encouraged us to volunteer."

"I'm sure that you will." Caesar smiles at him. "I hope I will have the honour of hosting one of your sisters on this stage one day, as well."

Your stomach churns just watching this. How can any father who loves his children want this fate for them? This was your father's worst nightmare. You watch as Rafe nods with a smile, and you can see behind his eyes that he doesn't want that, not at all.

The audience cheers as they both stand up, shaking hands before Rafe leaves the stage, a cocky smirk on his face as he waves and winks at the audience. Before Rafe makes it down to the waiting room, you're grabbed an escorted out, heading for the elevator back to your room.

You can't eat, but you know you should. This will likely be your last meal for a while. You decide on just taking a large bowl of fruit and toast to your room, trying to get it down slowly with all the nerves, while you have a bath. Your parents never let you eat in the bath. It's hard to get out knowing this is likely the last bath you'll ever have.

The morning goes by in a blur, you feel Opal's arms around you as she hugs you goodbye and wishes you luck. You know you'll need all of it. You stare down at the ground in front of you as you're pushed onto a plane, of sorts, along with all the other tributes. Once you're sat down, you look around at everyone else. You remember all of their names as you scan over their faces, but you wish you didn't. You get stuck on one of the girls from District Eleven, Hope, who was only thirteen.

She's shaking, and you can see that from where you're sat down the row from her. She reminds you of Rue, the tribute from last year. Her death was a tragedy, it broke the hearts of everyone outside of the Capitol and the career districts. Hope's curly hair sat in a bun on top of her head, and tears fell down her cheeks as she sniffled. She got paired up with a girl from Twelve- the lengths the Capitol will go to to make a mockery of last years games will never cease to amaze you.

"Hey, you look a little pale." Rafe whispers, leaning close to you. You didn't even notice him sit down on the other side of you.

You shake your head slightly, looking down at your knees. "I'm fine."

"Don't think about it." Rafe instructs you, holding his arm out for the tracker to be injected as a guard approaches with the device.

You wince as you hear it get shot into his arm and he chuckles, shaking his arm off to ease the sting. You raise your shaking arm as they hold their hand out expectantly to you. You don't know what it is they're putting in you, but you've never been fond of needles. This is a million times worse. "It's not that bad," Rafe tells you, and you squeeze your eyes shut as you feel pressure on your forearm, followed by a sharp, stabbing pain. You bite your tongue to keep from making a sound, dropping your arm onto your lap as they quickly walk away.

"What did they do?" You ask him, trying to keep a steady tone.

"It's a tracker, so they know where we are in the arena." He explains quietly. You were the only two talking, and you notice it's earning you glares from several other tributes. Rafe notices this as well, leaning back in his seat and crossing his arms, taking this time to size everyone up.

The plane takes off, and before you know it, you're landing at the arena on the outskirts of Capitol property. You wonder if you're close to the ocean, not that you'll get to see it anyways.

You're paraded off of the plane, still trying not to let it show how afraid you are of what's to come. You make the briefest of eye contact with Maisie as she's pulled towards a different hallway, and neither of you have it in you to smile anymore.

"We've gotta get supplies, that's our first move." Rafe says to you as you're led out of earshot of other tributes, into your own hall.

"My mentor said to run." You reply quietly.

Rafe scoffs, shaking his head. "Your what, one mentor said that? Cool. I have fifteen that are still alive and well enough to show up every year. I think we should get supplies." He tells you firmly, but you know that will get you instantly killed, maybe not him, but you stand no shot. "Just stick with me if you want to live."

You just nod a little bit, glancing at him again briefly before you're directed into a separate room across the hall from him. His pedestal will be next to yours, which is a bit of a relief. Your stylist quickly instructs you to strip, and then she helps you into the uniform you assume you'll all be wearing. It's exactly the same as last year, you notice this quickly, but with a '75' logo embroidered on the chest where the District Twelve tribute had her pin placed. Katniss, you remember her name was. She had volunteered for her sister, and at the time you contemplated heavily on whether or not you would do the same. She was so, so close to winning- to getting to see her sister again, but she and the boy from her district, the final two tributes, ended up committing together rather than giving the Capitol their Victor. It was an admirable stance, but you couldn't imagine what that was like for her family, and his.

You step off the concrete floor once you're dressed, instructed to get into the pod that will lift you up into the arena; a glass elevator. Your stylist says nothing to you as they walk out of the room, the glass door sliding shut in front of you. Your knees get weak as you realize you are totally, completely alone, and likely no more than twenty minutes from dying. You think of your family, your siblings, your dad- and the last words he said to you. You'll see him soon.

Your thoughts are halted when the elevator starts to move, lifting you up as the ceiling falls away and you can see sunlight coming through. You squint and shield your eyes as you try to look up to get a better grasp on your surroundings before you can even see anything. Once trees come into view you're frantically looking around, trying to process as much information as you can, and quickly. It's exactly the same as last year, but from what you can tell, flipped in reverse, and made larger to accommodate twice as many tributes. Or everything on camera last year was flipped. There's a silver cornucopia in the middle with the timer that's immediately counting down and supplies inside and scattered around the field in front of you. Rafe is to your right, and a boy from Seven on your left. He scored a six, the same as you, so he's not the biggest threat to you immediately.

You adjust your stance, getting ready to run once the timer hits zero. In what direction, you don't know yet. Rafe wants you to run to the supplies, but statistically, the most deaths will happen in the next five minutes and you don't want any part of that. The supply bags and weapons spread out on the grass are all the same too, by the looks of it. The closest bag to you got picked up by the girl from Seven last year, and it didn't have much of anything helpful. If you're remembering right, it had a rope and some matches, and that was it. It definitely would be useful, but you know you can do better. There should be a bag four pedestals to your right, with a water bottle, an emergency blanket, a fire starter, a first aid kit, and a knife. Right now, that's the one you have to get to. That's your best bet.

Ten, nine, eight... The timer ticks down to the final seconds as you look over at Rafe, who's already looking at you. You point to the bag as your eyes land on it on the other side of him across the field, and he looks at you confused. He's closer, he has a better shot, but you know he won't take it.

Rafe is confused, following your finger and spotting the bag. Why would you want that one specifically? There are others closer, he doesn't feel like now is a time to be picky.

Four, three, two...

Your ears ring with shock as the clock reaches zero, and you're watching most of the other tributes booking it for the center. No one has seen your bag yet as you jump down, beelining across the field and narrowly brushing past Rafe in your move for the small backpack. He stops to let you pass, almost crashing into you head-on. He doesn't have time to worry about you, so he continues on his path to the middle, but he's lost time. Precious time that he doesn't have to lose right at the beginning of the games.

He gets into the bloodbath that the cornucopia has already turned into, looking back over his shoulder quickly as he grabs at any weapon he can get his hands on. He quickly has to sacrifice the blade he just grabbed when he hears footsteps quickly approaching from behind him, turning quickly and plunging it into the boy's chest. He doesn't think to look at who it was.

Cannon's echo around you, and you're counting how many internally as you get to the bag, reaching down to grab it as you run past, trying not to slow down. You look back over your shoulder, hoping to spot your teammate somewhere, but you can't see him. You're scanning the area, blocking out the blood you see flying and scattered along the silver metal of the cornucopia. You can hardly hear any screams over the sound of your heartbeat pounding in your ears. You can't help but watch as the girl from Three jumps on who is supposed to be her partner, a girl from Twelve, snapping her neck in a second. Within moments, she just drops to the ground next to her- another cannon following. That makes a strong incentive for working in teams. At least Rafe won't betray you early on.

You freeze up for a moment, stopping to scan your surroundings. You still can't find Rafe, taking in the number of bodies scattered around the cornucopia and a few tributes running into the tree line. At least some people were smart. Something flies past your head, making you jump back a step as you look up ahead of you. Within an instant, you're being tackled back by the body of the boy from your district.

"Y/N, fancy seeing you here." He chuckles darkly while you try and fight him off.

"Don't!" You squeak out, him pressing his forearm down against your throat on the ground.

"I've wanted to do this since the second they called your name." He growls, shoving you down again.

"We can help each other, Jack..." You say weakly, clawing at his arm.

"You don't need me. You've got your career boyfriend- and whatever your secret weapon is." He scoffs. "You don't have a secret weapon, Y/N. He's bluffing and he won't convince us."

You gather all your strength and knee him in the crotch, scrambling to get away as he fumbles for just a moment. "God- you are a bitch!" He shouts, grabbing for your ankle just has you pick up the knife he had thrown at you. You grip it the way Rafe had shown you, quickly shoving it into Jack's leg. You just needed to get away.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" You exclaim, backing away quickly. Jack doesn't say another word, cutting his losses and getting up to make an escape for the woods. You hope he ends up okay.

You make your break for it as well, running back towards the woods as you once again scan your surroundings for your partner.

Suddenly you're on the ground, having run straight into the side of one of the pedestals and falling over it. You yelp with the sudden impact of the ground, scrambling to get up and continue when suddenly someone is grabbing your jacket, slamming you into the pedestal again. You scream, trying to shove them off, but they're much stronger than you. "Jael! Wait, wait- Jael!" You make out your own voice yelling the boy's name, which makes him falter. He's the oldest tribute from Eight- he seems shocked you even know his name.

In the moment when he loosened his grip, he jerks forward and then falls over you, a cannon booming making you gasp as you panic to get away. Rafe is quickly running towards you, slinging the bow he just used over his shoulder and yanking the arrow out of the boy's back. "Y/N, let's go!" He shouts, motioning for you to follow him as you continue toward the tree line, both of you keeping an eye on what's happening behind you as you disappear into the woods.

"Let's stay close, but not too close," Rafe suggests as soon as you feel safe enough to slow down, your chest heaving with the exertion of energy and boost of adrenaline. He glances at you briefly, then does a double take. "You okay? Are you hurt?"

You shake your head, coughing to ease the stinging in your throat. "I'm fine. You?"

"Good," Rafe answers, slowing his pace to match yours.

"We, uh, I think we should go the other way." You say, looking around to try and mentally place where abouts you are.

Rafe stops and furrows his brow at you, seemingly frustrated by your resistance. "Why does it matter?"

"The arena, it's the same as last year. Exactly the same. Just, scaled up a bit." You explain. "We should head south, that's where the river is. We'll need water soon."

Rafe laughs slightly, his demeanor changing as he places his hands on his hips and looks at you. "No shit," He says, truly surprised and impressed that you could tell. A lot of the games tend to look like this, and he would never notice a repeat arena down to the rivers if it punched him in the face. Your 'secret weapon' is already paying off. "And you could tell that right away?"

"Yeah, I mean, I guess so. The bags were all the same, everything was laid out the same. I bet there's a river down south." You nod, having a sudden realization. "We should get to that cave- the one the tributes from Twelve holed up in last year. That'll be a good, stable shelter. We can pretty much wait it out." You say, starting to walk in what you believe is the right direction.

"No," Rafe replies, making you stop in your tracks. "Unless you want me to have to kill you in the end."

"Oh, right." You forgot about that part, keeping score. "We're still going to need somewhere to sleep, though."

"Yeah, we'll find it anyways." Rafe nods, carrying on in the direction you started heading. You follow a few steps behind, keeping a bit of distance in the somewhat awkward silence that fell over you two after his comment about having to kill you.

You walk in the thick of the woods for about an hour before you feel like you're reaching the river. You can feel it under your feet, the soil is slightly softer, and the trees a little more green.

Cannons interrupt your thoughts a few times in the hike, totaling up to twenty-three by the time you reach the riverbank. "You were right." Rafe chuckles, mentally disparaging any skepticism he faced during the long, quiet walk.

"Thank god." You giggle, dropping your bag and crouching down to dig through it, hoping for a water bottle. You were right, everything you expected was accounted for.

"Why that bag?" Rafe says, already sitting down on the rocky water's edge to rest for a moment.

"Huh?" You question, unsure you heard over the shuffling of the bag while you zip it up.

"You pointed to it, during the countdown. Why did you want that one?"

"Oh, uh, like I said they all looked the same as last year, and I hoped I remembered what was inside." You say, laying down to reach into the water and fill up the bottle.

"Were you right?"

You nod with a small smile, sitting back up and holding the bottle out to him as you cross your legs.

"That's actually insane." Rafe shakes his head in disbelief as he takes it, downing just about everything in it before handing it back.

You take it and refill it again for yourself. "I'll choose to take that as a compliment."

Rafe wouldn't admit it, but at this moment as he's watching you drink, he's grateful that he got paired up with you. But now, that it's been shown on national television that you know the arena in and out, he wonders what obstacles the gamemakers will desperately throw your way.

"We should keep moving. I feel like a sitting duck out here in the open, I don't like it." Rafe mutters, checking his attitude as he stands up. You're quick to fill up the bottle again, following behind him yet again as the arrows in his quiver rattle together against his back walking over the rocky and unstable terrain, knife gripped tightly in his hand.

You wonder to yourself how he's feeling about leaving behind his predestined alliance of the career pack, but with the factor of most of them being paired up with other districts, it was already too unpredictable. You wouldn't have stuck around either.

The sun started to set as you followed the river upstream. You didn't want to settle without some kind of shelter, and you were committed to finding that cave before you could relax. You could tell that Rafe had the same idea, his steps ahead of you gradually picking up speed with the bow still gripped firmly in his palm.

"It's a beautiful sunset." You speak your mind before thinking, desperately wanting to fill the silence.

Rafe just hums in response, looking up only briefly before training his gaze once again on the ragged rocks at his feet and continuing on. "What's it like in District One?" You ask.

"Fine." He replies coldly. You aren't sure what you expected, but this response was pretty on par. You knew you had almost no chance of survival, so it would at least be nice to get to know the person you spend your final days with, even if he would be the one to kill you in the end.

"I've never been, but I've heard it's... nice." You've only ever heard about it from the perspective of other bitter individuals from Five, jealous of the cushy lifestyle everyone knew they must have lived.

"Yeah." Rafe agrees, clearly not wanting to discuss it.

"What are your sister's names?" You ask, deciding to push a little bit. It's not like he can kill you just yet.

Rafe sighs, but answers anyways. "Wheezie and Sarah."

You're shocked that he answered at all, but you could tell in his interview that he has a soft spot for them. "Cute." You nod, smiling to yourself. "Is Wheezie a nickname?"

"Yep, it's short for Louise."

"That's adorable." You grin, shaking your head.

"Hey, look. There." Rafe says, changing the subject and pointing down the rocks, where there's a small opening under a ledge.

"That's it!" You exclaim, deciding to drop the topic of his sisters in favour for finding your shelter for the night. You rush past him, watching your step as you climb down into the small cave.

Rafe quickly draws his bow, slowing down and peaking into the cave and bracing himself for your screams. How could you be so careless in a game like this? He doesn't understand your lightheartedness, your somewhat positive attitude, and your ability to make small talk despite the circumstances. "Hey, careful!"

"It's perfect!" You call back out as you look around, and Rafe steps down carefully, looking around more carefully than you had. He relaxes once he's satisfied that there's nothing down there waiting to kill you.

"Nice, okay." Rafe nods to himself, and you both get to work making a small fire near the entrance, hidden from view.

You take off your jacket and roll it up, using it as a makeshift pillow as you lay next to the fire, staring at the orange flicker of the flames you made.

Rafe is sitting across from you, knees tucked up to his chest as he does just the same. His mind is absolutely reeling- he needs to find something to eat, and soon. That will be the first thing you'll do in the morning, he'll have to employ your help to find something edible. "How are you with making traps?" He asks.

"I can do it." You reply, sitting up and leaning on your elbow so you can see him. "I'll set some up in the morning."

Rafe nods a little bit. He already knew you could, of course, but he's wondering about the logistics of how they work. "So like... hypothetically, would they work the same if you made them bigger?"

"Like... human-sized?" You ask, catching on to what he's suggesting. It's not ethical- but nothing about this game is. For you, this would definitely be preferable to fighting other kids to death over and over again.

Rafe nods, adjusting how he was sitting and crossing his legs.

"Yeah. I can't see why not." You answer. "It would be harder since I've never done it, but I think it could work."

"Then I say we try it."

The next day, you wake up as the sun rises and the light beats down on you from the entrance of the cave. You didn't sleep comfortably, that's for sure, waking up twice throughout the night to the sound of the cannon. That's twenty-seven. You wonder how many teams have already reached their ten-kill quota, you imagine someone in the career pack already has. Both times when you were startled awake, Rafe was standing at the cave entrance, bow drawn as he squinted into the darkness, hoping that whoever was out hunting other tributes wasn't nearby.

You sit up slowly, stretching out your tired limbs as you look over to see Rafe, fast asleep with a blade in his hand. You should let him sleep, and get to work on finding something to eat, and making some traps.

You grab one of the knives Rafe somehow collected from the bag laying next to him as quietly as possible, sneaking outside and taking in your surroundings. The sound of the river flowing and the smell of morning dew was amazing- you wish you could truly enjoy it in different circumstances.

You quickly get to work tracking down something to eat, landing on a few different plants you know to be edible. You're trekking through the woods near your cave when you come across an apple tree- making you pause as you look it over. It looks out of place- and maybe no one got close enough to it in the games last time that you wouldn't have seen it, but that seems unlikely. It must be new; it makes for the perfect place to try and set up a trap for the next hungry tribute who would be unfortunate enough to wander too close to your hideout.

You're digging a hole in the ground with your hands, avoiding the roots of the tree and sticking in some sticks you sharpened when you hear a twig snap behind you. You freeze, hoping that by some miracle, it's just an animal. You slowly turn your head to try and look, picking up the knife from the ground next to you and holding it tight.

"Just me." Rafe's voice relaxes you, and you stand up, brushing off your knees.

"You scared me." You admit as he takes to looking down into the hole you just dug.

"That looks... awful." He chuckles, patting your shoulder. "It won't kill, but it'll slow someone down enough that I can finish the job."

You nod slightly, staring into the dirt as well. You hated the idea that you were crafting something intentionally to bring harm to another person, but realistically you have no choice. "We'll set up more, along the riverbed and closer to the career pack. We can't monitor them all at once, though- can you make more fatal ones next time?" Rafe asks, pointing back towards the river to accentuate his point.

"That depends, how many arrows can you spare?"

The next few days saw the death toll rise to thirty-six. You kept track every night, scratching their numbers and names into the walls of the cave despite being able to remember anyway. You viewed it as a small memorial, Rafe saw it as a timer ticking down to when he'd have to kill you.

Your first trap had worked on one person, their screams of pain from a cut-up leg summoning your teammate back to the apple tree. He insisted you stay behind as he finished what you started. You had to reset several other traps as well, closer to the cornucopia.

Rafe would never admit it, but he was really starting to like you. He didn't want to hurt you- he was worried the traps wouldn't do enough. The passive approach you so preferred wasn't what he expected, and he knew his dad would be disappointed in him. But Ward would never understand.

He sighed as he poked at the fire with a stick, leaning his head back against the rocky wall of the cave, another cold night ahead of you.

You had your head laid on his lap, his thigh replacing the thin material of your coat that you had been using the last few days.

"How old are your sisters?" You ask out of nowhere, prompting him to look down at you. He had thought you fell asleep a while ago.

"Why does it matter?" Rafe replies, and you just shrug a little bit.

"Gives us something to talk about."

"Fifteen and Eleven." He relents.

"Hey, me too." You smile a little to yourself.

"You have sisters?" Rafe asks. He never asked much about you- he didn't really want to know, in the case he had to kill you.

"Yep. And a brother." You nod, sitting up a little bit. "He's older though, he aged out last year."

Rafe finds himself clenching his jaw. He can't hear that- to see you as a little sister. He doesn't want to imagine what it would be like to see his sisters face the same fate. "Lucky guy." He says quietly.

"Why? I thought it was a privilege, and all that." You chuckle.

"Well, yeah, but not for most. For the outlying districts like you."

"At least you get it." You agree. "How does it feel? Now that you're here, I mean."

"Scary." Rafe admits, throwing caution to the wind now with what his father will think. "Not what everyone tells you it'll be like."

"Is that because of me?" You ask after a few moments, and he nods slightly.

"Not in a bad way, though. It's just different. I expected to be on my own, to die alone, or kill my allies if I had to. Now... I don't know that I have to. Or if I even could." He can practically hear his father shouting at their large screen at home, or storming out claiming he was an embarrassment. He was told his whole life to never show weakness, to 'be a man', but now, at the end, that doesn't matter to him.

"I won't take it personally." You giggle softly, voice shaking as you try to make light of it. "My family won't either, I don't think. Maybe my dad, at first, but eventually he'll understand. They'll forgive you." You try and ease his mind, knowing that in the case that Rafe does win without you, he'll have to face your family in the next month or so during the victory tour.

"I wouldn't ever expect him to." Rafe tells you, tossing his stick into the flames now. He feels sick hearing you talk about it like it's inevitable- but if he has anything to do with it, you'll be coming home with him.

"They're good people." You assure him.

"Don't say that." Rafe chuckles, shaking his head. "I would never forgive myself."

"Okay, fine. They're awful. Just... the worst." You smile, looking up at him and resting your chin in your hand.

"That's better. Thank you." Rafe laughs, poking your forehead and gazing out onto the river as the flames illuminate the water.

In the morning, you're awoken to something brushing your leg. You groan and roll over, head landing once more on Rafe's extended arm underneath you. At least he was finally getting some sleep, pretty much unable to close his eyes since you set foot in the arena. You feel the brush again, followed by something moving on your arm, several things, suddenly, and your eyes fly open and look down when you remember where you are. You let out a scream, scrambling to sit up and pushing yourself back against the wall.

Rafe wakes up quickly, scrambling for the bow next to him when he realizes it won't be any help. You're surrounded by and quickly almost covered in a sickening combination of snakes and spiders.

You're still screaming, trying to shove the creatures off of you. "Come on- come on!" Rafe is yelling at you, grabbing your arm and pulling you towards the exit. You don't get the chance to grab your back and you regret that as you're jumping into the river in attempt to get the spiders off of your skin and out of your clothes.

You're breathing heavily as you come up for air, and Rafe is quickly there, brushing his hands over your hair to make sure every last spider is gone. He looks back at the entrance of the cave, chest heaving like yours as the bugs and snakes spill out of it. It sends a shiver down his spine- he was never a fan of snakes.

"I guess that's the gamemakers telling us enough was enough." He sighs, gently pulling you towards the shore again a safe distance away. "Are you bit?" He asks once you're a safe distance away.

"I don't think so..." You reply, hiking up the ankles of your pants to look at your calves and over your bare arms as you sit on the shore. "You?"

Rafe shakes his head, doing the same. "It was probably just a warning. We have to move." He quickly lowers his pant leg over the puncture wounds in his leg, hoping you didn't see. If it gets worse, he'll tell you. The bite itself didn't hurt much, so if it's going to be fatal, he's glad he won't have to hurt you.

Rafe helps you up, leading you up towards the tree line. "They probably want to push us in toward the other tributes, I think we should go with it before they throw something worse at us." You, the two of you now left with nothing but what you had on you, along with Rafe's bow and a few spare arrows.

He nods. "It's our best move anyways. How many tributes are left?"

"Twelve including us." You answer quickly. "There's Avril, a boy from six, Maisie, she's from my district, most of the careers I think are still in it but not their teammates," You begin to rattle off the list,

"I don't want to know names." Rafe cuts you off, and you understand why. He's been doing all the dirty work, and part of you knows it's because he's hoping to have time to learn names and feel guilty about it later. Right now, he can't afford to see them as human.

"Right." You agree. "It doesn't really matter, anyways."

"Do you know scores?" He asks, walking alongside you now.

You nod, beginning to list off all the remaining tributes and their scores, from lowest to highest. The lowest being you- and the highest being ten, shared by Rafe and a boy from district two.

After hearing two more cannons that day, and checking all the traps you had set, you're circling back to the river to be near fresh water before you set up camp again. You don't have your water bottle anymore, or anything to set up any kind of shelter with, you do your best. You set up a fire, Rafe insisting that if it draws other tributes to you so be it- he's ready for this to end just as much as you, but you don't want to rush into your death or an ambush. It's safe to say you won't be sleeping tonight.

You didn't sleep, but at least, curled up under a tree, the night sky was beautiful. The stars seemed realistic, and you wondered if somehow they were real. Between the two more cannons that struck overnight, you still wondered if you were somewhere near the ocean, or somewhere closer to home. While you're sitting next to each other in a peaceful silence, both admiring the vastness of the night sky, you hear a ringing sound coming from above.

Rafe quickly stands, reaching for the small silver pack with a parachute before it hits the ground. He's quick to open it as you stand up, looking into the container. You grab the small card, tilting it into the light of your fire to read it.

For our Y/N,

Keep fighting. Please come home to us.

Love You Always, Dad

Tears form in your eyes almost instantly, your hand coming up to cover your mouth. "It's just a water bottle and some kind of granola bars... or something." Rafe says, turning the water bottle over in his hand.

He looks up at you, frowning when he sees how upset you look. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." You quickly shake your head, wiping your eyes. "Uhm, it's from my dad."

The fact that your family could spare enough money to send you something in the games at all was amazing to you. You heard horror stories of the astronomical prices of trying to send something from outside of the capitol, without the status and funds of a sponsor.

"Oh." Rafe replies, handing you the tin and bottle now, taking the card from you gently. He reads it over slowly, and over and over again. His family had seemingly endless amounts of money, and they had sent him nothing. He knew his father viewed it as cheating, and that you shouldn't need any kind of help to win. If he loved him, though, that wouldn't matter. He should be willing to do anything he could to keep his son alive. The way your parents did.

"My mom made these." You sniffle, grabbing a small bar from the container in her hand. "They're my favourite, she only makes them on birthdays or special occasions." You explain.

"That's... that's really nice." Rafe says, putting the card back in the tin. He doesn't know how to handle this, or what to say.

You smile sadly as you sit back down against the tree, placing the tin on your lap as Rafe joins you. "Here." You hold the bar out to him.

"They're for you." Rafe shakes his head, pushing it away.

"They're for us." You insist, holding it out to him again. "They wouldn't have sent two if I wasn't meant to share."

"Thank you." Rafe smiles genuinely, for the first time in weeks as he takes it. He's starving, having eaten only small amounts of meat and plants over the last week or so, so he's quick to take a bite. It's sweet, more so than he expected. He never thought he could enjoy sugar this much.

"No wonder they're reserved for celebrations, hey?" You giggle, having intently watched his reaction.

Rafe nods. "Yeah, it's really good. Super sweet." He says, mouth still full. You grin, satisfied as you take a bite of your own.

The night flew by so quickly, you're feeling as though it must have gotten shorter. The sunrise went by fast too. You're guessing the gamemakers and the viewers were getting antsy. To be honest, you were as well.

Renewed with your energy the sugary baking your parents had sent, you set about gathering food and water, while Rafe goes on to check a few of your traps to see if they needed to be reset. He could do it on his own, but he liked watching you do it, working the ropes between your fingers and tying intricate knots, pulling back on the stick used to trigger the arrow. By the afternoon, having taken a mental note of the amount of cannons that had fired. It was a few, at least. You must be getting down to the end. He prayed it wasn't you, but the cries of some kind of mutts in the distance right before the cannons lead him to believe that you were fine- but he should be getting back soon anyways.

You were wandering down to the water, reluctant to leave your camp, but you knew water was a priority. You were just filling up the new bottle when you heard a scream. It sounded like a boy. You quickly look back over your shoulder, noticing it was nearby. Toward the apple tree. You stand slowly, looking around as you attach the water bottle back to your side with a carabiner, reaching instead for the knife Rafe had left with you. God, you hoped it wasn't him. The absence of a cannon gives you hope, though.

You quietly head in that direction, watching your step so your presence isn't detected. When you get closer to the tree, you hear crying. Painful crying, as you're faced with the reality of the trap you set.

You watch from behind a tree as the boy from eight tries to pull his leg up from the ground, screaming out again as the sharp sticks dig into his flesh. You should go get Rafe- you feel guilty, but you can't kill him yourself. You turn quickly, and before you can get a step away you're face to face with one of the other careers- a sword held up against your neck.

"Don't move." Blake says, a smile that can only be described as evil spreading over his lips.

You try and scream out for help, hoping Rafe was still in earshot but a hand is quickly covering your mouth. "Not yet." He whispers, shaking his head. "We've got a plan, it'll be fun. You wouldn't want to ruin that, right?"

As Rafe gets back to your small camp, he expects to see you there waiting. He scans the trees above him, wondering if you had climbed up for some reason. He calls your name when he doesn't see you, brow furrowed. You definitely should be back by now. As he's heading down to the water to look for you, he hears a cannon, which at this point wouldn't bother him- if it wasn't for the scream that followed after. It was you. No doubt in his mind that it was you. With his bow drawn, he's moving quickly towards where he heard your voice, throwing caution to the wind.

You scream again, crying as the tip of the sword is dug into your shoulder, laying down next to the apple tree. You can't help it- but you don't want their trap to work. You don't want Rafe to come, so you bite your tongue until you taste blood, hoping to keep quiet. "It'll only get worse for you if you don't scream, Y/N/N." Blake scolds you, digging in the blade more. "He has to hear you." He adds through gritted teeth.

You hear a twig snap just outside the small clearing, and Blake is quickly turning to look with the sword still pinning you to the ground. "Rafe it's a trap!" You shout, hoping that it's him.

Rafe steps out then, into full view with his bow drawn as he aims at the boy in front of him. When they first met, he knew they would have been good friends if they met anywhere else. "You won't shoot me." Blake chuckles, and Rafe quickly readjusts his grip.

"I will." Rafe says sternly, pulling the string tighter as Blake moves the sword to hover over your chest. Over your heart.

"If you shoot, the last of my energy will go into killing her. I don't think you want that." He shakes his head, smiling smugly.

"I don't care." Rafe says, making your heart clench. You know that you're friends, at the very least. He does care. He's bluffing- you have to believe that.

"If you didn't care you would have shot me already." Blake calls it, and Rafe tenses up, looking down at you only briefly.

"Then what do you want?" Rafe spits.

"Oh, nothing. I just wanted you to watch." Blake shrugs. "Just makes it a little more fun, you know? But don't worry, you'll be next." You know he just wants to prove himself, somehow, not having scored as high as Rafe did. You wonder if his family was somehow similar- that he needed some kind of approval that he thought he might find through sadism.

Rafe looks down at you again, and you just nod, tears streaming down your temples to your ears. He quickly readjusts before letting the arrow fly, planting straight in the shoulder that held the sword as you quickly roll over, slicing across your chest and shoulder in the process. It was well worth it.

Rafe fires another arrow into his chest, not taking any risks and the cannon quickly follows as he rushes to your side.

"Are you okay?" He's asking, hands hovering above you as he's kneeled next to you, unsure what to do.

You nod, still biting into your tongue as blood continues to slide down your skin, dampening your now torn up clothes.

"It's not that bad." Rafe says, looking over the cuts as best he can, but you wince when he pulls the fabric away. "You're gonna be fine, alright?"

"Yeah, yeah..." You mumble, letting your head fall back against the brush below you. Rafe is quick to take his coat off, using it to push down on the deepest part of the wound on your shoulder, trying with his other hand to apply pressure to the rest of it. You try and focus on your breathing, rather than the pain, but it's hard when a significant amount of weight is being applied to your shoulder and chest.

"I'm sorry, I have to." Rafe tells you, jaw tense as he lifts his coat to check whether or not the bleeding has slowed. You didn't even realize you were crying.

After a few minutes, he's lessened the pressure a bit, still holding the fabric firmly over your skin. "You could have ran." You mumble, voice hardly above a whisper.

"I wasn't gonna leave you." Rafe shakes his head, gently peeling away his now blood soaked windbreaker.

"You at least shouldn't have saved me. Not much point in that, is there?" You smile softly, trying to sit up and Rafe is quick to help.

"There is. You have to win." He mutters.

"I'm not winning, Rafe." You smile sadly at him. "Infection will kill me if you won't, and if no one else does first."

"No, they'll fix you up. This cut will be gone in a week, the technology they have is-"

"Rafe." You grab his attention again and he looks up to meet your eyes. They seemed to suck in all the light of the sunset above the two of you, reflecting back at him in a way that makes his breath hitch. The thought is cut short, however, when you say something that breaks his heart. "Don't give me hope like that."

"Why? You're gonna go home. I mean it." He promises. "I'll make sure of it."

"I don't think we have enough." You remind him sadly, a small smile still evident on your lips as you reach up to cup his cheek in your palm. "I never expected to go home. I'm okay with that."

Your friend shakes his head softly. "That doesn't matter. You have your family to get home to, I read that note from your dad. They need you, I can see that. For me, these games are all I was raised for. I have nothing left for me after this." He admits, avoiding eye contact with you.  "I could never forgive myself if I didn't get you home."

Tears are forming in your eyes again as you look up at him. The world is watching, and in this moment of vulnerability you feel that more than ever- despite the quiet sounds around you being only the rushing water in the nearby river and the birds chirping around you. "You're a good person, Rafe." You smile at him, watching as he gently raises his hand to yours, grabbing it in his own. "I hope you know that."

In this moment, you settle on the idea that you would die for him. You never understood last years tributes, honestly, how they were willing to die for each other instead of getting home to their own loved ones, but now you do. Completely.

Without a second thought, you find yourself leaning closer, Rafe doing the same as he kneels next to you in the dark. Your eyes meet once more, lips only an inch from touching when you hear a howl in the distance, and you snap your head to the direction it came from. "The Mutts... Already?" You say, scrambling to get up and ignoring the pain in your shoulder.

"I- I heard them earlier, they sound far away." Rafe says, trying to calm you.

"You heard them? You didn't tell me?" You ask, frantically grabbing his bow from the ground and handing it to him as he goes to pull the discarded arrows out of Blake's body.

"I didn't think it mattered!" He defends, trying to hide the panic in his voice.

"There were four left last year when they sent them out. I think... yeah I think that's right. There's four of us. We have to run." You say in a panic, pulling on his hand. "Our best bet is making it back to the cornucopia."

"It'll be too open- can't we climb a tree or something?" Rafe says, following after you as you're running through the bush now in the direction of the open field.

"I don't know if that will work, but I know we'll be safe there." You explain like it's obvious. "We have to risk it- and if you can get to the others first, if they have the same idea, we'll be at ten."

You're out of breath already, adrenaline pushing you through as you hear scattered barking getting steadily closer after one more cannon. Part of you wants to stop, turn, and force Rafe to take the win if you couldn't have it, but with any hope left, you have to try and get back to where this started. The traps was an unfortunate choice in how you got your kills, because you couldn't keep track of how many since by the time you got around to checking them, the body's would have been airlifted off if it wasn't a misfire. If you had to guess, though, you were sitting at eight.

Rafe is running similar calculations in his head as he lets you lead him by memory straight to the field, mind short-circuiting as he sees the silver moonlight reflect off the cornucopia.

You sprint across the open field, blood pouring from your undressed wound again with the intense exertion of energy. Rafe doesn't pass you, though, despite you expecting that he would. You have tunnel vision as you make it to the metal structure, practically slamming into it before you can even stop. Rafe is quick to lift you and shove you up, both of you looking over your shoulders as you struggle to hold onto the edge, kicking the sides to hold yourself up.

You finally get up, reaching down to help pull Rafe up. He grabs onto your arm for leverage, mostly pulling himself up and you wince as you feel the tension from his weight in your cuts.

You flop down onto your back on the cold surface as he climbs over you, immediately standing up with bow drawn as he intently scans the surrounding area. He's only got the two arrows left, which makes him nervous if that's all he has to defend the both of you with.

You try to settle your breathing, which only lasts for a moment until the sky lights up with the recap. You miss your cave, where you could contribute to your memorial, especially seeing the face of Maisie flash above you on the sky while the anthem plays.

You close your eyes, just listening to the music now until you hear barking just outside of where Rafe can see, and you're quickly sitting up. He draws the bow tighter, aiming in the direction the howls came from just as someone pushes out into the clearing. Rafe is aimed straight at them, bow string pressed to his cheek. He's getting dizzy, and quickly. His aim can't fail him now, he doesn't have that option.

You watch them, in the dark you think it's the other boy from district one, and in your exhaustion you can't remember his name. You wouldn't dare say it, anyways. He's screaming for help, a call you know you can't answer, and you watch as they stumble on their feet, shoes and hands digging into the ground as they try to get up, just ten or so yards from you by now.

Rafe wants to shoot just then, it would be as simple as letting his finger loose and the arrow would fly towards its target. It would be a merciful end for the boy he's trained with for years now, only a couple years younger than him. The muscle in his jaw is aching from the tension he's put on it when he forces himself to let go. He has to do it, for himself, if he wants to go home.

He misses. The yelp of one of the mutts tells you it landed in a paw or back, and you look up at Rafe who's already drawn his second. "Rafe!" You cry out, pushing yourself up onto your feet and standing behind him now.

He hates to admit that your empathy has rubbed off on him. Watching you every night carving seemingly endless names and numbers into the rocks that lined the space you stepped in. He recalls waking up one morning and seeing your name and his carved in as well, closer to where he laid by the fire, his underlined and yours with a heart at the end. Like a signature on the top of a math test. He had wondered if you always wrote your name like that, and in this moment as he releases the bow again, he knows he has to find out for himself.

It happened so fast, the mutts knocking down the boy and the arrow flying from Rafe's shaky hands into where he should have been right as the cannon sounds. You don't know that it was Rafe's arrow that did him in.

"No..." You mumble, clamouring forward and onto your knees again to look over as the boys body is torn apart by the mutts. "You had to have done it. You had to." You say, trying to get a better view.

In a second, Rafe's arms are around you and he's pulling you back from the edge, sitting now behind you with his arms wrapped tightly over your body. "It's okay.. it's over." He mumbles, kissing the side of your head as the sunlight comes over the trees. He's fighting off the urge to vomit, everything spinning around him now.

You sit with him, gripping onto his arms and crying. Nothing is happening, so you must not have made it to ten. You feel sick- your heart is in your throat and suddenly you're really hot, moving away from him to look over the edge again, this time incase you have to throw up. You freeze, looking over to where the boy's body once was. The second arrow was in the ground. He missed again.

Rafe sees it at the same time as you. He sighs, hanging his legs over the edge. "Shit... Y/N, I'm sorry." He mumbles, gently reaching over to rub your back.

"No, no. It's okay." You insist, sitting up next to him. "I knew this would happen."

"I'll get you home." Rafe says, sliding down the side of the cornucopia before you can stop him. He stumbles the landing, swaying in his walk as he heads towards the arrow lodged into the dirt.

"Wait! Wait, wait, Rafe!" You're sliding down after him, running to his side and grabbing his arm before he can get to the arrow in the ground.

He turns to you quickly, hand on your cheek and he's pressing his lips to your forehead. "Sit with me?" He asks, knees already giving out as he falls to the ground.

You're instantly on the ground beside him, practically holding his head up with your free hand as you search him visually for some kind of injury.  "What happened? Are you hurt?"

"Uh, I guess so." Rafe mutters. "Snake bite. I think."

"You didn't tell me? I could have fixed this, I could have helped..." You ramble on, his eyes dropping shut now. "Hey, eyes open."

"It's okay. Just sit with me..." He says again, smiling weakly. "Wait with me... please?"

You nod, sniffling as you fight back the tears that want to fall. "Yeah, of course. I'll stay."

Before he closes his eyes, the music starts again and your eyes are drawn up to the sky after you notice Rafe is looking first.

Then, begins a similar slideshow of faces you recognize. Ten in total. Rafe's eyes flicker with slight recollection, remembering any kills he made himself and you gasp when you see Jack. Whatever damage you had done when he tackled you on the first day must have killed him. "Rafe.." You mumble, lowering your eyes to meet his. "I think we won."

Your point is accentuated by the voice of the head gamemaker over some unseen speakers. "Introducing the Victors of the Seventy-Fifth Annual Hunger Games!"

"We did it." Rafe laughs weakly, squeezing your hand.

You fully ignore the aircraft hovering down in front of you on the grass, turning your head to look down at him. You don't say anything, neither of you do, and you finally feel your lips against his. The kiss is bad, it doesn't really work when both of you are stuck smiling ear to ear, but you don't care one bit. The only thing that matters is that you got this chance at all.

Rafe pulls away from you slowly, using all the strength he has left to lift himself onto his feet as you steady him. "He needs help!" You shout to them, and you're quickly being lead onto the plane.

"They've got really good technology," You mock what he said to you just the day before. "It'll be like it never happened in a week, okay?" You chuckle, feeling waves of happiness, worry, and relief all at once as you quickly wipe away a tear with your free hand, other arm wrapped tightly around Rafe's waist to hold him up.

He laughs, and you lean into him more, your forehead against his shoulder as the aircraft door slides shut behind you.

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