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loveinhawkins · 1 year

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There’s a table in the school library that’s nestled in the corner, right by a radiator; Steve has claimed it ever since his double block of ‘private study periods’ began.

Not that he’s planning on doing any studying: it’s the last day of school before the winter break, and while his face has healed up from the whole Billy Hargrove Incident, he still finds himself feeling wiped at random—like his body’s having a delayed adrenaline crash ever since he pulled Dustin out of that freaky vine-infested tunnel.

So really, this spot should be ideal for a couple hours of not having to think.

And it would be perfect, if his eyes weren’t instinctively drawn to movement at the front desk.

Because for the past god-knows-how-long, Eddie Munson has been in a back-and-forth with the librarian.

It had started when he ambled up to the desk with a healthy pile of books in his hands, placed them down neatly, all ready to be stamped. Flashed a charming smile.

Steve was too far away to hear the words, but he got the gist that whatever the librarian had said amounted to no, absolutely not, because Eddie scooped the books back up, dumped them on a table a little distance away from Steve’s, then hemmed and hawed before returning to the desk with a more modest pile than before.

He was sent away again with presumably the same refusal, and so the pattern repeated until this very minute: he’s returning with just one book in his hands, his smile less charming now, more desperate.

But… no luck.

Eddie slouches back to the table in defeat. Just stands there, staring down at the books.

And goddamn it, Steve thinks, now he’s invested.

“Hey. Munson,” he says in an undertone. “What’s up?”

He doesn’t miss the weird kind of double take Eddie gives him, but at least Steve knows it’s not because of his face being a mess this time—seriously, drawing looks from students when all he wanted was to get in line for crappy cafeteria pizza had not been fun.

“Nothing,” Eddie says with a shrug, and he flashes another wide smile that makes Steve think bullshit. “Apparently I racked up a mountain of late fees. Who knew?” He sighs, glancing at his wristwatch. “Guess I’ve got enough time to just read the—oh. Um. Hey?”

“These books?” Steve confirms, having already stood up to look at them.

Eddie blinks a few times. “Yeah, these—uh, Harrington, what the fuck do you think you’re—?”

Steve heads over to the front desk with the books. It’s not all that difficult of a decision to make; he remembers Tommy H had his own library late fees in freshman year, but got nothing more than a simpering, “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again, sweetie,” just because his mom knew someone on the school board.

“For checking out, please,” Steve says, not bothering with a smile as he hands over his library card.

The only resistance he gets is a raised eyebrow from the librarian before all the books are stamped.

“What the fuck,” Eddie says, voice flat; he doesn’t take the books when Steve tries to give them to him, so Steve just shrugs and goes back to his seat, sets the books pointedly on the edge of the table.

“Look, man, it’s up to you, but I’m not gonna take them. They’ll just be sitting here.”

Eddie huffs. He goes over to the books, his hand twitching towards them before drawing back, like he’s at war with himself.

“You—you didn’t have to do that,” he gets out as if it physically pains him to do so.

Prickly, Steve thinks.

“It’s no big deal,” he says. “My account’s gathering dust, so someone might as well get the good of it.”

At hearing that, Eddie looks a little less defensive. He chews on his lips for a few seconds, then says, his tone serious, “Harrington, I’ll—I’ll forget. Like, with the holidays… like, I guarantee you, even if I write a million fucking reminders, I’m gonna take these books and forget to bring ‘em back for months.”

“Oh, no,” Steve says dryly, “lemme go alert the press, I just heard a blatant confession to a crime. Dude, just take them, what do I care if your homework takes you months to—”

“It’s not even for school,” Eddie interrupts through gritted teeth, “it’s dumb, it’s just—”

“Jesus Christ. Lemme call the press again, sounds like you’re reading a book for fun.”

Eddie stares at him. Steve raises an eyebrow in challenge—he could do this all day; just the other week, he’d beaten Mike in a brutal staring contest that felt like it went on for hours.

Eddie breaks first. “Fine,” he says with another huff, but he’s less agitated when handling the books—lingers thoughtfully on their titles, puts a couple in his backpack. The rest he opens at seemingly random parts, but it looks like he knows what he’s searching for.

And then it seems as if he’s just going to pick up the remaining books and walk away—Steve expects him to, honestly—but he ends up staying where he is, gives Steve a look of consideration, almost like he’s a book worth reading, too.

“You stole my table, you know?” Eddie says.

“Uh, no,” Steve says automatically, then adds with more confidence, “I was definitely here first.”

Eddie snorts. “Nope. My senior year, uh,” he shrugs self-deprecatingly, “the first time around. That was my spot. Was pretty possessive over it too, think I signed the table, like, underneath.”

Steve’s eyebrows rise in interest; he runs a finger along the underside of the table and soon feels it: an E.M scratched into the wood.

“Huh,” he says. “Guess you’re right.”

A pause.

And then Steve surprises himself.

“There’s, um, room here, if you want? I’m not gonna use the whole table.”

Eddie’s eyebrows shoot up. There’s a long enough silence in which Steve considers just telling him to forget about it, but then—

Eddie sits down opposite him.

It’s not as awkward as Steve was expecting: Eddie seems focused enough on his books, on bringing out a battered looking journal with sheets of paper that look like they’re hanging on by a thread. He roots around his backpack some more, retrieves a ballpoint pen with a quiet, triumphant, “Aha!”

He either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care that Steve isn’t even making an attempt to look busy; his own side of the table is bare.

“Didn’t know you were left-handed,” Steve says after a moment.

Eddie looks up from his note-taking. He smirks, waggles his eyebrows briefly. “Fitting, huh? Spooky.”

“Oh, I’m terrified.”

And Eddie actually laughs—hushed, but it still counts as one.

He soon returns to being absorbed in whatever it is he’s writing, which means Steve has less of a distraction when the familiar wave of tiredness washes over him.

He tries to sit up as well as he can, conscious of the fact that he’s not alone, but the radiator is the perfect temperature, and the steady scratch of Eddie’s pen has a soporific effect. He’s distantly aware of the fact that his head is nodding down with dwindling energy to try and stop it—hears Eddie’s voice, as if from very far away, rising in question.

Steve sniffs sharply, jerks his head back up and blinks hard. “What?”

“Oh, sorry,” Eddie says quickly, and he sounds genuine. “Didn’t know you were sleeping.”

“I wasn’t,” Steve says.

“Uh, okay,” Eddie says. His lips twitch. “That was an awfully long blink then, Harrington.”

“Shut up,” Steve retorts mildly. He stretches slightly, hides a yawn behind his hand. “Did you actually want something or—”

“Nah, wasn’t important.”

Steve frowns, unconvinced. The side of Eddie’s left hand is covered in ink, and Steve can see where his pen has started to die on him as his writing gets more faded across the page.

Steve puts a hand in his pocket, brings out another ballpoint and throws it at Eddie.

The pen bounces along the table, and Eddie manages to catch it one-handed.

“Good catch,” Steve says.

“Thanks,” Eddie says. He sounds almost uncertain.

Silence falls. It only takes another minute or two of hearing Eddie writing away for Steve’s determination to stay awake to waver again. He slumps forward with a mumbled, “M’just gonna…” and lays his head down.

Eddie stops writing.

“Hey, man, are you… okay? Like, if you feel… if you wanna go home I could take you to the nurse? Or—”

“I’m fine,” Steve says into his folded arms. “S’just… the aftermath of… stuff. No big deal.”

“Oh?” Eddie says tentatively.

Steve lifts his head up a bit, squints dubiously. “C’mon, Munson. You must’ve heard the rumour mill.”

Billy Hargrove had spread it all over the school, how he had ‘taught King Steve a lesson.’ In all honesty, Steve hadn’t cared all that much about how he himself came across in whatever story Billy created, was just relieved that at least Max and Lucas’s names had been kept out of it.

“I don’t put much stock in rumours,” Eddie says carefully. “Folks can say… all kindsa things.”

Steve nods faintly. Fair point.

“Okay, but you can take a little bit of stock in this one. Like, a smidge.”

Steve demonstrates with his thumb and forefinger.

It’s only when Eddie doesn’t smile in response that Steve realises he’d been hoping to make him laugh again. Maybe.

“Huh. Well. For what it’s worth… I’m sorry.”

“What for?” Steve says tiredly.

“Harrington. I’m not stupid, y’know? That was more than a… a stupid fight after school or something. Like, I can remember what your face looked like.”

“Gee, thanks.” Steve sets his head back down, closing his eyes.

“I didn’t—I just meant whatever it was, it… it went too far. Way too fucking far.”

Steve yawns again, doesn’t bother hiding it. “Yeah. Something like that.”

He’s resigning himself to the thought of waking up with a stiff neck before Eddie sighs and says, “If you’re gonna sleep, Harrington, don’t be an amateur about it.”

Steve looks up in time to see Eddie reaching underneath the table with one leg, hooking his ankle round the empty chair next to Steve and shoving it closer to him.

“Three or four’s probably the best amount for stretching out on,” Eddie says. “Uh, speaking from experience.”

Steve smiles. “Noted.”

He manoeuvres himself until he’s lying much more comfortably across the seats, using his backpack and coat as a pillow.

Frustratingly but predictably, despite his fatigue, sleep doesn’t come easily, so Steve looks underneath the table and asks, “What’re you writing about, Munson?”

He can see Eddie’s boots, how one foot is tapping away, as if in time to a song no-one else can hear.

“Um, I was just… getting inspiration for… it’s kinda like. Like a story, but—”

“Don’t hurt yourself, dude,” Steve says, “I know what a campaign is.”

The foot tapping stops.

“Aren’t you just full of surprises?” Eddie says.

He sounds a bit far away again, though Steve knows that’s just in his head; he can feel his eyelids drooping.

“You’ve got…” He sighs, voice trailing off as he finishes, “No idea…”

Eddie launches into a speech; Steve can follow it well enough for a little while, Eddie rambling about the kind of decisions he thinks his players will make in the game, but eventually the words become a blur, and he drifts off just like that, into an unexpectedly peaceful sleep.

He wakes with the lightest of touches to his shoulder, a soft, “Steve?” that nevertheless makes him jolt to full alertness in a blink, reaching for a bat he doesn’t currently have.

“Jesus Christ!” Eddie yelps, almost falling back against the table. “What the hell kinda military training d’you have, Harrington?”

“Just have good reflexes,” Steve says, hopes it sounds casual enough as he breathes through his suddenly racing heart.

“Yeah, that’s one way to fucking put it. Anyway, uh. Sorry, didn’t mean to, like, startle you, but you slept right through the bell, man.”

Steve sits up; the library is empty apart from them, the librarian shooting them a not so subtle glare. And he realises that while everyone else was rushing out of school, eager for the holidays to start, Eddie must’ve stayed. Waited for him.

Steve runs a hand through his hair, quickly puts on his coat.

“God, sorry, you didn’t have to—if I’ve made you late, I’m—”

“Nah, don’t sweat it.” Eddie puts his backpack strap across one shoulder. “I wasn’t in a hurry. Um, are you… like, good to drive? I can give you a ride, if—”

“I’m okay,” Steve says, struck by the consideration behind the offer. He means what he says though; he feels pleasantly refreshed. He smiles self-effacingly. “Think I need one class where I can just sleep, and then I’ll get through the day.”

Eddie gives a playful scoff. “That’s already a thing, Harrington, it’s called first period.”

They walk out of the library together, and Steve finds that it’s kind of… nice, honestly. He keeps waiting for some awkwardness to creep in again, but it never does.

“Big holiday plans?” Eddie asks, smalltalk that should be stilted, but it just sounds like he’s sincerely interested in the answer.

Steve shrugs. “Not really. Oh, I’ve got—you know the Snow Ball thing tomorrow, at the middle school? There’s this kid I know, I’m gonna give him a ride there, but—”

Steve breaks off with a fond shake of the head, knowing that there’s this kid I know doesn’t really give it justice, doesn’t say the full truth: that Dustin Henderson has somehow wormed his way into Steve’s goddamn heart forever.

“His mom’s invited me over for dinner tonight,” he continues. “Think he wants, like, a dress-rehearsal of his outfit or something, which is probably the closest he’ll ever come to admitting he’s nervous. I kinda feel for him, honestly. God, do you remember being thirteen? Everything seemed to matter so much, and most of it was just… stupid shit.”

They’ve reached the parking lot, and Eddie gives Steve a sideways look with a bemused smile.

“Woah, Harrington, we’re still in school, remember? Don’t think we’re meant to sound so world-weary yet.”

Steve chuckles. “Yeah.” He gestures at Eddie’s get-up. “Bet you’ve never once cared about the stupid shit, though.”

What people think.

Eddie’s smile turns more knowing. “Shockingly, Harrington,” he says, “I didn’t come out the womb like this.”

They both hesitate; they’re at Steve’s car now, Eddie’s van parked in a space that’s further away. There’s no reason, really, for the conversation to continue any longer.

But Eddie still lingers.

“Uh, enjoy your dinner, I guess. If the… dress-rehearsal goes shit, just tell the kid it’s good luck for the real night.”

Steve laughs. “He’s in the Drama Club, so that might work, actually. Thanks, Munson.” He opens the car door as Eddie nods, starts to head off to his van. Seized by a sudden impulse, Steve calls, “Happy holidays!”

“Yeah, you too.” Eddie turns, tapping at his temple exaggeratedly. “Won’t forget about the books, I promise.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “You better not,” he says, tongue-in-cheek.

He starts the car and heads for Dustin’s house, honks the horn when he drives past Eddie’s van, catches Eddie waving.

Steve thinks he quite likes the idea (regardless of whether it’ll put his library account in jeopardy), of the books finding a permanent home at Eddie’s place. Briefly imagines Eddie writing with an ink-stained hand, curled up safely in a world of his own—where the only monsters are the ones that live in between the pages.

#i’m forever in love with ‘first’ meetings i cannot help myself. can’t help writing about winter in spring too apparently #pre steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve and dustin

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halcyone-of-the-sea · 1 year

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Hiya!! I’m obsessed with your writing. You’re my favorite writer on here, I dream of your stories!

Would it be possible to request (either with Ghost or Price, I love them both equally) something like they were young love but he breaks up with reader cos he wants to keep her safe and thinks he knows what’s best for her. Then during a mission gone wrong, they need a safe house but somehow the enemy found out all the locations of their approved safe houses. He remembered her place is close by and tries his luck. Maybe she gets mad at him for making decisions for her or maybe he learns about her difficult past that happened without with. But with a happy ending? ☺️

Only if this inspires you! Thank you again for sharing your beautiful writings!

If You Bite My Hand Again

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: How dare he show his face to you after all of these years. How dare you still find it in yourself to love him.

WORDCOUNT: 6.6k

WARNINGS: Heavy angst, abandonment, arguments, mentions of death, blood, insinuations of torture & mental illness troubles, Simon's comic backstory, hurt/comfort, sort of suggestive?, anxiety attack, somewhat happy ending, etc.

A/N: This was really fun to write, lol, enjoy Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You never should have met him. In fact, it seemed like the universe had been adamant to make you not run into each other on that chilly October morning almost…well…it has to be more than thirteen years ago, now. So long.

As you head to your kitchen and glance at the clock, the hands point to a perfect three-fifteen—an hour of pitch-blackness and whispering winds that dash past the musty glass of the windows. The thump of your footsteps blocks out the heaving sigh that falls from your mouth; rubbing at your eyes like a cat as great bags sag from tired flesh.

The dreams weren’t uncommon.

Simon still reigned supreme in the conjuring of them, ingrained into the sinews and pulled thin by a hand constantly working them—knitting a sweater of memories addled with age. Moth-eaten.

As you snap on the light of your tiny and run-down kitchen, the bulb fizzing and the dishwasher still emitting that squeal as it always does, you think about him before grabbing a glass. Water hits and fills the thing up as your eyes blankly stare, fatigued but yet never more awake.

The tremors in your hands persist.

You never should have met him.

—

Your feet take you to Primary, laces a mess atop your little shoes caked in mud and grass—you’d chased after a butterfly through the front yards, getting caught in your neighbor's bushes and having to slip your way out before she could rampage outside with her broom.

It was no surprise that your face was lit with a bright smile, eyes shining like fire that your teachers had given you a special name for—“Ember.”

The very thing that could start a blaze over and over again as long as it still was alight.

Laughing and peeing out leaves from your hair; flattening out your uniform, you stride with pride ingrained into your body. Well, you did before you heard the soft sniffling coming from down the alley.

Halting, your ears perk at the sounds, smile freezing as you blink quickly. Looking to your left, you lock onto the hunched figure of a boy.

Perhaps only a year or two older than you, you stare in curiosity as he consciously paws at his cheeks, walking out of the alley in broken and odd strides. His uniform is ruffled, wrinkled, but not in the way yours was.

He must have fallen and hurt himself, you reason with a child-like frown pulling on your lips. Blinking at his blond hair, you get a glimpse of red-rimmed brown eyes.

The boy halts, looking at you widely, fear and pain emanating from his expression. You’re the first to speak, brightness still in your eyes but a deep innocence that comes with youth. All you saw was a boy your age in pain—that was strange to you. You knew what getting hurt was like; you fell and scraped your knees often, or hit your elbows on corners. Sometimes you would cry from that…did the same happen to this boy?

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” Brown-Eyes stares, hurriedly pushing at his face to wipe tears but only succeeds in making his face red from the material of his uniform. “Did you fall down? I do that pretty often—it’s okay, my Mum says you’ll be better after a hug and a kiss!”

You smile and stand straighter.

“I,” the boy begins, sniffling. “I didn’t fall. I’m not clumsy.”

You tilt your head, confused. “Well…then why are you crying?”

“That’s none of your business!” He snaps, brows pulled in as he comes forward on the sidewalk. Your face twists as you huff in annoyance.

“My Mum says to treat everyone nicely. That wasn’t very nice.”

“I don’t bloody care, do I,” you’re sent a scathing glance as he passes. “I didn’t ask for you to speak to me. Leave me alone.”

Naturally, you follow after, cheeks gaining heat.

“You’re being mean! Apologize!”

“Would you run off already?!” The boy shouts, and perhaps something fires in that small brain of yours—a thought and a semblance of self-realization at the shame that emits from his tone. A tight squeeze of vocal cords.

He was ashamed. Ashamed you’d caught him. Seen him.

Your feet slow back to a stop, watching him hurriedly continue on and hearing the quiet gasps of breath. After a moment, you grit your teeth and run the distance; seizing him around the middle in a hug of stubby fingers and tightly closed eyes.

The boy startles, body hardening and a cry escaping his lungs. “Get off of me!” He shouts, hands snapping down to yours and digging under your hold.

“No!” You call, stubbornly. “My Mum says that hugs make everything better—”

“Stop talking about your Mum!” The boy stomps his foot to the ground, chubby cheeks turning crimson as he tilts his head back to look at you, tears still dripping off his chin.

A stiff silence falls but like a green branch on a tree, Brown-Eyes’ form twitchingly loosens, his prying hands softening as you hold tight—digging your nose into his spine. He minutely flinches, but you only hug him more.

You’re both late to the building, and your teachers are going to give you scoldings. But right now, on a chilled October morning, you hug this strange, crying boy and blink your fiery eyes up at him.

After he relaxes fully and the sniffling stops, you let go and smile brightly again, looking up into his open expression of innocent confusion. Whatever had happened, he must have fallen pretty hard, you thought, pulling out another leaf from your hair. You giggle and hand it over as a gift.

The boy hesitantly picks it up and looks at it before turning back to you.

“Call me Ember.”

A pause. A hesitation. But your eyes shimmer and he relents with the memory of the hug in the front of his mind. Such a strange encounter.

He speaks, looking away from you with flushed cheeks, muttering out as his tear streaks dry.

“...Simon.”

You walk together the rest of the way.

The reality was, if you had gotten caught by your neighbor, had snatched that butterfly—had even stayed in those bushes for three more seconds, you would have missed him. And if Simon hadn’t run out of his home crying, he never would have locked onto the burning reality that was with you.

—

You put the glass to your chapped lips and take a long sip, throat bobbing as you take down the liquid with tears burning your eyes. Blinking rapidly, you swipe at the water at the sides of your mouth and shake your head, sighing.

“Why can’t you leave me alone?” Your voice bounces off the walls, peeling paint and moving the dust stuck atop the fridge. “Damnit, Simon.”

Today was worse than the others—everything building and stacking like some castle of misery and pain; windows too narrow to let in any light and your form stuck in shadows longer than an endless rope. There were just so many things that suffocated you now.

And in the endless nights, the brain desperately looks for comfort.

You hate that it only comes from the memories of him.

“I have to go to work tomorrow.” Your subconscious reminds you as you blankly stare out the window above the sink, seeing the streetlights and the cone of warm light—it flickers every so often, a blinking taking place like the eye of a large, brutish, wolf.

Work, then the grocery store, then back home to eat a tasteless dinner and fall back to sleep. An empty house with empty walls and empty memories.

Your hands put the glass in the sink, coming back up to rub and dig into your eyes until the itch behind your flesh stops. A thump of a low pulse is felt in the thin skin, orbs of your optics moving before you pinch into the bridge of your nose and drop them with a slap of a hand to the counter. A harsh breath exits your mouth, but it’s quickly strangled away into a sound of ragged shock.

Outside, under the light, the silhouette of a man leans heavily on the pole, feet shaking under him and face pressed into the shadows as his shoulders heave. You stare, wide-eyed, as your heart jumps to a rapid pace.

“What the fuck?” Your mouth utters, watching the man push off the light and stagger with a heavy limp and a jerking body of immense stature. Whoever this guy was, he was out of his mind—and coming right for your front door. You startle to go and secure it, feet slapping the ground and face twisted.

“What the fuck?!” Gasping, you re-check your locks and frantically look for something else—the stool where you place your keys meets your eyes. You grab it and place it as a barrier to the handle, tilting it on two legs and blinking quickly as whatever sleep-sheen that had been in your gaze leaves in one swoop of adrenaline.

Grunting wafts in from under the door, haggard inhales and a sudden slam of a body hitting the door. You stifle a scream and back up quick steps, slapping your hands to your mouth.

Sure, you might live in a shitty neighborhood, but no one had ever tried to just straight-up break in high or drunk off something. Your mind slashes to the knives in the kitchen drawer as the wall shakes again—something sliding down to the ground and a grunted whine.

Just before you run off, you hear it. An utterance; a disruption of airwaves. A whisper, a plea. Your brain ceases to function with one foot back the way you came, hand on the frame with the knuckles tight.

In one instance it all comes to a screeching halt.

“Ember…”

Who called you that anymore? The rare instance where you’d meet your classmates in the world they would mutter it; also be asked a few questions before they went on with their lives. You pause in your panic, slowly gazing back at the barrier and the stool like you’d just discovered you’re under the sights of a sniper.

There’s a sliver of something that inserts itself into your brain. Fear or hope, you can’t tell. But that can’t be right.

He left.

“Ember!” You flinch, the deep Manchester accent grating your heart into shreds. No. “It’s me!” He says, followed by a horribly gritty cough.

There’s a weak thump against the door, mumbled curses, and growls as if a wild animal mimicking human speech. You almost wished for that, considering you now knew the exact person behind the door down to his atoms. The brown of his eyes and the way his cheeks looked as they were stained with tears.

His laugh. Simon’s voice. Everything.

Simon.

You’re rushing to rip the stool away with a clatter and a jerk as it hits the far wall, undoing the locks with shaking hands as you grasp the handle and wrench it sideways.

His form slams to your feet with a loud grunt as the door hits the wall.

“Fuckin’ hell! Mind your bloody—!” Whatever he said was lost to you as you stare at the bloodied form of the man you had thought you’d seen the last of. Tactical gear, terrifying skull mask, black on black with weapons galore. But that voice told you all you needed to know.

Simon Riley is alive and very much breathing.

The same boy you still loved.

The same boy who’d broken your heart.

—

After October the years with Simon seemed to strengthen. You always walked together in the mornings—or, at least, you always waited for him. The dawn of your friendship strengthened and hardened to an unbreakable amount of mid-day rays; vast and sunny.

When he was sixteen he asked you to be his girlfriend, hand in his pockets and ache on his chin as he grunted out broken sentences. Stuttering and awkward. You’d smiled with your bright eyes and giggled before kissing his cheek—feeling his sigh and him melting into you with a grin of his own, unable to meet your eyes for a moment.

Later, when he said he’d wanted to leave his apprenticeship at the grocery’s butcher shop and join the Special Air Service, you’d been along for the ride—anything to get him away from his father and brother. You knew what was going on, even if he was still so hesitant to allow you any glimpse of his home life.

When he’d shy away at the Halloween decorations of skeletons as if the skull would jump off the page and tense at loud cheering, you knew. You did what you could, but there was only so much for you to suggest or say without him shutting down.

When you’d offered your flat as a safe space after graduation, desperate to help your Lover, he’d stared and blinked in shock; tilting his head at you before smiling softly and taking you into a hug. Wherever he went, he knew he’d always have a place by your side.

So, throughout his leaves of absence from the military, he’d come home to you—bruised and tired, but still the same Simon you fell in love with. You’d cook for him, tease at his shaved hair as he gave you those puppy-dog eyes, and talked him through your classes at University.

You would fall asleep on his chest, feeling the hard strength he was gaining and the way he held you tighter than he ever had; conscious of himself but not wanting to part with you.

The love the both of you had was akin to a blaze of fire, and you often found Simon simply staring into your eyes in times like those—watching silently and rubbing his thumb along your spine until your face burned.

He was always so gentle despite everything; you loved his perseverance, his drive to be good despite nearly every factor telling him he couldn’t be. Slowly but surely, he was forging his own life.

In 2003 he managed to take a break from the military to get his family straightened out. His brother, Tommy, went to rehab—Simon stayed with his mother and a year later he kicked his father to the curb and out of his and his family's life entirely. Finally free.

You managed to meet his lovely mum, still so bright, and even interacted with Tommy once he got out; went to the younger brother’s wedding in ‘06 and met Beth, his wife. When you saw Simon’s mother and the way she carried herself, you knew where your Love got his pride from. The two were so alike it was a sight to see.

While it may not have been conventional by any standard, Simon proposed to you in the back garden of Tommy’s cheap wedding venue. Alone, so as not to cause a scene. Willow trees and a small stream of water. Fireflies. The words ring in your soul with every waking moment, and they will stay there until it all goes silent with the grip of death.

He didn’t want to use his mum’s ring—the one that holds so many bad memories for both parties. He’d used the gold from it though. Went to a man who bled him dry for money to have it re-cast.

It was simple. A small, glinting, ruby pressed in the middle.

“It was always goin’ to be you, Ember, yeah?” he’d muttered in his deeper voice, formal attire holding you both tight. “So…don’t make me beg too much, Sweetheart. You know the old lady’ll kill me if I get stains on my suit.”

“Beg?” You responded, tears in your eyes but such a wide grin on your lips. The stars above you twinkle like the pupils of your eyes—the same burn still trapped. “Oh, Simon, come on, now.” He connects his forehead to yours, hand still in the middle of you and presenting the accumulation of all of his love. The other wraps your waist.

He was shaking slightly.

“I would never make you beg for my love, Brown-Eyes.”

You both share a breathless chuckle and lock lips, smiling like fools as he sighs into you.

In a happy world, that would have been the beginning of a perfect life. A happy house. A happy wedding. Happy deaths.

But something went wrong on one of his deployments.

Missing for months, he came back…wrong. With a fiery temper and sharp snapping words—wounds on the outside as well as inside. His eyes were feral, like a dog held back by a broken chain carting around its feet.

Simon never spoke about it—the missing days. The weeks. The months.

You broke yourself over it, trying to help but not knowing what would make it better. Some days there were flickers of soft expressions, but it was as if he were dragging himself up from a pool so deep it was bottomless to show them to you. Simon rarely smiled. He rarely sent an affectionate glance.

He didn’t let you touch him.

And then he called the entire engagement off with a letter on your counter only holding four words.

‘Don’t look for me.’

And then Simon’s mum, Tommy, Beth, and his nephew had all died. Been killed. And you were just supposed to move on? Live with that? There were times when you had breakdowns so bad you couldn't leave the house for days—the house that Simon and you had bought together.

All of those years.

All those vows and shared nights.

And he disappeared on you.

—

You have him sitting on the couch, watching silently from the chair across the room as he finishes wrapping his leg with the bandages from the first-aid kit you’d provided.

More like chucked at his gut.

No one had said a word, and the air was as tense as a noose—choking any oxygen that traveled into your throat. Simon was getting blood all over your flat cushions, the crimson saturating the fabric as you sit rail-rod straight, hand clenched on your thighs.

Simon’s avoiding your eyes.

“Take off the mask,” you hiss, pupils slits. If he wasn’t going to address it, then you were. Simon freezes, not breathing as his hands fall stationary around the bandages.

“I’ll be fine in a while—”

“Take off your fucking mask, Simon.” You can’t help the way you snap, face burning with shame and hate. How dare he show up now, after all of these years of mourning him and the relationship you’d built as kids. Simon wasn’t just your boyfriend—your fiancé—he was your best friend.

And all he’d done was left you a four-fucking-letter note before leaving you behind.

The geared man sighs silently, and you see his shoulders sag. His grip travels up as he straightens his spine in a fluid motion, pain medication working through him in waves of numbness.

His brown eyes bore through you as if he were a ghost. Under the fabric, his mouth thins. “Ma’am.”

Even his voice is older. More dead. How could this be your Simon?

Your heart bruises your ribcage as he grasps the top of his skeletal mask, gloved fingers peeling back the sown layers until you get the full image of a man more damaged than before. You have to stop yourself from sobbing right then and there; your throat going dry.

So many scars. Milky white and spread vastly—they weren’t pretty. Up his cheeks, down his brow line; even at the corner of his mouth and seeping down his neck. A crooked nose with damaged cartilage. Strangling a gasp, it comes out as a great expelling of horror, eyes going wide with shock.

You hate how you want to rush to him, take his face in your hands, and try to brush them away as if marks on paper. But you don’t make any such movements beyond a hunch of your shoulders.

“Not pretty, eh? Guess I should’ve warned you.” Simon rubs at his forehead, blond locks, hanging around his temple, and the black of face-paint stuck in his sockets. “Didn’t mean to fuckin’ drop in like this, Ember. Bloody bastard thing for me to do.”

You flinch at the name, looking away as you’d been peeling back his skin with your eyes. “What are you doing here, Simon?” Anyone with a brain could hear the cracking hardness in your words. Face blank.

He studies your features, taking in the changes and the bleakness of your expression. Brows furrow slightly before they go back to a state of nothingness. Simon glances around the room, finding the condition of things concerning but doesn’t show it.

“Nothin’ you need to worry about comin’ back to you, Sweetheart. Just work.”

“It is when the bastard who abandoned me shows up years later, bloody on my doorstep. Stop acting so self-righteous,” you growl, snapping, “I should toss your arse outside and let them have you. And don’t fucking call me that.”

Silence descends, and your words echo. It’s like now that he was here everything hurt ten times more than when he wasn’t.

“I never wanted us to end up like we did—”

“Bullshit!” You’re on your feet and stalking to him, pointing with your finger as he hurriedly stands up as well and looks down in shock as you press your digit into his bulky vest. “You shut your mouth, Simon Riley, and you let me explain something to you.”

He keeps silent, mouth parted and scars shifting around his stubble. His hands slightly held out at his sides and hovering over your hips—not touching you but there just in case. Simon’s brown ords are carefully widened at your tight exclamation. The sound of his clearing throat enters the living room before you speak again.

“I waited for you, hoped and prayed that you would show me at least a,” your throat bunches, but you push through. “A modicum of respect and show your stubborn self up at my door with apology flowers and a guilty smile on your lips. You know who took care of your family's burial plots, you fucking piece of shit,” his eyes flinch closed a bit, turning his head down as his breath hitches. “Me! You fucking disappeared!”

You know you shouldn’t be yelling, shouldn’t be pounding on his chest with a fist as if he was a door and you the knocker, but, dammit, it’s been years and he just shows up? Like this? Ten times the size he was—scarred and torn to shreds; laced with muscles and an expression of vacancy. Simon holds to your words, hanging off of them with a down-ward turned chin and eyes that lock with yours through pale lashes.

“Maybe I-I did, o…or pushed some things that I shouldn’t have,” you hold back your tears, but your voice still wavers, tapering off like a line without a hook, “but I didn’t deserve that, Simon.” The first traitorous sob breaks through. “I didn’t deserve that.”

His eyes shatter into a myriad of kaleidoscope bits and pieces, brows flicking from one point on your face to another in quick slashes of guilt. But he still doesn’t touch you. Not until you tell him it’s what you want.

Simon opens his mouth but closes it just as quickly, unable to find any words that would even matter. You let your tears slip down your cheeks, dribbling off your chin. The man’s chest hurts, pulse thumping to mirror yours.

“I waited for you and you broke me,” you whisper, mouth twisting with odium towards the man under your fist. “I wanted a life with you, Simon, no matter the trials.”

“I didn’t mean to…” The man trails off, clenching his jaw. You scoff, backing up a step and pressing your palms into your eyes.

“But you did.”

“I had to keep you safe, Ember.” Simon’s fingers twitch outward, eyes frantically moving around as you sniffle and shakily walk away to the kitchen. He follows, desperately on your heels as your spine bows forward with resounding cries of anguish. “I...I wasn’t right in the head, I need you to understand I didn’t want this! I never wanted to fucking hurt you!”

Your hand connects with the junk drawer, tearing it open and digging a hand inside as he pleads with you to listen.

“If I didn’t leave I was worried I’d do something—!”

“Then you should have trusted me!” Your hands rip out the ring held on a small leather strap. The ruby glints where it always sits, held in tarnished gold. You chuck it at his chest and suck down breaths so you don’t pass out. “I would have listened! Gotten you help! We don’t abandon the ones we love, Simon! Not us!”

Simon catches the object by slapping a hand to his chest, pinky finger latching through the leather cord before he jerks his limb back up. When he looks at the ring, he goes utterly still, gazing back up at you slowly.

“We were supposed to be different,” you sob, trapping it behind your hands. He’s shaking, brows tight and lines along his face as he brings a free hand to run through his locks, gripping the strands for a moment and pulling. “Simon,” you say again, and he looks back at you with glossy eyes. “We were supposed to be better.”

“What did I do to you to deserve that,” he stares, his jaw is loose and he can’t stop clenching and unclenching it. You can see his heart working through his breast. Bloodied. Beaten by fists and slashed with knives. “What did I do to you?”

“Nothing,” he gasps, taking a step forward. “Fuck, Ember, you didn’t bloody do anything to me besides love me.”

You sputter out, “Then why did you leave me here alone?” Your knees buckle and he darts forward, catching you under the arms as you wail out, shoving on his waist, “You never should have come back. Never should have come back.”

He lets you push him off; lets you back up to the counter as Simon tilts his head higher to stave off the tears in the sides of his eyes. He’d known coming here was a bad idea, for lack of a better word, but after the Op went bad and all of his safe houses were compromised, he didn’t have a choice. It wasn’t to say he didn’t regret his actions in the past with you, or that he didn’t punish himself for them, yet at the time it was the only thing he could do to give him the sense that you would be better without him. Safe.

After everything that had happened, he wasn’t in the right state of mind anymore. You deserved so much better. But hearing all of this…

Christ, could he have been wrong? Everything blurred; hurt. Hearing your sobs was like a knife to his heart every time, digging and cutting with serrated edges at the veins and pumping muscle, carving away flesh to shed the pounding redness to light. You held that heart in your hand and in his he held the ring—the ring he’d given to you as a promise of love and honor.

A pact of loyalty.

Simon doesn’t even realize he’s crying until the blurring edges of his vision make itself known. His eyes bore harshly, prodding into you as he makes known what he’s been broken since he first locked gazes with you again. The man’s voice shakes, accent deep and tight.

He asks the first thing that comes to his head.

“What happened to your eyes?”

“What?” You ask, incredulously, brows furrowed as your hand digs into the counter to keep you upright. Simon stares deeper, the sides of his eyelids wrinkling with a not-so-hidden sheen of great concern. Unbearable pain.

“What happened to your bloody eyes?” Where had the spark gone? That flare that grew and spread like fire that was the entire purpose behind your name. An unconquerable ache for life.

You only watch him with a parted mouth and tear-stained lashes, sniffling. Simon tries again, taking a step forward on unsteady feet.

“Please, Sweetheart, d…don’t, don’t…” He can’t finish, the leather cord intertwined into his fingers as he comes closer. “Don’t tell me I took it away. Not my Ember. Not my Girl’s fire.”

Your eyes are so overflowed you can’t even see him as he hovers over you, fingers coming up to brush your cheeks as his mouth is open in hard pants of breath. “No, no, no. Fuckin’ bastard, not me. Not over me, please.” It’s like Simon’s not even talking to you but rather himself.

He mutters in fast sentences, eyes panicked. “You were supposed to be better off—‘posed to move on. Why didn’t you? Why didn’t you find someone else?”

“You’re an idiot, Simon. An idiot,” you sag into his neck, nose digging into his pulse as he quivers, legs having to reset themselves. His heat melts into you as your body gives out with a final sob, “It was always going to be you.”

His arms snap around you like a vise, dragging you into him as he breaks and stifles his whimper on your scalp, breathing right by your ear; gasping for breath.

“M’sorry,” he mutters, so silent below his sniveling stutters, “M’so sorry, Sweetheart. This is all my fucking fault.”

You shake into his chest, face nuzzling and desperate to smell his scent again—tired from all the yelling and fighting. It was still late, you still needed to go to work tomorrow…but Simon.

Oh, Simon. How could he be so…him?

Your sobs are quieter than his, tiny cries that make the man’s arms tighten around you every time. Hands coming up, you can’t stop the way you want to hold him; how you wish to keep him close to you and push him away all at once. How dare he?

How dare he still make you love him after all he’d put you through?

Simon sags to the floor with you in his hold, head bowed and trying to gasp down his vulnerability as tears stain your shoulder. It’s as if the realization that he’d made a mistake had broken him back down to when he was young, past hatred of messing up infesting his brain like maggots. A fear of it, even.

The man presses quick, panicked kisses to your neck as his breath hitches every other second, rocking you back and forth.

“Didn’t mean to do it,” Simon utters. “Didn’t mean for it to hurt you—”

He breaks off and you realize that despite the years Simon’s mind was still very much fragile when it came to home life. You blink and take a deep breath, unable to get out of his unrelenting grip.

Your hand travels up to find the back of his head, spreading through his hair and massaging his flesh. When things got bad you used to do this with him. Give the man something to focus on so he could pass through his hysteria quicker.

Simon’s ribcage bangs against yours, nearly hyperventilating with how he’s trying to hide his small grunts and whines.

“Simon,” you clear your throat, trying to calm yourself down as seriousness sets in your tone. “Simon, breathe.”

Your ears twitch, noticing him listen to you as he takes down a long gasp of air and breathes out in puffs on your neck—hot and humid.

“Ember…”

“Shh,” interrupting, you shush him in tiny whispers, still rubbing at his head. “Brown-Eyes, just sit here, okay?” You feel a jerky nod, his fingers squeezing your flesh off and on as he mimics your own lung pattern.

It’s a few minutes before he goes completely still again, and you feel the burn of shame from his face in your clutch. The relationship was strained—or whatever you could call this—but you never wanted to see him in pain. Never.

You knew he was better when he sighs deeply, completely going limp in your arms; great weight leaning into you as you lean back to the cabinets to help with the pure might of his physique. With a slow hand, you un-velcro his vest and his gear, letting it hit the floor with dull thumps and clatters.

He doesn’t protest, doesn’t move to help or hinder. You would give anything to know what he was thinking.

“M’sorry,” Simon whispers and you respond accordingly, softly.

“You’ve already said that, Love.” He grunts, taking in a long, deep breath.

“Need you t’know it.”

“...I do.”

“Okay.” You close your eyes and stave off your anger at everything happening right now. While it would feel better to yell at him until dawn, what would that even achieve? Everything had needed to be said, had been. And you’d never felt lighter than at this moment.

You knock your head against him, the both of you panting for breath and hands vibrating with leaving adrenaline. Sweaty and twitchy.

“You never should have done that, Simon.” Whispering, you sigh. “I needed you. I needed you here. With me.” He stays still, but you feel his lips press deeper into your pulse. You’re practically in his lap, back to the woodgrain.

In a moment of weakness, or pure longing, you pull his head back and situate your hands at his cheeks, looking over his scars and his broken skin as he lets you move him how you wish. His half-lidded, red, eyes stare—grip around you not letting up.

Simon doesn’t speak as, unprompted, you kiss the shattered bridge of his nose; you only feel the fluttering of his lashes as they tickle your cheeks.

“I was scared of myself.” He mutters. “After they died…” His family. “I didn’t want to put you in danger, Ember. Not you.”

“We would have figured it out, Simon. You know that, deep down, you do.” Brown eyes find yours as you tilt his head.

“You sure?” He asks, desperate for an answer even though he doesn’t know himself.

Thumbs run up and down his stubble. Your face creases, “...I don’t know. But we could have tried.”

Simon’s eyes close tightly, and his face tilts to press his lips to your palm, quivering breath exhaled with the strength of an open balloon. Your ring was still stuck in his digging grip, and it was never going to leave for the rest of the night.

“Yeah,” he whispers, gravely voice lax.

Studying him now, in this light, knowing he was so afraid of what he might do if he got into an episode, you were stabbed with agony in your heart. To be that afraid of yourself to that magnitude was nearly unimaginable to you.

Nearly.

“What now?” You ask lowly, the last remnants of tears drying as Simon opens his eyes slowly, looking back at you.

“Don’t know.” He admits. “I have to leave.”

“I have work tomorrow,” you relate. Your teeth find your lip, biting it.

A small awkward chokehold captures the both of you. The reality was that both of you were akin to strangers again—such was the curse of lost years and trials you’d faced along the way.

Brown-Eyes and Ember were dead, yet you still called their names like phantoms of sleek black fabric and chained recollections of a boy with red cheeks and a girl with muddy shoes. The walks to school were there, the dates, and the late nights spent in good company. Touches to skin and open-mouthed kisses. Fireflies that whizzed and the glinting of gold as wind ran through the willows.

Dark corruption stained the faint idea of happiness; of a good world. This was not reality. It was some joke of an existence.

If life were fair, Simon Riley would have never grown up in that house—his father wouldn’t have latched onto his brother and done dark deeds to wrap the little brown-eyed boy in red tissue paper and barbed wire. A present and sheen of mild sociopathy; separation of any pain or torment. A fighting boy. A boy born with blood on his hands and stuck behind his eyes every time he swung a fist.

It was a curse to love him. And it was a curse that burned your soul with his very name.

“Are you going to go?” You ask, eyes blank but yearning for what little comfort you can grab. It had been so long. Simon blinks, his head still in your hands; body not moving.

He knows he should. He isn’t sure if there’s anything left for him here or not.

Simon connects his head to yours and you still. “Do you want me to?”

“Do you love me?” You blurt, blinking at him and confused. Simon’s lips part. “Or if you walk out that door do I plan on never seeing you again?”

You're about to open your mouth and continue before his own slots perfectly against it.

You gasp lightly, taken aback but in no way opposed. He still felt exactly the same, flesh still tasting metallic and tinged with violence down to his DNA; raised with survival instincts as his greatest ally. Until you.

With you survival became secondary.

Your hands go to card through his hair, latching and lightly pulling as Simon’s body shivers; growling against your lips in a dance of heated flesh and damp cheeks. Hearts hammer with the restraint of years.

“I would never make you beg for my love,” he murmurs between lapsing passes of his mouth, open kisses and dark glances. “Tell me where you want me to be.”

You whimper against him and he goes back in, pressing the base of your skull to the cabinet as hands grip and slide, kneading your skin.

“Tell me,” Simon whispers. Pleads through grunts. “Ember, tell me.”

“Here,” you admit brokenly, pulling him closer to you as you’re lifted and placed on the countertop. “I need you here, Simon. I need you with me.”

Fingers capture your chin, keeping your head angled up as your eyes beg. Lips bush with every word, gazes wild as if two leopards locking jaws over a kill.

“Fight to get me back.” Brown sparks with purpose, a small puff of air hitting your mouth as eyes darken over. In this moment, you do not know if you’re dying or living. “Make it right.”

“Affirmative.” Simon moves his head back, taking your ring and looping the cord around his neck, he keeps it there as you watch, breathless. Your face creases with question. The man’s lips flicker when he sees this, coming back and grasping your hips as you instinctually latch to his waist.

“I’ll give it back when I’ve earned the right for you to be called mine again. Seems I have work to do, Sweetheart.” He kisses you once more, firm and true. “First, I’ll ‘ave to figure out if my Girl can get her spark back, yeah? I’ve proper gone and fucked it up.”

That night you lay in the heap of limbs and sheets that couple the both of you together. In the morning the questions would start, and Simon knew you’d take nothing short of the truth.

And he’d give you it. All of it.

Because Simon Riley knows well enough that you don’t go and bite the hand that feeds twice. Certainly not when it was you. Certainly not when it offers a love he would never hope to find again, in this life or the next.

So you keep the other close and sag into a deep slumber, not to wake for a long, long time.

And you’d both never slept better

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3K notes · View notes

charmedbystars · 1 year

Note

Hey darling! Do you think you could write about e-42 miles realising his girlfriend needs glasses and having to force her to the opticians,please?

pairing: e-42 miles x stubborn reader

summary: miles realizes you need glasses, but you're adamant of not needing them.

content: no warnings!

a/n: i absolutely loved this request and i FEEL this because i hate glasses and live off of contacts only. i hope this is close to what you wanted:))))

miles and y/n had been dating for a couple of months now. it wasn’t a recent relationship where they both needed to be hesitant around each other, you guys were wayyy past that stage as shown by each other’s constant teasing and messing around. of course, miles was a bit closed off and reserved, but you were breaking down his walls surely and you were positive you guys had no boundaries at this point.

everyone at brooklyn visions academy was shocked when they found out you two were dating. you were pretty known around school and were nice to everyone, being the opposite of miles, who had a small group of guys that he didn’t even hang with outside of school.

now, you guys didn’t announce it and it was more of a “private but not secret” relationship, so you nor miles paid attention to the chatter.

which brings everything to you sitting in math class, the only class you have with your boyfriend. thankfully there was no assigned seating in that class so you sat next to miles. as much fun as it was sitting with miles, there was a problem… being that all you wanted to do was talk to him all class period.

“i was thinking we go to that new bakery that opened and drop some off at your mom’s wor-”

“y/n l/n, would you please tell me what’s the answer to the equation on the board?” the teacher cut you off, obviously annoyed by your chatter.

standing up, you walked to the board and looked at the equation before telling her the answer, there was no way you got into visions and didn’t know how to answer this question. “mmm teacher think she slick trying to embarrass me,” you thought. the teacher raised an eyebrow, confused as to why you stood up and walked all the way to the board when you could’ve told her the answer from your desk. honestly, you didn’t even notice what you did. you just walked back to your desk peacefully and sat down again.

“ma, you know you could’ve just told her, no need for all that walking up and down like this is a fashion show.” rolling your eyes at miles, “the school is my runway,” you responded.

the rest of that class zoomed by and it was time for lunch. you and miles had your own little schedule for lunch, some days you guys would sit together and other days you would sit with your respective friends. today was one of those days that you guys would sit together though. walking together to the lunch line, there was a menu posted up on a board. usually, you just look at the board and go tell the lunch ladies what you wanted. looking at the menu, you squinted and looked at the menu for a couple of seconds before rubbing your eyes and going to the lunch ladies. normally, anyone would’ve ignored that small gesture, but miles being very observant of everything, noticed your action.

getting your lunches and walking over to a bench to eat lunch outside, miles gave you a nudge, “you good, ma? no headache or somethin’?”

“huh? no, i’ve been good all day, how come?” you asked.

“nuthin’ just askin’ amor.”

and that was the end of that. the rest of the school day went by pretty quick too, which then came up your idea of going to the bakery that you were talking about in math class. walking to the bakery was pretty peaceful and it wasn’t far from the school, only a couple blocks down. the bakery was cute and it’s design being very minimalistic, other than the glass case full of different pastries.

immediately walking up to the glass case to take in all of its beauty, miles walked up behind you, “get whatever you want, mama. let’s pick up something for my mom too, just like you said,” you looked over your shoulder and grinned. there was so much to choose from that you didn’t even know what you wanted. deciding to get something to eat there and getting a box to go, you ordered a strawberry cupcake, miles just went with a classic cheesecake.

“they have milkshakes and smoothies. do you want something to drink with your cupcake?”

glancing over at the overhead menu, you squinted and squinted, but nothing helped. “uhm, do you mind reading out the flavors for me please?” you asked miles politely.

“can you not see the board?”

“i can, i just want to hear your voice,” you tried defending yourself, but miles already seemed suspicious of you. deciding not to point it out in that moment, miles read out the menu and you made your choice.

wrapping everything up and going back to miles’ place, walking in you both greeted rio. miles let her know about the pastries you guys brought back before heading to his room (door has to be cracked open, according to rio). in miles’ slightly tidy room, you sat yourself on the ground and proceeded to pull out all notebooks to work on all the homework you were assigned. while looking over your notes to get started on your homework, miles suddenly interrupted your train of thoughts.

“hey ma, i was thinking you should get your eyes checked,” he said.

“miles what did you just say?”

“not in that way, but like go to those doctors and get glasses. i’ve been noticing you squinting or not being able to read boards and stuff.”

you glanced over at him and shook your head, “i think i’m fine, i don’t need no doctors or anything.”

miles just shrugged, deciding not to argue with you at that moment. it definitely wasn’t the end there especially when miles cares about your well-being dearly, but he just put it on the back of his head for now.

skipping to the next day, you were in class with miles when the teacher decided to do powerpoint notes. you groaned in your mind at the fact. you didn’t want to admit you needed glasses, plus it’s completely normal for people not being able to see far away. there’s literally nothing wrong, is what you continued to tell yourself. trying to jot down the notes as best as you can, you snuck a look over at miles’ paper, deciding to copy his notes since you couldn’t really see the board. suddenly, miles shifted his position causing you to not be able to see his paper.

“psst, miles can you please let me copy your notes?” you whispered. he shifted his paper back to you so you can copy his notes, before saying, “what did i tell you yesterday, y/n?” you chose not to reply, pretending that you didn’t hear him, continuing to copy his notes. “i know you hear me, babe,” he kept on trying to tell you until you asked the teacher if you could use the bathroom. your thought process being that leaving might get him to drop it. miles just huffed knowing that you wouldn’t listen to him, when an idea popped in his head.

you returned from the bathroom around seven minutes later. knowing that you had even more notes to catch up on, you picked up your pencil and quickly dropped it when you looked down at your notebook.

your notebook was flipped to random page and the words, “GET UR EYES CHECKED” was written across the page. you sent a glare over at the only person that could be the culprit.

“if i make an appointment, will you get off my back?” you asked.

“of course, baby,” miles gave you the purest smile as if he has done no wrong. you rolled your eyes at him before bringing at hand to sit over your mouth, trying to hide the smile growing on your face. you knew your boyfriend meant well, so there was no way that you were actually mad or annoyed at him.

the rest of the class went by fast now that you had miles cooperating with you and willing to share notes quickly. by the end of class, miles pulled you out of class quickly with a tug of your wrist to the cafeteria. getting your lunch and going to your bench, miles pulled out his phone, shuffling through apps and the internet looking for the nearest optometrist. finding one and pulling up their phone number, before he called them to book you an appointment, he told you, “sabes que lo hago porque te quiero mucho? i love you.” you simply looked away, hiding your face and mumbling the three precious words back.

miles booked you an appointment about three days later from when he called. there was no doubt that miles was going to the appointment with you. you would've asked to come with you if he hadn't anyways.

you've never been to an optometrist before so naturally you were nervous. you thought you would be able to have miles with you the whole time, but your lifeline was broken when you were pulled into a room in the back and miles couldn't go with you. frowning when you had to let go of your boyfriend’s hand, miles gave you a reassuring squeeze.

the whole process was weird for you, the drying eye drops, looking into a little hole and seeing a hot air balloon, and the constant asking of "which is better? one to two?" but finally everything was over. you went back to sit in the waiting room with miles, telling him about the weird experience. a couple minutes of waiting around when the optometrist called you back and miles was allowed with you this time.

"well, you do need glasses and here's the prescription. we have a couple options of glasses out on display that you can try on or order some elsewhere simply with proof of your prescription."

you took the paper and thanked the doctor. leaving hand in hand in miles, you didn't even wanna look at his face knowing that he would have a smug "i told you so" look on his face. you walked in the direction of the display glasses, looking at each one by one. grabbing a simple one with your favorite color as the frames, you tried them on and looked in the mirror before looking over at miles.

"sooo, what do you think?"

"i think you look like a cute nerd."

"shut up because both of us know who the actual nerd is here," you crossed your arms.

"i'm just joking, mami. i like those on you."

you hummed before going to the front desk and asked for those frames. the lady at the counter put in an order for you and told you that it would take about a week and a half for them to be ready. you nodded and proceeded to pay when miles grabbed your hand and moved it so he could pay.

"i'm paying babe. you look cute in them so it's on me," he said and tapped his phone on the card reader before you could protest. you were thankful that the optometrist here didn't charge you a whole kidney for them because you knew glasses could be expensive.

walking out the optometrist, you wanted to hold your tongue but you knew miles had a point in it all, "thank you for taking care of me, amor," you mumbled. miles stopped on the sidewalk and pulled you into a hug.

"i would say i told you so after everything, but i'm always here to you, mama." giving you a peck, you both continued to stroll down the sidewalk, holding each other's hands on the way to the dorms.

"miles?" he gave a hum in response. "can we get ice cream before we go back to the dorms?" you asked.

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poisonous-honey · 1 month

Text

Red In Stones

Who’s Here! Reader/Player, Paimon, Aether, Bennett, Zhongli

Contains: SAGAU (Not the Cult), nothing else really, there’s like 2 curse words idk, Player sucks at redstone, Player is only referred to with “you”

You can read on AO3!

Note: Holy moly. I have no memory of writing this despite it sitting in my docs for quite a while lol. Looked it over and thought it was simply dumb fun so here it is :)

It's been a while since you've been transported to Teyvat, your Teyvat, and even longer since you've learned they were all self aware. Travelling the world of Teyvat first hand with characters people you adore has been the best thing you could've ever hoped for. Though the longer you stay here and the more you get used to the place, the more you start to wonder, What would it have been like to land in another one of your games? To travel the land of Hyrule with Link, solve crimes with Phoenix Wright and Maya, steal hearts with the Phantom Thieves, hang out with Papyrus and Alphys if Sans and Undyne don’t kill you first… beat the shit out of a certain purple guy. The possibilities were endless!

Everyone had caught you daydreaming about it at this point, but no one had made any attempt to bring it up in conversation. That is until Aether offhandedly said that they could enter other parts of your device. Including all of your video games.

After a lot of begging and promises of farming (and swearing to a few you wouldn’t just up and abandon them the first opportunity you got), they finally agreed to let you explore other game worlds. As long as a few of them came with you and you had to start with a simpler game within your library. Not that you were complaining.

Now you’ve been having a blast in Minecraft for a few days with a handful of other people who were willing to join you for your journey. Unfortunately, you broke your only way to communicate with the others so you've been forced to stay at base.

You feel like your head is spinning as you look up from the vague instructions you wrote on your piece of paper (that very much just amounted to a couple of scribbled squares with red lines and the words “GOOD LUCK” off to the side) to the mess of a contraption you have sitting in front of you. A tower strategically placed dirt and heaps of redstone dust lay in the middle of the main hall, taking up a majority of the space in the room. The rest of the place filled with discarded blocks of various redstone uses and an excess amount of redstone itself litters the floor.

Walking over to the other side of the room and jumping over a tripwire you still haven’t picked up off the floor, you grab what you hoped was a repeater. Lifting it you notice a third torch attached to the stone slate and realise it’s actually a comparator. At this you get lost in your own head, trying to remember what it did and if you could use it instead of looking for the repeater, when the front door bursts open behind you.

“Hey have you seen- HUH!? What happened here? Why is everything such a mess!”

The sudden shrill from Paimon startles you as you nearly fling the comparator across the room. Unfortunately you end up tripping over the wire on the floor and falling into the rest of your test, making the dirt tumble over and breaking all the redstone connections you spent the last few minutes trying to figure out.

“OH, Paimon is so sorry! Paimon didn’t mean to freak you out, are you okay?”

Looking up you see Aether lending you a hand to help you out of the pile of contraptions you’ve ended up in. You gladly accept his help and take his hand, letting him pull you up from the wreckage. Once you're standing to your full height you start to dust yourself off as you reply to Paimon.

“Yeah I’m fine. I was using more redstone than necessary, so that ended up cushioning my fall.”

Thinking about it now, you don’t think a heaping pile of redstone is a good idea anyway. If you powered it, would it explode or would it act like a regular block of redstone? You huff, it was probably for the best that the idea was destroyed, that’s a test for outside the house.

“Well at least you’re okay, but this wouldn’t have happened at all if you kept the room orderly! There’s a ton of blocks in random places and so much of our decorations are missing and there’s redstone everywhere! It’s even on the ceiling! How did you even get it up there!?”

Hearing that you look up and see Paimon is actually correct. Splotches of red dust cover sections of the ceiling and slowly fall back to the floor as small red particles. It almost makes the room look like a redstone sand cave or like a tornado came through here. You have no idea how you managed that.

You shrug and give Paimon a halfhearted smile, “I couldn’t tell you. I wish I could though, that’d actually allow for a lot of possibilities-”

“That’s not the point! What were you doing to cause such a disaster in the main hall?”

Paimon questions as she interrupts you, causing you to drop the attempt at a smile to sulk instead. You look away from them to the mess you’ve made of the whole room. It’s now hitting you how long it’s going to take to clean all of this up.

“I was trying to remember how to use redstone.”

Paimon looks absolutely flabbergasted at your response and Aether tries and fails to keep his giggling to himself. You glare in his general direction which gets him to try a little harder to not laugh in your face.

Paimon starts waving her arms around to bring your attention back to her, “And you were doing this inside why???”

You shrug again, not able to think of an answer. At least not a satisfying one when all you can think of is ‘the old man thinks i’ll freeze to death’ as a reply.

Zhongli had asked you not to leave the house when he received news of your communicator breaking and left a while ago to fix it. It was the only way to send messages and receive updates from everyone else in this world, as well as checking coordinates, so not having one put you at risk. Especially since you often walked off on your own at any slightly interesting thing you saw in the distance. He feared you’d get lost without it and end up stuck in a snowy peaks biome… somehow.

You would’ve just burrowed under the floor to explore the lush cave nearby, but he grew wise to that after you created a bit too many hidden exits for the fun of it. He ended up layering a ton of obsidian underneath the floor.

(You: Yo Zhongli what the fuck??

Zhongli: It’s an attempt to stop you from creating pitfalls in the house. There has been one to many occasions where Bennett has fallen into one of the many holes you’ve produced.

You: Okay fair, but where’d you even get the obsidian from? Only the Traveller has a diamond pickaxe at the moment.

Zhongli: :)

You: HELLO!?)

“No one can find me if I wander off on my own, so until my communicator gets fixed I’m stuck here.”

Paimon shakes her head, “Paimon guesses that makes sense, but that still doesn’t explain how trying to learn would cause such a mess!”

You pull out the page with your instructions and wave it around, “I was trying to recreate my magnum opus!”

“No offence, but your ‘magnum opus’ currently looks like a blood bath.”

That was the last straw to break Aether’s self control as he starts laughing. He bends over with a hand on his knee and a hand covering his mouth. You scowl at the both of them and cross your arms, “Laugh it up why don’t you.”

Aether quickly stands up straight and waves one of his hands in front of him as the other stays rested on his chest, “No no no I’m not laughing at you. This is just such a bizarre situation to witness.”

You sigh, guess you can’t argue with that. It’s not like this could happen in Teyvat. Well, you guess it’s more like they wouldn’t allow this to happen in Teyvat. Some of them go above and beyond to make sure you know you can talk to them whenever you want and always have the means to do so.

Aether calms down soon after, though you can still see a bit of mirth in his eyes, “Back to why we originally came back, have you seen Bennett anywhere?”

Paimon's eyes light up as she also remembers their original purpose coming back and swiftly turns bashful, “Oh yeah, we were supposed to ask for Bennett’s whereabouts.”

You shrug for the third time in this conversation. In the back of your mind you hear someone threaten to chop your shoulders off, but you wave it away. If they wanted a better answer they should’ve asked a better question.

“The last time I saw Bennett he ran out of the house before I could stop him. I assume he went to find a cave, or a swamp.”

They look at each other in confusion for a second before Paimon asks another question, “Why would he want to go to either location? Paimon gets wanting to go mining, but what does a cave and a swamp have in common that both will do?”

Aether speaks up right after, “We did find a swamp not too long ago, but it’s pretty far away. I don’t see why he’d want to go there either.”

He looks at you curiously, probably also wanting to hear your answer for Paimon’s question. You sigh and turn away from them to dig through one of the many chests you’ve laid next to the walls. You don’t exactly need anything at the moment, but just standing there talking to them surrounded by dirt and redstone was making you restless.

“Slimes. Slimes can either spawn in a swamp or in a slime chunk underground. Seeing as there’s no way for us to see if an area is a slime chunk or not, and you guys actually found a swamp already, I imagine he went there.”

Paimon, “Okay that’s one question answered, but that just raises another! Why does he even need to find slimes?”

You have a feeling someone is not going to like your response. At least now they're asking questions you know the answer to.

“I was complaining about not having enough slimeballs to make the number of sticky pistons I wanted and having to wait for Zhongli to get back, when Bennett suddenly said he’d be glad to get them and ran out the front door.”

As you predicted, Paimon instantly starts to get aggressive again. Before she can go on a tirade again you turn to them and raise your hands, trying to defend yourself.

“I didn't ask him to go! I didn't even know he was there until he was gone! Believe me I would not have asked him to go look for slimes, especially on his own. They’re such a pain to find, I'd have at least wanted to be there with him so it wasn’t so unbearable.”

You’re suddenly struck with a thought and go to reach for your communicator, only to groan when you remember Zhongli still hasn’t come back with it yet. Instead you turn back towards the two who are still standing near the doorway to the house.

“Now that I think about it, he hasn’t died yet has he? Cause I haven’t heard anything around the house. I think I’ve been the only person here since he left.”

Paimon shakes her head and Aether pulls out his own communicator to check the chat messages. He scrolls for a bit before shaking his head too. Paimon is about to comment on how strange it was to not hear anything from him for so long, when the door slams open behind them and they both immediately jump out of the way.

Bennett himself comes barreling through the doorway, a bunch of slimeballs bundled in his arms as he laughs triumphantly.

“Hey! I got your-”

As quickly as he came in, his smile drops just as fast. Without missing a beat Bennett ends up tripping over the wire that was still left on the floor and plummets. He falls face first into the floor, promptly getting covered by the piles of redstone on the floor, before vanishing in a puff of smoke. Everything that was in his inventory scatters across the already cluttered room, and the slimeballs he was holding bounce in your direction. Once they get close enough, they’re absorbed into your own inventory, showing you he ended up collecting 5 stacks of them.

“Well… that was probably a record for him, right?”

Both Aether and Paimon stare at you, which you elect to ignore, and that’s when you realise Zhongli is standing in the doorway. One of his arms crossed over his torso while the other is covering his face in what you assume is disappointment. Maybe he’s the reason why Bennett lasted this long. It would be a bit of a shame, since that would null his new record, but at least he didn’t die hundreds of blocks away from the base.

Ignoring both the looks being given towards you from the peanut gallery and the slight disappointment radiating from Zhongli, you try to be as pleasant as possible. You hope that a little bit of him at least finds this situation amusing.

Clasping your hands behind your back you try to radiate the perfect image of innocence, “Why hello Mr. Zhongli! What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon!”

You notice his lips quirk a little, but his eyes still glance around the room and come to a stop at Bennett’s items still hovering on the floor.

“I haven’t been gone for long and yet you’ve still managed to make a mess of the place.”

You sigh and droop your head, “In my defence, I was left unsupervised and unable to leave to take my creative liberties elsewhere.”

Zhongli looked like he wanted to say something in response to that, but decides against it and hands over your fixed communicator instead. A small tired smile rests on his face as he lets out a sigh and steps closer to you, cutting the string on the floor with his spear in the process.

Finally with the communicator back in your possession, you skim through the messages you missed (noticing that Bennett indeed hadn’t died until now) and send a grateful smile towards Zhongli.

“Thank you Zhongli!”

He nods in acknowledgment, “It wasn't a problem. I’ve reinforced it, so It should not break on you again. Though…” He pauses to take in the full extent of the wreck you’ve turned the room into, “It appears you have much to fix before you can set off on another one of your journeys. I shall help you clean this mess.”

You deflate, but don’t argue since this whole thing is your fault in the first place, “Thanks Zhongli…”

You hear Paimon giggles at the predicament you’ve landed yourself in from behind you before speaking directly with Zhongli, “It’s a good thing you were actually with Bennett. Who knows what kind of trouble he could’ve landed himself in that far away from the base.”

Ah, so she was thinking the same as you.

Zhongli shakes his head at that thought though with a smile, “I only met him on the way back. Most of his voyage was done on his own. I saw him running away from a coven of witches with the bundles of slime already in his possession. I merely helped him escape the witches and escorted him the rest of the way.”

Both yours and Paimon's brows raise upon hearing that. You keep forgetting Bennett is still an experienced adventurer despite his luck. You need to remember to give him more credit. As you think that Bennett finally comes tumbling down the stairs. His face is beet red as he collects all his items that littered the floor. He ends up tripping again, on air this time, and yet again gets covered in redstone. He lives this time though and has to deal with it until he can wipe it all off.

You and Aether reach your hands for him to grab at the same time which has both of you chuckling. When Bennett looks up he grins wide and just grabs both of your hands. You and Aether end up using a bit more force than necessary to lift him up and he nearly crashes into you guys, but he rights himself pretty quickly.

“Are you alright?” “You good man?”

Bennett beams, his smile is so bright you think you’ll die, “Yeah I’m perfectly fine! Fantastic even! That was one of the best solo adventures I’ve ever been on and I ended up getting a lot of those slimeballs you wanted- Wait, where are they!?”

He starts to pat himself down and frantically looks everywhere on the floor for a hint of where they could be. You place a hand on his shoulder to stop him before he runs out of the house in a panic thinking he dropped them somewhere.

You hold up a stack of slimeballs for him to see, “Don’t worry man I got them. Thank you by the way. You really didn’t have to do that for me.”

He just looks at you again with another smile that you swear rivals the sun, “It wasn’t a problem! I’m glad I could be of help!”

Paimon puts her hands on her hips as she looks him over in concern, “That’s great and all, but isn’t the swamp super far away? Why didn’t you even tell anyone you were going?”

Bennett scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, it was a pretty far trip, but I got to see so many cool things on the way! Like, there was this one mountain I found and it was full of goats-”

He continues to ramble on about his adventure and all you can do is sigh. You know you need to give him more credit for all the effort he puts into his adventures, and you definitely will, but it really does feel like the world is out to kill him sometimes. Personally, you don't think getting punted off the side of a mountain, or getting spit on by llamas, or accidentally falling into the deep dark would make for a fun adventure. Knowing he went through all of this just to get you slimeballs makes you a tad guilty. They should be more concerned for Bennett's safety over yours cause this is ridiculous.

Then again the reason he even died wasn’t because of any of that, it was because he tripped on some string you left on the ground. You guess you won’t bring it up in fear of either Zhongli lecturing you or Paimon rattling off in your ear again.

It’s when Bennett finally gets to the part of his tale where he reaches the base he remembers the room is currently a disaster zone, “Oh yeah! Why is there so much redstone on the floor anyway? Does it have to do with what you needed the slimeballs for?”

You nod your head at his question and reply before you can think, “Yeah. I was trying to remember how to make an automatic door. I need sticky pistons for it.”

You didn’t have any time to react before Paimon was on you.

“Wait, WHAT!! That’s your magnum opus? An automatic door!?”

Groaning, you bang your head into the wall. It seems you didn’t get to escape a lecture afterall.

#SAGAU #Self Aware Genshin Genshin X Reader #Genshin & Reder #Zhongli & Reader #Bennett & Reader #Paimon & Reader #X Reader #Reader Insert #& Reader #Pois.Writes #Pois.Posts

71 notes · View notes

alavestineneas · 8 months

Text

Home

pairing: catohadley x fem!reder

summary: He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price. warnings: canon-typical violence; mentions of meat (as in reader owns a butcher shop); trauma and poverty word count: 6k

author's note: hello beautiful people! In honour of my birthday, I am posting about this bad boy today. Hope you like it - it was such a fun thing to write! Enjoy!

The stones under his worn boots are changing quickly; they are coloured in all shades of grey, sometimes with funny black dots on their rounded bellies. Cato would stop and collect a few if it wasn't for the important task at hand: Mom sent him to the butcher's, letting him take the thinly metaled coins for the first time, which are now snugly stored in the pockets of his raggy coat. He has the order memorized; Mom always buys the same. Three pig legs for the soup, which are then added to the porridge she cooks, and two bottles of the cheapest milk on the counter. It's good for the bones in his body, she says, and Cato believes her. Soon, he will start school; he has to be strong to get the chance to try out for the academy.

The butcher's is just around the corner; it's the only shop in their block that is always open. And, although the signboard is already faded, it is still his favourite place to visit. The door opens with a creek, and a small bell over Cato's head sings its cheerful melody. He takes a few steps inside, the colourful counters greeting him with all kinds of meat and sausages. He reads the curved writing on each of the signs carefully, trying out the way the letters come together in words. The sound of rushed steps is the only thing that breaks his mesmerization. They are soon changed by the grunting of the wood chair on the old tiled floor, and then, finally, a head pops up from behind the stands.

''Good afternoon!'' A pair of curious eyes stare at him, a smile missing a few teeth serving as a second greeting. ''What can I do for you today?'' the girl asks, changing her cheerful demeanour to a more serious, business-like tone.

Cato straightens up, his fingers finding the coins. He is a grown-up now; no other four-year-old he knows is allowed to go to the butcher's by themselves. ''I am here to buy meat.''

The girl laughs, her hair shaking with her mirth.

Cato feels the redness creep to his ears—of course, he is here to buy meat; everyone does. ''Why are you behind there anyway?'' he mutters, crossing his hands in front of himself. He thinks the girl should stop now; it's really not nice to laugh at others.

''Grandpa went to trade for bread and left me as the captain here,'' the girl boasts.

''That's a shame.'' Partly because Cato liked Grandpa Marc—he always sneaked a few pieces of candy for him and his brothers at home—and partly because he didn't like the little know-it-all. ''I would like three pig legs and two bottles of the cheapest milk,'' he declares in one breath, careful not to mess up. He isn't sure he can take another wave of her laughter.

''Sure,'' the girl nods, packing the meat in a big brown bag. Cato patiently waits as she moves her chair to reach the milk shelves, stopping before them. ''Which one again?''

''Shirley's.''

The girl doesn't move; the flowers on the back of her dress are still facing him.

''Shirley's,'' he repeats a little louder. Cato feels silly again; he doesn't like the mean girl and the way she teases him. ''Are you stupid? The one with the blue cap is Shirley's.''

''Right,'' she finally grabs it, moving to the register. Her hands work quickly, wrapping the goods and putting them together. ''The meat is this much money, '' she scrambles the numbers on the piece of paper lying nearby, ''and milk is this much.''

Cato goes over the symbols, carefully counting the total in his head. ''Here,'' he says, reaching for the money. ''And you wrote the two here wrong—it should be facing the other way, like a swan.''

''Oh. Sorry about that. Is this with change?'' She points to the colourful coins on the wood.

''Don't you know how to count? You need to give me 50 cents in change.''

''I do!'' she argues, her hand slapping the counter. ''I was just, hm, testing you!''

''Sure. Then why are you giving me two dollars back now?'' Cato raises an eyebrow. Part of him wants to laugh at her, just like she did moments ago. But he doesn't. Instead, he swaps the coins for the right amount, giving her the money back. ''Here you go. All good.''

''Thank you! Have a nice day!''

Cato nods, grabbing the bag and exiting the shop with a light heart. He did what his mom asked him to; she will be very happy to know that. The air is warm, and the soft wind is hitting him right in the face. In no time, Cato is home; the door is never locked. He places the bag on the kitchen table; Mom will see it when she puts the baby to sleep. His third brother - the other two are sleeping on the big bed in the children's room. That used to be his, but now he is a big boy—he sleeps on the couch in the living room, right near the kitchen. He likes it here; the baby's crying is not as loud, and he can see Mom as often as he wants to when she cooks.

There's not much to do right now; it's the ''quiet hours'' in Hadley's house. Usually, Cato would go play outside at this time, but instead, he grabbed the big book from the kids' shelf. There, with big, red letters, are all of the alphabets and numbers. It was his favourite. Cato remembers how mom would sit with him on her lap, her soft finger circling every picture. ''This is one. Look, it has a tiny nose, just like you do! Here, give me your hand—that's one finger you have, little gentleman!''

Cato throws one last glance at the closed door to the parent's room—he decides that mom won't be mad at him if he plays not in front of the house for once—and grabs the book, leaving the still place. This time, he grabs a few of the prettiest rocks on his way—he builds bridges and castles with them in the small creek behind their house. The butcher's is still empty when he gets there; the girl sits on the tall chair, drawing on the paper.

''What are you drawing?'' Cato asks, trying to see, but the counter is too tall for him to reach.

The girl doesn't look surprised to see him here; it's like he never left in the first place. ''It's worms. Papa worm, mama worm, and little worm. They are having dinner.''

''What are they eating? Meat?''

''No,'' she said, shaking her head. ''Meat is expensive; they have no money. They're eating a dirt pie. Here,'' the girl climbs off the chair, sitting down on the floor instead. Cato sits down near her, looking over her shoulder. ''They have small plates and spoons.''

''My dad doesn't like pies. He likes potatoes more.'' Cato thinks meat is better than pies and potatoes, but he doesn't tell Dad that. The girl tells the truth: meat is expensive.

''Where is he? At work?''

''Yeah, at the factory.'' Most people work at the factory—that's what Cato's dad says. They go when it's dark outside and Cato is still sleeping, and they return when the clock shows all zeros. Then, his dad eats while his mom drinks tea, and they whisper about something. ''And yours?''

The girl shrugs. ''I don't have one. It's just Grandpa and me. What is this?'' She points to the book in Cato's hands, and he finally remembers why he came.

''That's my book. It has numbers. Do you want to see?''

The girl beside him nods, and Cato smiles. He opens the book and proudly shows off the beautiful pictures. The girl likes them; she listens carefully to what Cato has to say about each letter. He likes it when he doesn't laugh at him.

''Good morning, Grandpa Marc!'' Cato greets the man behind the counter, cutting up yet another piece of meat. It's early, but he already stands in the butcher's, his dad's old bag on his shoulder. They can't be late for the academy.

''I'm coming, I'm coming!'' YN shouts, biting into the apple in one of her hands and tucking in her shirt with the other. ''Bye, Pa, see you!''

They both passed the exam for the academy; only four people from their neighbourhood did. They got the chance only because they were ''exceptional'' students, the only four whose training was free for now. The debt will be paid by them volunteering or after the academy through their future salaries. Cato knows that no one is actually able to pay it off; he will volunteer as soon as possible. YN will go; they agreed to go in different years.

That's how it always was with them—they walked to the academy and home together, trained, and learned together. Cato helped Grandpa in the shop, and YN often looked after his brothers. It was the endless stream of jokes from everyone around—you never saw one without the other, not even on the rating board. That was until year nine.

''I decided I'm not going to sit with you at lunch,'' Cato tells the girl walking beside him on the dusty road.

YN doesn't answer right away; she watches her feet instead. ''Let me guess—you will be with the mayor's son and his pack?''

''As a matter of fact, yes. They are my friends, and they invited me to sit with them.'' It annoys him the tone she is using.

''They are not your friends, Cato. They only do that, so you will volunteer for them when the time comes.'' YN is angry; her hands on the straps of the backpack are tightly clenched.

''So what? I'm going to volunteer anyway, so why not sit with them? There is nothing to do here, and they are always hanging out at movies or something.''

''Oh, so that's what it is about.'' YN stops, turning to him. ''You want to be one of them now.''

''Of course, I fucking do!'' Cato exclaims. ''We are dirt poor, YN. I don't want to live all my life in this shithole.''

YN's face changes; her eyes look at him as if for the first time. ''This is home, Cato. This is where we belong.''

''I don't. And I will find a way out of here, and you can stay in this mud as much as you like, but I will not let you drag me down with you.''

She slaps him. The hit is heavy; they are both trained to take blows, but it stings him more than it should. Cato watches as YN leaves, her quick steps echoing on the empty street in the morning fog. He doesn't know why her flower dress comes to mind—it's a contrast to the hard truth of reality. He lost a friend here, but Cato would need to learn how to lose much more if he wanted to get the hell out of here. And he does, no matter the price.

YN can live without him as much as he does, she tells herself. She didn't decide to ruin the friendship, so she won't be the one to apologize, no matter how long the silence lasts. If he thinks that she will run back to him after four months of not talking, he is wrong. YN is fine; she still has two friends at the academy, she still has her grandpa and the beautiful sun above her head. It smiles at her every time she walks home alone, filling in the small gap in her chest with its golden rays. Her new companion.

What she doesn't expect is a group of people in front of the shop; they shout and argue, running around with ice and water in their hands. YN runs too; something happens. Fear rises in her stomach and travels to her throat when she sees the white coat of the doctor standing near the counter, a concerned expression on his face. ''I'm sorry,'' he tells her. YN clutches her bag, trying so hard not to cry as the crowd of familiar faces surrounds her.

He fell while trying to reach for the shelf, and a customer found him unconscious on the floor. Grandpa broke seven bones in his body and damaged his head. They are taking him to the hospital for, god knows, how long. The doctor places a hand on her shoulder; the cost of surgery is covered by the state, but she needs money for the medicine. They don't have any.

YN spends an hour crying into her pillow before pulling herself together—she is alone. It's not some stupid game they play—they pretend to win for years in the generated arenas in some big green boxes—it's life. The most brutal arena of all. So, she does what any fifteen-year-old would do—she washes her face with ice-cold water and grabs the keys from the shop. She has to speak with a few people.

The door to Hadley's home is never locked; nobody closes it in their neighbourhood, but YN still knocks out of respect. Cato opens it; she is surprised he is here and not with his new friends. He wants to say something, but YN has no time for him.

''Is your dad home?'' YN asks, trying to look over his shoulder.

Cato nods. ''Come in. Mom, it's YN.'' He shouts, closing the door behind her.

''Ah, YN. How is Grandpa Marc?'' She is cooking something—a big pot boiling with the best smell one could imagine.

The woman's concerned face stirs something in YN, so she fights the urge to cry and swallows her tears instead. ''Alive

''Come sit with us; we were just preparing to eat.''

YN wants nothing more than a plate of something warm, but she declines. She came here not to lessen the portion of someone; nobody here has money to make extra food. ''Thank you, but I need to speak with Mister Janus.''

''Spill it.'' Mr. Janus nods, standing up from the couch.

''Can we speak outside?'' YN asks, feeling a pair of blue eyes on her.

''Of course,'' Mister Janus shares a look with his wife before stepping outside. ''What happened, kid?''

YN takes some air inside her lungs. ''Is there a place for me at the factory for the night shifts?'' The man opens his mouth to argue, but YN is quicker. ''I know I am young, but I am strong from all the training, and I know a lot of useful things. I can reach where most men can't, and I will do anything you ask me to, I promise.''

Mister Janus sighed. ''I know you are good, but what about the academy? Night shift is six to six; you won't have time to get enough sleep and do the homework.''

''I quit the academy.''

''What?'' Mister Janus's face changes. ''YN, why? It's the only chance for you to survive.''

''Work is the only way for me to survive. Poverty and an empty stomach will kill me much faster than some games. I need the job, Mister Janus, please. If you don't give it to me, I will look for it elsewhere.''

The man thinks, his forehead creased with worry. ''Fine, kid. But be careful—get enough rest and don't push yourself too hard. We are here to help if you need us to.''

''Thank you, thank you so much!'' YN smiles, a few tears escaping her eyes. She hugs the man tightly, a glimmer of hope finally appearing. ''Thank you, Mister Janus; I will not let you down!''

Mistes Janus smiles back, patting her back. ''Go before it gets too dark; I'll see you tomorrow at five thirty.''

He watches as YN turns the corner of the street before returning to the warmth of his house. How much do these kids have to endure in this world?

YN didn't push herself too hard; she simply did what she was supposed to do. At six, she returned to the shop after the shift at the factory—butcher's opened at eight—so she had two hours to wash the dirt and sweat away with the old basin and a little warm water from the kettle and to master something edible on the stove. When that was done, she would dissect the meat and check the dates on milk bottles; the soon-gone bad would go to the sale section, and the new ones took their place. Then, the doors of the butcher's opened—people still needed to eat, and YN wasn't about to let them starve because of her own ''tiredness.''

The heaviest flow was in the morning, with the shop becoming quieter in the afternoon—that's when she took most of her sleep in, resting her head on the wooden counter and closing her eyes for a second. Oftentimes, customers would find her like this—they gently shook her shoulder and woke her up before ordering. Each time, YN felt shame creep to her cheeks, but each time, no one said a word to her; they just smiled, thanked her, and left the shop with a big brown bag in her hands.

That's how the rest of the year passed, with it becoming slightly easier when Grandpa was finally discharged from the hospital. His right arm didn't move like it used to, and it was hard for him to walk, but it was still better to have someone home to return to. Besides, he insisted on still serving the customers, so YN had an opportunity to sleep in her own bed for a few hours before a new portion of cut meat was delivered.

That's what she thought about standing in the main square in a crowd of children—how much meat she needed to cut before her shift. Grandpa was also here; some man had to hold him up so he wouldn't fall from being on his legs for too long, but he could at least enjoy the fresh air, which YN was grateful about.

The reaping was going quickly; the girl named was from the academy, so they didn't have to go through all that volunteering. YN didn't know her personally, but she saw her a couple of times; she was good with knives. As for the boys, it didn't go as smoothly—some poor eleven-year-old's name was called out, and he burst out crying on the spot.

''I volunteer!'' the voice boomed through the street, and YN turned with everyone to see who it was, although, in her head, she knew the answer.

Cato. He walked to the stage calmly, his legs conquering the steps in no time. He looked determined and happy, but YN knew better—that's what they taught them to present. Ruthless. Bloodthirsty. Killers. She hears distant cries from the crowd behind her—it's probably Miss Hadley. YN clenches her jaw, her teeth grinding together until her head rings. It isn't the time for her to break.

Cato can't bear to watch his mother's puffy face as she clenches her arms around him, whispering something like a prayer into his chest. His father is silent, a lonely tear escaping his eye as he holds Cato's youngest brother closer. The twins are also here; both of them are at the academy, so they have a faint idea of what he is doing. They tell him he will win because of how big he is, and that will be very easy. Cato smiles at them reassuringly—if only it were that easy.

''Dad,'' he nods in the direction of his crying mother.

''Come on, darling, you will upset him before the games,'' his father tells her, carefully pulling her way and placing a hand on Cato's shoulder. ''Stay strong, my boy. We will all be rooting for you every second you are in that arena; don't forget that.''

''Thank you, dad. Boys,'' he watches as twins show each other away, trying to get to bed first. He hugs them both; he has two hands for a reason. ''Behave and don't bother mom too much, or I'll have to kick your ass once I get back,'' he whispers into their heads.

The youngest one waves goodbye, blowing him a kiss. Cato smiles, watching his family leave the room. He wants to remember this moment forever, to put it in his pocket, and to never let it go. He knows why he is doing this—for them to have a better chance at life, for his father to finally have a day off, and for his mom to have new pots she secretly gazed at when she thought he wasn't looking.

''Hadley. Seven minutes.'' The peacekeeper announces, opening the door once more, even though Cato doesn't expect anyone else. Well, he hoped she would come—he really wanted her to—but he believed she never would. YN is not the type. Still, she is here. Closing the door behind her, in a simple blue jumpsuit and a nice scarf around her head.

''Hi,'' she nods. ''I came to say goodbye.''

Cato's heart skips a beat—those words hit harder than seeing himself on the big screens, with a tribute written under them. Soon, he may be dead; she will watch him on her small TV in the living room.

YN speaks quickly, almost in a rush. ''I know we don't speak anymore, but I know how you fight—you are capable of winning more than everyone else out there. Please, just don't think too much about what you are doing; just do it, okay?''

''Yeah, I'll try.'' He finds it weird that she doesn't want him to think, but Cato doesn't question why—she does know him better than anyone, having been training for a lot of years side by side.

''You have to return; your family needs you.''

''Don't worry too much about them; we already got the money for my volunteering from the mayor. They will be fine; dad can still work, and twins could help out. You have enough on your shoulders as it is. How is Grandpa Marc?''

''Better. He can't move like he used to and still needs help with walking and eating, but other than that, it's good. Although he is devastated that I didn't let him handle the meat, you should've seen how he tried to sneak a few knives at night.''

Cato's lips turn into a smile. ''That does sound like him.''

''Oh, I almost forgot. Here,'' YN rumbles in her pockets before taking a few pieces of candy out. ''We thought you should have a few.''

''You are kidding me? Lucky-talkies? I haven't had one in ages!''

YN laughs at his excitement, carefully placing the sweets in his hand. ''I know. They are as hard as they used to be; don't chip your tooth; it'll look bad at the promotion.''

Cato chuckles, pocketing the candy before his mentors have a chance to take it away. ''Thanks, YN. For everything.''

''I'll give you as much as you want if you don't die in there. Just try to stay alive, okay?''

''Easier said than done. But I'll try.''

YN smiles. Their time is up. The peacekeeper opens the door for her, his gun tangling dangerously around his neck. She doesn't turn around as she exits; her walk is steady. Cato thinks that he caught her shoulders shaking, but it could be just a twist of his tired brain.

The days after that are agony. YN doesn't know if it was her tiredness that finally caught her in a narrow corner or the grim reality of her life—it was definitely both. Even her favourite silent friend didn't cheer her up like it used to—the sun shone almost violently, burning her skin and leaving her body dizzy. The rotten cycle was now worsened by the non-stopping playing of what seemed to be a thousand screens, with stomach-curling screams echoing from time to time. They were everywhere—at the shop and their small flat above it, on the main square she passed each day, and, what was worse, they were at the factory, where she couldn't pretend to watch even for a second.

The work she does is heavy—carving the stones on the machinery bigger than her; her muscles were constantly aching, begging for a break. The suit she wore was too tight and too hot, and the annoying voice of the announcer blared through the speakers, stealing the air in her lungs. YN wanted nothing but to make it stop—for the world to go silent and still, even if just for a moment. But wonders didn't happen with people like her, so she continued to work, pushing herself through her gritted teeth.

''Welcome, welcome to what seems to be the last day in this beautiful arena!'' The blue-haired man spoke, his accent making YN's head hurt even more. ''To remind our dear viewers all across the Panem, here is a small recap from my colleague and sometimes friend, Claudius.''

''Thank you, Caesar. We are left with only three tributes on day eighteen—the first, of course, being Cato from District 2. His strategy has proved efficient so far; no doubt, he is one of the best contestants we've seen in a long time. And then, much to my surprise, a pair of tributes from District 12 are still in the games—their love story truly captivated the audience. Let's see what this day, or should we say night, brings us today and who will have the odds in their favour in the end.''

YN doesn't react to their comments; it feels wrong to compare herself to the kids out there, being selfish enough to think she deserves a break. She should be counting her lucky stars; it isn't her there, going through the bodies of the competitors one by one. Cato received body armour from the sponsors; that was good. He also lost his district partner; YN remembers her now; she was in his ''new'' friend group. She feels sorry for the girl; her death was awful, and her screaming Cato's name will forever be engraved in YN's memory.

''Aha, here he is! Our gladiator from District 2—he is running from—what's that?—wolves! Look at that speed—he surely is a good runner!''

YN turns her attention to the giant screen—surely enough, Cato is running from some monstrous creatures. He is bloodied; his skin is covered in bruises. YN prays it all will stop soon and he will get home safe. He doesn't even flinch when the arrow shot by twelve hits his chest; he just keeps running towards the Cornucopia.

''Please,'' YN whispers. He can't die, not when he has survived for so long.

''Look at them—all of the tributes managed to get on the Cornucopia just in time! Oh, here is a clever move from Cato's side: having Peeta in a headlock is a classic move. Now, he is sort of a ''human shield''. Brilliant!''

"Go on, shoot.'' Cato's voice booms through the speakers, sending shivers down YN's back. She missed hearing his voice, but it didn't even sound like him anymore. Like a stranger talking from the inside of what looked like her friend. '' And we both go down, and you win. Go on. I'm dead, anyway! I always was, right? I didn't know that until now. Isn't that what they want, huh?''

What the fuck was he doing? YN's mind raced—why won't he just kill him and get it over with? She doesn't notice how her hands begin to shake and how everyone else in the room seems to be eyeing her.

''No! I can still do this. I can still do this. One more kill. It's the only thing I know how to do. Bring pride to my district. Not that it matters."

''Kill him! For fuck's sake, just kill him!'' YN stands up, her nerves getting the best of her. Her voice echoes—she didn't mean to say it out loud.

''No talking!'' The peacekeeper in front of her shouts, his hand steady on the gun.

YN turns to face him slowly. Who was he to tell her to shut up when it was her friend who was dying right before her eyes? She feels her hands clench into fists; she will be able to take him down in a fight, maybe even kill him. YN was willing to try, at least.

''She won't talk no more,'' one of the older men in the group mutters, his voice bitter. ''Sit down, child.''

YN wants to argue, wants to scream or run until the bullet catches up to her, but she doesn't. What use would her dead body be to her grandpa? So she sits down, biting her cheek until her mouth fills with a familiar iron taste. Everything she wants to say, she tastes in her throat instead.

''Wait, can we zoom in on here?'' One of the announcers asks. ''Here, yes, what exactly are they staring at? It fell from Cato's pocket, right?''

'''Well, Claudius, it looks like a candy wrap to me. The real question is: why does Cato have one in the first place? He didn't strike me as a big sweets fan. ''

''Well, whatever it is, it seems to have changed his mind—look at how masterfully he throws Peeta down, like a feather! Oh, and now he is lurching for the girl on fire!''

A loud snap is heard through the speakers, and the girl falls, lifeless. YN covers her face with her hands, the dirt from them leaving a mark on her sweaty face. A choir of relieved exhales rings through the room.

''Ladies and gentlemen, I believe we have our 75th victor!''

It's hard, the first thing Cato realizes. Being here, breathing in the air that feels like spikes inside his lungs—everything was supposed to be easy, but it's so far from that. They have a nice house now; it has a room for each of his brothers, and even twins don't have to share anymore. His dad doesn't work; it's not fitting for victor's family to do so, so he takes up gardening instead. If a few years ago Cato heard that his father would ramble about how badly roses had grown on this soil, he would've checked himself into a mental asylum.

He isn't very loved in the Capitol, but his mentors said it was for the best. Cato believes them, but it stings a little. He wanted glory but got disgusted instead. It was not a fair trade, but at least his debt is paid, as is his brothers'. Money could buy a lot of things, just like he predicted, but it couldn't buy him peace. Cato has nothing ahead of him; he can't study like his peers do, can't work, can't live, and pretend it didn't happen. It very much did—when he closes his eyes, he can still smell the blood on his hands.

That's why he is here instead of Victor's village, eating ice cream on the empty main square in the warm evening. It's funny to think how he wanted to try it, collecting the money his father let him have for almost a year before ordering his first chocolate scoop. It was the tastiest thing he had ever eaten; now, it tasted just like every other one.

He hears the nearing footsteps—the people are returning from the day shift in the factories. Cato nods to a few of them—old neighbours, parents of classmates, or dad's friends. The men are all different—short and tall, ginger, blond and brunette—but they all bear the same expression that Capitoleers called ''a district 2 glare'' once. Cato used to get angry when he heard it, but now his face is no different—the word is a heavy thing to endure.

His eyes drift to the only person looking up and not on the road ahead—of course, it's YN. She thinks about something only she and the sun know, her steps mirroring those of the people ahead. One of the men notices him watching; he gently shoves her shoulder, whispering something in her ear before pointing in the direction of his seat. Suddenly, Cato wants to hide the ice cream in his hand and run away, but he doesn't.

''Enjoying your victory, Mister Hadley?'' Her voice is loud and filled with teasing, and a few men snicker at them.

Cato isn't angry; he deserves it, quite frankly. ''Always was known for the sweet tooth,'' he shrugs. ''As a matter of fact, are you free any time soon?'' He asks when the crowd is far enough away.

YN raises an eyebrow at him. ''Why is that? You know I work.''

''I was hoping you and your grandpa could come by sometime. Mom is awfully lonely, and the boys would love to see you, too.''

She nods. ''I am free on Sunday, but Grandpa is still a little shy about eating in front of people.''

''I'll ask mom to cook a soup then—it's better?'' He would cook the damn soup himself if it meant seeing her for longer than five minutes. If it meant not being alone in that house, that reeked of the arena.

''Yes, I think we can do that. What about 12? We could be a little late with all that walking.''

''Thank you; it's perfect.''

YN smiles at him. For the first time since he won, someone smiled at him. Cato smiles back, although he is sure it comes out more as a grin. YN doesn't notice or pretends to do so.

''Oh, come in! Janus, come right down; the guests are here!''

YN and her grandpa are greeted with Miss Hadley's voice, her warm hands wrapping first around her, and then the older man. YN smiles; she missed just sitting down for a meal without having to worry about how much money she was going to need for the next one. The boys have grown. They shout, each trying to be the first to show her their own rooms and the cool things they have. YN tries not to get lost in the maze of toys, balls, books, and a thousand other different things, while Grandpa talks with Mr. Janus.

When the boys start to embark on what feels like a fifth circle around the house, Miss Hadley puts an end to it. ''That's enough! YN, darling, come sit here—what would you like to eat?''

The table is full of different things. There are so many that they could eat for a few weeks and be full. YN doesn't think she saw that many vegetables and fruits in her life. She asks for what everyone is having and is happy to have her plate full. Grandpa also seems to be enjoying himself; he insists on wearing his best shirt for the occasion and now listens attentively to what the twins have to say. They make a good team, YN thinks—twins finally found free ears that are not yet tired of them, and there is nothing that Grandpa loves more than a good story.

When the dinner is over, YN speaks, talking to Miss Hadley beside her. ''Thank you for the invitation; your house is just lovely.''

''Cato made us clean every corner of it before you came—I didn't even have time to play outside!'' The youngest boy whines, pouting slightly.

YN chuckles as she watches colour gather at Cato's ears, his eyes glued to the dish in front of him. ''Well, it was definitely worth it—I had the most marvelous time with you here. And the food was delicious! But I am afraid we have to go; Grandpa should walk when it's still light outside.''

''We will take you home,'' Cato announces, nodding to the twins to put on their shoes. They do so happily, grabbing them and their jackets before Grandpa has a chance to stand up and stick to his side like glue.

The evening is pleasant; the wind is quite chilly, but Cato doesn't mind. The only sound on the street is twins arguing over who will help Grandpa Marc with his cane for the next two minutes.

''Thank you for coming,'' he says, looking at the woman walking beside him.

''Of course. We had a good time, - I hope you did too. How's life been? We haven't talked in a while.''

''Good,'' Cato lies. ''And yours?''

''Better. Since your dad quit, I got the day shift; it pays better, and I can finally get rid of those horrible dark circles.''

Cato nods. ''I've been thinking a lot about our past these days, especially our childhood. It feels like a lifetime ago.''

''Things change,'' YN shrugs. ''We've grown and become different people since then. I would've never imagined working at the factory, but here I am. And you win the games—that was your dream.''

''Don't you miss it? How easy were things back then?''

YN smiles. ''They never were easy, I think; we just couldn't understand them properly. Besides, not much changed, if you think about it.''

''Maybe not for you.''

''Why?'' YN turns to look at him.

Cato swallows. ''YN, they made me different. The games, all those kills—they changed me.''

''You did what you had to survive. It doesn't matter now that you are here.''

''You think I don't notice how people tiptoe around me now? How can Mom stand to look at me for more than a minute? How do boys try to avoid me at all costs? And dad—he doesn't even speak to me! ''

YN is silent. Cato curses in his mind—he shouldn't have said that. He takes a deep breath. ''I'm sorry. It just feels weird. It's like I don't have a home to return to and can't get into a new one. Just hanging there, mid-air.''

''When Grandpa was in the hospital, that's how it felt. I was too young to be alone, but there was no choice but to watch as everything I once loved fell into ruins. I was supposed to be going to movies, partying, and sneaking out, not juggling the bills from medication and the shop. But life decided otherwise. So, I built my own home within myself—one that nothing could tear down or take away.''

''I don't think there is anything left to build on. I'm not like you; everything anyone sees when they look at me is a monster .''

''I don't.'' YN stops. ''I see the boy who brought me a pretty big book with pictures so I could give the change correctly; I see a man who volunteered for his family to have a chance at a better life. I see you, real you, not the role mentors or Capitol made you play. Just Cato.''

''Can I hug you?'' His voice is barely above a whisper.

YN doesn't answer - she just takes a step closer into his arms, resting her head on his shoulder.

''I'm sorry; I am so sorry for everything I've done," Cato mutters, his hands trembling as he holds onto YN tightly. ''I should've said it sooner. ''

''It doesn't matter now. We survived this; we are still here, you and I.''

Cato nods; his tears mix with hers, pooling in patches on his shirt. They are different—children who were forced to grow up too early in a world that wasn't for them. ''I think I never lost it—my home. It was always here, with you, on this street. Isn't it funny? All those years of searching, only to return here, where we truly belong?''

''The butcher's, you mean? If you wanted more candy, you could've just asked,'' YN smiles, whipping away her red eyes.

''Fucking finally,'' an aged voice mutters from behind the corner.

''Grandpa Marc!'' the twins turn to him, surprised.

The old man just smiles, his wrinkled face appearing younger with joy. ''Don't tell YN I said that. She'll never let me live it down."

The twins giggle, their happy laughter echoing on the street. A few moments later, Grandpa Marc joins in, his breathy laugh adding to the chorus. It's not the first time the street leading to the butcher's was woken up by sounds of joy, and he hoped it wouldn't be the last.

#imagine #hunger games #character x you #cato hunger games #cato hadley #cato x reader #cato hadley x reader #cato hadley fanfiction #the hunger games #district two #childhood friends to lovers #au #love this pookie so much #careers #thg cato

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multifandomslxt · 8 months

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YAY!!!! I AM SOOO HAPPY YOUR REQUESTS ARE OPEN AHHHHHHJRIOWRIWIER LETS FUCKIN GOOOOOOOOOO

Okay so I was wondering if you could write up a lil sum about reserved reader who keeps to herself yet finds herself in a poly relationship with Haechan and Yangyang. She isn't a loner by any means. She has her solid group of friends but she doesn't really go out besides to work, the gym or grab lunch with her friends. She's just super introverted. I wonder what that dynamic would look like among the three of them. Maybe you could write about a specific scenario like them encouraging her to dress up and go out with them to the club i guess BUT THEN OMG WHEN SHE FINALLY AGREES they think she looks soooooo fine and shit in her short ass skirt or dress WHATEVER and they bend that ass OVA

FUN GAMES

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

A/N": I'm so sorry this took so long anon. I wanted it to be good and I was having writer's block. I hope you enjoy<333 SORRY FOR ANY TYPOS :)

Pairing: Yangyang x Haechan x afab!Reader

Warning: SMUT!, slapping, mentions of spit and C*m, daddy, degradation... That is all I can remember.

"Just wear it," YangYang, your boyfriend of three years, pleaded.

His face was red, and his hands moved about in understandable frustration as he had been trying to convince you to wear a short dress for the last 10 minutes or so.

"But it's-" you began to protest, finding another excuse as to why you didn't think it's a good idea.

"C'mon, doll, don't be like that," Haechan, your other boyfriend of three years, interrupted. He leaned against the doorway of your shared bedroom, looking as good as always in his black t-shirt, grey sweatpants, and glasses perched on his nose.

"We picked it out specifically for tonight. I know it's a bit outside of your comfort zone, but that's how you break out of your shell, baby," he said as he entered the room, slowly going behind you and embracing you in a back hug.

"We just want our baby to shine," Yang Yang joined, placing a kiss on your cheek.

You thought for a moment before giving in. "Fine."

Three hours later, you were ready.

You stood in front of the bathroom mirror, giving yourself a once-over before heading downstairs to meet your boyfriends in the living room.

You got to the bottom of the stairs and saw both of their backs turned to you.

"I'm ready," you said timidly, already second-guessing your outfit choice.

Haechan was the first to turn around.

"Finally, I thought... fuck," he looked you up and down.

Yang Yang turned around and shared the same exclamation. "Fuck, baby."

"Let's go," you said in an attempt to cover up your shyness.

"I don't think we have to go anymore," Yang Yang said, his eyes never leaving you once.

"Doll, let's stay home. I guarantee you I won't make it 5 minutes in the car before I rip that dress off and fuck you raw," Haechan strained, now shamelessly palming his crotch.

"Funny, in my case, you wouldn't have even walked through the door," Yang Yang smirked.

"Come here," he beckoned to you.

You walked over to him, well aware of the mess being made between your legs.

"Do you want to go, or should we stay and have some fun?" he asked softly.

"It's your call, baby," Haechan finished.

You closed your eyes momentarily.

"I wanna stay."

You looked up at Yang Yang to see the hesitant grin.

A rip.

Another rip.

And another.

That's how you ended up standing in your living room before your boyfriends, dressed only in underwear.

"My pretty little slut," Yangyang teased, undoing his belt.

"Wanted to stay home to get your tight little hole fucked and filled, huh?" he gritted out.

His large hands grabbed you by the nape of your neck, pulling you into a heated kiss.

He bit your bottom lip and squeezed your neck a little harder, causing you to moan into the kiss.

You both pulled away from the kiss, leaving a string of spit connecting your lips.

Feeling a bit dizzy from the kiss and a bit overwhelmed by the dull ache between your legs, you let out a shaky breath.

Yang Yang's head was now buried in the crook of your neck as his fingers started to slowly trail down your abdomen, making their way to the heat pooling between your legs.

"I want to hear you," he whispered, his breath hitting your neck and somehow making you feel more heated than you already were.

Without further warning, he pulled your underwear to the side and started to play with your clit.

"A-ah Yang- wait," you whined, mindlessly grinding your hips desperate for more pleasure.

A sharp slap replaced the once-circular movement of his hand, causing you to jolt.

"I didn't tell you to fucking move. I just said I wanted to hear you," he gritted out.

"Yes, sir," you said, knowing just how rough he could get.

He was the soft one of the two of your boyfriends, but you knew exactly how harsh he could get when you guys were having sex.

"Good girl" he said as he inserted a finger, slowly fucking into you.

You knew he was delaying your orgasm for as long as he could.

You could feel the strength leaving your legs, causing them to buckle.

Yang Yang, in response, began to quicken the pace of his finger, causing you to be momentarily dizzy.

"Fuck! Oh God- I'm gonna cum, Yang!" you screamed out, feeling your orgasm fast approaching.

"You gonna cum on my fingers, slut?" Yang taunted, knowing that your jolts and shaky legs indicated that you were about to do exactly that.

"Ask me nicely," he taunted further. He always did this, and it always had that same pussy-clenching effect on you.

"Fucking beg me, and I just might let you," he held your gaze as his finger fucked into you.

Feeling your knees buckle and that familiar sinking feeling in your stomach, you put on your prettiest voice—your most submissive one—his favorite.

"Please, Daddy, please make me cum. I'll be good, I promise. P-please..." you cried out, tears already rolling down your cheeks.

"Atta girl," he snickered.

"Cum for me, pretty," and you did just that, the feeling so intense you lost consciousness of your surroundings for a bit.

Tuning back in, you heard Haechan's moans loud and oh so clear - as he jerked himself off to the sight of you and Yang Yang.

Yang Yang let you out of his grasp as he began to mirror Haechan's actions.

His grunts were softer and desperate, whereas Haechan's were animalistic and loud.

"Come here and suck this dick, baby," Haechan grunted out, his pretty fingers still wrapped around his shaft, glistening with precum.

You walked over to him and immediately dropped to your knees, opening your mouth widely.

Just the way he likes it.

"Remember to breathe through your nose, baby," is all he said before he took a handful of your hair and thrust his dick into your mouth.

You gagged as it hit the back of your throat.

He ruthlessly fucked your mouth, not caring that your eyes were watering or that spit bubbles and snot were covering his dick.

Eventually, he pulled his dick out of your mouth, and you gasped for air—throat raw and nipples so hard they stung.

You watched as he looked down at you, smiling menacingly before using his hand to spread your spit and his precum all over your face and giving you a harsh slap across your cheek when he was satisfied.

"Very good, doll," he praised before giving you a sloppy kiss.

"Now, stand up and spread your fucking legs."

Following his instructions, you stood up on shaky knees, well aware of what was about to happen.

"Yang, come play with her pussy," Haechan called out.

You felt Yang Yang behind you before he started to play with your clit.

"You know the rules, right, baby?" Yang Yang asked, already aware of what Haechan's intentions were.

"Y-yes, sir."

You had to stay in this position for as long as possible. If your legs went weak and you fell to your knees, they wouldn't make you cum

One fucked you from behind while the other ate you out...together.

It was a game the three of you played often.

You looked at Haechan and saw that he was already on his knees, looking up at you.

"Ready, doll?" he asked.

You squeezed your eyes shut. "Yes."

You felt Yang Yang first, his tip teasing you a bit before he thrust into you, stretching you out and causing you to scream.

"Oh, fuck," he muttered, his voice blissful before he bit into your shoulder.

A shiver ran down your spine.

You were going to lose.

Just when you started getting used to Yang Yang, you felt Haechan's tongue.

"Haechan," you whined out.

"Yes, baby?" he answered before he started to eat you out like he'd been starving, sucking on your clit and lapping up all of your juices so effortlessly.

You were going to lose.

"You're not screaming enough for me," Yang Yang whispered to you like a devil on your shoulder.

Soon, the sound of skins slapping together, along with the sound of sucking and slurps, filled the apartment.

Now, you were screaming.

So fucking loud.

You were definitely going to lose.

#nct 127 #nct smut #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct dream #nct doyoung #nct yuta #nct fanfic #nct fluff #nct taeyong #nct wayv #nct way v #wayv #way v #nct yangyang #nct haechan #nct haechan smut #nct yangyang smut

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crushedsweets · 7 months

Note

Jdjejfjsjd can we know more about ninajack????? Pleasssseeee sucker????

I GOT YOU. i organized it by concept rambles, then if i were to write a 'getting together' one-shot thing.

A SORT OF BACKGROUND/GENERAL CONCEPT..

nina has a crush on everyone. usually its veryyy short and fleeting and she realizes it was moreso admiration and appreciation rather than romance, but its like she's hardwired for romantic love. even when she's "with" jeff (she calls him her boyfriend/fiancé but neither are very loyal), she's crushing like crazy

so, when she's introduced to Jack through Clocky.. he's tall, mysterious, has a nice voice, polite, freaky. SHE'S CRUSHING HARD. REALLY FUCKING HARD. like running off with clocky squealing and spinning and going 'I THINK IM IN LOOOVEEE HE'S SOOO FINEEEE' and clockys like no. you are not. please.

nina would start asking clocky/toby "ohh we should visit jack today i bet he's lonely lets go see him" and they see right through her shit. clockys more likely to be like 'i do not want you bothering him, i dont think he can take it' since she'd be aware of the whole... falling in love with jenny only to be horribly betrayed fiasco.... and even if she loves nina, she doesn't trust her not to hurt people. but toby is more likely to think its funny as fuck and bring nina along.

another big point is. nina's appearance matters a lot to her. she used it all her life to get what she wanted - ranging from when she was little and using doe-eyes to beg her dad for toys, to being a sexy, fun chick at the bar getting drinks from randos... but jack can't see her. he has thermavision and echolocation, so he gets the gist of her appearance, but it'd really mess with her. she doesn't think theres anything about her to love, other than her appearance and what she can give. but he really thinks she has a sweet voice, at least

A CURRENT STORY/ONE-SHOT CONCEPT

it would be after she officially breaks things off with jeff. jeff stabs her in the stomach, liu drags her to jack, and jack tends to her wounds.

they'd require her to stay with jack for a few days, just during her recovery.

nina's depressed, understandably, after the whole ordeal. jack gives him her room so she can actually lay down, and he sleeps on the couch. she never leaves his room, is always in there moping and crying and trying to contact jeff - but he's blocked her on literally everything, so..

it'd start by jack bringing nina meals. breakfast, lunch, and dinner, he'd bring her something and insist she eats. some days she would, some days she'd cry and beg him to leave and take it with him. he'll leave it alone for a while. "this isnt my problem" or whatever, but... she wont heal properly if she's not eating. so jack would eventually try collecting her, pulling her out by the hand and quietly asking her to come eat dinner with him. he'd insist it's for him, that he's been lonely, something like that - a little bit of manipulation, but it works. it gets her to eat.

he'd do it more often, and she'd think she's doing a good thing. he'd start bringing her out to cook with him, all that.

maybe one day while theyre cooking together, nina would be in such a good mood after a long time of moping, and he'd just comment on how nice her laugh is. and immediately she's like oh. woah. ok.

maybe that night, just like he asks her to eat with him so he's not lonely, she'd ask him to come lay with her so she's not lonely. then jack finally gets his fucking bed back. and nina, i guess....

bonus points cuz she'd be wearing his clothes. BIG AS FUCK ON HER. theyre so cute

#ninajack #hcs #creeped #nina the killer #eyeless jack

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sturn1olo-ffics · 1 year

Text

- INTO IT -

pt. 1 | pt. 2

- Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader (she/her pronouns used)

- Warnings: pining???, use of y/n, maybe swearing, pretty sure that’s it for right now in part 1

- About: Reader goes on a trip to Florida with Chris, Madi, Matt, Laura, and Nick while trying to hide her feelings for Chris, but soon fails when they get alone.

—————————————————————————————

(Y/N’s POV):

Chris and I had been friends for about a year or so before I realized I had feelings for him. The realization came when I was hanging out with Nick, telling him all about my day with Chris. March. Matt and Nick had caught the flu, so I got Chris out of the house for the day so he wouldn’t be around them too much. “No bro I know. Then Chris’ shirt got caught on the fire alarm and thank GOD I noticed before he walked too far and it pulled it-“ I began with Nick staring at me. “Y/n.” He interrupted. “Huh?” I questioned, confused as to why Nick was all of a sudden serious. “‘Chris this… Chris that… Chris this… y/n you’re so obviously in love.” He laughed, mocking me. “I am not, we just had a lot of fun and I wanted to share, but no never mind.” I sassed back, turning to grab the door handle in his room. “Ok… well when you realize it, don’t come crying to me. Actually—do come crying to me, I wanna hear about your boy problems.” He said, looking down at his phone. That was the night I realized. As I drove home, I couldn’t help but feel guilty for having feelings for Chris. He was one of my best friends and I knew that if I messed our friendship up, it would mess up my friendships with Matt and Nick as well. I couldn’t risk it. So I never told him That is, until now. June. The weather was warm and the sun set late in the evening. Laura booked an AirBNB in Florida for a week. It was about halfway through our trip when Matt started to notice tension between Chris and I. “Y/n what the hell is up with you and Chris?” Matt questioned. “What?” I responded, obviously confused. “I see y’all staring at each other all the time and y’all haven’t been apart for more than like… an hour the whole trip.” He started. “I don’t know, I mean I don’t think anything’s going on?” I said, walking towards me and Madi’s room to get dressed for dinner. “Alright, just asking.” He responded, walking off to the boys’ room. I did my hair and makeup and decided on an outfit to wear for our dinner reservations Laura made. After everyone was dressed, we walked down to the restaurant, which was just outside of our condo, and sat down at the table. “Hey, we should go to the arcade after this. It’s just down the block.” Nick suggested eagerly. “Yeah that’s good with me, what about you y/n?” Chris looked to me. Matt gave me a knowing look as I answered. “Yeah! I need to go grab my portable charger from the room though, my phones at 2%. Anyone wanna come with?” I asked. Before anyone could answer, Chris jumped on the opportunity. “I gotchu.” Chris nudged my shoulder and Matt looked disgusted at the action, almost like he wanted to laugh. We finished eating and the rest of the group headed down toward the arcade while Chris and I headed toward the room.

—————————————————————————————

A/N: Hey y’all! I’m going to be writing a lot the next few days so lots of fics will be dropping. This was the one y’all wanted first according to the poll, so hopefully it lives up to expectations 😭 Love u baes Part 2 out immediately after this is uploaded - I had to break it into two because my laptop is broken so bad 😕

#sturniolo triplets x reader #chris sturniolo x you #sturniolo triplets #fluff #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #the sturniolos #matt sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you

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richeeduvie · 5 months

Note

Saw a vid of a mom asking her husband if he would babysit their daughter (as a prank tehe bc this one influencer made a vid ab how she has to bribe her husband to “babysit” their child and it was v upsetting bc she was just laughing it off :(() anyways the dad was like:

“??? what ru trying to say ¿¿¿ of course I’ll spend quality time with our daughter while ur out, don’t call it babysitting I’m not sitting on no baby 🤬”

He was so angry at the implication he wouldn’t want to take care of his baby for one night, it just gave ROMAN!! He would bite Baby’s head off if she tried to mess w him like this, and then he would bite her leg for trying to leave the house without her life companions. Why can’t he come with you to the spa? It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t want any services they provide, he is perfectly content to sit on a chair in complete silence and just stare at your face while u get pampered. That IS his preferred self care routine. And the baby? The misty air and soothing aura has her in a deep slumber, her chunky cheeks smooshed into her papas chest she’s securely wrapped against. She’s a perfect little thing, Roman is,,, a scrappy little thing BUT STILL! Baby mommy claims to love him anyway, so why does she want to go alone???

All of this just for Baby to not even have an actual evening away planned 😭 poor woman. She just upset her impish man, and saddened her angel who heard her papas wails of distress “Mama u want to go away 😞?” Stupid Roman when will he learn he can’t go on his tirades anymore, there’s a toddler who roams these halls! Baby pinches him and walks away pissed w her baby, he’s always ruining her fun. He comes to bed an hour later, she makes him grovel but puts him out of his misery because he did in fact book them a weekend getaway to the Hamptons yay! All 3 Roy’s are coming tho bc he’s still her ball and chain.

This took me so long to type and it’s supposed to be a request 😭 my apologies, feel free to change anything and everything you’d like, I gotta go take a test I’ve had all day to complete and pushed to the last minute.

I love when you people write drabbles. I get to be the reader. I get to consume!! And it's always great. I love this!

Babysitter

Roman Roy x Reader blurb - DogandBone!AU

He is her father. Not her fucking babysitter.

------

Roman watches your daughter just toddle around. She's perfect. And this is perfect. He's such a father.

He became a father when you had her, yeah. But here - just looking at her, something soft and swallowed in his eyes, it's all the more prominent.

She plays with blocks. Roman watches intently. It makes you warm and you think he's under the sun like this, he's getting red in the face for it. He can't handle her being cute, which at this point, you think that just means your little girl being a little toddler.

"Top blue. No red. Ba ba blue."

It almost breaks away the giddiness of a prank.

Roman's with your baby all the time. You are with your baby all the time. You're with Roman all the time. Safe to say, you think he'll call you an idiot whore for the idea that he's babysitting. That or it'll be meanie. Mean wife.

You smile.

"Roman, I was planning on going out tonight."

"...It's five. I have to get ready? You didn't want to plan on going out tonight yesterday? Look at her, she's not mentally prepared for being outside. Also, fuck the outside. It was smelling like sewage when we came in, but I think it was that guy who looked like his name was Eddie."

"I was just thinking by myself. I didn't make an appointment but I think they can fit me in for a semi-retreat."

Roman looks to the babbling toddler with her blocks. She's very focused on building it high. Then he turns to you.

"Are you sick of me? Fuck you. What did I even do?"

"Nothing. I just felt impulsive for a spa night."

"I didn't even do anything - like actually...nothing? And now you want to go get your feet rubbed by someone else? Whore. Whore Mommy."

"Ba!"

You roll your eyes. You know Roman has to remember that he gets too whiny and puppy-eyed whenever you mention a foot rub you've had from a spa day. You've taken your feet just for him.

"It'll be quick. Maybe a facial. You can babysit her for a bit?"

"I can literally give you a facial. If you make me, I can-"

Roman's shift with his hands, his attempt to convince, humor, and humiliate.

"...What did you just...what the fuck?"

His eyes get sorta squinty. He's riled. You like Roman riled - you can always get him small and defenseless when he goes too far in a defense. But here, in how you try not to laugh, you'll have to know when to settle.

Maybe now with the vein popping in his forehead.

"Daddy go swear. No swear, Daddy. Blocks like when ears are clean."

Her block tower is almost as tall as her. But she's come up to Roman, shaking her head at his bent knee. She's making sure her Daddy hears her.

You swallow when Roman's not bending his anger to his humor. He just squeezes your daughter's chubby little hand.

You don't think the word babysit has sat well with him at all.

"Did you just tell me to fu...did you kinda just tell me to babysit her?"

Yes, you do. It was funnier in the video. But the husband in the video wasn't Roman.

You should know better, you love him too much that you should know better.

"Why Daddy look crazy?"

Roman pinches his nose bridge and swallow again.

"You just piled a cock-load. A massive cock-load of hurt on me. Wow. Okay." He stands. He's gotten so seriously so quickly. "You're mean and you've been snorting my dead dad's blood clot medication or maybe you've had a brain aneurysm because is she not my kid?"

Your daughter, her sweet head looking up to her Daddy, looks just as confused as you.

"I have not left this place and I really didn't want to because she's my kid. It's not babysitting - I'm not a nanny. We agreed on no nannies? I'm a nanny?"

"Roman-"

"Is this your way of telling me I've been secretly cucked and she's not my baby?"

"...M' not baby?"

You and Roman both turn at the softest voice. It's sweet and genuine and so toddler-like. She is too cute and she is just a toddler. A perfect child who bites her fingers.

Then Roman looks sick - and even though you're the dumb one here, it serves him right for making your sweet girl ask the question in the first place.

"No. Honey, you're my baby. I'm not a babysitter. Do I look like I crush babies?"

Roman's voice tightens in a whine. Possessive and defensive. All of him in the small of his throat.

"Mommy just doesn't like us." Roman looks down, feigns a moment of thinking with his the line of his mouth pushing to one side. "Well, what are we gonna do? We just have to let her go away and do a spa day without us. It's just us now. Forever. Sucks for Daddy mostly cause I've always planned suicide for this route but-"

"Roman."

"Mommy?"

"Oh, sweetheart-"

Her tiny, perfect voice breaks. She's more confused than ever and your heart twists.

"Mommy. No go, I don't-I don't-" She looks to Roman. "...You go away? Why?"

She's very soft and shy in her voice, like she always is. Still too kind for a toddler as she gets teary-eye.

You look to Roman, it's easy to show disappointment along your face.

He looks like he's about to vomit watching his daughter.

You bend down.

"No, sweetheart. Mommy's not going anywhere. Nowhere, okay? I was just joking. Daddy was just joking."

"I don't- I don't know."

"It's okay. Now you do. Mommy's here forever."

She sniffles and unlike her father, she doesn't feign thinking - she thinks really hard. She nods and rubs her cheek against your chest.

"Sorry for crying. But okay." She wraps her arms around you as much as she can. "Daddy, I don't know why you tell that."

Now your little girl is back to a silly voice in questioning.

"Yeah, Daddy. Why did you say all of that? To a little baby girl?"

"...I didn't - Daddy didn't mean..."

Roman's voice fades and breaks.

Well, you've gotten him small this way. You sigh and stand up, taking your daughter with you. You don't think it'll bode well if you try to leave her by skin.

"Jesu-!"

"You love a good nipple pinch."

Roman rubs his nipple with a scrunched face.

"It's my sorry. I'm sorry, Rome - it was a joke. I don't even have any plans. I just wanted to see how much babysitting would fuck with you. And it fucked with you."

And not pinching the other nipple is his punishment.

You hear a little mm on your shoulder. You kiss your daughter's cheek.

"Sorry, baby."

"She's a smart baby, she understands now. No suicide talk, at least.

"...Sorry." Roman just looks to his shirt. You think it's because he can't look to you. "That was like...mean. She's my baby."

"I know. That's why it's a joke. I'm gonna be in the room. Come with your own sorry."

You're almost asleep with your baby in your arms when Roman comes. You don't know he's been swallowing the sickness down while staring into the threads of the couch. Cause he's just the worst fucking Daddy who can't take a joke. That's him. He's a cute, smart sort of guy that everyone should want with the one person he wants being a super hot Mommy-lady. His best friend. But he's also fucking stupid. He should die, maybe?

Roman scratches a digging sort of scratch at the image of his daughter in her almost tears, confused and reaching for her mommy.

He needs a kiss. He needs a kiss right now or he'll die. It feels like it. He can't breathe, stupidly.

Roman comes into the room and monkey cuddles you from behind. He manages to play with her hair. Her asleep, mouth slightly parted like her father when you watch him sleep.

"We'll go to the Hamptons and we can give facials there. Make them creamy. But it's all of us that are going. And you can't leave me. Like. Actually. Not out of my sight. You won't be able to perceive anything but me and our daughter and that means no stupid ideas.

"Roman."

"She's asleep. Also...sorry for being the worst Daddy. I really did mean for my quip to end up putting our baby in tears."

You sigh.

You know he's suffered enough. He's real in his insecurity.

You kiss his forearm and you hear a sharp breath from behind, it moves against your spine.

"You're the best Daddy. It was nothing. She'll make you play floaties with her forever in the pool."

"...Fuck yeah. She will do that. Hopefully, if, you know, I didn't slap trauma on her face at my attempt at humor against a toddler-"

"Roman."

It's not his name that shuts him up, it's just bite to his forearm. It's all the love in your teeth.

"Yeah?"

"We love you."

"I was hoping on that for my will to not throw myself over the timber Brooklyn bridge..."

You feel his cheek press into your back.

"I love you guys too. Tell her I said that if I fall asleep before she wakes up."

You smile against Roman's bitemark. You'll try your best. It's the least you can do after your mess of a joke. Your love in making more small and needy for you after everything never outranks the need for him to know that he is loved.

Roman nuzzles before there's a lick.

"Can do."

#inbox #hc's #drabble #dog and bone!au #roman roy x reader #succession fanfiction

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gourmetjello · 7 months

Text

nikto x reader : intimidated

oh gosh loves it feels so good to be back after such a long break! i’m sorry i disappeared for over a month. sickness, late trainings, writer’s block, studying and barely hanging on by a thread took a toll on me but i’ll try to be back ◝(ᵔᵕᵔ)◜

i know it sounds unusual but i’ll try my best to write for other characters too. i know i’ve teased a little list before but now i’m starting to see a pattern form and these are the people i’m most likely going to write for : könig, krueger, ghost, ‘09 ghost, nikto, roach, soap, capt. soap, ‘09 makarov (•̀ᴗ•́ )و

hopefully you all are satisfied with the list! if you have any more suggestions just let me know somehow. now hope you enjoy the fic! ♡

tw ; alcohol, mention of drugs.

—

“drink up, drink up!”

a voice yelled from behind you and all you could hear was the sound of shot glasses being knocked against each other once again. the sound was so familiar by now that you even made a mental note on how glasses sound different when they’re filled and when they’re empty. actually, why was someone raising toasts with an empty glass?

“bottoms up, y’all, don’t be pussies-“

but you didn’t have a glass in your hand, not now. you just stared at the people that were having fun and you couldn’t help but think about how you even ended up here.

there was a friend that you shared with this one guy, that’s quite literally all you were one hundred percent sure about — basically nothing. you could be looking at them directly and you would have no idea who they are, thanks to the cliche ‘friend of a friend’ circle going around this whole party. nobody knew each other, but friends and relationships don’t exist when you’re just drinking, right?

so there was that guy. and when you finally saw his face for the first time, you got the chills down your spine. he immediately seemed like someone you shouldn’t really be messing with — like he was planning something evil? or maybe he already did something bad, it felt childish to think about things like these at your grown age and you couldn’t even put your finger on what your senses told you about this person. just leave him alone and get the fuck out of here as soon as possible.

just as that thought crossed your mind, a yell broke through the happy little murmurs and drunken words.

“y’all, what the fuck! get outta’ here! right now! cops outside! holy fucking shit!”

cops outside? what the hell? why?

before the panic settled in, you blinked outside and you were amost immediately sure this wasn’t the fucking police. at least ten men dressed in black tactical outfits stood right next to the huge outdoors pool in the nicely maintained backyard. the well trimmed trees gave them an even scarier look too, painting shadows in the night all over their already dark forms.

you could even see from the corner of your eye that some were equipped with ballistic shields like it was some kind of movie. you have never seen one of those in real life before, and now it gave you a really bad feeling (pretty obviously). their faces were hidden and they were coming closer and closer to the main building all of you and your.. acquaintances were inside.

the guns hanging from their torsos.. wasn’t a nice sight, to be honest. you were convinced that these men were probably legally allowed to do anything as long as they got a bit closer to what they wanted to achieve. and for that, you weren’t exactly sure what it was. come on, shutting down a (not so) little house party with people who look like came straight out of a counter-terrorism organization? isn’t that a tiny exaggeration?

you could have sworn that you only looked away for a few seconds but the next moment you looked around the whole room was empty. fuck. well that’s a situation coming your way for sure, because one of those monsters was heading right towards your direction with a slightly wrinkled paper in his hands.

you wanted to yell and scream at him, to let him know that you absolutely had no clue what this whole thing was about and that you weren’t involved with whatever stupid drug smuggling anyone around you did — since you were sure that you weren’t the target, and they knew that too. but they had to listen to anyone they could catch.

“party’s over..” a deep voice mumbled with a heavy accent. you could recognize it anywhere. a russian accent, gosh.. you’re fucked.

and soon the paper was pressed right into your face. your nose was rubbed against the thin material, not even allowing you to see whatever was printed on it. but it was most likely a person, or at least that was what you could make out when he held it a little further away from you.

“missy, you know this fella?” the man asked.

you had no idea who was on the photo. it was a man with a beard and he seemed way too damn old to be right here, in a house party with some silly college students? he couldn’t be here, you’ve never even seen his face before.

you hesitated a little, not knowing which answer would get you out of here quicker.

“do not keep that mouth shut, come on. you’ll get outta’ here faster, come on.”

your brain immediately sobered up and a small whine left your mouth as you finally took the time to examine the terrifying person that was standing right in front of you. face mask made of kevlar, a gun hanging from his side and a pistol on his right thigh. bulletproof from head to toe. ballistic shield placed next to his other leg.

this guy was going to kill you. one hundred percent. or at least le looked like he would try to do that.

“come on, we don’t bite?”

he tried to speak normally but his statement sounded a lot more like a question, like he wasn’t sure about it either. it could have been the fact that it probably wasn’t usual for them to talk to people that look like they don’t even know where they are. and you were just like that right now. lost as fuck.

you stared up at the photo of the man once again. the black and white printing was so bad that you were barely able to make out the details on it.

“i- um.. no idea w-who’s on the photo.”

“do not lie, missy.”

“i really- i don’t know!”

“well, then let me tell you so you maybe remember, hm? this dude right here,” he gently knocked the face of the man on the paper, the material gently crumbling under his heavy, gloved finger “whose house you’re at right fucking now, has a fuck ton of cocaine under these,” now he kicked the flooring, “these little tiles.”

your eyes widened and to a person who had no clue that you were just as lost here as they are, it would probably come across as some realization. but no, it wasn’t any kind of realization — you really didn’t know about any of this! and it was hard to believe too. you didn’t even see a single line of coke on this party, it was too expensive to be wasted on little college student get-togethers?

“s-sir, i really don’t-“

“we know you know.”

“but i don’t!”

the man’s eyes widened as you started losing your shit. he probably heard the unsure shake in your voice as you slightly raised it — which was probably a stupid idea, but the situation was already bad enough when you’re locked into a burning hot little room that smelled like alcohol with someone who’s straight up dressed in carbon from head to toe? this was getting out of hand.

“missy, i’ve got the legal right to shock you, and if you refuse to give out any information then i’ll just have to do that..”

you were becoming annoyed. you were intimidated as hell and you knew that you couldn’t do anything in a situation like this, you were shaking scared. this man was making you feel so uneasy.

maybe he did it on purpose because as you stayed silent he just stared into your eyes, like a madman. he wasn’t even blinking behind that mask, the black face paint covering the area around his eyes making the color of his irises pop out from the black atmosphere around it. you just weren’t sure why he was doing this.

he placed a hand on his gun now, like he was about to slip out his pistol. but he didn’t have the right to kill or shoot you or anything like that, right? right? panic was filling your brain and goosebumps were running up and down your body as you had no idea about what these men could and could not do to an innocent civillian that actually had no clue about whatever was going on!

“we can play this game, missy. but you won’t like it.”

“i’ve said everything i know! nothing.”

“for fuck’s sake, just say something, anything.”

“but i don’t know! i accidentally ended up here, too.”

“whatever. fuck you, missy.” the man grunted as he finally let his pistol down, letting you back out from the corner he had held you in this whole time. it felt like you could finally breathe again and the cold sweat running down your temples felt like a normal reaction again.

“get the fuck outta’ here and if you know anything. keep your mouth fucking shut. am i understood?”

“y-yes sir.”

you were breathing heavy as you finally made it out of that room. it was a feeling you never wanted to experience ever again — you almost got yourself killed. and you were 99% sure that if you said the wrong stuff he wouldn’t have hesitated to use that pistol. what is wrong with humanity..

the man peeked above his shoulder to look at you walk away. he didn’t take his eyes off of you until you finally exited the whole damn house. you’re never ever coming back and that’s for sure. holy shit.

—

sorry about how bad and rushed this was! :(

#cod #call of duty #cod oneshot #cod nikto #nikto x reader #nikto #call of duty nikto #mwii nikto #andre nikto #cod mw2 #cod x reader #cod x you

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kwanisms · 2 years

Text

Kinkuary 06 Jongho — dry humping // corruption kink

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➥ bff!Jongho × bff!Reader summary: Y/N decides to take a break from studying when she learns her sweet and innocent best friend is still a virgin. wc: 2.9k warnings: afab reader, adult dialogue, sexual content (minors dni!): virgin!Jongho, experienced reader, dry humping, Jongho is a whiny mess and his hands are everywhere, Jongho is very vocal, reader has a corruption kink, Jongho cums in his pants and reader cums in her pants, use of pet names (baby, good boy, etc), reader likes to praise Jongho and see him blush Permanent taglist: @yoonguurt @candidupped @dejavernon Kinkuary full taglist: @baldi-2 @wonderfulshinee @lacie220900 @sup-dallyboy @drunk-on-dk @violagoth @mixling-blog Ateez taglist: @2hodefender @babyhailey819 @foxylilbitch @rdiamond2727 @indigo35 @sanjoongie MINORS WILL BE BLACKLISTED & BLOCKED. Join the taglist!

a/n: SORRY. IM AN IDIOT AND DIDNT POST THIS CORRECTLY. IM SO SORRY. Thank you to sky for telling me so i could fix it. My bad. this was so much fun to write and I'm tempted to turn this into a mini series where the reader further corrupts her best friend turned boytoy turned boyfriend at the end of it all. Let me know what you all think about that. If there's a good response to this part, I'll do it. As always, this is a work of fiction and all characters are not reflective of their respective irl counterparts. for entertainment purposes only. banner made by me. I do not allow reposts or translations of my works. All my works are ©️ kwanisms.

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When the words left your best friend, you had to do a double take.

“You?” You asked, raising an eyebrow at him over your textbook. Jongho looked up to meet your gaze, his cheeks reddening softly. “Don’t look at me like that,” he half whined, half hissed.

There were several shushes around you. After all, it was a library.

What was supposed to be a study session to prepare for your finals turned into a conversation with your best friend of 20 years about why you didn’t get any sleep the previous night.

“I refuse to believe my best friend is a virgin,” you hissed back, causing Jongho to look up at you with wide eyes, jaw dropped. “Shut the fuck up!” He hissed, earning several more shushes.

You dropped your eyes to your textbook momentarily before glancing up quickly at Jongho who was now flipping through his notes.

You pulled out your phone and sent a text his way.

You: but really??? You’re a virgin?

You heard his phone vibrate in his pocket and glanced up as he pulled it out and glanced at the screen before looking up at you as you looked back down at your book.

Your phone screen lit up with a reply.

Baby Bear🧸: there’s nothing wrong with being a virgin!

Your fingers tapped across the screen quickly.

You: I never said there was. I’m just shocked you haven’t had sex yet Baby Bear🧸: why? You know how I am. I can barely talk to girls, let alone have sex with them. I’m not like you

‘I’m not like you.’ What was he trying to say? Was he… slut shaming you??

You: and what’s that supposed to mean? 🤨 Baby Bear🧸: you’re so… outgoing You: is that your code for slut?

You looked up upon hearing Jongho choke on his own air.

Baby Bear🧸: no! God no. I would never call you that. You’re just so much more confident. Sexually I mean. And you’re comfortable around practically anyone. Baby Bear🧸: i could never. I don’t trust anyone like that. Baby Bear🧸: well, except maybe you

Your eyes glanced up as Jongho continued to tap away on his screen, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth.

Baby Bear🧸: i trust you more than anyone tbh You: then let me do it Baby Bear🧸: do what? You: let me be your first.

The sound that came out of Jongho upon receiving your text sounded like a cross between a gasp and a sputtering engine. He started coughing, covering his mouth with his fist as he looked up at you, meeting your gaze.

Trying to control his coughing, Jongho quickly gathered his things, with you one step behind as he exited the library. He was fast but not too fast that you couldn’t catch up to him.

You grabbed him by the arm. “Jongie,” you said, pulling him to a halt.

“Why would you say that?!” He hissed, looking around to make sure no one was around.

“Say what?” You asked, confusion masking your face.

“‘Let me be your first,’” Jongho hissed, his face screwing up in either embarrassment or disgust. You weren’t sure which it was.

“If the idea disgusts you that much,” you said softly, pulling the strap of your bag higher on your shoulder. “Forget I said anything.”

You turned to walk away but Jongho’s grip on your arm stopped you. “It’s not that I think it’s disgusting,” he said softly. “It’s just… you’re my best friend, Y/N. It’s weird, isn’t it?”

You turned to face him. “It’s really not. Friends do this kind of stuff all the time, Jong,” you replied. “We don’t have to if you really don’t want to.”

You turned to leave again. "It was just an idea. It's fine," you said, glancing over your shoulder at your best friend.

"No big deal."

No big deal was wrong.

The moment the suggestion left your mouth, it was all Jongho could think about for the rest of the day.

It wasn't that the thought of having sex with you was weird or gross or anything of the like. Jongho was actually intimidated by the idea.

You were much more open in your sexuality and your sexual prowess. He, on the other hand, was much less experienced. The furthest he'd ever gone was kissing and some light touches.

That's not to say he's completely pure. He's had his fantasies before and they may or may not have involved you in the past. He was a horny teenager at one point after all.

But while most of his classmates had given into their desires, Jongho found himself unable to do so. He was far too shy to approach any girl who wasn't you. Even when you set him up on group dates, which thankfully only happened twice, he just couldn't seem to get his words out or say the right things.

But with you? He could talk to you for hours. He felt comfortable around you. He trusted you and he cared about you and he knew you cared about him too.

Which is why he fished his phone out of his pocket mid lecture to send you a text, hoping this little plan of his might work.

Baby Bear🧸: we didn't finish studying You: did you want to meet back at the library after classes? Baby Bear🧸: nah. Just come over to my dorm. My roommate is out so we won't have any distractions You: okay. See you after class!

╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴╶╴

You tried to focus on your worksheet but the way Jongho was glaring at you was making you lose focus.

"Stop glaring at me," you said with a heavy sigh.

"I'm not glaring."

When Jongho had texted you, asking you to come over to finish studying, you couldn't contain your excitement. Maybe it was because you were secretly hoping your best friend was inviting you over with ulterior motives or maybe it was because you'd had a crush on the guy since the end of middle school.

Jongho didn't seem to notice how things changed around him in the transition from middle to high school. By the end of middle school, while he focused more on his studies, you saw how girls started to act around him. They were noticing him more as he grew out of his awkward childhood and started maturing.

And of course, you noticed, too.

By the time you were in your final year of high school, your tiny crush had turned into full blown infatuation yet Jongho seemed none the wiser. He never seemed to notice your subtle attempts at flirting. Perhaps he was as clueless as he claimed to be.

"You are too and it's distracting," you answered, setting down your pencil and beginning to stretch.

Since Jongho had invited you over to his dorm to continue your study session after the library one had ended so abruptly, you were currently sitting at his desk while he sat on his bed.

His eyed followed your movements, watching the way your shirt lifted ever so slightly when you stretched your arms above your head, exposing a small flash of skin that had him imagining things, heat rising to his cheeks.

Jongho cleared his throat and returned his eyes to his workbook but couldn't focus. Not when you continued to stretch.

He watched as you stood up and twisted your body, stretching your back before bending over to touch the floor. Had he not been fantasizing about you all day, he might have ignored the way your ass was on display as you stretched, bent over.

Had he been a little more focused, he would have noticed the way you glanced back at him, a devilish little smirk spreading across your lips.

You stood upright slowly before turning around and crossing to his bed. Jongho watched as you plopped down on his bed, staring up at the ceiling and letting out a sigh.

Jongho, who pretended to not have been staring at you ass moments ago gave you a quizzical look.

"I'm bored," you whined, making him scoff.

"Studying isn't supposed to be fun," he replied, scribbling away in his workbook.

You looked up at him, admiring the way the soft lighting from his lamp casted a golden glow over his tanned skin, his dark brown eyes moving slightly as he read the text on the papers before him, the way his lips moved subtly as he mouthed the words his eyes were reading, looking more kissable now than ever.

Jongho wasn't a fool, he knew you were now staring at him, probably expecting him to entertain you somehow.

His eyes widened as you sat up, grabbing his workbook and tossing it aside.

"Yah! I was reading something!" He pouted as you took his pencil and tossed that, too.

"Then let's do something fun," you said, eyes shining with excitement. Jongho rolled his eyes. "We're supposed to be studying, Y/N," he reminded you. "That's why I invited you over," he added.

"Then let's take a short break," you suggested.

Jongho glanced at his poor workbook, laying in a heap on the floor, his pencil abandoned near it.

"I guess a break couldn't hurt," he mumbled, wondering what you had in mind.

Your smile widened and in a flash, you had moved, straddling his lap as he tried not to fall backwards onto the bed.

"W-what are you-?!" Jongho started to protest, his cheeks turning red at your sudden boldness.

"Shh," you said softly, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I saw you earlier," you added quietly, fingers grazing his scalp as you combed through his dark brown hair.

"S-saw what?" Jongho stammered, looking up at you with wide eyes.

"When I was stretching," you answered. You leaned in closer, your face inches from his. "I saw the way you were watching me. You aren't subtle, you know," you continued, your hot breath fanning over him, sending heat rushing to his head and not the one with the brain.

"Is that why you invited me over?" you asked, moving your head to whisper in his ear. "You can tell me, Jong. I won't judge."

Your words had a profound effect on your best friend, sending a shiver down his spine. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears.

"If you wanted to watch me stretch," you whispered, nuzzling his jaw, tugging lightly on his hair to expose more of his neck to you.

"All you had to do was ask."

Jongho let out a sigh as your lips met the skin of his neck, leaving light kisses as you moved down to where his neck met his shoulder, pushing the collar of his sweatshirt aside to tease the skin.

Your lips trailed back up, stopping briefly to graze your teeth against the spot just under his ear. Jongho let out a whine and you pulled back to gaze into his eyes. "You make such pretty sounds," you whispered, leaning in until your lips were inches from his.

"S-stop it," he muttered. You cocked an eyebrow.

"You want me to stop?" you asked, resisting the urge when he vigorously shook his head no. "Then what do you want me to stop?"

"Stop teasing me." His voice was so soft, almost helpless and you couldn't stop the smirk that appeared. "Are you sure that's what you want?" you asked, shifting on his lap and unintentionally grinding against him. "Hng, fuck," you heard him groan.

You pulled back to look down at him in shock.

"Did you just say 'fuck'?" You asked, looking impressed.

"Just shut up and kiss me already," Jongho snapped, looking flustered and like he was going to come undone any second.

You sighed out a "finally," before crashing your lips against his. Grabbing his hands, you placed them on your hips before tangling your fingers back in his hair.

The kiss was rushed, messy, but most importantly it was Jongho.

You'd wanted to kiss him for years and now you were finally getting that chance. There was no way you were gonna fuck this up.

Pulling back, your heart skipped a beat when Jongho tried to follow your lips, pouting when he couldn't. "What did you stop for?" he asked in a whiny voice. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that," you said softly, fingers dragging through his hair.

Your best friend's eyes widened. "You've wanted to kiss…me?" he asked, a hint of surprise in his voice.

"Of course I have, you idiot," you laughed.

Jongho's brow furrowed. "So then why did you stop?" he asked again, almost as if he was challenging you.

You leaned back in, connecting your lips in a much slower, more intimate kiss, lips parting his slowly and your tongues meeting.

With your hands in his hair and his mouth preoccupied by yours, you tested the waters by rolling your hips, grinding against him slowly.

Jongho let out a moan, the sound muffled by your mouth. You felt his hands tighten around your waist, nails digging into the exposed skin under your cropped shirt.

"You've never done this, have you?" you asked after pulling away, resting your forehead against his. Jongho shook his head. "N-no," he mumbled. "N-never."

You continued to move, grinding against him, feeling him harden under your clothed heat. For once, you were grateful that women's clothing was so thin, allowing you to feel more.

"So innocent," you whispered, ducking your head to press wet kisses to his neck, trailing down the side, leaving little marks as you kissed, nipped and sucked at his skin.

"You're so good at this," Jongho whined, tilting his head to the side, silently begging for more.

He was fully hard under you now, hands gripping your ass as you grinded against his erection, earning desperate whimpers and moans from him.

"This is all so new for you, isn't it?" you asked, lips brushing against his ear. He nodded frantically, trying to guide your movements. You let out a soft chuckle, grinding harder against him.

"Are you gonna cum?" you whispered, enjoying the way he moaned under your touch. "Y-yes," he whined. "Gonna cum in your pants like a good boy?" Jongho let out a particularly low moan at that.

"You're getting so worked up and I've barely even touched you."

"Please," Jongho breathed, fingers digging into your skin, grabbing your ass tightly. "I need more."

You slowed your movements, pulling your hands from his hair to cup his face. "More? You need more?" you asked, pressing a chaste kiss to his lips. "I guess I could give you more.'

You placed your hands on his shoulders and leaned over, pushing him back, his back hitting the mattress. You started to move, continuing your motions from before, rolling your hips and grinding against him again. "Oh shit," Jongho breathed.

"Does it feel good?" you asked, watching his face as it contorted in pleasure. "S-so good," he answered, tongue peeking out to lick his lips. "I wanna feel more," he added. "Wanna feel you."

You smirked, moving faster, letting out your own moans. "You haven't even cum and you already wanna be inside me?"

"Yeah," Jongho answered, his hands moving to squeeze your thighs. "Wanna feel all of you. I need it," he added, his hips bucking up to meet yours. "I need you."

You moaned again. It was so tempting to remove your pants and take his cock inside you but you didn't want to push him too far.

"Mmm, next time, baby, okay?" you cooed. Jongho whined, wanting to feel his cock inside you now.

"Please?" he whimpered. "Please baby. I need you. I need you so fucking bad." The way he spoke breathlessly made you want to give in, push your shorts and panties aside and sink down on him.

Be a good boy and cum for me first," you replied, grinding harder and faster against him. "Cum for me and I'll fuck you later. Only good boys deserve to get their cocks wet.

Your words had the intended effect on him and his pleas for you to fuck him turned into desperate whines as his orgasm approached.

"'M gonna cum," he moaned, eyes fluttering shut. "That's it baby," you purred, coaxing him into it. "Cum in these tight jeans for me."

Your best friend let out a whine, hands moving to your hips and guiding you over his erection as he came in his underwear. Your hips continued, chasing your own orgasm and helping him ride his out. You didn't last much longer, coming undone on top of him.

You both stayed still, panting heavily as you each tried to come down from your respective highs. Jongho moved one hand up to the back of your neck and pulled you down into a heated kiss.

"How long have you wanted to do that?" he asked, referring to what you just did when he finally found his voice.

"When you told me you were a virgin," you admitted, pulling back enough to look into his eyes. "But I've wanted you longer than that."

"Why didn't you say something?" he whined. "I've only been flirting with you since we were like 16," you replied, smiling as he pulled you in for another kiss. "You know I'm an idiot," he answered, lips against yours still. You pressed several short kisses to his lips.

"Yeah but you're my idiot now," you said, sitting back up, hands resting on his chest. Jongho looked up at you through half closed eyes. "I am?" he asked. "Yours, I mean."

You nodded, leaning over to kiss him again. "You are now." You felt him smile against your mouth. "Then that means you're mine, too?" he asked softly, to which you nodded, sitting back up to give him a mischievous grin.

"Yes, and now that you're mine, I can't wait to show you what you've been missing."

#ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfiction #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez x reader #jongho scenarios #jongho imagines #jongho fanfiction #jongho fanfic #jongho smut #jongho x reader #kwanisms kinkuary 23

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purpleberiii · 8 months

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Nuuuu, I luv you more (　＾Д＾), you give me some content that has me kicking my legs and giggling like a school girl.

Ahem, 3some with Nightingale and Chief?

Also I've seen some people suggested and write about Eleven having a separate channel where she is fingered and the chat is suggesting what to do to her.

Also Eirene (idk how to spell her name, I said Quinn last time) play strip chess, a.k.a the lower has ti strip a piece of their clothes.

Hmm, fucking Serpant during her heat or mating season.

Also some fluff for you.

Chief has definitely adopted every child/teenage sinner, like the latest addition to her ever growing group of kids is Eve. And holy shit are they cockblocking every sinner they can cuz why you trying to fuck their mama? Also helping Eve walk. AHHHH, when I played the event I cried.

I don't think its possible for you to love me more 🥱

Threesome with Chief and Nightingale oh boy. These two ladies over work themselves to the brink and need a relief. I can see it two ways, G!P chief and G!P Reader. Chief invited the reader to her office only to find a naked Nightingale ready to be used by you both.

Or Chief and Nightingale riding you with chief Riding your face and Nightingale riding your dick. The sheer pleasure these two will feel just by being fucked by you is inane but they deserve it after working so hard.

Eleven having a separate channel for her needs is a must. Since she loves her listeners, she'd obviously want to include them in her sex life so having that channel where the listeners can hear her moan and scream will be even pleasurable for her. Oh the chat will absolutely blow up with the listeners telling you if she deserves to cum or not. You will absolutely have so much fun with that.

I can see Eirene playing strip chess just for the fun of it. She'd be so calm and composed during the match, even confident that she'll win but when she realises that she's losing every round, and have to take off one piece of her clothing, she'll be so flustered and angry, liking it on the inside. By the end of the game, you deserve a reward for winning and your reward will obviously be the naked Eirene. Since she's such a brat, you'll have so much fun breaking her, fucking her, filling her up and using her.

Serpent looks like the type to order you around, even when she's in heat. But since she'll be so needy and desperate during that time, she'll have no choice but to ask you nicely to fuck her and you'll have the pleasure of teasing her to your heart's content. When you do decide to give in, expect her to be a screaming mess, while making a mess on your strap/cock.

Chief (you) did adopt all the little sinners, from Eve to Hella to all the others. You'd act like a mama bird, taking care of the little sinners and ensuring they are comfortable. Over time, they'll learn to accept and warm up to you, especially Hella. You'd also take it as your responsibility to help Eve walk again, even if it's not her directly walking, but you holding her up as you place her feet on yours and you'd take small little steps. All of the other little sinners will cheer her on, making her feel warm and happy. When you had a long day and finally had (a sinner of your choice) all alone, ready to fuck her and take your stress out on her, Hella would barge in, with a Confused expression as to why the sinner was on top of you. Frustratedly, you'd sigh and groan, following Hella to wherever she'd take you. Hella wasn't so little after all, she knew exactly what was happening and purposely cock blocked you.

#path to nowhere nightingale #path to nowhere chief #path to nowhere Eirene #path to nowhere serpent #path to nowhere hella #ptn smut #ptn thirsts #ptn #path to nowhere

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thatstonedwriter · 10 months

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⋆｡˚ 「 Study Session 」 ⋆｡˚

◉ Sinopsis; what would studying with them be like? (College au)

◉ Feat; Millie, Blitzø, Fizzarolli

◉ A/n- high and working on my Anthropology study guide rn. a lil post to try and get me out of this writer's block. Not proofread, sorry for any mistakes

── ˙•˚∘✮🌙ᯓ🪐˙•˚∘ ──

Millie doesn't like studying on her own, so when the time comes for a test or project, you can bet she'll be asking to join you. Millie's interest in class material waxes and wanes, so strategies to help her retain the material are important. Maybe she does 5 pushups when she gets a question wrong, y'all take a ten minute break if you get a certain amount of work done. She's also one to actually do her own work. Her loyalty and work ethic (when she's motivated) make her really fun for group/pair projects. When sessions go particularly late, Millie always suggests a coffee run, which just means going to the vending machines. Whether or not you get anything done, you can't complain when it comes to hanging out with Millie.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

Fizzarolli is the distraction. I don't think y’all would get anything done, especially if it's for a class you don't like. If he has to study, he's definitely a flash cards and nemonics type of guy. Silly phrases to remember complicated concepts, making acronyms, using/making flash cards, and saying everything out loud are Fizzarolli's preferred study methods. And you better believe his flashcards are doodled all over. Adds flowers in the corners and little emotes by words and phrases to make them more memorable. I do think he'd prefer having company for when he's doing homework or studying, since I see him as an auditory and collaborative learner. With Fizz, you're guaranteed to have a great time.

┊┊┊✧ ⁺ ⁺ 　°

Blitzø? Yeah, this motherfucker doesn't study. Only agrees to study sessions so he can hang out. If you want him to learn something, it has to be made as interesting as possible. Points if it's something you're passionate about. The only time he'll retain information is if it's something important to someone he's cares about. Blitzø is probably a kinesthetic learner, so having diagrams toys, or models could be helpful. If Blitzø isn't participating in studying at all, he's eating, scrolling on his phone, or purposefully trying to distract you. One time, he did all three at once. It was a mess. Usually, what's supposed to be a study session will turn into hanging out and playing video games, but hey, you needed a break from writing stuff anyways.

── ˙•˚∘✮ 🔭๋࣭ᯓ🌙˙•˚∘ ──

#helluva boss #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss headcanon #millie helluva boss #helluva boss millie #millie x reader #fizzarolli helluva boss #fizz helluva boss #fizz x reader #blitzø helluva boss #blitz helluva boss #blitzø x reader #platonic helluva boss #platonic x reader #platonic headcanons #romantic headcanons #romantic x reader #writings.onthe.wall

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mcytblr-archive · 6 months

Text

Early MCYTblr Interviews: tack-tick

today's interviewee is tack-tick, a pioneer of the "phistin" ship and DSMP fan since before the first election! below is a transcript of the interview.

Q: What was your overall time in MCYTblr like?

A: I'd say my overall time in Mcytblr could be described as finding diamonds in the rough. This fandom is defined by finding your group, sticking to them and if you're smart not really looking beyond that. I did look beyond that and saw a lot of discourse and such. I had a good time with my friends but I did get negatively affected by the discourse at times. It was kind of a toxic shithole but by God mcytblr was our shithole lol

Q: Do you remember any specific discourse that affected you, or was it just the overall culture around you?

A: As a Technoblade main, it was the discourse surrounding his character that messed with me. At the time, I was mutuals (none in the phistin palace dw guys) with some people who hated his character. I, as an anxious teenager, was very worried it would cause drama if I unfollowed them and my dash became a lot of those long negative essays about how he was an awful person and yknow the drill. It was mainly my own fault and my dash became signfigantly better once I realized no one would be offended of I unfollowed, blocked a bunch of tags, started up my own discord server and focused more on writing fanfic instead of doomscrolling. A good lesson in curating your dash of anything else. (Btw those former mutuals are fine people, we just had radically different tastes in what we liked and disliked about the Dream SMP)

Q: You mentioned the "phistin palace"-- before we get into that, would you like to explain the "phistin" rarepair itself?

A: Now we are cooking! So, Phistin is the ship of Kristin and Philza. It's main focus was on the scraps of lore that we had about their relationship which was Kristin was the immortal goddess of Death and they couldn't really see each other often but loved each other very much. I'd say it's main appeal was being one of the few ships that was just really stable in the Dream SMP compared to the Karlnapity polycule and whatever youd call Quackbur. Fun fact, I can't find the post now but if i remember correctly me and tumblr user Demonadelem helped name the pair Phistin. Although, that was ages ago so I could be misremebering

Q: Was the ship entirely within the SMP, or was it just the general ship name for the real-life couple?

A: It was both. Since Kristin didn't really stream on the dream smp, a lot of her personality had to be based on what Phil said about her and her other streams. Basically, lore about the ship was pulled from the SMP but the dynamics and personality was from both. You could play around with the dynamic if you focused on Kristin being a goddess

Q: With that basic information laid out-- what was the "phistin palace"?

A: The Phistin Palace was a discord server I founded in August of 2022. Phistin was a ship that was basically a side thing I did in fandom because my main focus was Technoblade and emerald duo stuff. I think if you're a Technoblade fan you're legally obligated to be a Philza fan and vice versa. I don't make the rules. So Phistin was something I did when I wanted a break from Technoblade as a way to practice romantic shipping.

Then Technoblade passed away and I didn't want to do anything with his character for a while so I focused completely on Phistin. However, when I tried to find any fics they were either a background ship with only one line or Kristin was already dead from a tragic disease who's main symptoms were lying daintily in bed. While I was writing my own long form Phistin focused fic, Two Birds if anyone read it, I got a comment that complimented me for "giving her an actual charatcer" and maaaan that is a very low bar to be praised for. So, I started the palace as a way to find other Phistin fans who actually cared about them beyond Kristin being angst fodder for SBI.

Q: Do you have any fond memories in specific of the "Phistin Palace" discord server?

A: Oh so many. During the Syndicate finale, three of us all liveblogged and freaked the fuck out when Kristin showed up for the first time in a minecraft skin on the server. I made on of those AI chatbot things that was popular for a bit and the bot was supposed to be the Kristin character. I asked if she had a pet and she said she has a gecko named Tim. The entire server instantly decided they would die for Tim and he's now an emote. The general chat is also named Tim Time Fucker. A mermaid AU that was made that the majority of the server contributed a lot of lore to we named it the Communist Mermaid AU because the server collectively owns it now. Many good moments there

Q: Beyond the Phistin Palace, are there any large community events that you remember/took part in, or did you mostly stick to your friend group?

A: I remember The Penis SMP of course. I never really took part in large community events but I did watch them happen. I read the Passerine chapter where Tommy died becasue my dash flipped out when that dropped. I'd also try to watch Sad-ist animatics live when I could. At most, Id make a meme during a stream that would rack up a couple hundred notes or one thousand if I was lucky A thousand was like once or twice I think

Q: You mentioned that you were also a Technoblade fan before you became more focused on Phistin-- was your experience in that side of the fandom any different?

A: It certainly had more content than Phistin did lol. I was never really in any Technoblade discords or anything but back in the day it was focused on emerald duo and being funny. or angsty. Nowadays, it's way less lively unfortunately. It's not as bad as in 2022 but Technoblade fancontent seems to be less foucsed on the character and more on memorials/remembrance. At some point, you run out of things to say and not a lot of people wanted to stay in a fandom that just felt weighed down by it all. I did leave so things could perk up someday but I don't think that's likely

Q: We've talked about the fandom and how it responds to content-- let's talk about the content itself. What were some of your favorite moments from the Dream SMP as a whole?

A: The Red Festival Technoblade stream was the first one I ever watched live so that's a good one. The stream where L'manberg getting blown up at the end of The Manberg Arc is iconic for an underrated reason. I don't know how many people remember but Phil was highly speculated to be on the Dream SMP someday. On the day of that stream, he started on his hardcore world, then stopped his stream and did his dramatic switch surprise entrance to enter the Dream SMP for the first time. Also Technoblade escaping the anvil and then killing Quackity with a toothpick was great. I've never liked watching Twitch streams on my Ipad so most of my favorite moments come from YouTube

Q: Were you sad that Phistin wasn't a more popular ship, or did you enjoy the tight-knit community?

A: I was sad Kristin kept friggin dying, the poor woman lol. Sometimes I wish it was a bit more popular but the community was nice. The main issue is Phistin stuff started tanking hard on Ao3 in terms of numbers and tended to get misstagged quite a bit

Q: You've brought up a few times that Kristin was often fridged, disregarded, or replaced (on several notable occasions, by an actual Samsung fridge). How did you feel about it? Do you think there was any particular reason for it?

A: I mean, I really don't like it but I understand it. A lot of people loved that SBI angst but also wanted to write all the SBI. So the obvious solution is to kill off Kristin for free angst and keep all the SBI in the story. Passerine is a fic i respect a lot but it also kickstarted this trend to be honest. Kristin herself also didn't physically show up in the lore a lot so it was really tricky to write her. When I first wrote her, it was intimidating because I didn't have many fics to look at as good examples.

Was it shitty and a bit sexist? Yes but I don't think sexism was the only reason. Kristin's character was in a unique situation compared to the others. I have no problem with Kristin dying in a fic. The main issue is that often came with her personality being reduced to good mom and that's it. I'm not gonna call a bunch of probably first time writers evil sexists when I know what it's like to not know how to write her and being scared you'll get her completely wrong.

Q: Since it's come up, would you mind giving a quick rundown of what exactly the fanfic "Passerine" is? (As well as any memories you have relating to it!)

A: If i'm being honest, I only read the chapter where Tommy got murked. What I know from osmosis is it's an SBI royalty AU that had some kind of meta twist at the end and it was very sad. It also got a sad-ist animatic made out of it which jesus christ I'd give for that. I tried it but the writing style was too wordy for my liking. It's mainly important for Phistin history even though Kristin wasn't in it. No, The Fridge died in it but everyone just kinda assumed it was Kristin for long enough it got the ball rolling. Also I think Niki read it on a stream

Q: Before we wrap up, is there anything else you remember about MCYTblr/the DSMP that you'd like to talk about?

A: The DSMP sure was the minecraft server of all time that is defined as a server that was doomed from the start. Whoever makes a video essay on it is gonna have a hell of a job. 10/10 experience would not recommenced. Hello to the Phistin Palace if any of you read this :D

Mcytblr is getting more chill with shipping from what I've seen. Thank God, keeping making Philza Minecraft kiss those men and his wife.

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#early mcytblr interviews #Volume 16 #tack-tick

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