#but i Hate making trouser patterns rip | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kaynothanks · 2 months

Text

Behind The Sun

Pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!Reader

Warnings: murder, a true killing spree really, angst, dark thoughts, it's dark in general (I need to call my therapist), Finnick is taller than reader, reader has hair, and a brother, this is my attempt at fulfilling my need for a good Finnick fic after the clips of the new movie have been haunting me everywhere (let’s ignore that this is basically a dead fandom)

Word-Count: 20k (it's worth it, trust me)

You found getting your hair cut loathsome. It was unbearable any day but this day it seemed especially gruesome; sitting still and pretending for just a few moments longer that the day was like any other. Usually, you would think about how your mother kept pulling at your hair too harshly or that her hands were shaking far too much for you to even let her get close to your hair. Though on this day, all you could think about was the pair of scissors in her hands. Inconspicuous some might think, yet in your district you knew better.

Your hands shook at the thought of what the tributes from districts like One or Two could do with something as simple as a pair of scissors. You hissed in shock as your mother twirled your hair into a tight bun at the back of your head, frowning at hair through the mirror. She didn’t look at you, she didn’t look up at all.

Her shaking hands she placed on your shoulders, hesitating to face your reflection. The smile she forced was painful to witness. "It's going to be fine, after today, it's only one more year." Her smile faltered, realizing that your brother had to endure his first Reaping today and many more would follow.

She looked into the mirror, watching your brother who sat on the floor trying to get his light stick to work again. Some of the boys had built them themselves out of old parts the factories rendered useless. They would often sneak outside in the evenings to draw patterns into the air by swinging their light sticks—though your mother hadn’t allowed your brother to go recently, since his light stick blew up last time. Faulty wiring.

To redirect her attention, you laid your hand atop hers and smiled a forced smile, too. "It's going to be okay. His name is in there only once." Yours was in there over twenty times. You had signed up for Tesserae and claimed it multiple times throughout the last few years for yourself, your mother, your father, and your brother. "We should head out," you said and stood, grabbing your brother's attention. "The Reaping's going to start soon."

Your brother whined in protest. "I don’t wanna go. They're gonna hurt my finger."

You snorted and held your hand out for him to take. "It's just a prick, you'll barely even feel." Bidding his light stick goodbye, he grabbed your hand, letting himself be pulled up from the floor.

"You look funny," he commented, making you narrow your eyes at him.

"Yeah?" You questioned and tugged at his shirt, neatly stuffed into his pants. It was such a difference from his usual attire, consisting of dirt-stained trousers and ripped shirts. "So do you."

Walking beside your mother and brother, you could spot the red banners with the golden sigil hanging from the Justice Building from afar. A way for the government to proudly display Panem's power; forcing every citizen of District Five to attend—with the exemption of those too ill to make their way here. Dozens of cameras were set up around the premises.

Entering the square, you stood in line, waiting for registration with government officials. Giving a drop of blood was a strict requirement, a method used to identify the people of District Five. Your brother stood beside you, clearly fidgety. He hated needles and the sight of blood, too.

"Atlas," you whispered and your brother turned his anxious eyes to you. "Want me to slap you when the needle hits? You won't even notice the pinch." Laughing at him frowning at you, you gave his shoulder a shove. "My offer stands, just so you know."

You and he stepped up to the tables at the same time and you grinned brightly when he looked back at you, as though he was actually considering taking you up on your offer. Paying no mind to the man in white, you looked around. Many children stood already in their dedicated section, though none of them wore even just a hint of a smile. Understandably so, you thought. It was the first day of a fight for life and death and with just a little too much bad luck, it was one of their lives on the line. Your mother was already out of sight and when you were about to walk toward the front, where the oldest children gathered, a hand wrapped around yours.

You looked down at your brother—he was catching up to you rather quickly in height, you noticed.

"I don’t want to go alone."

Once more you forced a smile. "It's only for a little while, okay? And after this is over, I'll help you make a killer light stick, how's that sound?"

"With flickering lights and all?"

"With flickering light and everything else you can think of," you agreed and saw his face lighten up immediately. He nodded excitedly and bounced off to the far back of the male section. You walked close to the front and stood beside a girl from your classes. On the stage in front of the Justice Building stood Mayor Ward Smith and beside him the district escort, Twila Hearst. Behind them remained two of the previous District Five victors. Ivette Li-Sanchez, victor of the 50th Hunger Games, and James Logan, victor of the 43rd. James Logan by now was almost completely bald and had a limp in his step. You remembered everyone telling you about how much that man was admired back in the day.

Ivette had won her games at fifteen, making her now thirty. Although she looked far younger. Perhaps the Capitol was treating her fairly well, after all.

Mayor Smith stepped towards the microphone and smiled, spreading his arms in welcome. He thanked everyone for their attendance as if anyone had a say in the matter and started reciting the founding history of Panem not a second later. He covered everything as though he himself was a history teacher before moving on to the beginning of the Hunger Games and its rules. Warden Smith spoke of it as if there was nothing more graceful than becoming a tribute, sprouting off his mouth what spoils and riches come with victory. His eyes shifted down to a piece of paper as he read off the names of your district's previous Hunger Games victors.

It was good to know he cared enough to remember them by heart.

Introducing Twila Hearst he waited for some kind of applause, although quickly stepped aside upon noticing none was to come. Twila, too, appraised all the potential tributes and made some idle comments to not seem too excited about what was to follow. "Whom should we start this year with?" She questioned happily, putting her hands by her ears to signal she wanted the crowd to decide. A few female voices called out men as if the few seconds they gained by the male tribute being picked first made any difference.

"The men this year?" She gasped and opened her orange-painted lips in shock, not being able to hide her smirk. "Whatever happened to ladies first?" Stepping over to the Reaping Bowl filled with solely male names, she clapped. "But I'll give what the people demand!" Sticking her hand in the bowl, she fumbled around for far too long; a meaningless and cruel try to build up any more suspense as though the hope to walk away alive wasn’t channeling enough tension as it was.

She pulled a slip from deep within the bowl and opened it, reading the name first for herself before leaning towards the microphone. "Atlas Thornbury!" She called out and peered out into the crowd of gathered males, trying to make out if anybody had started walking towards the stage. "Atlas Thornbury, come up here my boy!"

You hadn’t registered at first. Hadn’t even paid attention, really. That flicker of hope you had held within your chest kept assuring you that once again you would walk away. When your mind caught up, you felt as though you could breathe. Your heart thundered against your ribcage as your head whipped from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of your brother. The girl from your class put a hand on your shoulder, trying to offer some kind of reassurance that all would be okay, though you knew it would not. He was barely a twelve-year-old boy, so thin he almost looked sickly. Atlas wouldn’t stand a chance. He wouldn’t survive. He would die. Die alone in a cage made for punishment and entertainment of the rich folk.

Peacekeepers were on the move the second your brother stepped out of line and escorted him to the front of the stage. You heard crying, you thought, or perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks, offering you a reaction of what you could do instead of staring panic-stricken. In your haze, you had missed Twila introducing Atlas to the rest of Panem and moving on to picking the female tribute.

She cleared her throat, the slip with the name already grasped loosely between her fingers. You swallowed and watched your brother in a state of paralysis. Even though you saw her lips move; you heard nothing. Nothing but your own blood rushing through your system, as you forcefully pushed the pitying hand off your shoulder and stepped out of line.

"I volunteer as Tribute!"

All heads snapped toward you as some Peacekeepers sprinted forward, keeping you from walking any further. You shoved them off, trying to get to the stage—to your brother, who was shaking so much you were sure he would break at any moment. Twila continued her blabbering but you ignored all. Ignored the whispers around you and pitiful glances and your mother's screams from all the way at the back, crying about both her children being taken from her in a split second.

You had barely stepped onto the stage when your brother's arms wrapped themselves around your waist. His cries shook his body weakly as you put your hands around his head. A tear fell from your eye before you could stop it.

Nothing was going to be okay.

When the ceremony was over, both of you were taken into custody and led into the Justice Building to a room that held more riches than perhaps the whole of District Five. Your mother was brought into the room by some Peacekeepers and you tried your hardest to soothe her wails and ceaseless cries. Though it was hard, when all you were left to feel was a shattering numbness. It didn’t matter anymore. You were going to die. And with that realization, you swore you would fight for your brother to your last breath and beyond.

---

You had never been on a train. Not that you had ever had the chance or permission to. Only those of the Capitol and those reaped had the chance. You didn’t know if you liked the feeling of not having still ground beneath your feet. The thought of moving so quickly without actually noticing the speed made you itch uncomfortably.

"Aren't you going to eat?" Twila asked, cutting herself a tiny piece of meat before bringing it to her mouth.

You looked to her, to your brother—who was stuffing his face with pastries—and to the two previous victors. "No."

"Well, then," Logan clapped and stood. He was the only one who, too, had refused to eat. "We should talk strategies." He walked over to a small table where different bottles of very expensive alcohol were arranged and poured himself half a glass of scotch. "Any skills or special talents we should be aware of?"

Atlas lifted his hand the same way he would in school and waited to be called on. "I make killer light sticks."

Logan looked confused. "What?"

"Toys," you responded in a hiss with half a mind to toss the table. "He makes toys."

"What about you?" Logan questioned. "Any talents?"

"No."

"I think I'm getting a tummy ache," Atlas complained and put down the pastry he was holding. You told him to go to his room and lie down a bit since it wouldn’t be too long before your arrival at the Capitol.

When he was gone you fixed the adults with a stern gaze. "We can all go on and pretend that you actually believe we stand a chance or drop the act and acknowledge the fact that we are as good as dead already."

Ivette snorted and your head whipped to the other side of the table. "Oh, angry girl, if there is anyone I believe will win, it's you."

You ignored the nickname and scoffed. "I think we already established that I don’t have any skills or talents or even a chance. If I were you, I'd lower my expectations."

She put down the cutlery and leaned forward. "You have anger, and trust me, that's enough." Ivette didn’t give you a chance to respond as she stood and turned on a big screen hanging from the wall. "Why don’t we see who you'll be competing against, hm?"

Clips of other Reapings played; the Career Districts first, showing how they fought over who got to volunteer this year. "Many volunteers this year," Ivette commented as the next clip started to play. District Four. A young boy stepped out of line, and you thought he resembled your brother quite a bit, when another male stepped out of line, volunteering for the boy. When you stayed silent, Ivette sighed. "I didn’t have any skills upon entering, either. But I learned because I had to. And you will, too. We both know you have something to fight for."

You stared at her and she stared right back. Leaning back in your chair, you gripped the plush armrest tightly. "Tell me what to do to keep him alive and I'll do it."

---

Upon arriving at the Capitol, you and your brother were brought to the City Circle, the center of the Capitol, where the Remake Center was located.

A group of extravagantly dressed personas stood with broad grins on their faces, waiting for your arrival. You and your brother were handed a blue rope each and were hurried inside to change. They separated you then, bringing you to a room with a metal surface to lie on. You were hesitant but the prep team gave you no room to argue, tutting you as though you were no more than a mindless child. Laying there, you let them do your nails, wax your brows, and remove every inch of body hair you had before they stuck you in a tub with cold water. When you shivered, they laughed, tutting you again, telling you if you had hurried it would have been warmer.

Afterward, they did your hair and added make-up and then told you to wait for the head stylist to arrive. You had the prep team repeatedly tell you why they were dressing you up, and each time they replied with sponsors. According to them, getting sponsors was crucial to the survival of the Games.

You shook with anger at being presented to the Capitol like a piece of meat, dolled up ridiculously in order to meet their beauty standards.

When the head stylist arrived the other members of the prep team brought in a laughably big gown that was completely transparent. "I'm not wearing that," you argued but the head stylist only raised his brow. "I'll be naked."

"It hurts my feelings that you'd think my execution of the power district would be done so poorly." He clapped and walked away. "Help her get dressed."

The prep team sprung into action, pulling you along with them before they stood on stools to let the dress down onto your body from higher above. You frowned at yourself. Not because you looked like a cloud of translucent puffiness, but because you had never worn anything feeling as comfortable as this gown. The material was indescribably soft on your skin and so light you could barely tell it was there in the first place.

You moved the tiniest bit and suddenly the dress turned a solid silver color. The head stylist came back with a headpiece in hand that was a mix between a crown and a halo. Your mouth fell open in hesitation. "Isn't this a little too—"

"Provocative?" He grinned and picked up a spray bottle of silver body paint. "Good."

Everything on your body was doctored to perfection; your eyelashes now had the length of half your pinky finger, your lips were drawn to look fuller with a vibrant metal shimmer, and your body to your neck up was covered in silver paint, sparkling notoriously when the sunlight hit you directly. When you looked up into the sky, it was a clear blue with no hint of darkness and you wondered if District Five was as dark as it was because the Capitol had stolen the sun. When the prep team was finally done with you and your brother, it was the late afternoon and you were immediately led along to the center of the City Circle. The other Tributes were gathered there already, standing beside black chariots drawn by night-shaded horses.

Hundreds of Capitol citizens had gathered along the Avenue of Tributes, chanting their favorite districts or just simply the word Hunger. The shouts echoed in your ear as whatever your brother was telling you faded into the background. Your eyes fell from Tribute to Tribute as blood rushed through your ears. Whom of them would you kill? Who would kill you? The pace of your breathing picked up as your hand fell to your stomach; you felt like your lungs were granting no more air to enter and the dress now appeared to be nothing but a cage.

A loud laughter snapped you out of your trance and your head whipped to where the roaring sound came from. A tall blonde male stood beside an old woman, who playfully slapped him on the arm while gifting him with a stern look that held no anger whatsoever. You tried recalling the names of the Tributes, which Logan and Ivette had spent over an hour teaching you, yet you were not sure when it came to him.

The girl beside him, the other tribute of District Four, was Adella. Both Tributes appeared mature enough to be over sixteen at last, perhaps eighteen even. As though he could feel your eyes glaring into his back, he shifted his gaze toward where you stood. Curiosity taking over the slight feeling of shame, you continued mustering him, wondering if he volunteered because he wanted to partake in the games as a Career or because he had felt true compassion for the little boy who had been chosen.

A sharp pain coursed through your arm as your head flew to look at the spot. Your brother's fingers were lingering close by to the piece of skin he had just pinched. You scowled at him, but he only nodded toward the head stylist standing in front of you. Redness arose at the back of your neck as you noticed he had been talking to you all along. He held his hand extended toward you, a small device in it. You took it without asking and waited for any kind of instruction.

"Press it when you're about halfway along."

"Why?"

He blinked at you and took it back in a flash, grimacing at the fact that you had questioned him once again. "I'll do it myself." He hurried you onto the chariot designated for District Five and patted both your shoulders. "Don’t forget to smile." Your brother nodded in agreement, though you stayed still.

Rhythmic pounding of drums joined the echoing chants and suddenly it seemed your pulse thrummed only after their beat. Chariot after chariot got to moving. Your district was almost in the middle, not too far behind and not too close to the front, and yet it wasn’t enough time to prepare you for the sight of thousands of people surrounding you.

When you had barely made it three feet onto the Avenue, you gripped your brother's hand. "Don’t smile," you told him, not taking your eyes off the spectacle before you.

"But he said—"

"I know what he said. I just don’t care." You did care. You cared that you didn’t want to give anybody the satisfaction of seeing even a flash of happiness about what they were doing to you. You refused to play into sick games, refused to just accept a punishment you didn’t deserve since it was for a rebellion that happened decades ago. It had not been your fight and the districts losing it and being brought close to extinction, for you, seemed to be punishment enough. The districts did not have anything else to give anymore and still, the Capitol took and took, and you knew they would never stop. Not without being stopped.

You would not play along. You would fight, but not for their entertainment or promised riches, but for your survival, your brother's survival, and the slim chance to bring him back to your mother safely.

Something happened then. You hadn’t noticed it at first, too caught up in the stream of your furious thoughts when gasps sounded and the applause went raging. Looking around, you tried spotting the cause, when your brother looked you up and down with big eyes. You peeked downward, spotting the previously silver dress had turned into a stream of bright, flowing electricity. It wasn’t a mere dress anymore; it was pulsing with life—with power. The long hemline of the dress, which was so long, it was close to dragging on the floor, was sprouting sparks of electricity, just like the back of your brother's suit. You could see other tributes in front of you looking up at the screens, wanting to know what all the hype was about.

The chariots gathered at the end of the avenue, standing in perfect rows and you wondered how often these horses had gone through this process. President Snow stood, walked forward, and bathed in the attention he was getting from the citizens of the Capitol. He stood high above the Tributes and for a second you found yourself thinking about how long he would fall, if someone were to shove him.

"Welcome," he spoke, his voice sounding through all the avenue. "Tributes, we welcome you. We salute your courage and your sacrifice, and we wish you happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor!" Not a moment after he had finished his little speech, the chariots were on the move again, drawing you back to where you had come from.

Stepping off the chariot, your dress was back to plain silver, though you had no time to ponder it when you were approached by Logan, Ivette, and Twila.

"Well, that was something," Logan commented and Ivette grimaced. "I thought the strategy was to—" He halted when he noticed other Tributes eyeing you curiously, and certainly not in friendly spirits. "Let's get you two to your apartments, we'll talk more when you don’t look like aluminum foil."

You were brought to the training center, where you would be staying in apartments for the week of your training. All the riches that were kept from the district were perhaps gathered in the Tributes' apartments—or at least whatever the parsimonious Capitol could bear to spare.

You had barely washed off the silver paint and slipped into some linen pants when there was a small, careful knock on your door. Opening it, you found your brother standing there donning clothes just as comfortable as your own. Smeared streaks of silver paint were still covering his face. He hesitated, towel in hand. "Can you help me?"

"Well, I'll need something in return."

He huffed annoyed. "What do you want?"

"You see, there is this buffet down in the cafeteria, and I'd really hate to go alone."

"There is more free food?" Atlas squeaked as if it was the best news he had ever gotten to hear. Which for him it might have been. Back home there wasn’t a lot of food to go around. "I hope they have more pastries. You have to try those!"

"We'll see." You still weren't hungry and the thought of eating any meal they served made you feel as if you were having an executioner's meal.

---

A lot of Tributes seemingly chose to avoid the chance to socialize with the enemy. A few empty metal tables stood spread around the room—you chose the one at the far back, not wanting to draw any more attention to you after what had happened at the Tribute Parade. Atlas was off before you had even sat down, going straight to the pastry table.

You rolled your eyes, wanting to mother him and tell him he should eat real food, but you didn’t want to take any specks of happiness he had left.

He came back with one or two pastries on his plate, saying he had found they had many kinds of meats to choose from and he wanted to try them all. You nodded along to everything he said, offering a smile here and there so you wouldn’t seem too disconnected from the conversation. With other tributes in the room, you just couldn’t focus on anything but the warning flashes in your mind, reminding you that danger was imminent.

Atlas pulled at your hand then, dragging you to the buffet, lecturing you on not eating all day. You snorted. Who was mothering whom now? Only because of his demands did you fill your plate with some of the many dishes to choose from. Atlas appeared content enough with the action and went on to load his own plate.

At the table, you pushed the food on your plate around aimlessly, poking some vegetables and cutting some meat without actually bringing it to your tongue. You felt sick to your stomach.

"You know," a voice said from behind you, amusement weirdly prominent in his tone. "There is a funny fact about food."

Peeking over your shoulder, you came face to face with the District Four male. And, seemingly, the arrogant smile was sewn onto his face. Not one moment you had seen him without it. A mask well crafted, you thought. You should perhaps hone your own; letting the Capitol know you loathed them wasn’t the smartest of moves to pull when you required their help. Sponsorships and all that.

"Interesting, truly," you said and turned back around, yet somehow you had the feeling you wouldn’t be able to shake him off so easily.

He sat across from you; plate loaded to the brim with maybe every kind of dish they offered. "It's supposed to be consumed with your mouth, not the eyes." Grinning, he shoved a piece of steak into his mouth. He groaned in exaggerated delight, making you raise your brow. "I've had fish for almost every meal for the past eighteen years, I'm going to spend the rest of it bathing in ribeye."

However long that may be, you thought, your eyes moving to find your brother still waiting in line. "You volunteered," you spoke then before you could think about it.

"Well, I guess I'm not the only one, am I?"

"Do you consider yourself a Career?"

The blonde snorted. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

He eyed someone over your shoulder and leaned in. "Not yet." Leaning back, he brought another cut piece of red meat to his lips. The District Four male nodded to your untouched plate. "Why aren't you eating?"

"They are serving us our last meals day in and day out as if it's gonna change anything about the fact that they want to see us slaughter each other. I can happily do without their insincere gestures of atonement."

"You really do not like the Capitol, do you, Spark?"

"And you do?"

He didn’t answer, forking himself another piece of food before pointing at your plate. "Are you going to eat that?" Understanding his inquiry, you shoved the plate across the table just as Atlas reappeared.

"Hello," your brother greeted and surprisingly set his plate right next to the man. "I'm Atlas."

The male nodded as if he didn’t already know and extended his hand. "Finnick."

"I know!" Your brother exclaimed. "You volunteered for the other boy. That was nice."

Finnick smiled and yet, you could clearly spot the pity in his eyes. Perhaps his mask wasn’t so perfectly crafted after all. Atlas' eyes found your plate across the table, no item of food missing. He frowned at you and deeply so. "Mom would be so mad at you right now." You wanted to tell him that he could tell on you all he wanted when you got him home. But with Finnick sitting across from you, you didn’t dare speak the words and let him see the doubt written across your face. "Can you at least eat the vegetables?" Atlas whined. "You always make me."

"Fine, but you're getting yourself a serving of them, too."

"Deal!" He jumped off the bench, grabbing himself another plate, and stepped into the short line again.

"I'm sorry," Finnick said out of the blue, drawing your attention back to him.

You swallowed, the corners of your mouth dropping low as you gave a slight nod, eyes finding your brother's form. "Me too."

---

The gymnasium was huge. The diversity of stations ranged from simple survival training with plants and berries to camouflage and all kinds of weaponry you had never known existed. All Tributes had gotten an orientation by the Head Trainer, with a rundown of all available stations and rules.

You were allowed to move freely in the gymnasium, socialize or spend the time however you pleased, though, under no circumstances, were you allowed to fight any other Tributes while training. Strictly forbidden was partaking in any combat exercises with each other. Experts were available to partner up with if anyone fancied a session.

Surrounding the whole of the gymnasium was one balcony, from where the Gamemakers observed closely the skills and talents of each tribute.

You had been training for a few days now, though while the other Tributes actively used their time in the gymnasium, Ivette had been giving you private sessions. She and Logan thought it best to go with the strategy of deception—to make everyone think you were harmless, useless. You had learned the basics with every other Tribute; what the weapons were called, how they were used, and so on.

Though mostly while others trained, you stayed close by your brother, observing him when in training with the head trainer and when he was aimlessly throwing knives and other weapons around, too. Once or twice, you spared a glance toward the balcony, finding the Gamemakers eyeing the action of your brother in amusement. For them, his life truly was nothing more than a plaything.

On the last day of training, you stood by your brother once more, trying to help him with throwing knives, although you found you weren't the best teacher. Another knife clunked to the floor without sticking in the target and you huffed. Ivette made teaching look so easy. You had picked the movements up in seconds but now trying to explain them seemed futile. With the other Tributes close by, you couldn’t even show Atlas the correct way of doing it or you would be on the brink of blowing Logan and Ivette's whole strategy.

"You need more force," you said, causing Atlas to stick his tongue out toward you, clearly annoyed and tired.

"You keep saying that, but it's not working! Just admit you don’t know what you're doing!"

"Spark's right," a—by now—familiar voice commented and you lit up in appreciation for Finnick's affirmation. "If you draw your hand back further, you're gonna get it." Atlas positioned himself the way Finnick told him to, looking at the older male for approval. The blonde nodded with a wink, showing your brother the hand movement again, just in case. Without waiting for Finnick to give the go, Atlas hurled the knife straight forward, and to your surprise—and your brother's, too—it bored itself into the target. It was far off from the point where it optimally should have hit, but a win was a win.

Finnick and you stepped away, letting your brother try by himself. The District Four male frowned down at you. "Why haven't you been training?"

"I… I did train," you protested, pointing to the countless survival stations. "I finished all of those."

He seemed truly worked up over it. "Those won't help when anybody comes after you."

"Are you planning to?" You joked, yet you weren't sure you were joking at all. When no reply followed you huffed and flared your arms. "I had never held a weapon before the beginning of the week. There is no way I could learn how to handle any of them, so I just… don't." You shrugged, trying to ignore the furious disbelief in his sea-green eyes.

"I thought you would do everything to protect your brother."

Again, your shoulders raised and fell. "Reality triumphed hope."

He shook his head and stormed off, leaving you to stare after him speechlessly. You still hadn’t gotten your answer. Would he come after you? He had conversed with you every day at every evening meal since the beginning of the week. Though ignored you most of the time when other Tributes were in proximity. Under any other circumstances, you were sure he would have been a friend. Not a fiend out for blood. You shook off your dense thoughts. Of course, he would come after you. It was the game, after all.

---

You felt like a dog, waiting to dance and show off whatever training you had received, hoping to get some kind of acknowledgment—a treat, expressed in a score number, which wouldn’t completely tank your chances at getting more sponsors. Apparently, you had a good amount of them already, so much so, that Logan felt confident that you would at least survive a few days in the arena.

His explanation of the statement was, that if the other tributes didn’t want to lose sponsors at the very beginning of the game, they would have to let you live since all of Panem seemed taken by you from the moment your dress lit up. He and Ivette had decided to tweak their strategy for you after getting word of the number of sponsors eagerly awaiting your test scores. They had told you not to hold back.

Your brother went before you. Atlas was gone for about ten minutes, before coming out with a bright grin, whispering a quick assurance that each throwing knife had hit the target. When you went in, you were met with nothing but playful chattering. Looking up at the balcony, you found that not a single person was paying attention to you. You frowned. Yes, in the training sessions, you had barely taken part in, but they could at least show some goddamned respect. They were going to kill you for their pure amusement.

Your nostrils flared as you walked to the table holding the weapons. Picking up a spear, you turned the perfectly balanced stick of metal over in your hand and took place across from the human-shaped target. For the week, Ivette had trained you hour upon hour, making sure you knew every movement, every stance, every impression there was to take in. Drawing your arm back, you focused your eyes, found the middle of the target, and hurled the spear forward. It hit the target with such force a good part of it went all the way through and was now poking out at the back of the thick target. And yet, none of them even spared you a glance.

You scoffed in disbelief, looking around for anything else that would get their attention until your eyes landed on a silver box on the wall. Peeking at the Gamemakers once more, you checked if they had at least acknowledged your existence by now, but no. Gripping a small knife from the table, you went over to the box and broke it open. Fuses, wires—a lot of wires. It was all you had been schooled in back in District Five.

You ripped out the see-through plastic wall that the wires were tugged away behind and pulled a handful of them out. Sorting them, you lined them up, lifted the knife, and cut straight through them. Everything went black. Panicked shouts followed as all of them struggled to see. Hard thing to do with the cables cut not only from the main source of power but the backup generators, too. The fuses you turned off, as you pulled at the two cables you had memorized and connected them. Turning the right fuse back on, a single source of light, focused only on one spot in the gymnasium, turned back on.

Their eyes were on you now, as you stood illuminated in a pool of darkness and threw the knife you were holding straight at the target's head. Angered and interested their attention fell from the twice perfectly penetrated target to you as you bowed with an annoyed grimace and left the room. Peacekeepers pushed past you, probably thinking you had ambushed and killed all the Gamemakers and there was a part in you—not small, not unconscious, not obscure—that wished you had. The men in white suits eyed you suspiciously, but you paid them no mind, more focused on the red flickering lights in the hallway. You hummed. There were more generators. The rest of the Tributes still waiting to be called in for their evaluations mustered you as you went past with your head held high, not giving away if you were the reason for the power failure. You went back to the apartment which for the day remained yours, only to find Atlas already waiting patiently in front of the TV.

You weren't sure if your brother had spent even just a single day at his apartment. It was right across the hall and yet it seemed to be too far for him. "You know they will be announced in the evening, right?"

He huffed. "I just wanna know what they thought. I handle the knives so well—just like Finnick showed me! They have to give me an okay score." Atlas only then appeared to remember that you had had your evaluation, too. "Do you think yours went well? What did you show them?"

You hesitated, not sure if your action had ruined your chances at a remotely fine training score. "I threw a knife, too." You shrugged. "We'll see what they thought about my performance in a few hours."

Taking a look at the clock, you grabbed a jacket and signed for your brother to follow. You were to spend the day with Ivette and Logan for them to prepare you for your interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Both of your mentors thought you were in dire need of training when it came to proper etiquette. Logan and Ivette had schooled you for hours, trying to get you to show a somewhat flirty, yet mysterious persona, which Caesar Flickerman and the rest of the Capitol would eat up. Twila then busied herself with scorning and arguing with you over the ways of proper etiquette. Deeming you readied enough, they put their attention on Atlas, letting you off the leash that you were on—you weren't more than a lapdog by now, after all.

You couldn’t sleep that night. Atlas was peacefully sleeping beside you and every time your eyes remotely closed, you jolted awake, scared you would wake in the arena, where harm lured, waiting to take your brother. You knew, of course, the arena was yet another day away, you wouldn’t just wake there, but telling yourself it over and over again didn’t help one bit. Too anxious, you stood and slipped on a rope. Downstairs they had food, you thought. Perhaps after days of barely eating anything, you needed some sugar to calm your nerves. Peacekeepers were stationed in and around the building; the only reason why they allowed the Tributes to move freely within. Although they were a little weary now, since on day four, a District Seven male had tried to escape. They had caught him, naturally, and made an example out of him, too. He had been whipped. Cruelly and gruesomely, with no hint of mercy, only swings filled with content.

The Peacekeepers had no interest in peace, you thought. They were sadists to some degree, jumping at every chance to punish, and even to kill. Their title and position in the Capitol's food chain gave them no limitations. In the name of the Capitol, in the name of President Snow, they had said, and chained the poor male up—as if he wouldn’t be fighting for his life soon enough—and hurled thinly threaded metal cord across his back. They had left him to bleed there, unconscious and shivering.

The cafeteria stood empty, not even a Peacekeeper was bothered to keep watch. You hesitated as you gripped a plate from the high stack and went over to the different dishes. Some of them were stored away in coolers, while others still shimmered over low heat, keeping them warm and prepared, in case any Tribute experienced nightly cravings. You did exactly what Atlas had done the past few days, and went straight for the pastries.

"So, this is how you do it, huh?" An amused voice hummed. "You have tricked us all, pretending to starve yourself, when in reality, you sneak down here at night."

"Yes, Finnick," you played along. "You have finally uncovered my deepest, darkest secret." Cocking your head, you stalked to a table and set the plate down before turning to look at him. "What are you going to do with it?" Finnick's broad form was leaning against the doorway. His blonde locks were a clear mess, giving away that you hadn't been the only one tossing and turning.

He only grinned, turning his head downward, before pushing himself off the doorway. Finnick made his way over to the table, halting close to you. Closer than you had ever been, you noticed. Perhaps the nightly distress had made him unhinged, his impulses winning over the schooled restraint, which usually kept him so well in check.

Seeing Finnick's agents not totally in balance was a true rarity. There was only one other time he had let his guard down. An accident, you guessed, when he had slipped up and his frustration had gotten the better of him.

"I have always been curious about secrets, you know?" He went on, studying your face for any sign of discomfort at his nighness.

"Isn't that just a fancy way of saying you are nosy?"

Finnick chuckled. "I know a lot of them, too. The other Tributes'. They are quite open after some sweet-talking."

"Of course, if anyone were to get anything out of them, it would be you."

"Do you want a little pre-view?" In his grin you found true excitement, something you hadn’t seen too often from him. Finnick wearing anything true on his face was reserved more moments like this; moments of intimacy. Goosebumps arose on your arm, thinking that in the span of mere hours, all of it was gone. He wouldn’t be helping your brother perfect his fighting skills, wouldn’t help you righten your stance with gentle, cheeky touches, wouldn’t come at you with a grin, but a raised weapon, ready to tint it with your blood.

You wanted everything to be different. You wanted it so badly, it hurt deep within your chest. A stinging sensation you hadn’t felt since the day Atlas' name had been called by Twila on the day of the Reaping. It seemed like so long ago, though it had only been one week.

You shook your head. "Best to keep secrets to yourself. You don’t want them to lose their worth."

"Why do I feel like sweet talking won't get me any of yours?"

You shrugged. "Maybe I just don’t have any."

Finnick took another step closer and you turned your head up a bit, to be able to look him in the eyes. "I don’t believe that for a second."

"Then I guess you'll just have to live without mine."

"How gruesome of you, Spark," he said, leaning forward, putting his hand flat on the metal table behind you. It might just have been the first cage you did not mind being in. "To tease me so."

You swallowed; your throat suddenly dried of any words. A shaky breath of air flowed from your lips as your back pressed into the metal table. Out of reflex, you put your hand in front of yourself, landing it directly on his hard chest. You averted your gaze, turning your head downward. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to compose yourself, though it proved challenging with his chest heaving beneath your touch just as quickly as your own. Rough fingers, prone by the hard labor of District Four, gripped your chin, turning it back upward. There was no way of escaping him now; no way of escaping yourself.

You caved then, with a defeated breath and he saw right through you. He kissed you, mouth hungry and tinged with the desperation of escaping the leering reality that none of you could change. With his strong arm, he helped you atop the table, his body slotting against your own perfectly. Finnick groaned against your mouth, as your thighs tightened around him, pulling his body closer to you. His arm wrapped around your hip and you gasped against his lips as you felt him pressing his crotch into yours. It was messy and heated and overwhelming until it all stopped. Both of you pulled away in order to catch your breath and Finnick let his forehead fall against yours.

Suddenly a tear dropped onto your cheek and a sob forced its way from your mouth. "I can’t let him die," you cried and shook your head so forcefully you were getting dizzy. Everything you had been holding back from the moment Atlas' name had echoed through District Five broke loose. "He's only twelve years old. He is a child. He can't—" You stuttered along as Finnick pulled you into him. The embrace wasn’t solely for your comfort, you knew, you felt it. Felt all the fear he kept so well hidden. You wrapped your arms around his neck, locking him in just as tight as his arms engulfed you so desperately you felt it seeping into your skin. For a second, you felt safe then, with his arms giving you just enough space to hide away in.

Finnick placed his hand on either side of your face, wiping your tears with his thumb. Opening his mouth, he was about to say something, when steps sounded outside of the cafeteria. Startled, he distanced himself from you, making it look like he hadn’t acknowledged your presence, as you hopped off the table. A Peacekeeper entered, followed by the District Eight male Tribute.

You left the cafeteria then, throwing a quick look over your shoulder only to find that Finnick was paying you no mind. Wiping whatever was left of your tears yourself, you hurried back to your apartment. Atlas was still sleeping peacefully as you sat at the edge of the bed, facing him. In this state, he looked so much like his younger self. It was all you saw in him now, too aware that his life might be cut short. Instead of seeing his future, you only saw his past. Remembered the first day your mother had put a fussy baby in your arms that you were so deadly jealous of. It was a weird feeling. Feeling such a surge of love for someone you had barely known half a day and yet, you had felt discontent when seeing your mother and father with him. Loving him the way they had previously held reserved only for you.

And then a few years later, your father had died. Your mother was so devastated she hadn’t been able to get out of bed for months. You were to one to take care of Atlas, you were the one to hold him while he was crying and your arms were the ones, he fell asleep in. Not able to help yourself, you extended your hand and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead.

You were ready, had been since the first day you had laid eyes on him. You were ready to die for him.

---

The next day, your prep team once again spent the whole day forcing a make-over on you, plucking hairs and eradicating blackheads, all the while shushing your complaints. It was only when they were done that the head stylist, Lazarus, made an appearance. In his hand, he was holding the dress specifically created for you. Top till mid-thigh it was black, with blue shimmering mesh fabric running down to the floor.

He held it out for you to take, knowing you wouldn’t argue this time—you wouldn’t have won the argument anyway. After the prep team had helped you get into the garment, they tugged long gloves onto your arms, made out of the same mesh blue fabric as the bottom of the dress.

Lazarus signed for them to leave you then and you frowned. Your eyes followed him intensely as he checked around to see if anyone was close by. Silver hair glimmering in the fluorescent lighting, he made his way back.

"A source informed me Caesar is dropping some big news tonight during your interview," he spoke lowly. "They didn’t say exactly what it was, but I didn’t want you to be too surprised."

"Is it about back home?" You asked, swallowing. Was your mother all right?

"No," Lazarus assured and tugged at the waistline of the dress to pull it into place. "Something about the Games." When he was done, he stepped away and stared at the piece of art he had created. "I was surprised by your score." At the sudden change of topic, the thoughts of your mother vanished.

"Why? Thought it would be low?"

"Yes, actually," he admitted. "District Five usually doesn’t score above a five. Let alone a ten." He looked almost proud, you thought. "A lot of people will be furious for betting against you."

"Did you?"

"Let's just say, if you die, I'm going to be a homeless man." Lazarus wore a small grin on his face, ruffling his silver locks until suddenly he turned serious once more. "You need to be careful with what you say or do from here on out."

Your forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"

"Things have been different in the Districts since your Reaping." His voice got even quieter. "There is scattered talk that the Capitol is scared your death or your brother's might start another revolution."

"A revolution?" You asked shocked and shook your head. "That doesn’t make any sense. A lot of children have been reaped before and no one seemed to care. Why would anything change now?"

"It is already changing," he said. "Since the day of the Reaping the whippings in the Districts have more than doubled. A platoon of Peacekeepers has been sent to every District because they couldn’t keep the people down anymore." He took your hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "The Capitol has a target on your back already, only they can't allow themselves the shot. You can’t step out of line, not yet at least."

A voice shouted, letting you know a car was waiting to bring you to your interview. The car ride was silent, not even your brother or Twila were babbling along this time. At the studio, Peacekeepers were waiting to take you inside but before they could sweep you away, Logan stopped them. "Remember what we talked about?"

You huffed. "Yes."

"What did we talk about?"

"No swearing."

"And?"

"I really love the Capitol."

"Good girl," he grinned and stepped away to catch up with Ivette and Twila. "Go!" He called over his shoulder. "But don’t be yourself!"

Against your expectations, everywhere in the studio—except for the stage—was a cloud of grimness lingering. Not even the people working on the show carried the Capitol's flashy personas. The Tributes stood in a lean line by the wall, waiting to be called up and by the looks of it, you were the last to arrive. You cleared your throat as you made your way towards the front, halting awkwardly before Finnick and the District Six female Tribute. All the Tributes moved back to make space for you and your brother.

The Careers went first, talking about how grateful they were to have this opportunity to fulfill their dream. They raved about how great the Capitol was to come up with these Games and how excited they felt about the following day. You wanted to slap every one of them for even thinking such things. They were delusional, honed into this way of thinking by their Districts. The Career Districts had forced away the fear when it came to the Games and manipulated the children from a young age to have the same views. It was downright disgusting.

You watched every single interview pass by until it was Finnick's turn to take over the stage. It was like seeing a switch flipped inside of him the moment there were cameras on him. He was grinning from ear to ear, dimples on full display. The words he was speaking were not his own, but then again, yours wouldn’t be your own either. He, too, appraised the Capitol for its greatness and all the nice things they had done for him from the moment he had volunteered.

Caesar Flickerman called out for you and a surge of applause went through the audience. Walking out you tried focusing on the purple-haired male, but instead, the audience caught your attention. They were standing up—well, most of them anyway—with their hands cupped at their mouths, cheering your name. You swallowed at their crudeness. If they loved their Tributes so much, how could they watch them die, gamble with their lives, and hope for a few more coins in their pockets?

You wanted to watch them burn, all of them, for the things that they were doing to you. It should be their screams and cries reverberating through the arena, not those of children. It was them deserving of punishment for they hosted in their minds sickness far worse than any criminal.

Climbing the steps up to where Caesar stood, you were careful not to trip since Lazarus had forced heeled torture devices onto your feet. Bright lights from spotlights blinded you, making it impossible for you to make out anything beyond the stage and yet, you could not avert your eyes.

An excited voice called out your name as a hand plucked yours and pulled you down to your seat. You blinked at Caesar's white grin as the male patted your hand as if he were a close friend offering reassurance. He was not and you weren't quite sure if anybody housed by the Capitol could even be considered friendly, let alone tolerable. Caesar was a star amongst the Capitol's citizens, looked up to as though he was a rare gold coin in a sea of copper. People adored the man more than they adored Snow; you were sure of it.

"Now, I've got to admit, you certainly sparked the Capitol's interest with your entrance at the parade, isn't that right, folks?" Another round of applause and cheers followed his words and you forced a smile of gratitude. "And not only that, but you also had our hearts zapped from the moment the cameras caught you for the first time." Caesar turned serious. You wanted to laugh then; his sincereness was falser than the smile currently resting on your lips. "Would you care to share the reason for your volunteering?"

Your jaw clenched as you had to keep yourself from flaring your nostrils. Never in your life had you heard a question more unnecessary. What did he want to hear? That you volunteered solely for the purpose of killing everyone who had it out for your brother? That you thought Atlas wasn't strong enough? That you did not want him to be alone in his last moments? You swallowed, biting down on your tongue as your gaze went out to the audience. Thinking back, you should have paid more attention when Logan and Ivette tried to school you in self-control.

"I didn’t want my brother to be alone."

"All for your brother, I see." The crowd cooed with compassion none of them truly had. "And you love your brother?"

You stared. "Of course."

"You would do anything for him?"

"Yes."

"Kill for him?"

Blinking at Caesar, you suddenly couldn’t imagine anything but jumping over the table separating you two to strangle the man. Digging your nails into the palms of your hands, you pushed yourself to grin. "Well, Caesar, we will just have to wait and see what I'll do."

"You certainly are capable if your score proves right!" He roared enthusiastically, bestowing eagerness onto the audience. "Let me tell you, it came as a big surprise to us all when your score was published! For almost three decades, District Five scored below four, and there you go, easily bagging a ten. Quite the impressive lady, you are, dare I say." He leaned forward then. "Very impressive indeed. So impressive the Capitol just couldn’t help themselves." Caesar stood in one swift motion, microphone in hand, wearing a glowing smile. "For the first time ever, the Capitol has bestowed upon me to honor of announcing that this year there will not be one—" He stalled, lifting one finger to back his words. "But two… victors!" Your head snapped to him and back to where the other Tributes stood waiting for their interview.

Soon after—after Caesar had gone on about how your family could be reunited as if that hadn’t been your first thought— you were ushered along and off the stage to where the other Tributes sat, who had already completed their interviews. All you wanted was to get to your brother, to pull him close and assure him that both of you would see your mother again. Your body was pumping with adrenalin as you thought of what the future could be like if you got him out—and you, too. Faltering, you took your place beside Finnick. It was harder now, you realized. Way harder now that you had not only your brother to get out, but yourself, too. In all your time here, you had never even allowed yourself to consider it. Atlas and you surviving this hell. It had been futile until now. For the first time since the Reaping, you allowed yourself to feel hope.

You stared straight ahead, thoughts churning messily as you waited for Atlas to get off the stage, ignoring the way Finnick's eyes kept flicking over to you. Caesar treated him for what he was; a child. Asked him his favorite games, if he had many friends, and if he was sad about his score of three. And with every word slipping off Atlas' tongue, the audience laughed and cooed and awed as if he was no more than a circus monkey they could gawk at. They didn’t care that his life was on the line, neither did they care about any of you, only the money they had bet.

The Tributes beside you were celebrating the news they had just received with hugs and laughter. You couldn’t even muster to move a single muscle until you saw Atlas getting off the stage and heading towards you. He talked to you, you saw, but no word reached your ears as you stood and took him in; the little crease between his brows as he complained about his interview, the spattered freckles adorning the top of his cheeks and the glitter that had been put there by his style team, long mahogany lashes, a straight, crunched up nose, and ears just a tad bit too big for his head.

As he waited for your answer you suddenly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close. Atlas huffed, arms hanging by his sides. "You are so weird. Logan told you not to be yourself."

"I wasn’t myself," you defended and smiled—a true smile. "I was being nice."

Following the interviews, you and all other Tributes were to return to your apartments. It was the end, you thought. The end to all the formalities and niceties. Now, all were going to show their real faces, real agendas. That night you were in your bed in a state of restlessness, Atlas sleeping beside you. But you could tell he wasn’t at peace. His usually wrinkleless face was contorted with concern, led by whatever dream he was currently having.

Morning came sooner than you had expected, leaving you with tremors in your limbs. Instead of spending hours in a chair getting your make-up and hair done, while the styling team chattered along, today a grave silence had taken over. Your hair was pulled out of your face, fixated by the stylist so it wouldn’t bother you and you were given the same clothes every Tribute would wear. By these, you could ponder what terrain you would be facing. Having grown up watching each and every game since your birth, you could guess the arena would offer a great variety of terrains. The boots were sturdy as though they were meant to ease the hardship of trekking or climbing but the fabric of the shirt and pants were thin—thin enough not to be a bother when engulfed in water or heat.

When you were done, Lazarus came, checking the work the style team had done and when he deemed it presentable, he nodded for you to follow him. Outside the building, a hovercraft was waiting for you with Peacekeepers surrounding the building in case you or your brother were planning on making a run for it. One of them held a device you had never seen. Though before you were allowed on the hovercraft, the device was lifted to your arm, followed by a sharp pain. You didn’t react to it, knowing there was far worse to come. The spot where the tracker was implanted was itchy and with every movement, you thought you could feel the foreign object in your arm.

The Tributes from Districts One to Four and their head stylists were already on the hovercraft when you boarded. The Careers—as always—looked ready for their first kills. Their chins were directed upward, apparently too good to look at everybody else, chests puffed and proud. The hovercraft filled steadily till it was ready to depart the Training Center for the arena. The one place without the simple rules set for humanity and where killing was (besides surviving) the one true goal.

Time seemed deceiving now, too. Or perhaps they were delaying on purpose, to boost the quivers of nerves and everyone's anticipation. It felt like decades until you finally arrived. Of course, in truth, the trip had only taken a mere hour.

Your eyes couldn’t find a single bare spot after arriving at the arena. Before entering, you and all other Tributes and their stylists were surrounded by Peacekeepers, who led you underground the arena; into the arena catacombs. Your brother gripped your hand tightly as he spotted the weapons they carried. In the Districts, the Peacekeepers kept them hidden. You knew it was solely for reassuring the citizens of Panem, to keep them down, to make them feel like the Capitol cared. Still, they were packed with weaponry on every trip they took outside the Capitol, ready to punish any stepping out of line.

Snow would have your head if he were able to catch a single thought that was rumbling around in your head. Treacherous, they would call them. When in truth it was the Capitol committing treachery on the people, they—as often stated by Snow himself—couldn’t function without. And it was true, of course. Panem wouldn’t be able to function without the grubby work forced on each District. But the people of Panem—the Capitol's citizens excluded—were no more than cattle in Snow's eyes. Everyone knew it. They were just too afraid to lose their heads admitting it.

You squeezed your brother's hand, jaw set in a tight line. By now you couldn’t even force a smile. No muscle in your face was willing to defy what you were truly feeling. Dread. Anger. Fear. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but whatever it was, it was enough to make you nauseous.

You halted when your brother stopped walking alongside you, hand still in yours. His stylist had his other hand in her grip, giving you a pitiful smile. "His Launch Room is through here. This is where you have to part." Both, you and Atlas, looked toward the dark corridor. You swallowed and nodded, noting that Atlas was resisting letting go of your hand.

"Can we… Could we have a moment?" You looked toward Lazarus and back to Atlas' stylist. Taking your brother's shoulders tightly into your hands, you pulled him closer—somehow feeling like the walls had grown ears. Other Tributes passed you and you kneeled on one leg, pulling your brother with you. "You listen to me now, okay? When we are up there, you run."

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

"When the signal comes, you turn around and run. You get away from the Cornucopia. That is the only way I can make sure you're safe."

"But I can help you! It's way more dangerous for you to go alone! And—"

"Atlas!" You gripped his shoulders tighter, forcing him to stop talking. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you: you run."

"But I heard the others talking about the Cornucopia. They all call it the Bloodbath. What if you don't make it back?"

"I will. I will grab us supplies and come find you immediately."

"But what if… what if you don’t?"

Again, you forced down the lump of fear that had gathered in your throat. "You survive, okay? You…" Hesitating, you wagered whether or not the feeling in your gut was indeed a trustable one. It had brought you so far, might as well go with it now. "You find Finnick."

"You told me not to trust him!"

"I know, it's just… I know he won't hurt you."

"How would you know that? You don’t know him."

"Just… trust me, all right?" You did know him, in some way. By the look in his eyes and his seemingly stone-carved features, mastered to perfection, you knew him. You knew Finnick for what he was. The things you had been trying so hard to be, too. You related because, on some level, you two were unerringly the same. Only, somehow, Finnick had mastered everything far better than you ever would. For that, you admired him.

Atlas and you were separated then. Peacekeepers told you to keep moving, and, intimidated by the firearms they carried, you followed their demands without dispute. Brought to your own Launch Room, Lazarus' eyes followed you with hidden sorrow.

"You look like someone's about to die," you joked, suddenly close to heaving.

"I truly believe you won't," he assured. "But you aren't going to come back whole, either. The Games take far more than just lives. They take souls, too."

"Good to know you aren’t in a grim mood."

Something behind you moved and he stilled. "It's time." He signed for you to enter the launch tube, hugging you before stepping aside for you to be sealed in. No sound penetrated in thick glass of the tube, obliging you into utter awareness of yourself; your wildly pounding heart, the uneven puffs of air fleeing your lungs, and the uncontrollable quiver of your hands.

Without warning the platform beneath you shifted, slowly raising you upward, exposing you to the pressing air filling the arena. The lights were blinding for a few moments, a swift contrast to the dark catacombs. A countdown began, and after your eyes had adjusted, your eyes rapidly skimmed the tributes, searching for your brother. He was almost across from you, so far there would have been no way for you to protect him if he ran toward the Cornucopia. Looking to your right you found a dense forest; tropical, as far as you could tell. Turning your head back to the Cornucopia, you could make out a blue glistening behind it, far behind the other Tributes. A river or lake, you guessed.

Your chance of observing ended the second a shot reverberated through the arena. In sync, you and all the other Tributes jumped from the platforms. Almost all sprinted toward the Cornucopia, except for a handful deciding to take their chances without any supplies at all. You hadn’t seen if Atlas had followed your orders, all that was left to do now was hoping he was trusting you enough.

The Tribute beside you fell and in a second a Career was atop her slashing her throat. You stumbled shocked by how easily it seemed to come to them. No thought, no hesitation, no remorse. Close to the weapon stand, you were tackled, a dark head of hair entering your vision. You kicked her away with a grunt, still on your knees, trying to crawl forward to get your hands on one of the knives spread across the moist grass. Fingers wrapped around your ankle, pulling you back, just as your hand grazed the handle of a silver dagger. You turned then, sharp and quick, only to lock eyes with the girl from District One.

Her forehead was wrinkled, hand raised with a blade, ready to strike you down. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the word entering your mind, couldn’t help feeling it; cattle. Breeding cattle, you were no more than. Her blade sliced your collarbone and you hissed, all hesitancy giving way to the will to survive. The silver dagger jutted from the side of her throat. She sputtered, shaky hand reaching to the blade protruding from her body. Your eyes went wide, moving to stare at the hand you still held outstretched. You weren’t really thinking as it wrapped back around the dagger's handle to pull it free, allowing her blood to flow freely.

Gasping for air, she fell to her side, withering as the last seed of life within her ceased. Canons echoed. One, two—it didn’t stop. You scrambled to your feet, reaching for the bigger weapons within the Cornucopia, only to find the District Seven Tribute hiding behind the crates containing survival kits. The one who had tried to escape. You could only imagine how weakened he must have still been from his whipping. He stared up at you in shock, a small knife cradled tightly in his unstable hand.

"Run," you said, giving a look over your shoulder at the Careers fighting their way forward. They were packed with different types of weaponry already. And, unlike most Tributes, they knew exactly how to use them. Getting the spear and backpack you came for; you took a second one for Atlas the dagger, too, and ran behind the Cornucopia and toward the body of water. It was smarter than running back into the bloodbath. Running into trees surrounding the river, you made sure to keep looking over your shoulder once in a while. There had to have been at least one Career who had seen you run in this direction; who had seen you kill one of their own.

A twig snapped behind you. You faltered, breathing heavily. Turning around, you reached for the dagger sticking out of the backpack in your hands. A knife sailed past you and you dropped the second backpack in shock as you whirled around to search for the culprit. Not a second later a big hand wrapped around your mouth, caging your body. Spurred by adrenaline, you kicked the male in the shin, elbowing him and shoving him off, causing you both to tumble into the red soil. You scrambled forward, gripping the dagger you had dropped, only to throw yourself atop the muscular body, blade raised.

The sea-green eyes stopped you in your movement. Your lungs burned in exhaustion, fingers clenching anticipatingly around the dagger's hilt. Finnick eyed the blade then, tinted with remnants of blood. Instead of trying to wrangle the weapon from you, his hands rested gently on your thighs spread to fit his body.

Another twig snapped.

Finnick jumped into action, seizing the weapons from your hand, overturning you. Your back landed against the contents of the backpack strapped to you, leaving you flailing, trying to reach the spear fastened to your backpack. His hand found your throat then, shaking and you knew he was attempting to force himself to lock it tightly—yet, he couldn’t. Your hand found the red soil, clutching it in your fist before you threw it in Finnick's eyes. When he stumbled, you kicked him onto his back. Using your chance, you collected the things you had dropped and ran.

Picking up voices behind you, you kept moving until Finnick's joined in, telling them the exact way you had gone. Cursing, you threw the second backpack into some bushes and continued forward, till you reached the edge of the water. It was a weird river, you thought, with massive stones protruding not only from its midst but all around it, too.

Thinking back to the survival station in the training center, you recalled the numerous pages of information you had studied—still, you praised the seemingly uninteresting information as it would now perhaps save your behind. Caves. Underwater Caves, one page had said. It had—in shocking detail—explained what to look for when there were many various stones nigh or in water. Checking each stone for the right markers, your gaze settled on a rock close to the other side of the river. Naturally, it had to be far from you.

Growling you pulled the backpack from your form, waging whether or not the supplies it brought were worth being caught. No. Definitely not. Hurling the backpack into the water, hoping it would drown soon enough to not give the Careers an idea of where you had gone. You seized your spear and dove headfirst into the river, showing not an ounce of vacillation. Bubbles of air escaped your mouth, making you fear that the Careers would spot you eventually. Hurrying along, you swam toward what you had identified to be a possible sanctuary.

The air in your lungs was getting scarce all the while the beating of your heart found no ceasing. Underwater, you were close to blind. In foreign territories, it was only a matter of seconds before you were to hit your head and drown.

Rolling your eyes at yourself, you noticed Atlas' voice piping up at the back of your head, shaming you for your negativity. The wasted time brought no favor, as you noticed there was no more supply of air. Dread crept into the fibers of your figure, that perhaps you had indeed made an error when picking the rock.

Tightening the bite of your jaw, the wrinkles between your brows grew in depth as you provided a ferocious push of your legs. At present, there was no circumstance for uncertainty. Frankly, there was no space for it. No space for it, when the last remnants of air vanished from your lungs, and no space when you could still make out the bustling of rancorous boots. Atlas was out there, stranded in the woods, with no rations of food or weaponry for protection at hand.

Your brother required your aid, your support; you. He needed you by his side if only to give him strength, give him hope. You had sworn an oath to yourself that you would not in this life, see broken. Unsighted by the darkness of the depth the water bore, you had only just reached the rock when wooziness overtook you. Skimming along the rough exterior, you shoved yourself further into the shadows beneath.

Were you any less filled with panic, you might have commenced speculation of what truly lurked blow, but now, wholly engulfed with fright, you came to the comprehension that there was no opening.

No opening, no cave, no sanctuary, no safety.

You had been mistaken. Tremendously so. Pulse spiraling, you couldn’t quell your wants any longer. You needed air. At the rock's backside, you dashed upward to where you perceived the sun piercing the dark, breaking through the surface, gasping for oxygen. When a cough inched its way up your throat, you pressed your arm tightly to your lips to quieten yourself. You hoisted yourself onto one of the rocks barely peeking from the water and cowered in a crouch, hoping—begging to whatever might was left to watch over you—that none of them would locate you.

Spying at them from your position, you obtained a glimpse of them walking in the opposing direction. About to run, your eyes caught on a package being carried by the river's fast flow. Making certain that the group of Careers was entertained by their hunt for another Tribute, you snuck further out of your hiding spot, on your hands and knees, extending the spear you held into the water.

When the backpack floated by, you caught it with your weapon, lifting it out of the river and toward you. You grinned; one out of two wasn’t a bad accomplishment. Looking around you tried to settle for a direction to go; you were left guessing Atlas' location. Bypassing the Cornucopia would have been imprudent. The Careers had secured it, meaning watchful eyes all over its proximity.

There was little to no prospect of making the correct decision. He could have fled into the tropical forest behind him, although someone or something could have gotten in his way, which would have caused him to differ on his way.

Your fingers dug into the roots of your hair as you cursed the Gamemakers with every bad word you held in your vocabulary. The arena was extensively large this year as though they had known of your plans all along, as though they had wanted to see you struggle in your quest of protection. They did, of course, yet the arena's extent added to the woeful cruelty of it all.

Keeping low, you eyed the tropical forest. To get there you would have to run across a vacant field. It offered no shelter, no safety, no way to take cover. A death trap, intent on segregating those reckless enough to risk their lives. You had never believed yourself to be one of them; how vastly the mind deceives.

Ensuring that the Careers were still on the other side of the river, you strapped the backpack tight and hurried forward. Running while being close to a crouch proved to be immensely uncomfortable and strenuous, the muscles in your legs protesting painfully. You had barely reached the edge of the forest when a sharp pain cut across your cheek. Hissing, you clutched the bleeding wound, taking note of the knife that had hit the tree inches from your head. A young girl stood roughly hidden by the giant trees forming the rainforest.

The girl you recalled was only two years older than Atlas. You had pitied her, too, had felt a familiar stinging in your heart rewatching the clips from the Reaping. She had cried upon her name being called, refusing to step toward the stage. Peacekeepers had to drag her there, while she wailed and struggled and begged for them to end her life then and there.

You pulled the knife from the tree as you ignored the hidden girl, refusing to kill a child. Continuing on into the forest, you picked up the shuffling of footsteps at your back. You dodged the attack, causing her sword to hit nothing but air. She grunted as she took her next swing, the weapon lying unfamiliar in her hands. She had probably gripped whatever she could get her hands on before fleeing the bloodbath.

Before the girl could strike once more, you took hold of her arm, shoving her away. "Stop this!" You hissed. "I don’t want to hurt you."

She scoffed, finding her footing once more, ready to kill. "Then hold still and I'll make this quick," she grinned, throwing herself forward. Using your staff, you blocked the attack. Without warning she pulled out a dagger, slicing along the length of your arm with one quick swipe of her hand.

Kicking her off you watched as she tumbled to the ground, teeth on display as she growled in contempt. You pointed the sharp end of your spear at her in warning. "Stay down."

You moved past her, hoping she would stop and see the madness in it all, when all of a sudden, a weight on your back made you stagger. Caught off guard you grabbed at the arm tightening around your throat, catching the glinting of a blade out of the corner of your eye. Stopping the knife before it could slice your throat, you tried prying her off you. Throwing yourself back against a tree, the girl wailed in pain, letting go for just a second, before her sword found its mark in the back of your leg. You cried out, falling forward, causing her to tumble off you.

Scrambling to stand up, you were ripped from your feet and onto your back, as she launched herself onto you. Barely blocking her first strike, you couldn’t help but notice your wounded arm growing weaker with each moment you spent struggling. Her knife drew closer to your head, as the strength of your arm faded consistently. With your other hand, you searched for any object able to provide you with help, fingers landing on the cold handle of the blade you had dropped before.

"I'm sorry," you said, tears gathering in your eyes. She looked at you questioningly for a moment, until you urged your hand forward, piercing her chest. The pressure she had put against your arm ceased as she wrapped her fingers around the handle protruding from her body before yanking it out in one swift motion. Blood poured from her wound instantly, tainting the fabric of her clothes and yours. Her bloodied hands shook as she stared at the knife that seconds ago, had been in her chest.

Blood spluttered from her mouth. Small specks of warm liquid landed on your face as you watched the life slowly draining from her eyes. She fell, eyes wide though so terribly lifeless you could have wailed from the sight. You barely registered the sound of a canon, declaring yet another child’s death. The never-ending apologies forcing themselves from your lips soon turned into sobs muffled by nothing but your fist urgently pressing against your mouth. There wasn’t anything you could do but stare down at the child whose life had ended at your hand.

Footsteps sounded not too far off. You jumped in fright, snapping out of the state of shock you had lingered in. Looking for an easy way out, you wiped the tears from your face and eyed the trees. Taking the risk of trying to climb a tree probably would have caused you to fall to your death, since you had never once in your life attempted to climb a tree. Shuffling to stand, you pulled tightly on the strap of the backpack and took off running.

You did it for Atlas, you reminded yourself. Everything you did was so your brother could live. You ran until your lungs stung in discomfort and your legs throbbed, sure to be sore for the next couple of days. The next few days you spent hiding in the woods, all the while listening to the canon going off in an unrhythmic reminder that the Careers were close to wiping the arena clean.

The sun bore down mercilessly, its heat as relentless as you navigating through the treacherous landscape of the arena. Your heart was heavy with the thought of hearing another canon—and seeing Atlas’ face flash on the horizon, paying him tribute for the great sacrifice he made. Pushing through the dense underbrush, your mind racing, you felt a sudden sharp pain lancing through your leg. You gasped, shock coursing in your bones before stumbling back and falling. Mere meters away, you spotted a snake slithering back into the brush, its bite burning in your veins as though it had been laced with fire. Panic surged within you, the pounding in your chest instantly the only thing you could hear. Sweat gathered above your brows as you bushed yourself to stand, when suddenly, in your gaze state, you heard the childish laughter of your brother. Whirling around, a figure hushed past the trees, and you called out, changing the small shadowy form. Stumbling you caught up to the shadow, though upon touching his shoulder, wanting to turn Atlas to face you, he vanished.

White dots danced in your sight, a ringing in your head overtaking your senses, writhing in stark agony. In the midst of your haze, the sound of a parachute broke through, landing silently a few yards away. With every bit of strength left n within you, you dragged yourself towards it, unscrewing the metal cap of the item that had been dropped. Upon opening the cap, the sight of an antivenom greeted you, sent by your sponsor. The relief was instant but left you weakened and exposed. Knowing the dangers of the Game—the people within—had no consideration, no compassion, merely a drive to kill, you forced yourself to move.

In the far distance, foreign sounds drifted through the air and you stilled. Growls, you noted. You had never heard such a thing before, violent and vicious and terribly hungry for blood that you felt your lips begin to quiver. The growls of the mutts carrying through the dense brush hastened your escape towards the mountains, but vast expanse of no-man’s-land lay before you—nothing to shield you, nothing to hide you. You ran out of the brush and onto the orange soil, the ground crumbling behind you. A flitting gaze over your shoulder left you gaping, each spot that you had stepped on was caved in, leading into a dark abyss below. The look had cost you, you noted as a rip appeared in the soil before you. Mere meters in front of you lay the mountain range, so, so close but the ground gave away.

With the last efforts of survival, you leaped. Your fingers graced the solid ground at the beginning of the mountain range, gripping tightly as your body collided with a wall of hard rocks. Arms straining and teeth clenching, your feet pushed against the wall, trying to help you pull yourself over the edge. A gasp of relief fled your lungs as your eyes met the familiar glimmer in your brother’s wide gaze. He held a hand out for you to take, helping you heave yourself to safety. The feeling coursing through you was of overwhelming gravity, and in that moment, all fear and tension melted from your chest.

You pulled Atlas to you, arms engulfing the younger boy, lip quivering and eyes stinging. “I thought I’d lost you,” you whispered, holding him close. It was merely a second later that you recalled the situation you both were in—the hell they had forced you into. “We gotta climb up, find a cave or something,” you insisted, starting forward as Atlas nodded, his trust in you unshaken, even after the horror he must have witnessed. “We’ll just wait it out, okay? They’ll end up killing each other sooner or later.”

Luck had been on your side this once as you came up on a cave, its entrance no bigger than Atlas. It was a good place to hole up in—and you did for as long as possible until the grumble in both of your stomachs could no longer be ignored. The necessity for food driving you back down the mountain should have been something to anticipate, though after barely making it to the mountains, the thought of nutrition had fled your mind. A few days you had lived off of berries, though the bushes grew empty after a while. Telling Atlas to stay in the cave—scared you would encounter the remaining ranks of the Careers or whatever mutts had chased you. The cannon had sounded often in recent days and you guessed the mutts had done their jobs fairly well, taking out the majority of the Careers.

Wandering along the mountains, you kept your eyes trailing for any possible danger, they spotted the close rain forest instead. You had to be at the far east side of the mountains with how close the trees seemed to be. Turning back to the task at hand, you eyed the bushes for any edible berries, though ended up growing rigid at the sight before you. His figure stood broad as it always had, hair disheveled and perhaps just a little wet with sweat.

Within seconds, your hands found your spear and you charged. His betrayal had scorched a deep wound into your being, even when you would die rather than admit to it. The stark clash of your spear against his trident echoed loudly through the mountains, though his body moved with scarce efforts to keep you at bay. The ease with which he held himself, the ease with which he pushed you back, the ease with which he had stabbed you in the back on the first day in the arena caused you to burn from within. Fury in your eyes, you grunted, bringing the spear down once more. His hand went out, catching the spear and attempting to rip it from your grasp but you held on for dear life. Finnick pulled at it again and you stumbled forward, fingers still tightly wrapped around the perfectly balanced metal.

“Stop it,” he hissed, his warm breath flaring across your face and you flinched.

“So you can try and kill me again?” You shot back, staring up at the towering male, teeth clenching. “I won’t make it that easy for you, Finnick.” You, fueled by your burning rage, gave up on retrieving your spear, arm lunging forward and punching the male across his face. The impact made Finnick stagger and your hand spasm, but he still refused to release his ironclad hold on the spear. You stood, locked in the standoff, when a dark cloud began to form over the mountain range. Within moments, rain hailed down upon you and contentment filled you, knowing you had been running low on water. Though when the first drops, of what you had thought would be a salvation, hit your skin, you recoiled. Blisters appeared on your skin, each impact leaving behind a painful sizzling as you screeched in pain.

Finnick grabbed your wrist, pulling you along as he dashed across a tiny scrap of dried grass and into the nearby rainforest, seeking refuge from the corrosive downpour. Stumbling and feet sliding unsteadily against the wet floor, you tumbled into a small pond, about to righten yourself and run further, when you noticed the sudden grace the water proved to be. Finnick, after realizing it too, fell into the pond, hands splashing water onto his face and limbs in a desperate attempt to cease the searing ache. His hand came up, spilling water over your shoulder and back, washing away the blisters you hadn’t yet reached. The tenderness he was using to handle you was such a crass contrast to the earlier confrontation that it made your head spin.

“I’m sorry.”

Your head snapped toward him at the words that had fallen from his lips, though his eyes didn’t dare to meet yours. You hissed in pain, accidentally touching a part of sore skin. “Sorry won’t fix what you did, Finnick,” you stated coldly, feeling a suggesting tingle in the tips of your fingers to try and push him under the water, try and drown him. “You tried to kill me—"

At that, he snapped. “Don’t you think if I wanted you dead, you would be?” The frustration in his eyes was palpable, though something else lingered within them—a flicker of pain. Tension arose so vastly, charged with anger, hurt, and the unspoken truths of your situation, you could have sliced it with a knife. You were enemies thrown together by circumstance, yet bound by a thread of mutual survival and the remnants of what could have been.

The fleeting moment of uneasy peace was shattered by a scream that pierced the air, slicing through the heavy silence of the rainforest. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that ignited a primal fear deep within your chest. Atlas. Your heart froze, the confusion and turmoil that had clouded your thoughts moments ago swept away by a tide of sheer panic.

Without a second thought, you were on your feet, the pain from your burns momentarily forgotten. You didn't look back at Finnick, didn't see if he followed. Nothing mattered except reaching Atlas. The acid rain had stopped, leaving the world eerily silent in its wake, a silence now broken by the echoes of your brother's distress.

You sprinted with a speed you didn't know you possessed, your legs carrying you back toward the mountain range where you had left Atlas, where you had told him to stay hidden in the cave. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a thunderous echo of Atlas's scream. Why hadn't he stayed? Fear and guilt twisted inside you, coiling around your heart like the snake that had bitten you.

As you broke through the treeline, the scene that unfolded before you was one of your worst nightmares, you realized. Atlas was there, at the bottom of the mountain range, not in the safety of your cave but out in the open, struggling against one of the tributes No, not just any tribute—a killer, poised to end your brother's life. A Career.

You were still too far to reach him in time, your desperate cries for Atlas to run, to fight, to do anything, lost in the distance that separated you. Time seemed to slow, each of Atlas's desperate struggles etched into your memory with painful clarity.

And then, it time seemed to still. The Career tribute overpowered Atlas, and with a swift, brutal motion, plunged a knife into the chest of the person you had sworn to protect, the person for whom you had volunteered to face this horror. A scream, raw and filled with anguish, tore from your throat as you witnessed your younger brother's life being snuffed out like a candle in the wind.

The world narrowed to a pinpoint of rage, grief, and an overwhelming sense of failure. Your vision blurred, not with tears but with a fury so intense it threatened to consume you. Atlas, your kind, brave, and gentle brother, was gone, taken by the merciless game you had been forced into.

Every moment spent worrying about Finnick, about your fractured alliance and the betrayal that had seemed so significant, paled in comparison to this loss. In the face of Atlas's death, everything else was trivial, inconsequential. A deep, seething hatred for the Capitol and its cruel games took root in your heart, a vow forming from the depths of your grief; you would make them pay. Every tribute, every sponsor, every viewer who took pleasure in this barbarity would feel the weight of your wrath.

But first, you had a Career to kill.

As the cannon echoed through the arena, a solemn confirmation of your brother's death, the world seemed to stand still. Grief and rage battled within you, propelling your body forward with a singular focus—vengeance. The Career who had taken Atlas from you barely had time to register your approach before you were upon him, your weapon driven by a force fueled by loss and fury. He fell quickly, a testament to the skills you had honed for this moment, for this purpose.

But there was no time to mourn, no time to celebrate your swift revenge, as the rustle of leaves signaled another approaching. The last Career, drawn by the sound of combat or perhaps the cannon's call. Your heart pounded, not just with the exertion of battle, but with the realization of what was to come. You were ready to fight, to kill again if necessary, your resolve steeling within you.

Finnick's footsteps were close behind you, a rapid drumbeat on the forest floor. You half-expected him to call out, to try and stop you or to take the lead, but he remained silent, his presence a steady pressure at your back. The last Career appeared, sword raised, eyes wide with a mix of determination and desperation. He hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and Finnick, the confusion clear upon his face. He had expected to find Finnick chasing you, perhaps even fighting you, but not this—this silent alliance in the face of shared loss.

Without a word, Finnick moved past you, his trident gleaming in the dim light. The Career barely had time to lower his weapon before Finnick was upon him, the trident finding its mark with deadly precision. The man crumpled, and silence fell once more, broken only by the sound of two cannons firing in quick succession.

You and Finnick stood side by side, the realization that you had won, that it was over, sinking in slowly. There was no joy in it, no triumphant cheer; just a heavy weight of survival and the cost it had exacted from both of you.

The journey from the arena to the Capitol was a blur, a series of motions and procedures that felt detached from the reality of your victory. You were taken to separate rooms, the opulence of the Capitol a stark contrast to the brutality you had just endured. It was in this surreal state of limbo that Finnick came to find you, his own room abandoned in favor of seeking out the only other person who could possibly understand what he was feeling.

The moment you saw Finnick enter your room in the Capitol, the pent-up rage and grief you'd been carrying since the arena found a target. He moved with a cautious grace, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within you. His first words were meant to be a comfort, but they ignited something fierce and painful inside you.

"We did it," he said softly, his eyes searching yours for something you weren't ready to give.

"We did it?" you spat out, your voice sharp, laced with anger and disbelief. "You think we did this together? You abandoned us, Finnick. You left my brother to die!"

Finnick's expression tightened, the sorrow in his eyes deepening. "I thought I was making the right choice—"

"The right choice?" you interrupted, your voice rising, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "You thought abandoning us was the right choice?"

Without thinking, you stepped forward, your hand balled into a fist, striking his chest. It was a futile gesture, driven more by your need to express your anguish than to cause him any real harm. Finnick didn't stop you, nor did he try to defend himself. He simply stood there, taking your blows, his face a mask of regret and pain.

"You could have saved him!" Each word was punctuated by another hit, your anger flowing through you like a river bursting its banks. "You were supposed to be our ally!"

"I know, and I'm sorry," Finnick's voice was barely above a whisper, his arms tentatively coming up to hold you, not to restrain, but to offer solace.

Your strength faltered, the anger giving way to the profound sorrow you'd been trying to keep at bay. The punches slowed, then stopped altogether as the reality of your loss, of Atlas's death, truly hit you. Your hands fell to your sides, and you felt your knees weaken as the weight of your grief became too much to bear.

Finnick was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to his chest. You wanted to push him away, to scream at him for his betrayal, but the energy, the anger, had drained from you, leaving nothing but exhaustion and heartache.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Finnick murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I would give anything to change what happened."

And there, in the opulent room that felt miles away from the horror of the arena, you allowed yourself to break. Tears streamed down your face, sobs wracking your body as you clung to Finnick. He held you, his own body shaking with silent cries, as you mourned not just for Atlas, but for all that had been lost in the games.

The anger had burned bright and fast, but what remained in its ashes was a deep, unyielding sadness. Finnick's embrace didn't fix the gaping wound in your heart, but it offered a momentary reprieve from the loneliness of your grief. In the aftermath of your rage, wrapped in the arms of the one person who could come close to understanding your pain, you found a fragile sense of comfort.

The games had ended, but the scars they left behind were fresh, painful reminders of the cost of survival. And as you cried into Finnick's chest, a part of you understood that this shared sorrow was the first step towards healing, towards forgiving, not just Finnick, but yourself as well.

After the tempest of your grief and anger in Finnick's arms, a precarious calm settled over both of you. The initial intensity of your emotions gave way to a weary, shared silence. As you pulled away, wiping the remnants of tears from your cheeks, you caught a glimpse of something in Finnick's eyes—a reflection of your own pain, the understanding that the games had taken something irreplaceable from both of you.

In the days that followed, the Capitol was abuzz with the aftermath of the Hunger Games. You and Finnick were paraded as victors, symbols of triumph and resilience, yet beneath the surface, you both bore the invisible wounds of survivors. The forced smiles for cameras, the scripted interviews where you recounted the horrors of the arena with a veneer of gratitude for the Capitol's 'generosity,' felt like another layer of betrayal, this time self-inflicted.

----

A few months after the Hunger Games, amidst another extravagant Capitol party celebrating the unity of the districts, the weight of your experiences in the arena became too much to bear. As the party's laughter and music echoed hollowly in your ears, you found yourself seeking refuge away from the crowd. Slipping unnoticed through a side door, you ventured into a secluded garden, a hidden oasis under the night sky.

The garden, illuminated by the gentle glow of fairy lights woven through the foliage, felt like stepping into another world. You moved aimlessly along the winding paths until you found yourself in front of a grand statue, an intricate marble piece that towered above the garden's natural beauty. Here, in the shadow of the statue, you leaned against the cool stone, allowing the tears that you had fought to keep at bay to finally escape.

As the facade you'd been forced to maintain since your victory crumbled away, the garden's tranquility contrasted sharply with the turmoil within you. The tears were for everything—the loss, the pain, and the irrevocable changes the games had wrought upon your life and Finnick's.

The sound of footsteps broke through your reverie, and you hastily tried to compose yourself, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. When you looked up, it was Finnick who emerged from the shadows, his eyes immediately finding yours in the dim light.

He stopped just in front of you, concern etching his features. "There you are," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of understanding and shared sorrow.

"I just needed a moment," you managed to say, though your voice betrayed the depth of your distress. You attempted a smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil inside. Finnick reached out, his thumb gently catching a tear that had escaped down your cheek, his touch tender. “I hate this,” you confessed, the words barely above a whisper, “pretending to be something we’re not, celebrating when all I feel is loss.”

Finnick stepped closer, eliminating the distance between you. He didn’t dare step away; instead, he lingered before you, offering his presence as a silent source of comfort. "I know," he responded, his tone gentle. "But remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m here, with you. Always."

You nodded, struggling to find words that could encompass the breadth of what you were feeling. Before you could speak again, Finnick reached out, carefully wiping away a tear that had lingered on your cheek. His touch was tender, filled with an empathy that spoke volumes of his own battles with the ghosts of the arena.

In a gesture that felt as natural as breathing, Finnick drew you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. The warmth of his body against yours was a stark contrast to the cool marble at your back. He kissed your forehead with such care and affection that it felt like a balm to your wounded spirit. Then, his lips brushed softly against your nose, a touch so light and comforting that it drew a half-hearted smile from you, despite the sadness.

Finally, his lips met yours in a kiss that was both a salve and a promise—a promise of shared strength, of mutual support, and of a bond forged in the crucible of unimaginable trials. It was a kiss that spoke of hope amidst despair, of finding light in the darkness, and of the unspoken vow to navigate the uncertain path ahead, together.

Leaning against the cool marble, under the canopy of the night sky, you found a moment of peace in Finnick's embrace, a reminder that, despite everything, you were not alone. You had each other, and together, you would find a way to heal, to rebuild, and to carve out a space for yourselves in a world that had forever changed you.

In the quiet of the garden, with the distant sounds of the party reduced to a mere whisper, you and Finnick shared a moment of profound connection, a brief respite from the chaos that had become your lives. The kiss ended, but you remained close, leaning into each other for support, finding solace in the presence of someone who understood the depth of your pain and loss.

Finnick's eyes met yours in the dim light, a silent conversation passing between you. There was an understanding that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, both seen and unforeseen, but there was also a shared resolve to face them together. The world outside the garden was a maelstrom of expectations, responsibilities, and the ever-present gaze of the Capitol, but here, in this moment, none of that mattered.

"You know we can't stay here forever," Finnick finally said, his voice low, breaking the silence that had settled between you. It wasn't just an observation about the garden but about the bubble of peace you'd momentarily created. The real world, with all its complexities and demands, waited just beyond the garden's confines.

You nodded, taking a deep breath, bolstered by the strength you found in Finnick's presence. "I know. But for a moment, it's nice to pretend we can."

Finnick smiled, a genuine, warm expression that reached his eyes. "We'll have more moments like this, I promise. Away from the cameras, the parties, the Capitol. Moments just for us."

The thought was comforting, a lifeline amid the turbulent seas of your new reality. You straightened, steeling yourself for the return to the party, to the roles you were forced to play. Finnick sensed your resolve and offered his hand, a silent pledge of solidarity. You took it, and together, you stepped back into the light, leaving the sanctuary of the garden behind.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the two of you navigating the party as a united front, your earlier moment of vulnerability transforming into a source of strength. The Capitol's guests saw only the victorious tributes, the heroes of the games, but beneath the surface, you and Finnick shared a bond forged in the crucible of shared suffering and mutual understanding.

After the party, the journey back to your separate rooms in the Capitol's luxurious accommodation felt like transitioning from one world to another. The grandeur and opulence of the Capitol surrounded you, a stark reminder of the divide between the lives you once knew and the lives you were forced into now. The echoes of laughter and music from the party faded as you walked through the silent, opulent hallways, each step taking you further away from the façade you had to maintain in public.

Finnick walked you to your door, his presence a source of comfort in the overwhelming world of the Capitol. Despite the late hour, neither of you seemed eager to say goodnight, lingering in the hallway, caught in the bubble of tranquility you had created for yourselves. The intensity of the day, from the forced smiles at the party to the genuine moments of connection in the garden, had drawn you closer, a silent acknowledgment of the shared experiences that bound you together.

Standing before your door, Finnick turned to face you, his expression serious yet gentle. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low. It was a simple question, yet loaded with the depth of understanding and concern that had grown between you.

You offered a small, tired smile, appreciating the sincerity of his question. "I will be," you replied, knowing that the road to feeling truly okay was long and fraught with challenges. "Thanks to you."

Finnick's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. The gesture was intimate, comforting, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving the connection and solace it offered.

"I'm always here for you," he said, his voice firm with promise. "We've been through too much to let the Capitol's games tear us apart. We're survivors, and we'll keep surviving, together." The weight of his words hung in the air between you, a vow of mutual support and resilience. It was a commitment not just to each other but to the future, whatever it may hold. Finnick leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent echo of the affection and care he had shown in the garden. "Goodnight," he whispered, reluctantly stepping back.

"Goodnight, Finnick," you replied, your voice a soft murmur. As Finnick turned to leave, a sudden wave of vulnerability washed over you, the stark loneliness of the Capitol's luxurious rooms looming in your mind like a shadow. The thought of spending another night alone, surrounded by the echoes of your thoughts and the weight of your brother's absence, was unbearable. "Finnick, wait," you found yourself saying, the words slipping out almost without thought. He stopped immediately, turning back towards you with a look of concern. The hallway, with its grand decorations and the soft glow of the artificial lights, felt like a world away from the raw reality of your emotions. "Would you... stay with me tonight? I don't think I can be alone right now," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in your request was palpable, a stark contrast to the strength you had always tried to project.

Finnick's expression softened, his earlier resolve giving way to a deep, unmistakable empathy. He understood all too well the demons that haunted you in the quiet, the memories and fears that the Capitol's walls could not keep at bay. "Of course, I'll stay," he said without hesitation, his voice carrying a warmth that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. There was no judgment in his eyes, only an unwavering support that seemed to bridge the distance between you.

He followed you into your room, the door closing quietly behind him, sealing off the world outside. The room, with its grandeur and excess, suddenly felt less imposing with Finnick there, as if his presence could somehow make the space more bearable, more like a sanctuary than a cage.

You didn't bother with the lights, the city's glow casting a soft illumination through the windows. The silence of the room enveloped you both, a stark reminder of the world you had left behind for this moment of solace.

Finnick's presence was a steady comfort as you prepared for bed, the routines of the evening taking on a new, less lonely aspect. When you both lay down, the bed large enough to maintain a respectful distance yet close enough to feel the reassuring presence of each other, the tension began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of peace.

Neither of you spoke much, the silence a comfortable blanket woven from mutual understanding and shared experiences. The sound of Finnick's breathing, steady and calm, became a lighthouse in the night, guiding you away from the shoals of your own turbulent thoughts. And for the first time since entering the Capitol, the night didn't seem quite so long, nor the shadows quite so deep. With Finnick by your side, even in the silence, you were no longer alone.

#finnick odair x y/n #finnick odair x you #finnick odair smut #finnick odair x reader #finnick odair #finnick x reader #the hunger games #a ballad of songbirds and snakes

197 notes · View notes

milkywayan · 4 months

Text

Things I made in 2023

I feel like I have made a lot of stuff last year, so I want to share. Everything is 100% hand sewn because I hate sewing machines, and I also make my own patterns

this 1480s jacket (most of that I made in 2022, but I finished it in 2023. Based on a few jackets seen in German art, detailed making of post in the pinned post

i dont have a good pic i realised, but this blouse that I made from an old curtain with shitty equipment while visiting my parents

15th century gown. once again, making of post in pinned post. I feel like a wizard wearing it

brown 15th century dress number 1. really nice thin fabric, i ripped the sleeve while setting up a tent and felt very buff. making off post in pinned post

these trousers, or breeches. not made from scratch, but made from old woollen suit trousers from my grandmother. I love them and wear them all the time and have 3 more pairs of her old trousers that I also want to make into this style

in the theme of upcycling: this dress is made of an old, hand embroidered pillow case from my grandmother (bodice), and an old skirt from my mum. perfect for summer!

brown 15th centuru dress number 2. I made this in a week, to have a working kirtle that I could quickly put on in the mornings. 10/10 i wore this the most this year i think. light fabric and wide sleeves are ideal. making of post in pinned post

medieval shift, I made two of those

wool skirt I made without measuring anything. very dark academia, I like it

and finally, my epiphany project. dreamt this dress up on the metro and had to make it. dyed the fabric, hand embroidered it, constructed the sleeves, made fabric buttons and sewed 20 button holes by hand, just to wear it to a christmas party. i am very proud of it

I want to do more upcycling projects in 2024, as I am finishing my PhD this year and won't have time for reenactment events. So more modern stuff is in the plans! (aka stuff i will wear in every day life, idk what is modern)

#personal #sewing adventures #sewing #fabric art #textile crafts #hand sewing #handmade #myface

75 notes · View notes

gfitzwillsebastianz3rd · 2 months

Text

This is my OC Ash Lee Davenport back for Bloodbound Book 2, made with assets from Sims 4 Custom Content creator @mnvlz, as I used their Top surgery scars.

Since there's another six months between the first book at the second, I think Ash would have relented and allowed Adrian to help him afford Double incision top surgery.

Then this three-piece suit from America's Most Eligible matches close enough to the blue suit that the female MC wears in the boardroom, though there are no pink accents. I was going to colour-match the handkerchief to pink, but the smaller an item is, the harder it is to recolour and edit in Photoshop.

The kidnapping scene in book two is more straightforward to colour a suit for, as MC just wears a red satin dress labelled Scarlet Stunner. For that, I just used the maroon suit from Nightbound and recoloured it in Photoshop.

I have to say, I love putting Mr Davenport in blue clothing for regular mortal things and red for vampire-related events.

I find that more books that have darker tones have a red premium outfit option, so it fits well.

I seem to like editing these, so here's the Gold Rush outfit, edited from America's Most Eligible, with a glittery black texture from Adobe stock. I also debated using the white tux, but it's not glitzy enough for Vegas.

I think it was my hardest to edit so far, though. There's only so much I can trace floral patterns in Photoshop before I get cross with how fiddly it is.

It's why the floral part of the left cuff is missing. It didn't even look right when I mirrored it, So it's asymmetrical instead.

For the next Chapter, I had the idea that since Cal wolfed out, Ash would give him his jacket since his shirt is ripped beyond covering him.

It's rare to see the MC's in Bloodbound in anything that doesn't have a Blazer since it's an Executive romance book, but to achieve this, I took the black shirt from Foreign Affairs and copied the gold leaf pattern onto the belt, as well as making sure I copied the gold buttons onto the shirt.

For the Tribunal about Gaius, Ash and Adrian had a serious revelation about their relationship, so I recoloured the Waistcoat to be like Adrian's because He claimed Ash was his boyfriend out loud during a fight (He's not realised the implications yet...)

But I thought it would be nice to make it look like Ash borrowed one of his, no doubt, many black waistcoats.

It's the same suit as the one from AME, but the watch that resembles the one Adrian describes to Kamilah, that he bought in the 1920's is from Foreign Affairs.

The next outfit is almost cheating, but it raises an important thing for me.

What if we could add Hats, like we could hair and other things like Watches or different trousers/boxers for the MC in Wardrobe?

Since we have another encounter in the 1920's-themed Shrike (whether you chose to let the Prisoners go so they could set it on fire or not), I couldn't help but add the trilby to Ash's already Adrian-centric outfit.

So, For this next chapter, there's a bowling scene, and there are not enough clothes in book 2 for me, so I made a bowling shirt from the polo and chinos in AME.

Choices need to make more variants of light-coloured clothing; they're all really dark and hard to recolour...

The next chapter to have a new outfit is the Paris chapter, but it was super hard finding a light-coloured shirt. The one I used was from Foreign Affairs.

By this point, Ash has been running all around fighting against Prejudice from Vampire hate, homophobia and transphobia, so he's tired. He's also discovered many a secret about himself being a Bloodkeeper, and one other I won't spoil for now 😉.

His outfit for the Vampire crypts is much more relaxed and informal, originally from AME.

I didn't edit this one, as I love it as it is. The starry-looking hoodie matches the narrative of Adrian and Ash travelling around the Paris night scene under the stars.

For Serafine's club, Ash is just wearing a simple black shirt from Foreign Affairs to emulate the strappy dress and choker that the MC wears, but also Adrian's brand pendant, with the cord from the Flamingo shorts and the striped shirt with a crystal necklace.

I just used the cord to add to the pendant and made the shirt wider for Ash's physique change, but it's not edited any more than that.

The next one is seriously fun, though I'm sure Adrian would baulk if Ash wore this outside of Victoriana vampire balls. It's so... cliché!

It's from the romance vampire novel Immortal Desires. Some of the clothing for the more Vampire-themed stuff is pretty useful for this, even if it's a highschool themed book.

Ash only wore it for Dracula's party, and I guess you'd be inconvenienced by the cape, so It's not an outfit we'll see him in until the Solstice ball, at least.

For this next outfit, I actually took the shirt from Foreign Affairs and then warped the Puffer jacket from the Bloodbound Female MC Outdoorsy outfit to make something that I'm sure Ash would wear to be touristy.

His expression is worried because the Island of Midieya also has The massive Order base on it, but also because Prague was another layer of stress on top of New York under siege. His Cousin Parker is still in New York, after all...

For the next couple of Chapters, it's hard to know which of the outfits Ash Lee would have packed in his suitcase as they rushed around the world on their crusade.

In fact, this was the hardest outfit to put him in for the story, as a mixed trans guy doesn't really fit with the whole white-knight-against-the-Darkness stuff that reminds me of the Knights Templar but has a Neo-Nazi flavour to it. The original later chapters it's based on have little representation for each of the Order soldiers unless you look at the sprite files, and even then, there's hardly any that look anyone like him.

It's clear this is terrible for Ash to have to do, and he's terrified to wear it for the mission.

For the evening following the counter-raid to the Order, Ash would be- as I would be grateful to change clothes, and I was getting tired of writing him in the same outfits I've already edited him in, so we have a new one!

They're still in Greece, but Ash is feeling the breezeless evening, so there's this gradient T-shirt combo from It Lives in the Woods/It Lives Beneath.

I removed the bead necklace, as Ash doesn't usually wear much jewelry except for the Brand pendant that Adrian gave him, and it seems a bit too young for him since the books are teenager based and he's twenty-six.

Because when they return to New York, all they have is what's in the suitcases, I put Ash in his hoodie from Paris but edited the black hood that goes with the hoodie in It Lives Beneath to be Grey Marl so Ash could have it up as protection from the dust and light debris.

For the Abandoned Mall fight chapter, the original MC outfit is denim and lace. I just swapped it for an outfit from Ride or Die, which also appears in America's Most Eligible. The double denim and chains combo.

(Peep the engagement ring from Adrian on his left hand. I edited it from the ring box in the Bloodbound Solstice files but changed it to a silver band in Photoshop by removing the original ring and adding a styled filter in Photoshop, so it looked painted like the other assets.)

#Ash Lee Davenport #Bloodbound OC #Trans!MC #Bloodbound

1 note · View note

ghostadventuresstuff · 3 years

Text

Zak Bagans x Reader (Part 2) *SMUT*

ENEMIES TO LOVERS PART 2

PART 1

Y/N

Your left hand gripped your hair in frustration. According to your boyfriend, Zak; you and Aaron were flirting, and now we’re having a borderline cage match in the middle of the bus surrounded by the rest of the Ghost Adventures crew.

You and Zak use to fight all the time when you hated one another, it was like World War 3, 4, 5, and 6 started all at once, backs were pressed against walls, insults were shouted, glass was broken, and feelings were hurt. But that all changed after a moment away from the others where you joked about becoming enemies to friends and then to lovers which is exactly what had happened this past year.

'Look I really don’t want to fight right now, Zak.' you sigh, laying your palms out flat in a sign of peace.

'Well then maybe you shouldn’t have been flirting with my best friend,' Zak growls, taking a step towards me.

'I wasn’t flirting with anybody!' you shout, jabbing your finger into his chest. 'if anything you were the one flirting with that blonde at the bar.'

'Don’t try and turn this around on me, y/n.' he warned stepping forwards until we were nose to nose.

You and Zak exchanged insults, each one nastier than the last.

'Oh go fuck yourself, Zak,' you snap, turning away, 'or go have that slut do it for you.'

'If anyone’s a slut it’s you!' Zak yells, backing you against the wall.

Your mouth hangs open, as tears well up in your eyes, that’s when Jay and Billy stepped in pulling us apart slightly.

'We’ll be back in a few hours, get this sorted out,' Billy demanded, walking out of the door with Jay and Aaron in tow, leaving you and Zak in the middle of the room glaring down at each other.

'y/n, look at me.'

You move your gaze anywhere but his eyes only looking into them when he grabbed your chin, forcing you to look into his eyes.

You shiver as he places his lips on your neck, slowly working his way to your lips, biting it softly. Zak places a hand on your hip, squeezing harshly making you gasp into his mouth, he moved his lips back to your neck, biting and sucking the skin right above the collar bone, his fingers tracing little patterns on your hips.

You knew that you'd have a hell of a time covering up all the hickies he’d left but that thought slipped out of your head as Zak picks you up, roughly throwing you into the back lounge which doubled as a bedroom currently being used by the two of you since you were the only couple on the bus.

your- well Zak's- shirt was practically ripped from your body, buttons flying everywhere, and your trousers and underwear soon followed. You gasp as his hand goes between your legs, softly stroking you, your back arching as a soft moan escapes your lips when Zak's finger slipped inside you.

Zak teases you for a few minutes, each time waiting until you were close before stopping, leaving you a moaning mess underneath him. This whole enemy to lovers situation was hot.

'Fuck. Zak, please,' you moan, your hips bucking, trying to get more friction.

Smirking wickedly Zak slowly takes his clothes off, and climbs on top of you smiling down at you, twisting a strand of your hair around his finger. His hips thrusting against yours allowing him to enter you, your hands curl on his shoulders, nails digging into the skin as moan after moan leaves your lips.

'Shit, y/n' Zak moans, burying his head in the crook of your neck.

His thrusts were fast and powerful, allowing you to feel his anger behind each one, Zak's hand leaves your hair moving it to rest on your hip where he resumed his previous bruising grip.

'I’m. Sorry,' each word was punctuated with a powerful thrust that had your back arching and your body a shaking mess.

You feel the familiar sensation in your lower stomach, as your moans grow louder. you were hanging off of the precipice of ecstasy, only a few thrust away, 'Shit. Zak. Fuck,' you pant, nearly out of breath.

Zak's thrusts started losing their rhythm as you fell off the edge, moans hitting their crescendo, back arching off the mattress as you feel Zak come apart inside me, both of you drifting through our orgasms.

'I love you, y/n,' Zak mumbles, rolling off to lay next to you in the bed, pulling you into his arms, laying your head on his chest, 'you’re not a slut, and I know you wouldn’t flirt with Aaron.'

'then why accuse me of it?' you grumble, tracing patterns on his skin.

'Cause I’m a fucking idiot sometimes y/n,' he replies honestly.

'You’re my idiot Zak', you joke.

'Promise?' Zak whispers into your ear.

'Promise,' you whisper back, snuggling closer to him.

161 notes · View notes

muffindaddystyles · 4 years

Text

𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐂 𝐀𝐓𝐓𝐀𝐂𝐊.

Summary: Where you got a panic attack while attending a lecture at University and Harry's out of reach.

Warning: Angst, ah! yes no worries you'll get fluff in the end.

P.S: 𝐖𝐞'𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲'𝐬 𝐚 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐲.

Snuggled into cosy sheets, sweater paws wrapped around a cuppa, the strands of your dark hair tickling the nape of your neck and a sheepish smile of yours crawled against the rim happy while you scrolled through your Instagram feed seeing a short video of Harry singing Landslide on karaoke with his best pal at their get-together.

You and Harry were bestfriends, you met him at a vintage shop in basement where they sell old vintage tees. Despite of knowing who he was you fought with him cheekily over a same 'Pink Floyd's.' T-shirt at that time you guys decided to share it, he'd come to take it from you after every three days a week.

Two years of bestfriendship from you taking him to local south asian and chinese restaurants, to dragging him to yearly fair demanding him to win a bunny for you, to going on a competition for free pizzas only ending up loosing because you were litreally about to go sick, dancing like a maniac at the low price arcade at your university's backstreet, to him dragging you to his friends get-togethers which are quite fun they are super chill but your anxiousness is a little bitch she pops out of nowhere but Harry doesn't mind at all.

Now you're here. Being his lover for an year. He confessed his love for you when he was high on shrooms and you laughed it off tucking him to sleep at his place because he always used to say he 'loves you.' but that was in friends typa way until at the Christmas time while you were having fun for real at Jeff's house with Harry crowded by his mates that one of the Jeff's friends approached you and Oh dear lord' from even so far Harry's sight was dagger to a prey and was hot on his heels, if he would have been a cartoon character red smoke could have seen through his ears.

"Pet?" His brows kinked together as he squeezed you to a corner and he pulled at his bottom lip when your attention was on that guy waving you good-bye, "what Harry?" You asked him nonchalantly peering him through your down gaze.

It was enough to pinch his nerves and Amy one of his girl friend smirked watching the scenario when he was taking both of you to rooftop. With folded forearms you smiled with a certain mischief at the clear jealousy of him ripping through his every action, "jus' wanna protect ye', kiddo." He paced back to you sighing with a painful clench in his chest. He wanted to spill out but why the hell it was so difficult.

"Huh?" Your eyes widened like a deer under the moonlight at his obvious incoherence and he hissed pulling at his roots so you retorted calmly, "relax he was just a guy graduated in the same degree as me." You wanted him to confess his feeling out to you, at many occasions you guys joked about marrying eachother if you both fail to find your perfect partner. Like when you got all sentimental seeing Jeff's first baby at the hospital, getting a baby fever wanting one bubba right that time and Harry joked if any consequences he would help you put a baby in you and trust me nobody in the room laughed, they had deadpaned faces, they all know you guys have crossed the borderline but are playing blind.

His friends have inner jokes for you and Harry, their famous four bets on when Harry will ask you out, his first love confession to you, him proposing you and what your first born would be. Half of them lost more money than they could have imagined in a group of seven, Amy was smirking with full heart because she was praying maybe this time she'll win the bet.

"He looked like he drank 'is arse off." You rolled your eyes at his anxious quip wrapping your cardigan closer to your chest muttering under your breath and Harry's head snapped from your feet to your face, he knew it was ending point of his act "Harry he was completely sober."

He still remained firm at his ground pouting as his curled fingers brushed your elbows to bring you closer, "...but he's still a guy, ye' know.." You wanted to laugh at his face at his silly comment but instead arched your brow sternly.

"So. You aren't?" His heart-shaped lips bubbled around his words but you cut him off, "because if I remember last time you had a dick in between your legs." At this he strewned his lip inside not to chuckle how cute dirty words sounds coming out of your lips.

You frowned feeling cold when he pulled back from you turning his back to you to take a deep breath and his eyes were darker than before from frustration when he turned to face you.

"'Kay fuck. I love you, that's it. happy? I love you and don't wanna loose ye' to anyone!" You knew it coming but not like a bullet so it hit you like one freezing your breath into cold dense air, "you do?" You were at loss of words padding towards him for reassurance as if you're his little girl.

When you were inches away from him He noded without any hesitation saturating even that distance, "yes. I do. Since we've met, since you've invaded all of mind and heart." He wrapped you in his warm conforting arms humming when he snoggled his cheek against your hair.

You playfully scowled at him, "well didn't do that on purpose." Your naughtiness of that moment vanished into air when he asked you sincerely breath tasting you, "can I kiss ye' sweet girl?" Your single nod and his lips were on yours into a deep open mouthed passionate kiss, like how lovers kiss.

His cold finger-tips brushed the under shell of your earlobes earning a shuddering moan and you slipped your hands into the front pockets of his trousers.

Your own icy hands causing him to buck his hips into yours and the sensual touch made you both a whimpering mess. Tongues caressing, lips swiping, teeth nibbling and noses brushing as you kissed until your lips froze to mist.

"Cold?" You admired his after tenderness, lips magenta from heavy makeout session and he twirled a loose errand of your hair around his shiny jewl clad finger kissing your forehead and taking your hands in his bringing them closer to his lips to blow out his warmth to them.

But, there was another pair of eyes watching you astonished and somewhat gasping in awement. Amy, she came to call you guys. Then she rushed back downstairs doing a little prance and all of the people watched her in confusion.

"Ten, ten bucks each. C'mon bitches Harry said I love you to y/n!" Everyone squealed happily at her enthusiastic announcement only groaning at the end when she made a grabby hand, "I won. Now gimme my money."

Even though they all knew they acted like nothing happened respecting your guys descion of whenever you'd like to share your relationship to them, both you and Harry couldn't hold longer.

Your affection it's not new you've been affectionate to eachother since the very start, but this one have meaning and feelings, deep sensations. Hand grazes, knee touches, teasing glances, innocent bantering as if you could rip each others clothes right infront of them, closeness and quite fuck visits in their washrooms were getting obvious day by day and you ended up telling them getting showered in blessings in return.

Right now, with a shake of your head you went past through your boyfriend's antics going through Instagram stories. Your brows furrowed together in curiosity when you came through a post that had a large 'sensite content.' written on it.

This's what happens when curiously takes best of you. You end up doing things you regret time after and this's what happened to you.

"My god!" You clamped your palm over your mouth, eyes widening in horror and nerves crippling in fear. The gor video full of cruelness and blood infront of you making your body shudder.

𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡! 𝐷𝑎𝑚𝑚𝑖𝑡 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡! 𝐶𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑖𝑡 𝑦/𝑛!!!!

Your mind screamed at you to just move past it but your eyes remained numbed to same video and your heart's weeping for the poor women in the video but you're rigid in your sheets with the cup of tea shaking with the shudder of your fear.

Then the consciousness hit you like a train and you snapped out of it quickly shutting your phone throwing it carelessly on the sheets, putting the porcelain cup with a shivering hand onto nightstand.

You shrinked into your sheets trying to calm your breaths. Bolting shut your eyes you shrugged and shook your head many times to get rid of the same image circling in your mind like a demon trying to haunt you.

You stopped breathing without realizing arm over your forehead as you stared the ceiling, lip sucked into your mouth and talking to yourself you tried to concentrate on something else.

You're feeling it coming. It's collecting in the form of bile in your throat and when you were talking with yourself. Your stupid obnoxious brain played your voice ten times faster and it echoed inside your own fleshy bones like a broken record in the barren house of devil.

You're hating it. You inhaled an audible gasp of loud horrific breath shoting up from your sleeping position throwing your duvet to ground ready to run away, you're trying to run away from yourself from your bloody damn thoughts.

You want Harry. He knows about your anxiety and panic attacks. You had your fair amount of panic attacks in his presence, but he always managed to bring you back to him. He used to make you practice breathing patterns and techniques on how to escape from your own subspace.

The first time you got it infront of him was when everyone protested that you should stay for sometime more but it was already two in the morning and you had an exam in the next morning it was just for him that you went along, but you were kinda angry on your own self for taking risks for just a friendship. Then it came into a black pitch waves of suffocation in his car while he was driving you back home, he was unaware of your condition and practically cried when he couldn't bring you back to him.

That night he slept in your bed for the first time. He wanted to stay closer to you in any case, you were sad that you made him worried for no-reason but he shushed you with infinite forehead kisses, he whisper yelled at you full of concern if he might be suffocating you but you giggled a "no." kissing his cheeks getting cosy in his embrace eyes drooping to sleep. He used to sing lullaby to you when you were having it bad particular nights.

Now, he wasn't here and you thought of calling him many times but decided against it only being your own helper. Taking a deep breath, you sang his lullaby to yourself, not letting tears to fall and reminisced all of the lovely memories of you together. Your kisses. Your laughs. Your cuddles. Your lovemaking. Your cooking failures together.

With all of these memories you were back in your bed closing your eyes only hearing Harry's soft affectionate rasps in your ears.

In the morning you have long forgotten that even the video existed. You were surprisingly fresh walking to your university's building in long strides, greeting everyone and anyone.

Harry just woke up from his lazy slumber. Making an orange juice for himself, his head heavy and he's in no mood to look at his phone. Grabbing his journal and putting on his rings, a special copper one that you gifted him on his ring finger smiling at it like a foolish fucker and pecking it shyly remembering you.

"Heyyy. H!" When he entered studio everyone greeted him joyfully and he hugged them all handing breakfast to each one of them he bought after standing in a queue for half an hour, "how's y/n?" Sarah asked chewing her bagel sitting behind the drums and the seed of distress sprouted in his stomach that he hasn't asked his bubby if she slept good lastnight? What she had in breakfast? If her day's going well.

There's this certain instinction that's making him restless but he can't quite put a finger on it.

"She's good. Gets a lill cranky if I win form 'er at the '10 phase' uno game." He chuckled with a hint of love under his tone his previous thoughts of checking onto you again slipping from his mind.

Plugging his phone to charger he rushed back to his favourite spot quickly taking his journal and pencil to scribble something.

It's your English lecture. The day went well. But now it's not. You're zoning out knowing how boring the lecture sounds.

You stared the way you drew your pencil into unstopping circles at the corner of page and your head was a dark vacant space when the way you acted last night flashed in your mind then the reason behind it, that damn video.

The video displaying like a reel in your mind again as if you're there experiencing it with your body. You twitched, and closing your eyes you snapped your head to side several times when the cold sweat broke at the back of your neck and shudder ran down your spine.

When you snapped for the tenth time in row a hand came squeezing yours, "you okay?" You slowly looked up at the guy sitting beside you as the professor's voice billowed further from you.

You just stared him numbly, tears making your sight blurry. Your breath hitching in your lungs and you can feel it clawing at you like a demon. To avoid getting made fun of yourself you stood up leaving your things and rushed for the door, when a hand came wrapping around your wrist in a tight grip.

"Where are you going miss? This's not acceptable." Your karen professor's voice sliced through your ears and your lungs are tightening with each passing second, everything spinning around you and all you're thinking's if you'd make it alive through this dark box of suffocation.

"S-sorry...I-I have to go—" You tried to stutter in between your broken breaths and she scowled burning her grip into your wrist. Your cheeks numb as you didn't feel tears slipping down to the valley of your breasts, "tell me the reason and I'll let you." Your head fell back at that and you bolted your eyes shut as tight as possible. Then when you tried to inhale you couldn't and everyone around hooed loudly watching you in shock as you tried to escape her with weak crying attempts.

"Let me go!" You shrieked. With wide eyes she let you and you fell to ground painfully hard. It was coming. You sobbed out harshly but it went silent at the end and you bunched your shirt atop your heart when your vision went pitch black, whole body shaking and you forgot even if the oxygen existed.

It's consuming you. Everything around you moving in slow motion. Their shouts for you like a sleepy mumble and it's just Harry's lullaby melodic in the pocket of your heart but it's cold and deserted with nothing but claustrophobia shoving you brutally into darkness where nobody could hear you crying.

You act like a lioness ready to kill anybody while you're having a panic attack and when some hand came to help you. You screamed and growled swatting them away "Don't fuckin' touch me!—" even though your ears are buzzing and you gasped loudly to get some air but it's not helping. God help me, please. You prayed.

Your classmate went through your emergency phone numbers finding Harry's at the top and it ringed sitting in the other room from him.

Then he dialed another one. It was studio's landline, Harry has filled that number without your knowledge and well it helped.

"Harry?" The drums came to halt, the guitar was stopped mid shrivel and Harry's high note fell to ground when the receptionist came with a cordless phone.

"A phone for you from y/n university—" It was enough to smack his breath away and he scurried to his feet taking the phone hastily from her hold, controlling his voice to not yell at the person in his own anxiousness.

He tucked it beneath his ear taking the car keys and his phone out of instinct because when it's you he's always on alarm. What he heard from other side made his knees jello and ribs to knock in two, "fuck. Yeh. 'M comin' jus' yeah, make her breath gently....." He tried to instruct your classmate.

He cursed himself. Not giving two fucks if he broke every speed limit. His knuckles going white and he repeated a mantra of "breath baby. m' sweet sweet girl jus' breath." but he was just saying this to himself because you wasn't in his arms and he wasn't calming you, he's blaming all this on himself.

He didn't even parked his car. Striding inside the lobby and asking for you. After fifteen minutes of no breathing as you were about to hit the deep end you inhaled loudly filling your lungs with proper oxygen causing your eyes to go bloodshot and everyone sighed in relief.

Your classmate took you to University's healthcare room so someone guided Harry there. You had your knees tucked close to your chest, head resting on them to block any light as you whimpered with innocent small hiccups.

Your heart beat racing. Head hurting and chest aching from the after effect.

Harry had to get support of door's frame when his eyes fell over you. Over his Angel that was shrinked pitifully like she's scared of world crying on her own.

The sheets of stretcher rustled under his weight as he slowly and gently wrapped his arms around her, "baby..." He cooed on the verge of tears and she didn't had to look up to know he's here, his scent was enough to relax her mind.

Her parted lips moist over the crook of his neck as she sobbed into him. He tenderly rocked her, running his hand soothingly at her back, kissing her head and her nose wiping her tears "'m so sorry, my baby. my life. 'M so sorry."

You fisted his shirt, face smashed into his chest to avoid the world while embracing your own world, your Harry as he walked both of you to his car carrying your stuff too with him. He helped you sit inside the car rounding to the driver seat and he leaned to kiss your forehead, glossy eyelids and a peck to your lips never letting his concern divert from you as he drove home.

He made you comfortable into your bed, wrapping his forearms around your tummy and soothing your arms down to tranquil your heartbeats.

He knows it's hard for you to talk so he didn't tried to get words out of you. He just wants to be there for you, physically, spiritually, mentally. He's all yours.

After long hour you spoke voice barely above a whisper, "t-they all are gonna think 'm weird." Harry felt something jabbing his sides at her statement and he cradled her chin intensely looking her in eyes.

"No angel. I promise you they wouldn't. See how your classmate called me the very moment you weren't responding? They all genuinely cared for yer', y/n" He stroked the apple of her cheeks and she sighed waveringly new tears glistening at her eyelids.

"Thought I wasn't gonna see you ever again." Her words hit him like death and at that moment he realized they're more than just best friends, just lovers, they are soulmates and Harry would be devastated without her.

His music. His fashion. His cheekiness. His softness. His humbleness will all be gone because he's so dependent on her for everything.

She frowned lightly when Harry hugged her close to his heart, his cheek stuffed into the crook of her neck and when his wet lips rumbled with a sob she pulled him back from shoulders cupping his cheeks.

"Harry? Hey, bambi eyed. Baby look at me." You sniffled wiping your every tear and he refused to look at you sobbing hoarsely, squeezing you to feel you for his dear life.

"Don't say somethin' like that. I wouldn't be able to live without ye'." He muttered silent tears soaking her neck collecting at the dip of her collarbones. She played with his curls smooching his cheeks cooing at him, "'m here baby. in your arms. 'm fine, we're fine." She gave him an eskimo kiss when he finally pulled back. Eyes fluttering as she took a deep breath feeling her lungs nutritioning after so long.

"Did you forgot your promise of making me your babies momma or I've to make you remember?" She tried to light up the mood and he just chuckled kissing her lips, when he stood up she pouted making grabby hands at him.

"Hold me?" She asked innocently. Harry ducked down brushing her hair and kissing her head, "gonna run a bath for us sweet angel."

Interlacing your fingers he guided you to your bathroom. Rose candle's flame flickered a shadow onto mauve tiles as the water had pink waves, the scent is so him and it calmed your nerves down.

He undressed you with soft movements, planting a kiss to your shoulder when you were complete naked infront of him. Settling inside the porcelain tub he took your hand helping you inside, making you sit in between his legs.

Your back to his chest. Head resting on his shoulder and his breath fanning your cheeks. It's nothing sexual. Just you two relaxing your nerves.

He coiled his hands over your tummy, running his thumb in careless patterns near your belly button as the water droplets dropped from his curl atop your breasts.

Exhaustion taking over you. Your eyes drooping and you've no idea when he took you out changing you into his clothes and into bed slipping under covers with you.

"'M always gonna be there for ye', whatever it will take my soul to." His whispers caused your lips to curl in a smile and you hummed snuggling your face into his arm scooping you to him.

A/N: I know it's very excruciating for people going through this difficulty, we don't have Harry physically in our lives but he has helped us alot. I feel you and I believe you. It's okay after every hardship there's a moment of happiness personally created for you. All the love!

#harry styles #cute harry #harry styles blurb #fluff #harry smut #harry angst #hsh #angst with a happy ending #dom harry #harry styles smut #harry x reader #hs fanfic

474 notes · View notes

little-diable · 4 years

Text

Script - Chris Evans (smut)

Request by anon: I really like your writing! I’d love a Chris Evans or Steve Rogers story using prompts 10 & 24. Thanks!!!

Enjoy my loves. xxx

10 “I can’t keep on acting like we’re just friends”

24 “Let them hear you scream my name”

“(Y/n),” Chris whined into the phone, he was laying on the sofa in his trailer, eyes focused on his script, cursing the words that somehow didn’t want to stick with him.

“What?” his friends annoyed undertone made him chuckle. “I need your help,” Chris chewed on his pen, he felt desperate, didn't want to embarrass himself on set, didn’t want people to make fun of him, for not knowing his lines.

“Of course you do,” she muttered under her breath. “I’ll be there in twenty,” she hung up the phone.

Her jaw was clenched, hard eyes focused on the road, hands wrapped around the steering wheel, a storm was raging inside her mind, of course Chris would only call her, if he needed help. She hated herself for getting that excited as she read the name of his caller-ID, (y/n) couldn’t even think back to a time, where she hadn’t felt the tingles, the butterflies, every time she’d be near him, every time she’d hear his voice.

“Evans,” she pounded her fist against the door of his trailer, sunglasses kept on hiding her tired eyes, she was holding two cups of coffee in the other hand, impatiently tapping her foot.

“There she is, finally, what took you so long?” he chuckled as she stepped into the trailer, pushing his coffee into his hand, “yeah, you’re welcome.”

(Y/n) plopped down on the sofa, hands automatically grasping the script, she couldn’t let herself admire him in that gorgeous blue shirt, didn’t allow herself to be lured into any smalltalk, couldn’t and wouldn’t stay around him for too long.

“Come on, old man, let’s get this over and done with,” she mumbled, falling back into their normal routine. Ever since they had crossed paths she had been his study partner, she’d run his lines with him, endless nights of cursing the cowriters for coming up with those words.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you,” Chris had his legs sprawled out on her lap, arms crossed behind his back, bright eyes hooked on her frame. “You definitely wouldn’t be an actor, no more,” her heart skipped a few beats at the sound of his laughter.

“Will you watch?” Chris grasped her hand, fumbling around with her fingers, he’d always feel much calmer every time she’d be around the set, watching him do his scenes, teasing him all about his acting.

But (y/n) couldn’t stay, at least not when he’d shoot a love scene, where he’d kiss somebody that wasn’t her, arms slung around the actresses waist, lips moving in synch with hers. Of course (y/n) knew, that it was “just acting”, but that was enough to make her feel sick to her stomach, insides churning as she’d wish for nothing more than to be the one he’d wrap his arms around.

“No, no I won’t,” (y/n) rose from the sofa, pushing his legs off her lap, she walked up to her bag, ready to leave the trailer, to go back home and eat a bunch of comfort foods. “What? Why? You always watch my scenes,” Chris grasped her wrist, he turned her towards him, frowning as his eyes fell upon her distressed expression.

“Scenes where you don’t kiss someone,” (y/n) mumbled before she could stop herself from oversharing her thoughts, both froze on the spot, her eyes slowly wandered up his face, hooked on his bright ones. She cleared her throat and stepped away from Chris.

“Do I look that awful while kissing somebody?” Chris tried to come up with any explanation.

“No, Chris,” (y/n) sighed. “What is it, (y/n)?” He stepped closer, set on finding out what was going on inside his friends head.

“I can’t watch you kiss somebody else, while I wish that the person you kiss would be me,” (y/n) whimpered, her eyebrows were furrowed together. “I can’t keep on acting like we’re just friends,” she shot him one last glance before she turned her back on him and walked out of the trainer, she had to get away, not giving him any chance to respond to her confession.

Tears were blurring her vision, (y/n) placed her forehead against her steering wheel, god, why did she have to tell him? He’ll probably never talk to her ever again, how embarrassing, why why why? (Y/n) deeply exhaled as she left the studio, driving towards her apartment, ready to bury herself between a few blankets, stuffing her face with ice cream, cursing Chris Evans for simply being himself.

(Y/n) had been laying there, back pressed against her sofa, blankets covering her frame, for hours, phone on silent, not noticing the messages he had sent her, the countless times he had tried to call her. A knock ripped her out of her thoughts, slowly (y/n) walked towards her door.

“Chris?” He had his arms crossed in front of his chest, an angry expression graced his features. He strode past her, right into her living room.

“How could you?” His deep voice made her shudder. “I’m sorry,” (y/n) whispered, she felt like a small child, ready to be scolded by her dad for doing something so stupid.

“How could you say all those words and just leave? Without giving me any chance to respond? I fucked up my scene, because I couldn’t stop thinking about you and those perfect lips I want to kiss,” Chris placed his hands on her cheeks, she gawked up at him, no words left her mouth, too confused by his words. “Fuck, (y/n), I’ve been in love with you from the first day I met you,” he whispered, hands wandering down to her middle.

Chris dipped his head down and finally pressed his lips against hers, she responded to his touch right away, arms slung around his neck, blood was rushing in her ears, tingles shot up her spine, overtaking her body. He picked her up, made her wrap her legs around his waist, not breaking their kiss once.

“Bedroom,” she mumbled against his lips.

Chris carried her towards her bed, hovering above her as he placed her down on the mattress. “I love you,” Chris whispered over and over again, glad to finally be able to say those words out loud. “I love you too,” she chuckled, fingers wandering underneath his shirt, tracing his abs, obsessed with the way his skin felt underneath her fingers. He helped her take off the light fabric, her eyes wandered up and down his chest, admiring his skin, hands tracing loose shapes and patterns.

“Doll,” Chris muttered, snapping her out of her trance, he attached his lips to hers once again, hands tugging on her sweatpants, taking them down her legs. “God, (y/n),” his mind was racing, drunk on the way she tasted, the way she felt against his skin, heart skipping a few beats every now and then. He impatiently pulled off her shirt, groaning as his eyes fell on her bare chest, no bra to hide her skin from his hungry eyes.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Chris sucked on her skin, hands cupping her boobs.

A shuddered breath fell from (y/n)s lips, her fingers ran up his back, nails already leaving a few red marks behind, something he’d definitely tease her about later on. Chris kissed his way down her upper body, settling between her thighs, he nuzzled his nose against her clothed core, his name escaped her lips, back arched for him, moaning as he ripped her panties apart, tongue sliding through her folds.

Chris devoured her, worshipped her in every way possible, he rubbed her clit with his thumb, teasing her skin, fingers dipping into her heat, exploring her wetness for the first time ever. He felt his length throb against his trousers, rock hard by now, aching to finally be buried inside of her, like he had dreamt about for ages.

“Chris,” she called out his name, his eyes found hers, telling him everything he needed to know.

“Condom?” He breathed out, eyes looking around her room. “Top drawer,” (y/n) whispered, watching him pull the material over his impressive length. “I love you,” he repeated, kissing her as he ran the tip of his member through her folds, a growl wrecked through him, (y/n) wrapped her legs around his middle, heels digging into the small of his back, getting him to push forwards, sinking into her heat. Their moans got mixed up, high on the feeling of finally being one, no clothes between them, skin on skin.

She tried to bite down on her lip, toning down the volume of her sounds, mind focused on her thin walls, too scared to attract any unwanted attention. Chris tugged on her lip.

“Let them hear you scream my name,” he smirked at her, set on watching her fall apart, while she’d moan his name. Her eyes fluttered close, he felt bigger than she was used to, nothing she had every experience, already obsessed with feeling that stretched and full.

“Jesus fuck, you’re so tight,” Chris nuzzled his head against the crook of her neck, inhaling her heavenly scent, slowly building up the speed of his thrusts. Moans spilled out of her lips, he grazed her sweet spot over and over, pushing her closer to the edge, she could have already cum in that exact moment, his sounds were enough to make the knot in her belly grow tighter.

“I’m not gonna last long,” he panted. “Shit,” (y/n) curled her toes, nails clawing into his shoulders, he felt too good buried that deep inside of her, meeting spots nobody had ever managed to graze.

“So pretty,” Chris eyes wandered down to her hips, watching himself disappear into her heat with every thrust, her sounds engulfed him, urged him on, intensifying the heavenly pleasure. By now he ferociously pounded in and out of her, skin meeting hers, the noise echoed through the room, leaving them breathless as they were pushed over the edge.

(Y/n) moaned his name as her walls clenched around him, fluttering as her orgasm crashed upon her, her eyes were pressed shut. The speed of his thrusts began to falter, Chris growled as he released himself into the tight fabric, hands placed on either side of her head.

“Shit,” he chuckled, slowly pulling out of her, getting rid of the condom, eyes hooked on her the whole time. (Y/n) watched him with those gorgeous (y/e/c) eyes of hers, smiling as he crawled back underneath the covers, tightly wrapping his arms around her.

#chris evans #Chris Evans imagine #Chris Evans smut #Chris Evans x reader #Chris Evans fluff

332 notes · View notes

thewhumperinwhite · 3 years

Text

And Then You Kill Me, Part 1

hey, it’s been a hot minute, huh?

been sorta Going Through It, so uh... Vampire Time, featuring Art and Karim from FBI AU. (Though, for the record: this is their original incarnation, hence why fbi au is Called That.)

I’m gonna tag @whumpitywhumpwhump and also @sweetheartblue bc Karim is... her oc once removed, basically, so if you like this, Thank Sweetheart

Blanket Warning For This Story: this story heavily features suicide, including multiple suicide attempts.

TW for: attempted suicide; mentioned/”threatened” murder; slight foot whump; implied vampirism; referenced parental abuse; referenced captivity; prescription drug abuse; drowning mention.

----

Art doesn’t know how far he runs, or for how long, but by the time he stops the air smells like salt water, and also his feet feel like they’re filled with glass.

He hasn’t been out of his room for a full month. Or his father’s house for longer than that. There’s a sharp ache in the center of each of his calves, and muscles jumping in his thighs; he hasn’t used his legs for much of anything in weeks. He hasn’t even paced back and forth within the confines of his room like he did at first. Didn’t even stay on his feet for the entirety of his last few too-long showers.

The maid who let him out is new, at least to his wing of the house. She’s been bringing his meals for three weeks at the most, and collecting the trays after he refuses to eat it with increasingly visible discomfort.

She’s the only member of staff who broke his father’s injunction that no one should speak to him; said “You must eat something” in a soft, accented voice, looking around furtively.

He wasn’t been sure his father had actually given specific orders—thought maybe they all just hated him, or had decided among themselves that he was too much trouble to bother with—but this new girl was so clearly afraid of being caught, just speaking one sentence to him, that he knew his father must have said their jobs were on the line. For a little while he wondered why his father would bother. And then he felt stupid, for still wanting the old man to need a reason for things.

The new maid’s name is Noa. It took her a week to talk to him, and two more after before she felt brave or sympathetic enough to sneak him out.

Which means she probably didn’t know that this was always what he was going to do, the second he was out. Last time he didn’t do it fast enough, and the cops found him before he had the chance; this time he isn’t taking any chances.

Noa might feel guilty when they find his body. He thought about leaving a note—to tell her thanks, and that it wasn’t her fault—but he didn’t want to risk getting her in trouble, if she somehow managed to help him without getting caught.

Anyway, she hasn’t known him very long at all. She’ll get over it before too long.

He hasn’t been to this part of the city before. In fact he’s not sure what part of the city this is; he’s been running through a thick mental fog since he first left his father’s manicured lawn. He makes himself really look, now, blinking in the dim yellow light of the streetlamps.

He’s made it to the edge of the city, near where the river that runs through the center meets the ocean. It’s hard to believe this is the same river where his mother sips martinis and watches races between indistinguishable blinding-white boats (largely captained by indistinguishable blinding-white men, though Art doesn’t have much room to talk on that score, obviously).

Art steps out onto the dock. The wood is damp and rough, ice-cold on his bare feet, but it’s solid, and not very slippery. There’s an old railing along the edge, and he leans against it, wrapping already-numb fingers around the rough metal. The river’s wider here, the city lights on the other side further away than he’s used to. This must be where it starts to open out, stops being the river and starts being the bay.

The railing’s sturdy, but only as high as his waist. It’d be easy to climb over. The water must be freezing, maybe even cold enough to kill him on its own, before he has time to drown.

But he doesn’t know what the tides are like, here. His corpse might wash right out to sea, and then what will have been the point of any of this?

Art pries one hand off the railing—it’s already stiff with cold, and it takes more effort than it should—and puts it in his pocket, wraps his stinging pins-and-needles fingers around the reassuring shape of the pill bottle.

Art closes his eyes, and breathes in. The water smells worse, here—like industrial waste, mainly, with a hint of rotting seaweed. But it doesn’t smell like too-fancy cologne, or any of his mother’s preferred cocktails.

Art figures there are worse places to die.

He’s turning his head, looking around to see if there’s any place to sit or if he should just sit on the ground and lean against the railing—and then he spins wildly on his heel, stumbling back against the railing, his heart stuttering in his chest.

There’s a man standing at the edge of the dock, under the nearest streetlight, watching him.

The man is wearing a full suit, and Art can tell immediately that it’s been professionally tailored and that it’s at least partly silk and for a moment that’s all he can see—neatly pressed trousers and shiny black shoes, with patterns on the soles that leave bruises anyone could recognize if they wanted to, if they looked at Art’s face and throat and hands for even a second—

“—to startle you,” the man is saying, in a blessedly unfamiliar voice, and Art shakes his head, hard, to force his eyes back into focus.

The man is holding his hands up in surrender and looking slightly alarmed, presumably worried that Art is about to swoon at his feet. There’s a red silk ribbon hanging untied around the collar of the man’s shirt, and Art’s father only wears plain black ties.

The adrenaline runs out of Art’s veins in a rush, and this time his knees actually do give out on him, and he slithers down against the railing until he’s sitting on the damp wood, which is very cold through the thin fabric of his jeans.

The man blinks at him. He has big, long-lashed eyes, over-bright against his light-brown skin. His hair is bleach-blonde, glowing white-gold under the streetlamp; it’s mostly slicked back, with a few curls flopping loose over sculpted black eyebrows.

He isn’t standing on the docks themselves, but his suit—now that Art can really see, it’s pretty ostentatious, satin-shiny in the yellow glow, not something his father would wear at all—looks very out of place above the dirty concrete sidewalk, between two dingy, abandoned-looking buildings.

“You’re wearing a suit,” Art says, before he knows he’s going to say anything.

The man blinks his glow-in-the-dark eyes at him. His lashes are so long they cast visible shadows on his cheeks. He looks at Art, and then down at the suit; touches his own lapel gently with black-gloved fingers, like he’s just remembering that it’s there.

Then the man looks back up at Art, and says, “It’s Boglioli,” in a surprised sort of voice, like it’s a conditioned response.

“Ugh,” Art says, with perfect sincerity.

The man laughs, his full lips parting in a startled grin, and—

There’s something wrong with his teeth.

Art is still on the ground. There’s no sound except the river, behind him, water lapping quietly against wood. Art hasn’t slept properly in days. He’s prepared to believe he imagined it, except.

Except that the smile immediately drops off the man’s face, and his gloved hand twitches up as though in an aborted attempt to reach up and cover his mouth.

Art stares.

It was only for a second. But the man’s eyeteeth were too long, surely, poked down over his bottom lip, like they barely fit in his pretty red mouth.

Art’s ears are ringing. He feels cold, and then too warm.

The man takes a half-step back, his eyes not leaving Art’s face.

Art doesn’t move. He’s been out here in the cold for—an hour. Most of him is freezing, is almost painfully cold, but suddenly there’s heat in his cheeks and his ribcage and the palm of his hands.

He’s feeling something too big to identify. It doesn’t feel like fear.

The man is watching his face very closely.

“What’s your name?” he asks, finally. His voice is low and velvet-soft.

That does sent fear up into Art’s stomach like a knife. He shakes his head once, sharply, reaching up for the railing, ready to haul himself to his feet.

The man holds his gloved hands up again, in surrender. This time when he smiles he keeps his lips firmly together.

“No, alright, my mistake,” he says, smirking. It’s much worse than the grin; more controlled, less real. Art liked the grin better.

He liked the man’s smile better with teeth.

“I just, uh,” the man says, and he gestures toward Art’s feet, folded awkwardly underneath him. “That wood’s so dirty. Your cuts’ll get infected.”

Art’s feet do hurt. He’s run half the city with no shoes, they must be cut to shit. But he hasn’t left a trail of bloody footprints, or anything. Maybe the man can see that his feet are bare, but surely not more than that, not from where he’s standing.

When he leans over, a little, to see if his foot is a horrible bloody mess and he’s just missed it somehow, Art wobbles, and takes his hand out of his pocket to steady himself.

The bottle of pills clatters out of his pocket.

Art’s heart clenches painfully in his chest, and his head swims, and the bottle rolls easily across the wooden planks in front of him. The man takes one step forward, and it taps casually into the toe of his shiny black shoe.

The man picks the bottle up, frowning down at the label.

Art stumbles forward, onto his knees. “Give that back.”

“What is it?” the man says, voice nothing but curious. He’s reading the label. Art wants to tackle him and rip it out of his hands.

“It’s mine,” he says, and now he’s almost yelling. “Give it back!”

The man takes a step back, startled. “Huh,” he says, blinking down at Art, who is now kneeling practically at his feet. Art has no idea what kind of face he’s making.

“Really,” the man says slowly, and makes a show of squinting back down at the label. “This says… Honoria Lange, is what it says.” He raises a perfectly-sculpted brow at Art. “That’s you, is it?”

Art wants to rip this guy’s head off. “Maybe it is,” he says savagely, and reaches for the man’s hand; the man laughs and dances easily out of the way. “Give me my fucking pills back—"

“Oh, relax,” the man says, smirking again. “Seriously, what are you so desperate to—” He trails off, frowning down at the bottle. “…Huh.”

The man looks down at Art, thoughtfully.

“These are—what, sleeping pills,” he says slowly, and tips his head, like a curious dog.

Art’s stomach clenches painfully.

“Hey,” the man says. “Are you—”

Art throws himself to his feet.

This isn’t as good, Art thinks, while he swings his foot onto the lowest bar of the metal railing; they might not find his body for weeks, might not find it at all, he might die for nothing, but he won’t go back, he won’t go back to his father’s—

“Hey—Don’t!” the man yells, and he grabs Art by the hood of his sweatshirt, and yanks him backwards, off the railing.

Art gasps in a painful panicked breath and kicks out at the man with his bare, bleeding feet, aiming straight for the testicles; the man moves easily out of the way, not letting go of Art’s hoodie; Art overbalances and falls backward, just catching himself my scraping his hand bloody on the concrete at the bottom of the railing.

“Shit,” the man says, reaching for Art, and Art flails at him, wants to push him away, or to scratch out his shiny glass-marble eyes, or—

The man catches Art’s wrist easily. He’s leaning over Art, now, with one arm braced beside him, and holding Art’s arm; Art’s hand, his wrist in the man’s glove fist, is very close to the man’s face.

The heel of Art’s hand is cut open; a drop of blood trails down over his pulse point, and disappears into the fabric of the man’s glove.

The man’s pupils visibly dilate. When his lips part, his fangs are even more visible than before, like they barely fit inside his mouth.

Art feels his own lips part in response. Feels his fear—he’ll stop me he’ll call the police he’ll drag me back please no please please I’ll do anything—shift, pool lower in his belly.

The man is watching Art’s face—their faces are very close together now. He looks Art in the eye and—parts his lips slightly, so there can be no mistaking what they both know Art sees. Then he wets his lips, delicately, with an almost obscenely red tongue.

“Hey,” the man says, and his voice has gone slightly hoarse.

“No,” Art says—and his voice is hoarse, too, an embarrassing croak. His face is hot; he knows it must be red, now. “I don’t want it. Whatever you’re offering, I don’t—uh—”

Art tries to pull his arm back, as hard as he can. The man’s grip doesn’t budge a single inch. Like he could—like he could snap Art’s wrist, just by tightening his fist. Art swallows, his heart fluttering in his chest. His ribcage feels too tight. And now his pants are starting to feel that way, too.

The man studies Art’s face, very seriously. “I think,” he says, and his voice is softer, almost hesitant.

“I think,” the man says, watching closely for Art’s reaction, “that I am offering to kill you.”

#suicide tw #whump #original whump #attempted suicide #suicidal whumpee #vampire caretaker #drug abuse tw #parental abuse mention #vampires #and then you kill me

32 notes · View notes

missingartist · 3 years

Text

The Witcher’s Mate Chapter 24

Merry Christmas!!!!!!!!!!

Sorry this update has taken so long. Work has been really full-on; my department have either been of isolating or off sick, so it's been really hard to write and juggle everything. Thank you for being so patient, so please enjoy this early Christmas present.

The sensation of being dragged through the water was not one that Geralt would ever get used to, that water smothered him and made it almost impossible to move with any power, but this was the first time he had never wanted to break away and sink his sword into the beast chest. Not with his mate clinging tightly to him. Adva arms were tightly clamped around him, her talons firmly pressed against his skin, not piercing but protecting a warning to those around her. Despite his mutated eyes and his body being pressed against her, he could only make out the pale silver of her skin and the curtain of hair that obscured her from his eyes. The only thing that he could make out was the tail that propelled them through the water. The red from the moment before was now a black that melded into the darkness of the water. Occasionally the sunlight that penetrated the depths shimmered across her tail, making it glisten menacingly.

Just as his lungs began to burn, he felt a flood of oxygen invade his body, and he let an involuntary gulp of air as he was heaved up on a solid slab of stone. Grunting lowly, the Witcher heaved himself up onto his elbows on his back as he blinked the water out of his eyes. The cave was dark, only illuminated by the light pass through the surface of the water. It was just enough light, but even in darkest places, her beauty would shine out as she gentle bobbed in the water.

'Adva….'

Gliding through the water and pulling herself up hard against her 'You are mine.'

'Adva…'

'You are mine….not hers or theirs but mine.' Adva purred angrily as she effortlessly pulled herself onto the bank of stone, tail flourishing behind her before vanishing and two pale legs appeared from somewhere as she crawled her way across to him, boldly saddling the bewildered Witcher.

'Wha…Adva stop…..What are you doing…stop.' Geralt spluttered his rough hands awkwardly posed on the near-naked woman as she pushed forcefully against him.

Golden eyes roamed the body of his mate. The rags that clung to her body obscured the most intimate parts, but it was far more of her body then he had ever seen—all pale and plump, saddling his waist.

'You. Are. Mine.' A growl vibrated against his mouth as she claimed his mouth with a searing kiss.

A moan rumbled through his chest as weeks of longing and suffering ending in that one soft kiss. Awkward hands found a home on the small of her back and tangled in her wet locks. Her own small hands rested against the sides of his face as their lips met in a passionate embrace.

Between his legs, a painful reminder of her need began to stir. The need had built up since 'that' day his touch did nothing in neither satisfied the ache nor filling the want to hold her against him as they lost themselves in each other. The feel Adva's body against him after so long was enough, but her lips on his and the feel of her core on his waist was more then flesh and body could stand.

'Adva' the plea fell deafly in the air as she promptly reclaimed his lips. Her eyes where dark and stormy, not a trace of those soft metallic blue eyes that he adored remained. 'No Adva stop.' The Witcher growled, as his hands found their way to her waist, freeing him from her intoxicating lips' Wait…we. I can't… you'll regret this….please.' A low moan escaped him as if in pain.

'NO. Your mine. Only mine. You aren't hers. You are my mate, my love. I can't be without you anymore.'

Geralt's golden eyes found that exposed blue in her eyes, and the gentleness of the features that exposed that vulnerability look down at him, pleading with him. The strength that struggled within him buckled under the weight of that look, all that want, and desire surged within him as she sat up to capture her lips in a tender release of his feelings.

Moans and groans echoed against the walls of the cave spurring the two lovers. With each moan spurred Geralt on and his aching cock twitched painfully between his leg, which Adva seemed to sense in a surge of want spurring her to clumsily roll her hips against him. Frantic hands pulled at his shirt, sliding it his shoulders before letting her hands explore the broad explains of his chest. Geralt himself let relevant to his need to touch her and let his hands slide down her sides and settle teasingly on her hips fingering patterns into the tender flesh. With another roll of her hip, her core settled against the lace of his breeches coyly grinding against his cock.

A breathy rumble roared from his chest as even through the leather of his pants; he could feel her wetness. Pulling back a predatory smile etched over her hands as she frantically pulled at his tie before exposing his long hard length and sat heavily against his stomach.

'Adva….' The plea turns to a hiss as she seated herself on top of the warm cock, her sleek pussy tentatively ground against him

A primitive growl forced its way from his chest and roared savagely into the air. It felt like pure heaven before it had been a passion-driven dry hump through their clothes and that felt like nothing he had experienced, this was something wholly different, their bare skin touching in the most intimate area and he had no power to stop himself. He knew she would hate him for taking advantage of her in this state, whatever it was, but he could not bring himself to care, it this moment she was his, and he was her and nothing in the world was going to stop them at this moment. He was hungry for her touch, deprived and wanting and as much as he knew he should stop her, he was powerless.

Hands-on hips, Geralt rolled his hip up to meet her thrusts, causing her head to full back in a loud moan. 'Oh, Geralt.'

With a growl he did it, again and again, his eyes never leaving the picture of ecstasy that moved above him. Pushing him down, Geralt watch in awe as she settles herself down against him and with a frenzied need began to move at a frantic pace, Geralt hands pushing and pulling her hips with every thrust there lips meeting in a hungry lips

'Geralt….gods….so good.' She cried out as he pulled her head back to let out a soft cry of pleasure.

'Come for me….Come….for me.' Geralt grunted out through clenched teeth as his lips found her once against.

In a sudden act of defiance, Adva pulled away; hips stilled as she sat up and readjusted herself to rest her hands on his chest before feverishly grinding her pussy against his cock. Her wet pussy rolling over his head, again and again, hitting her clit with every movement causing a shiver to run over her body with her thrust. The feeling was pure torture, it felt like hours since they had started the sounds of their cries filling the cave and Geralt felt the last of his resistance fail him, and he collapsed against the cold stone floor and shifting his legs jolted her forwards and sprawl across his chest. Letting him wrap his arms around her and work his hips hurriedly against her hers. The sweat sticky their bodies together.

'Geralt….Gertalt….arghhhh…Mmmmm' the power of her orgasm ripped through her, and the feel of her wetness surging onto his cock sent the Witcher over the edge in a howling mess of grunts and growls as thick ropes of white cum painted his chest.

Geralt's gazed up at her in awe; her wet hair clung to her face as she rode out her orgasm as gentle tremors still shook against her body. She looked like a goddess, water dripping from her hair and trailing down her body before sliding out of view behind the tatter rags that were once her clothes. Her pale skin painted with a dark pink afterglow. As long as he lives, he would never meet anyone as perfect as she was now. The Witcher watched as she blinked away the lust-filled daze that clouded her mind, and she smiled at him. That same loving smile he showed him that day he walked her into town, sweet and warm but her eyes, her eyes were now the metallic blue that he had come to know so well. Panic swelled within him as he felt her body tense up, and the look of embarrassment take over her features. The stunning afterglow turned into a violent blush that spread across her body.

'I….I don't know…How…I am sorry.' A stammered string of words fell from her lips, and she scurried off the Witcher. 'I don't know what came over me.' A whisper chocked out a whisper as the mermaid's eyes fell on the mess that was currently splattered across his chest. 'Ohhhh' a new wave of embarrassment washed over her skin as she curled into herself, hiding her face from his gaze behind a curtain of wet locks.

The white-haired Witcher wanted to say something, anything, an apology, an excuse, reassurance, a plea of devotion but being a man of very few words his speech failed him, instead she received his usually grunting hum.

'hmmmmmmm'

Never letting his eyes fall from her form, Geralt pulled his soaked shirt from the floor and tenderly wrapped it round the shaking woman, their passions no longer keeping her warm from the Cave harsh conditions.

'Come on the little flower.'

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

It was not a pleasant walk back she dressed in what remained of her clothes. At some point on their journey back, Geralt had found a horse blanket that he wrapped her shivering form. Geralt was bare-chested, leather trousers hanging loose on his hips. The harshness of the weather did not seem to faze him as he steered her through the grove of trees and up the steep stone steps, in his typical moody, pensive state. It was times like these that she wishes she could understand what went through the Witchers head, did he regret the cave, was he worried about the attack her sudden acquisition of a tail or her throwing herself on top of him and taking advantage of him. A warm feeling spread over her body as she recalled the furious frenzy of the cave. The feeling was different from their first time; this was passionate and animalistic. And this time she was on top and turned Geralt into a grunting mess. That made her feel powerful, and bringing her soulmate to the edge was something that she wanted to do again and again.

'ADVA! Thank god' Jaskiers shrill voice carried across the hall.

Adva couldn't help but wince at the sound. It was too loud. As much as he loves the bard she didn't want to deal with him she just wanted to stay with Geralt and forget about the mermaids, mages and all the stupid messed up stuff that had been her life for the last few months.

'Your concern for my welfare is touching, Jaskier.' Geralt grunted out, and he pushed Adva further into the warmth of the castle.

'Are you hurt? How do you feel, should I get Triss? Jaskier rumbled off much to the annoyance of both mates.

'I am fine. Just want a bath and to get warm' Adva smiled at her friend's overenthusiasm

'Come on, Adva we will run you a bath in the kitchen.' Jaskier cooed adoringly as he wrapped her in his arms, pulling her towards the kitchen.

'You are not taking her anywhere.' Geralt growled through bare teeth.

'Geralt…enough with the possessive caveman thing you have going on. You have more important things to attend to in the library.' Triss butted in appearing from behind the library doors. Her face looked haggard and worn, even in the brief while since she had last seen her. There was a look that past between the mage and the white-haired Witcher. Adva noticed the tension; it was clear to see something, something important. 'both of you.'

Adva frowned at them, more than anything she wanted was to take Jaskier up on the bath, but despite her escapee with Geralt, her attack was at the forefront of her mind. The last six months of her life had been overwhelming, forcible removed from Brightwater, dragged halfway across the land, attacked by jealous mages and mermaid minions all the while dealing with the fact she was an actual Mermaid. A literal mermaid- with a god damn tail. And even if that was not enough, she was a mate to a handsome Witcher. That Witcher being Geralt of fucking Rivera, the most famous and converted of all the Witchers. Staring up at the hulking form of her mate, nostrils flared, and fists clenched as he scented the air and darkness consumed his golden eyes.

'Go with Jaskier.' Geralt grunted as he pushed forward past Triss and into the library.

A still of annoyance surges within as she brushed off Jaskier's hands and followed the Witcher.

'Hello Geralt, I would say I am pleased to see you, but in my current mood. I am really not.'

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Cersei sat at the head of the table sipping tea from a delicate china cup, the scent of lemon and ginger waffled through the air paired with the sweet scent of Jam and scones piled high on a silver platter. Vesemir all the while staring daggers at her from the other side of the table from behind a flagon on bitter smelling ale. She looked as elegant as ever, dressed in a vibrant green dress and looked almost out of place in the grim greyness of the library. She seemed to be unconcerned about the raging tempers that bubbled around her, instead of focusing on the tea in front of her.

'You!' Geralt yelled, accusing as he marched toward the woman, chest heaving as a growl resonated against him.

'Yes, Geralt, me. I think anyone with eyes can see who it is. Don't be some overdramatic.' Cersei snapped as she settled down the teacup on the armrest to look at Geralt with some disdain. 'I leave you to take care of YOUR MATE and look at her; she is practically naked covered in that filthy blanket, covered in cuts. Call yourself a mate, letting her be attacked by a Merperson. I don't call that looking after her.' Cersei quipped, a perfectly plucked eyebrow arching over the brim of her teacup.

'You are hardly one to talk. How could you not tell Adva what she was.' Triss growled out, marking her was to stand shoulder to shoulder with Geralt.

'Adva had to be completely ignorant of her heritage. Advanna was placed in my care for her own safety. It was a precautionary measure needed to protect her from the people who want to bring about her demise. If you haven't noticed Adva here isn't a full mermaid but the first hybrid to be born in the Great Sea. As you can imagine, Queen Azalea was keen to keep her daughter safe knowing one day that she would be strong enough to return and rule, but her mothers' side with her mate.' Cersei retorted, putting down her teacup and standing, carefully smoothing out any wrinkles from her dress as stood.

Adva clutched the blanket closer to her as she glared across at her former guardian. Her tone was so cold and prim it made her fists itch with the want to connect with the blondes face. It was her tone and manner that made her feel an incensed amount of rage. A small part of her felt ashamed of the hatred of her former guardian, but the rest of her just felt angry, angry at her lies and deceit.

'Well, Geralt hasn't bonded with her, yet so you can piss off' Triss gritted out tensely, advancing on the older mage, who remained unbudging from her place.

'Wait, did you just say her mother is Queen Azalea? Her mother is an actual queen?.... That is gonna make a great song.' Jaskier whispered mostly to himself but caused a wave of eyes rolls from around the room.

'Fortunately, with the mess that Geralt has been making of all of this. I come with a solution-' Cersei smiled tightly and from thin air appeared a turquoise vial. In the shape of a heart. Not the symbol but an exact replica of a human heart with all its veins and arteries in a delicate silver shining against the green of the glass.

'It a potion that will disconnect the link between you. All you need do is add a drop of your blood to the potion, and I will give it to Adva to drink and then I will take her to her mother who is very…anxious for her return.' Cersi stated calmly and tossed a fine glass vial to the Witcher.

An enraged roar erupted from Geralt chest as he bared down at the mage.

'That is suicide; breaking the bond would kill Geralt. For one person to sever the link, the other slowly becomes and shell and dies of heartbreak.' Triss gasped.

'Adva is stronger than anticipated. We didn't think that would be able to transform, but now it's clear she is much more powerful than we thought. She may even outpower her mother with training. Its time Adva takes her place right beside her mother.' Cersei soothed, proffering the vessel to the snarling Witcher. 'Geralt you are a good man, but you clearly cannot look after her properly. It clear. You have lived a long life already. This spell would only shorten your life to that of a mortal man. Look at her….. it's for the best.'

Geralt gazed over at his mate, standing against the door, shivering. She looked so small and vulnerable, looking up at him with pleading eyes. It was true; he could not look after her; she was covered in dirt and cuts. He almost lost her to Yennefer hair-brained scheme and that murdering mermaid. He loved her. More than loved her, he adored her. Every fibre of his body needed her more than oxygen more than anything. He would wade into battle with the foulest creatures and endure the severest hardships just to get a glimpse of his smile. She was so pure. Their brief escapades would be forever engraved on his mind; every touch burnt onto his skin that would comfort in the darkest days to come. Slowly he let his hand clamp over the sharp edge of the top, red liquid dipping into the container.

Cersei waited patiently as it filled slowly, the burgundy substance mixing with the other liquid till finally, a soft hum emerged from the small object, and the blonde extends her hand towards her former ward. 'All you need to do little one is to drink this in one, it won't taste nice, but it will sever the connection with Geralt. You won't feel a thing, neither will Geralt.' The soft voice the only sound in the library.

Adva let her gaze focus on the little bottle with all its little ornate decoration, she has never seen an actual heart but is how she would imagine it would look. If she had been given the bottle, she wondered if she would have taken it, swigged it without a second thought, but know the sight of the thing made her feel sick. Without moving, her eyes scanned the rest of the room, all eyes fell upon her, apart from the only pair that mattered. Geralt's back was to her, shoulders slumped, staring straight ahead out of the window into nothingness. Maybe at the start of this, she wouldn't have cared, hell a week ago she probably would have but now, now was different.

'Get out. Now' Adva growled.

'Adva….' Cersei gave a sad smile, but that infuriated her all the more.

'Don't you dare Adva me…you lied to me my whole life? I am not drinking it, and I am not coming with you…I am going to stay here with Geralt.

'You don't need to stay here, Geralt gave his blood to the potion, he has given you the freedom to come home. To where people love you.' Cersei's hand stretched out against offering the bottle.

Snorting in disgust Adva's hand flew out violently, knocking the vessel into the floor with a soft clatter the brown contents seeping into a small puddle onto the floor. 'Geralt loves me…I think, or at least he has never lied to.' Adva hissed. 'You and this so-called mother kept me from my family, my people and placed me with Tradi and in a Brothel. Did you really think that was the best place for a child, do you know how should achingly lonely I was? You left me to figure all this out myself.'

'I did that to protect you…' Cersei tried.

'I don't care. I have made my decision. I am not alone anymore; I have Geralt. I thank you for everything you tried to do for me, but I don't need you. And I certainly don't want anything to do with the Queen of the Mermaids. I am taking charge of my life; I am choosing Geralt. We are going to figure out the whole mate thing, so help me for good or bad it will work. Now I am telling you one last time- leave before I make you.' Adva snapped, and to make her point all the poignant she slammed the heel of her foot down onto the bottle, the glass cracking in a soft, sharp snap, even with the glass slice through her foot she refused to back down.

'Just because you have grown a tail girlie do not for a second think you can talk to me like that….you are coming home with me. You need to be with your family.' Cersei bit out.

'I am with my family.' Adva gritted out.

Cersei narrowed her eyes at the scowling woman

A surge of wind began to bellow outside and batter against the window, golden hand raised in a tense claw, fingers fidgeting in spasms of energy. Geralt was first to react, barrelling towards the blonde mage only to be bounced away and sprawled against the table and deafening clatter sounded as the contents of the tabled flew across the floor. The next was Vesemir, who got further than Geralt, almost grazing her hair before being sent spiralling into the air knocking into the Triss and Jaskier.

'Enough.' Adva growled, dropping the blanket from around her shoulder and throwing her hands forwards, twisting her hand out crippling her blonde women in front of her, contorting the figure into paralysis figure of fear, gasping and wheezing.

'I don't ever want to see you again. I want you to leave us alone, and I never want to hear from my mother. EVER. Triss!'

A groan echoed through the room as Triss pushed Jaskier off her with an almighty push. Scurrying to her feet and summered a shimmering white portal and grabbing the mage by her long blonde hair chucked her through the portal with a triumphant smirk.

A huff of relief fell from her lips as she let her hand fall to her hips, only for her to notice she was only wearing thin strips of fabric. A deep blush covered her body, and her arms wrapped around herself to cover what was left of her modestly.

'Adva…. Who knew what you were hiding such a voluptuous figure?' Jaskier beamed. 'Would make a rather risqué ballad…. I think I could even work in the pretty but psycho mage.' Jaskier jumped up as if he had been sprawled across Vesemir and began to search the wreckage of room quill and parchment.

A primitive growl erupted Geralt as he took Adva in his arms, scooping her up and carrying her out of the room slamming the door behind him.

'Oh, thank god, I don't think I could have taken any more moping' Vesemir gruffly grunted 'Quickly pass me the ale, I don't want to be sober when that bed start squeaking.'

So????? What do you think? Hopefully, this chapter makes up for my absence. Please let me know what you think.

@threepupsinapuddle @broco8 @introvertedmouse @luxyash @vikingsbifrost @pastelblogsposts @wastingmypotential @whitespring21 @ayamenimthiriel @wonderlandfandomkingdom @shesthelastjedi @fandom-lover-4 @sageandberries-png @just-a-sad-donut @alicia-d-o @dreamerwithapen1 @evangeline73aster

#geralt imagine #geralt reader #geralt smut #geralt x oc #geralt x reader #Geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x smut #Witcher #thewitcher #witcher 3

95 notes · View notes

witcher-and-his-bard-archive · 4 years

Text

Under Your Skin || on ao3

Geralt realizes his mistake the second he's made it, but it's too late to do anything about it now. The gash on his thigh stings like hell, but he's still got a succubus to kill and she's putting up one hell of a fight. He'd tried to talk her down, get her to move on and out of the city, but this one is particularly stubborn and is having none of it. She charges him and Geralt reminds himself he has three dead villagers to avenge, putting his focus on them instead of the rising temperature of his own body. He has to act fast; faster even than he normally would with a succubus and she isn't making it easy for him.

He ducks right and rolls out of her path, hopping back up behind her. But she's quick and when she turns to swipe at him, Geralt only narrowly dodges the blow. His reflexes are slowing, the relentless heat seeping in and filling up every crack and corner, slowing him down and making him vulnerable. But Jaskier is barely out of sight and Geralt won't risk letting a succubus have her way with him. Especially when he'd make such an easy target. It’s with him in mind, that Geralt pushes through the sensations and keeps moving.

He side-steps just out of her reach, calculating. He has to finish this quickly and he has to do it without making a mess; it's hard enough to be welcomed in town without being covered in succubus blood. And as soon as he's done here, he needs to get himself to the brothel before the feeling under his skin gets any stronger.

The succubus lunges again and nicks him, but Geralt is quicker this time, tripping her up and pushing her to the ground. He doesn't hesitate before plunging his sword into her chest. She resists, kicking him in the shin and grappling with the blade, but Geralt's brute strength wins out and she stills under him. Geralt leans on his blade for a moment, catching his breath before withdrawing it again and stumbling away from the body.

He needs to bring proof of death to the town mage, but right now he can't even think about that. He needs to get away from her, away from Jaskier and toward someone who can get him through this before it gets any worse. But he is getting worse. Heat sears through him like too much sun on a hot summer day and already his mind is getting foggy. He needs to get to town before he loses control entirely. But he can't get into town without walking past their camp and past Jaskier and he can't be near Jaskier like this, so he's going to have to do something about it first.

Stumbling toward the closest tree, he braces himself, that familiar tug of arousal taking hold. He splays his fingers against the bark, shifting his weight to balance himself as he works open the buttons on his trousers. He's rock hard and aching and he barely gets the top three buttons undone before he's shoving his hand into his trousers, taking himself in hand.

The initial touch is good, and Geralt has to bite back a moan as he strokes up to the head of his cock, twisting his fingers around. The pleasure doesn’t last. It's good for a minute, but the feeling doesn't build and despite every fantasy he pulls up, every past affair he recalls, nothing helps. The feeling plateaus and the heat under his skin burns hotter.

Jaskier finds him like that, leaning against a tree with his cock in his hand and Geralt is too frustrated to care. But he smells him, the spicy-sweet scent drifting on the breeze and Geralt growls low in his throat because this cannot be happening to him. Anything else, anyone by Jaskier.

"Geralt-?" he asks and Geralt's cock jerks in his hand, interested at last. But Geralt shuts his eyes and grits his teeth, ignoring the voice in his head that reminds him of what he really wants. It tells him Jaskier could help, reminds him that this is what he’s wanted after all, at night when the fire burns low or when Jaskier’s fingers massage knots out of his muscles in the bath.

Geralt steadfastly ignores it, assuring himself that it’s just the spell working its way through him and he’ll get through this some other way, he just has to get to town. He just has to get past Jaskier first.

“What’s wrong?” Jaskier asks and the most bitter part of Geralt wants to ask if he can’t see what’s wrong, but he keeps his mouth shut. “I could help?”

No, Geralt thinks, but his body hasn’t quite caught up with that decision. He doesn't like being watched, less so by Jaskier, but when Jaskier speaks the burning subsides and Geralt can feel. This is the last thing he wants Jaskier present for, but he lets him stay, though he doesn't let him get close. And Jaskier knows something is wrong, so he stands there like he's on the other side of a door, stepping from side to side anxiously.

"Talk to me," Geralt rumbles, stroking himself with jerky motions.

"What should I say?"

"Anything. Sing." He regrets the words almost as soon as they're out of his mouth because he can feel the change in Jaskier's demeanour without having to look at him and he knows he's not going to get out of this one easily. Because Jaskier's voice does all sorts of filthy things to him at the best of times and right now he's overwhelmed and out of his own control.

And Jaskier sings. Geralt can't even hear the lyrics through the haze of lust, but Jaskier's voice fills his head and Geralt drowns in it. He works himself quick and hard, focusing on the scent and sound of Jaskier and he comes on a high note, dropping forward so his head presses against the tree trunk. He catches his breath and, without skipping a beat, he wipes his hand on his trousers and buttons himself up around his still-hard cock.

When this is over with, he's going to be sat down and forced to apologize about every awful thing he's ever said about Jaskier's singing. But for now, the ache subsides and Geralt is thankful for small mercies. And after this, Jaskier deserves whatever praise Geralt can give him.

Jaskier hurries over to him, but Geralt still doesn't let him get too close. Even as they head back to camp, Geralt keeps his distance. His mind swims with shame and guilt, but even as he regrets getting off to Jaskier's voice, the need resurfaces. It's thicker, like a smog all around him and he can't breathe. It's worse now and Geralt isn't an idiot - he can pick up on a pattern. He does nothing, steadfastly ignoring Jaskier's voice and the feeling it encourages.

He focuses on packing, getting his things together while he can so they can make their way back to town. Town means brothels and brothels mean relief so Geralt focuses on that.

But even before he can finish, the heat returns worse than before, searing up the back of his neck. Geralt breaks out in a hot sweat, fingers clenched tightly around the fabric in his hand. He doesn't even know what it is anymore, doesn't remember what he was doing before the heat crept up on him again and he crouches down, pressing his free hand to the ground to steady himself.

Jaskier slips up behind him, calm as always and rests a hand on his shoulder. It's probably intended to be comforting, but his touch is like a cool river in the dead of summer and Geralt moans at the relief.

"Again?" Jaskier asks, not nearly as concerned as he should be, but he probably doesn't know a lot about sex magic. He slips up behind him, smoothing his hands up Geralt's back and pulling him back against him.

Geralt wants to pull away, to spare Jaskier the humiliation of having to deal with him like this, but he can't fight the cool press of his hands and the intoxicating scent that fills his head once more. Jaskier rubs his shoulders like he's done countless times before, but when he starts pulling at his armour, undoing clasps and ties, the heat in Geralt’s belly swells.

"You should go," he huffs but Jaskier just tuts at him as he pulls his chest piece over his head. Geralt feels lighter without his armour, but no less hot when Jaskier's fingers slip under the collar of his shirt - an accident, he's sure - Geralt doesn't have the strength to push him away. He moans at the first touch of Jaskier's skin against his own and hates how desperate he sounds.

"I'm not going to leave you here like this," Jaskier hums, and Geralt flops back against his shoulder, whining as Jaskier's hands slip from his skin. "Tell me how I can help."

“Please just go,” Geralt whispers, a last-ditch attempt at saving them both the humiliation, but it comes out aching and desperate and if Jaskier hears, he doesn’t show it.

Jaskier’s hands run down his chest and Geralt’s mind is laser-focused on that, like the only thing that matters in the world is Jaskier's hands. And right now that's what it feels like. He arches into the touch, rolling his head on Jaskier's shoulder and gods it feels good, but it's not enough and he can't ask Jaskier for more. He won’t.

He shifts in Jaskier's arms, his hips twitching with every touch, every puff of breath against the top of his head. It's too much and it's not enough and Geralt feels like he's going to rip out of his skin before he gets through this. Realistically, he knows exactly what he needs, but maybe he can get through it like this, maybe he can just-

Jaskier's fingers brush over his nipple and Geralt's body jerks without his permission, arching off of Jaskier and pushing against him. The moan that fills the air is wild and wanting and Geralt refuses to believe it came from him. He writhes in Jaskier's lap, fingers clenching hard around Jaskier's thighs to keep from doing something he'll regret. He aches to touch, but he's already let this go further than he'd have liked. Even if Jaskier is offering, he's not a willing partner, not really.

But Jaskier is patient and his hands feel so good and when he tips his head down next to his ear, he breathes softly against his ear. "Do what you need to," he breathes and Geralt groans in response.

He doesn't want to. It's bad enough that Jaskier saw him before, he doesn't need a repeat performance. But now that the thought is in his head, his cock aches. It's pressed painfully against the front of his trousers and he longs to wrap his hand around himself, stroke himself off right here in Jaskier's lap. A new wave of heat prickles at the back of his neck just thinking about it.

He moves his hands as slowly as his body will allow, fumbling with the buttons on his trousers. His hands are shaky, his movements stilted, and he growls in frustration, shoving a hand into his trousers with only one button undone. It feels good, even if it's not his own hand he wants wrapped around him and he thrusts against his palm, snapping his hips up hard and fast.

Jaskier's hands slide down his stomach and lift from his body, much to Geralt's displeasure. They hover above his groin and when he focuses hard enough, he can feel the heave of Jaskier's chest against his shoulders.

"Can I-?" he asks and Geralt grits his teeth to keep from blindly allowing him whatever he wants.

"What?" he groans. He needs to know what he wants, exactly what he wants because he can't bear to have Jaskier touch him like this, not this way.

"Your buttons," he breathes and it only occurs to Geralt belatedly that he sounds very out of breath. He nods, turning his head against his chest to keep from seeing Jaskier's hands so close to his cock.

He feels every tiny movement as Jaskier carefully gets his trousers undone and Geralt sighs as his cock is freed, squeezing a little tighter around the base. He's vaguely aware of Jaskier mumbling something in his ear and then he's being hauled upright again, which seems to take far too much effort and he doubts it was worth it.

But as he shifts, Jaskier presses closer against his back. He slides his hands up Geralt's sides, tugging his shirt up over his head and breathing heavily against the back of his neck. And he's hard, the length of him pressing into Geralt's lower back.

This time, when he comes, with Jaskier's hands running up the insides of his thighs, there's no feeling of satisfaction. There's no rise and fall, just more of the same and he knows he's running out of time to get to town. Any human would be beyond their control now and Geralt is trying so hard to hold on, not to lose himself to the lust coursing through his veins. He has to go now.

But Jaskier's fingers creep up, pushing down into the vee of his hips and Geralt doesn't even try to stop him. He doesn't have the energy. When Jaskier takes him in hand, he tries to tell him no, that he can deal with this on his own, but Jaskier's touch is the only true relief he's had.

Jaskier gets him off twice like this, but it's still not enough to satisfy the burning lust within him and Geralt realizes he's not getting to town without getting through this. Jaskier presses his face into Geralt's shoulder, breathing against his skin.

"You need someone else," he realizes. And Geralt can't even speak. "I'll give it to you, anything you need, you just have to let me."

As far as Geralt is concerned, this has already gone on for far too long and he wants to say no, but Jaskier's fingers slip loosely around his cock and for some gods forsaken reason, he wants to help.

"You don't want this," Geralt mumbles, but Jaskier brushes the hair out of his eyes and leans over his shoulder.

"I do," he says, "I hate to see you suffer."

When Geralt shifts, Jaskier's cock presses into his ass and the sharp intake of breath against his ear nearly sends him over the edge again. The feeling is too much, too close to what he really wants and as he moves he catches the scent of him and groans. And underneath the heat and the unrelenting want, a hint of genuine arousal slips through, strong enough that he can smell it even amidst the sweat and the stink of magic. Jaskier wants him. He refocuses himself, bracing himself on Jaskier's thighs and relents, nodding his assent against his shoulder.

Jaskier is enthusiastic, giving him everything he can with his hands and his mouth - and gods, he can do some sinful things with his mouth. He touches him everywhere, never lifting his hands from Geralt's skin, even after he's come again and he's shaking with the effort of it. But it's still not enough. It's still not what he needs and Geralt still isn't willing to ask that of Jaskier, he'd rather suffer all through the walk back to town than put Jaskier in that position.

He bucks up into his own hand, groaning in frustration as it gets him nowhere. Jaskier's hands slide down his stomach, wrapping around him and gently pushing Geralt's hands aside.

"Let me," he breathes. Geralt isn't in any position to argue with him, so he drops his hands to Jaskier's knees, gripping firmly as his hips jerk up.

The worst part is that he knows Jaskier would say yes because sex isn't a big deal to him because he knows Geralt needs this. And that's why he can't ask. Because he won't suggest something that takes away Jaskier's choice. But he thinks about it, eyes clenched shut as he pushes back against Jaskier's cock. He shouldn't touch him, but Jaskier isn't stopping him and most of the time it's accidental anyway. Geralt can't keep still with hands on his cock and sliding down his thighs and he pushes back against him in the moment.

A couple of times he grunts out a stunted I want- or I need- but he never finishes what he's trying to say. The urgency just increases, spreading liquid heat through his entire body and Geralt is helpless to do anything but squirm in Jaskier's lap and take whatever is given to him. He reaches back behind him, curling his arm around the back of Jaskier's neck and pushing his fingers into his hair. Jaskier tips his head, nuzzling against Geralt's temple.

"Geralt," he breathes, "this isn't helping, is it?" Geralt doesn't respond, but Jaskier knows anyway. "You could fuck me." His voice is steady, not revealing any hint of fear or hesitation and the thought rips through Geralt in a rush of lust. But he can't, as much as he might want to. He can't control himself like this and the last thing he wants to do is hurt Jaskier while he's just trying to help. He can't.

"What do you need, Geralt?"

Geralt shuts his eyes and drops his chin against his chest. He doesn't want to say it because he knows it's not how he's supposed to be; he should be the strong one, the dominant one. But he can feel the swell of Jaskier's cock against him and he wants it so badly that he knows it can't just be the spell.

"You can trust me, darling." Jaskier's wrist gives a flick at the head of his cock and Geralt whimpers at the friction. "Tell me what you need."

Jaskier leans in, kissing his neck and Geralt knows it's intended as a comfort but he can't help but lean into it. He doesn't want to give in, not like this but he's too far gone now to make it to town and he probably couldn't find someone to help him in this state anyway. And there will already be repercussions for what they've done, so maybe he should-

The hand he has fisted in Jaskier's hair tightens and he tips his head down, forcibly ignoring the sharp intake of breath from Jaskier as he does. He tugs Jaskier down close enough that he can feel his breath against his cheek.

"Fuck me," he whispers, just loud enough for Jaskier to hear. And Jaskier hesitates long enough that Geralt tries to pull away from him, but Jaskier doesn't let him. He pulls Geralt toward him, laying him down on his back and coming around to sit next to him. He runs his hand up Geralt's thigh and further to curl around his cock, stroking him slowly again.

But it's still not enough and when Jaskier pulls away to undress, Geralt gets a hand around himself, working himself quick and hard despite the lack of relief it gives him. When Jaskier returns to him, he bats his hand out of the way and positions himself between his legs. Geralt holds his breath but Jaskier doesn't care about anything other than getting him through this and if Geralt was in his right mind he would be incredibly grateful for it.

Jaskier doesn't waste any time getting the oil and as soon as his fingers are slick, he presses back between Geralt's cheeks. The first press is cold and unfamiliar, but Jaskier rubs against him, presses just firmly enough to push through the muscle, and Geralt's body adjusts. As Jaskier presses further, Geralt drops his head back against the dirt, giving up any pretense of watching what's happening. The burning need hasn't subsided at all, but Jaskier's fingers feel incredible, sliding around his rim and pressing into him. When he pushes a second digit into him, Geralt finds his body is quite receptive.

It feels... good, like all of Jaskier's touches feel good, but this is different in a way he can't quite explain. He feels open and exposed but it doesn't feel wrong like he expected, he likes it, and he's fairly certain that isn't an effect of the spell. Jaskier takes his time, working precisely and never neglecting Geralt's cock long enough for the need to overwhelm him. He doesn't give Geralt long to adjust to the third finger before he starts moving and Geralt understands, but he wants more and he wants it now. Jaskier crawls up over him, leaning against his chest as his fingers work slowly in and out.

"Is this okay?" he asks and Geralt nods, his eyes slipping shut as Jaskier pushes deeper. "Fuck, do you like that?" He sounds so breathless and Geralt just groans as another wave of lust rolls over him, but Jaskier gets the idea. He doesn't wait any longer, slicking his cock with oil and pressing up against him.

As Jaskier pushes into him, Geralt is aware of nothing but Jaskier’s cock and the way it opens him up as Jaskier presses closer. He looks up once to see him but Jaskier is oblivious. He's got his eyes clenched shut, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth and o a regular day, the sight would be enough for Geralt to get off to - even without feeling him as well.

When he finally sheaths himself, Jaskier pulls Geralt's hips up, holding them steady as he slowly withdraws and presses in again. He's being cautious, but right now Geralt doesn't need kindness and patience, and he hauls Jaskier down over him, shoving his hips back with a growl.

"Fuck me," he snarls, and Jaskier does. It takes him a little bit to adjust to the fact that he's not going to hurt him and that what Geralt needs right now is to be fucked ruthlessly, but he gets it.

And gods, Geralt is barely conscious, floating somewhere between ecstasy and pain, but Jaskier is very good at what he does. Geralt thinks vaguely that he understands why so many people risk their marriages and more to have the bard in their bed. He moans and whines under him, arching off the ground and groping at whatever part of Jaskier's body he can reach to hold on to. Blunt nails dig into Jaskier's shoulders and he'll feel bad about it later, but Jaskier doesn't even flinch, driving himself deeper and switching up the position so Geralt feels like he's choking on his cock.

Geralt's hair is plastered to his face, his body shudders with every thrust, yet it burns for more and Jaskier never once lets up. When Geralt desperate, meekly, asks him to fuck him harder, he does without so much as a second thought, leaning over to brush his hair back and press hot kisses into his throat. Geralt feels like he's going to combust before he ever gets through this, but Jaskier is calm and his touch is Geralt's only respite.

He moves with him, keeping Jaskier inside him as much as he can and he squeezes around him. He can tell the second his orgasm starts building and he wraps his legs around Jaskier instinctively, hauling him down against him. His cock is trapped between them and Geralt thrusts erratically, all sense of timing gone as Jaskier's cock slams into him, sending him over the edge.

He comes with a cry, arching up against Jaskier's body and grinding against him. It's barely satisfying, but the burning need retreats and Geralt is left sweaty and panting in the dirt. His body is dead weight, sinking into the ground and he knows he shouldn't want this, shouldn't let himself linger, but Jaskier is warm against his cooling skin and he can't bring himself to move.

But, he realizes, Jaskier never came. And while he may be doing this to help Geralt, it's hardly fair that he's left unsatisfied for his troubles. Especially considering Geralt wouldn't blame him if he wanted to leave for good after this. The least he can do is send him off happy.

He shifts, winding his arms around Jaskier's waist and slowly sliding his hands down to cup his ass. Jaskier exhales a shaky breath, his hips following the motion set for them. His arms shake and he leans down, resting on his elbows so his nose is barely an inch from Geralt's.

"Relax now, you don't have to do anything for me."

Geralt frowns as he meets his eyes. "You didn't come." Jaskier doesn't respond, but the faint blush that rises in his cheeks tells Geralt that he did and Geralt finds that, despite everything, he’s sorry he missed that. "Oh."

Jaskier disentangles himself quickly after that and Geralt regrets making things awkward. Not that this was ever a comfortable situation, but he'll remember Jaskier's hands on him for many nights to come. He lets his arms fall to his sides, exhausted, and watches as, above him, Jaskier rises to his feet and walks away. There was no other option, he tells himself, and Jaskier offered, but without the screaming urgency burning through his skin he doesn't feel the same conviction he did earlier.

He should get up and help Jaskier get his things together, then ride into town in case this gods awful thing flares up again. But he doesn't get further than sitting up before Jaskier returns, tutting at him and wrapping a blanket around him. He settles behind him, leaning against a tree trunk and pulls Geralt up between his thighs, brushing his hair back out of his face.

"You're not leaving?" Geralt asks and Jaskier stiffens against him, just for a second.

"Of course not. What kind of friend would I be to leave you like this?" Oh. He hadn't considered an outcome where Jaskier wasn't disgusted. That... changes things.

"It might come back," Geralt manages, half-ashamed, half-hopeful that Jaskier is genuine in his offer to stay.

"And if it does," Jaskier breathes, "I'm here."

#geraskier #geralt x jaskier #jaskier x geralt #fuck or die #rex writes #The witcher #and now #i'm off to play video games #bc this took AN HOUR to post #plus editing time #bc i am a disaster #oop

498 notes · View notes

rai-wick · 3 years

Text

Gally x Reader Chapter 19: Answers (3)

WARNING

THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS STEAMY SCENES.

YOU ARE WARNED

___________________________________

Y/N'S P.O.V

"And his hair is ugly"Gally muttered as he ran his fingers through my hair.

"Wait, is this Newt or Thomas?"He thought it over before replying.

"Both"

"Oh Gally"I giggled as there was a knock on my door. I opened it and saw Minho standing there. I leaned against the doorway as we exchanged greetings.

"I'm taking Thomas to the room so come and meet us there"

"Got it" I waved bye, closing the door when I felt strong arms wrap around my waist and Gally's husky voice whisper in my ear.

"Do you have to go?" I faced him, slipping my arms around his neck"I miss you building with me"

"I'm sorry hun, running is my main task now" He pouted making me giggle at his adorable face"I'll see you later" I kissed him softly before opening the back door.He smiled back before leaving. I grabbed my harness and knife before running to the runner's cabin.

~A FEW MOMENTS LATER~

"It's the maze. All of it" I crossed my arms, leaning against a beam.

"What do you mean 'All of it'? I thought you guys were still mapping it" Thomas looked at us in confusion.

"There's nothing left to map" Minho sighed "I've run every inch of it myself, every cycle, every pattern. If there was a way out, we would have found it"He hung his head, his hands holding the edge of the table.

"Why haven't you told anyone this?"

"It was Alby's call" I walked around to Thomas"People needed to believe we had a chance of getting out. But maybe now..... We have a real chance" I smiled softly at him as Minho handed him the device we found.

"Take a look at this"Minho leaned down"About a year ago, we started exploring these outer sections. We found these numbers printed on the walls. Sections 1 through 8"He pointed them out to Thomas"See, the way it works, is every night, when the maze changes, a new section is open"

"So today, Section 6 was open"I continued"Tomorrow, it will be 2 then 8 then 3. The pattern always stays the same."Thomas stared down at the device, his hand running over the glowing number 7.

"What's so special about 7?"

"We don't know"Minho stood straight" But last night, when you killed that Griever, section 7 was open. I think it must be where it comes from. Tomorrow ______, you and I are going to take a closer look"I patted his back as Jeff and Clint come running.

"Hey!"I instantly moved to cover the table as Minho did the same.

"What are you guys doing? You're not allowed in here"

"Sorry, it's just the...."

"It's the girl"

"Is she awake?"Thomas asked.

"You could say that"We followed them to where all the Gladers were. Chuck was standing a bit away from the rest of them.

"Chuck, what's going on?"

"Girls are awesome"He glanced at me before pointing to the watch tower, grinning. We saw rocks being hurled at the Gladers and we ran over.

"Leave me alone!"

"Watch your head!"

"Hey! you throw one more of those things...."Gally yelled up at her and she threw one down at him. I took a plank of wood and pulled him under, grinning.

"Don't. Those hurt"I chuckled as he scowled.

"Go away!" She yelled.

"We come in peace"

"What happened?"I asked Newt.

"Just duck"Winston replied.

"I don't think she likes us very much"

"You think?"I shook my head at Newt as more rocks fell our way.

"What do you want from me?"

"We just wanna talk"Thomas yelled up to her.

"I'm warning you!"

"Take cover! Take cover"I grabbed Thomas as a particularly big rock fell his way. "Tommy tell her you're here" I urged him and he nodded, Gally frowning at my nickname for Thomas.

"Hey! It's Thomas! It's Thomas!"The rocks stopped and we cautiously put down our shields. Her face peered over and I shoved Thomas to move. He began to climb as her face disappeared. Gally stared as we watched the nest.

"What's going on up there?"Newt yelled. Thomas appeared, holding a machete.

"Just give us a second, ok?"

"Alright"I yelled back"Come on you lot"

"Is this what all girls are like?"Frypan said and I shoved him as we turned back.

"Come on Gally"I tugged his arm.

"That girl is crazy"He muttered as we walked back. We headed to the campsite next to the river. I sat down next to Newt as Gally paced, glaring up at the nest.

"Gally give it a rest, eh?"

"Why is it that ever since those two came here, things have gone wrong?"

"You're being negative, what if it's a good thing?"I sighed. Deep down, I knew that nothing was ever going to be the same again. I knew that girl was the one called Teresa, I remembered her, but what was she doing here? It hurt my head as visions flashed through my mind.

"_____!"I turned to see Gally and Newt staring at me.

"I need a walk"I stood up and headed towards the Med cabin"Hey guys"I said to Clint and Jeff as I walked in. I sat down to the shaking Alby"Is he any better?"I softly whispered. Clint shook his head and I wiped the sweat from Alby's face as Newt came in, holding 2 vials with blue liquid in them, followed by Thomas and Teresa. I saw her look at me with curiosity but I concentrated on what Newt was saying.

"We don't even know what this stuff is. We don't know who sent it. Or why it came up here with you" He said, gesturing briefly to Teresa"For all we know, this thing could kill him"

"He's already dying Newt"I spoke quietly"Look at him. How could this possibly be any worse"

"Come on, it's worth a try"Thomas urged.

"Alright. Do it"He handed the vial to Thomas. Thomas took the vial and went over to Alby as I stood next to Newt.

"Okay"Thomas looked back at us, his hand hovering over Alby's chest. Alby's eyes opened and he grabbed Thomas by his shirt.

"You shouldn't be here!"He exclaimed"You shouldn't be here"We rushed over, Newt pulling Alby back and I yanked Thomas away from him.

"Watch out"I held down one of Alby's arms and Newt had the other.

"Thomas get the syringe! Let go"I panted, struggling. Teresa stabbed the syringe into Alby's arm and he went out cold.

"Well, that worked"Jeff said as we panted.

"Okay from now on, someone stays here and watches him around the clock"Newt ordered. We all nodded as Gally came.

"Hey"He briefly met my eyes"Sundown, Greenie. Time to go"Thomas left with him as I turned to Newt.

"I'll take the first shift"

"That's kind of you, but you need to rest _____. You've been on your feet for a few days now, besides Teresa needs your help"I nodded at Newt and left followed by Teresa. As we quietly made our way to our cabin, I saw her stare at the figures of Gally and Thomas.

"Hey"I nudged her softly"Are you alright?"

"Yeah"She looked down at her hands"He hates me and Thomas doesn't he?"

"I can't say you two are his favourites"I sighed"He'll get used to you, he's hostile to Greenies all the time. That's just Gally"I held back a grin as we arrived "This is us"I opened the door and let Teresa in. I began to set up her hammock as she looked around.

"Just the two of us?"

"Yep, all the boys are over in Homestead"

"That's good"

"There"I finished the hammock"This is your bed"

"Thank you"She said quietly, sitting down"Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead"

"I didn't just see Thomas in my memories, you were there too. Why is that? How come I remember you but not anyone else apart from Thomas?"

"I'm not sure"I admitted"When you came, I remembered you too but everything comes back to me in parts so it's hard to piece it together. However, I know now that you are here, things are are going change. For better I hope"We laid down, the lamp casting shadows around the room.

"Does this feeling of loneliness and despair go away?"I sat up and faced her as she sighed.

"If you have good friends who have your back, like you do"I gave her a small smile which she returned.

"Thank you _____"

Gally's P.O.V

I was sitting staring at the stars when I heard someone climb up the watch tower"Hey handsome"A voice whispered behind me. I looked back to see ______ and I held an arm out to her. She sat down in my lap, my arms wrapped tightly around her, a thin blanket draped over us. We sat, watching the stars however a question itched at my mind.

"Since when did Thomas become Tommy?" I muttered into her ear making her chuckle.

"Since he is my friend"

"I hope he knows that"

"Believe me, his interests lie elsewhere" She smiled at my confusion. I shrugged and pecked the side of her neck with kisses making her shiver. I had missed her and desperately needed her. I knew she could feel what I wanted because my hand was rubbing small circles on her inner thigh making her whisper "Gally.....", my teeth grazing her skin.

"Mmm?" I mumbled "Do you want me to stop?" Her arousal was evident as I licked her burning skin.

"I....uhh...." She drifted off mid sentence as my other hand tugged and twisted her nipple.

"You don't know how tormenting it was, watching that shirt cling to your sexy figure" My tone was deep with lust "I just want to take you then and there in the Glade"

"Take me now" She moaned as my hand slipped inside her trousers, stroking her clit.

"Beg me"

"Take me now right here in the Glade, please Captain Gally" That was enough for me and I laid her on her back. She pulled me close, her lips on mine. She tugged at my shirt which I instantly ripped off. To my surprise she flipped us over, straddling my waist. She traced a line down my hardened chest to my trousers. She rubbed the large bulge in my pants making me roll my eyes back and let out a deep groan.

"Don't tease me babe"

"But it's alright for you to do it?" She whispered in my ear, biting down softly on my earlobe"It's payback time love" She sat directly on top of my bulge and grinded, my member hardening as I let out a low grunt. She kissed me again, our tongues battling for dominance.

"I think my trousers are about to burst" I groaned, feeling her soaked clit above my bulge.

"I guess we're even then" She smirked, sitting up.

"My turn" I flipped us once more, tearing off her clothes. She shivered at the coldness of the wind as it hit her naked body. I gazed at her"I can never get over your beauty, baby girl" I muttered. She rewarded me for my sweet words by pulling down my trousers and stroking my member. I let out a deep exhale as I unloaded some of the bearing in my member onto her hand.

"I can't hold back for much longer"I growled before shoving my member deep inside her. She gasped, barely having time to adjust before I pounded into her. She loudly moaned and I instantly covered her mouth with my hand.

"I hate to say this, but not so loud gorgeous" I whispered, smiling as her moans vibrated in my hand. I buried my head in her neck, her hands running through my hair, turning me on even more.

"I'm so...so close....." She gasped.

"Do it baby girl" I pulled out as ____ came and I released all over her stomach. I panted and rolled onto my back. She cleaned herself with her vest as I pulled up my trousers. I pulled her close, cuddling under the blanket. She laid her head on my chest and I twirled the ends of her hair.

"Gally?"

"Yes beautiful?"

"How am I to get down in this state?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

#the maze runner #gally imagine #gally x reader #gally imagines #maze runner gally #gally masterlist #newt maze runner #thomas maze runner #maze runner minho

33 notes · View notes

dreamescapeswriting · 4 years

Text

Lights, Camera, Action! ~ JHS [M] [Request]

↬↬↬Word Count: 2.4K

↬↬↬Genre: Smut, Porn star AU, smut, filthy smut

↬↬↬Pairing: PornStar!Hoseok x Fem!Reader x Another girl

↬↬↬Warnings: Describes threesomes, contains smut (obviously it’s smut) strong language and explicit descriptions, Sub!Reader, Dom!Hoseok, Dom!Reader for girl, squirting, fingering, jealously, filming.

↬↬↬A/n: I feel like I need to work on my smut, I feel like it’s really bad :/

You weren't an idiot you knew what your boyfriend was and what he did for a living, he was a pornstar and it didn't really bother you that much like people said it should. People assumed you should be this overly jealous and protective girlfriend because he was always fucking everyone else when in reality he only worked with one other porn star and she was one of the sweetest girls in the world. Seo Chi and she was the kindest person in the entire world, she was always bringing in coffee and doughnuts for you and sometimes the camera crew if they were there to film but it was mostly Hoseok who did the filming, and she had always been nice to you.

"Morning Y/n, sleep well last night?" She teased as she walked into the small studio that you and Hoseok worked from, he was the man doing all of the action but you were his personal assistant behind the scenes so you were in charge of making sure everything happened on time and meetings were supposed to happen when they were supposed to.

"Just perfect." You giggled looking at her and smirking, the day before you and her had come up with a plan to make Hoseok jealous throughout the day. It started with small things like her complimenting your appearance whenever you walked past them, then it lead to her hugging you and touching your lower back where Hoseok loved to have his hands. Then it lead to him walking into the studio to see Chi spread out on the bed while you ate her out holding eye contact with Hoseok as he watched from the door frame. You'd done this many of times before but for some reason, it just really riled Hoseok up yesterday and it ended up in him taking you home and punishing you for fucking with someone else, you didn't think you'd be able to sit that day. Jealous sex was always the best kind of sex for you and Hobi, the way he growled into your ear and the way he thrust into you relentlessly.

"What's on the schedule for today?" She asked sitting in front of you and sliding you a coffee cup, you opened up the journal and shook your head.

"Nothing for you, just Hoseok has some editing to do in his office." She nodded smirking a little when she heard the usual bell above the office door to alert when someone was entering the rooms.

"Morning Hobi." You both greeted in unison looking over at him with a smile, he smiled back greeting you with a lingering kiss before going into his office which was direct across from yours.

"I'm going to get some breakfast, you coming?" You looked at Chi who was raising her eyebrow at you and you shook your head telling her you had a bunch of paperwork to do, she left and you looked down at your papers trying not to get distracted by the way Hobi looked that day. He was dressed in all black which he knew made you weak for him and he was currently sitting at his desk and spinning a pen between your fingers which again made you needy for him, it was unknown why but you had just always found his hands attractive and the way he did things with them.

"Feel needy?" You almost jumped out of your skin when you heard Chi speak to you, your legs clamped shut and she smirked knowing what was going through your head.

"Go to the bathroom, take off your panties and come back." She whispered in your ear putting down her jacket and watching you leave the office space to do as she had told you.

When you came back into the room the chairs in front of your desk were moved and she'd placed another one besides yours at your computer screen.

"Sit," She smirked up at you patting your chair and you sat down going to cross your legs but she stopped you, spreading your thighs just a little so that Hobi would see your exposed core if he looked up at all.

"What are you doing?" You questioned but she winked at you leaving one of her hands on your thigh while you both started to casually talk.

After a while you forgot that her hand was even there and that you were exposed for anyone to see when you felt her fingers slowly start to trace shapes into your exposed skin, you let out a whimper and she smirked to herself knowing that Hoseok was watching.

"Don't look but he's watching." One of her fingers began rubbing your clit in small circles and you held eye contact with her as she smirked at you.

"You're fucking drenched, have you been thinking about him all morning?" You nodded not being able to finger the words and she halted her motions on your clit making you whine out,

"Use your words."

"Yes. I've been thinking of him since he walked through the door." She nodded and resumed her patterns only this time she slowly added a finger into your entrance and she began to slowly pump her fingers in and out of you forcing small moans to fall from your lips so she moved closer to you kissing down your neck and sucking on the skin that was exposed to her.

"C-Chi." You whimpered looking over at Hoseok who was now rubbing himself through his trousers she forced you to look down at her as she added another finger inside of you picking up the pace of her finger and getting into the rhythm of it. Your hands stretched out to find something to cling onto only finding the desk which wasn't good for gripping,

"Fuck Chi." You moaned a little louder and it only encouraged her as she felt you clenching around her fingers, you were desperate to cum but you knew she wasn't just going to finger you. You watched as she dropped down under the desk and pushed your legs further apart,

"Look at him while I eat you out." She ordered in an authoritative tone, you whimpered looking over at Hoseok who was watching you with hooded eyes as he rubbed his cock in his office. He'd been watching the entire display since it started and he was starting to get needy for you both, in all of the time he'd known you none of you had had sex together it was always separate and he didn't know if it was something you'd want. Your legs began to shake once you felt her tongue lapping over your sensitive bud and you were a mess so close to your release and her fingers were angling just the right way to hit that spot that made you see the stars,

"C-Chi I'm so fucking close." You panted looking down at her for a second before back up at Hoseok who was sweating and biting down on his lip, you could tell by the way his hands were slowing that he was close as well.

"Let it go, baby," She mumbled against your clit sending vibrations through your body as she hit your spot with her fingers sending you over the edge and into an orgasm that had you crying out her name and holding onto her hair to keep her close to your pussy. Hoseok grunted your name as he came into his hand after watching Chi make you cum like that, he was always pleasuring you but seeing someone else make you whimper like that was sending shivers up and down his spine.

"Shit." You whimpered looking down at her as she came back up to kiss you, you both began making out when she pushed all the papers off your desk and laid you down on it ripping the buttons from your shirt. Both of you were so lost in the heated and heavy makeout sessions you hadn't noticed Hoseok coming into the room with a camera in his hand.

"Fuck look at you two hmm?" You smirked up at the camera as he pointed it down at you and then you looked at Chi who was now naked in front of you.

"Mmm, I want you Hobi." You begged rubbing your breasts as you stared up at the camera and then to Chi who seemed a little hurt,

"I want you both." They both exchanged looks before nodding to one another, it wasn't something that they would deny since they'd both thought about it a lot.

You switched places with Chi laying her down on the table so her head was hanging just off the edge while you dropped down in front of pussy smirking over at Hoseok who was still holding the camera and recording all of it.

"Fuck her throat raw Hobi." You smirked at him and you could see him getting harder at the thought of it, he was already sensitive from cumming once already so it was going to be a challenge for him to keep up with you both.

"You ready Chi?" She hissed as you ran your fingers up and down her folds suddenly taking charge of the situation and you giggled knowing she hated to be teased like this.

"Just fucking-" She was cut shut when Hoseok thrust into her mouth groaning at the warmth of her mouth around his member and Chi let out a moan around him as she could taste his cum from before.

"Such a good girl." You giggled at her and she moaned out once again as you added two fingers into her curling them in just the way she had taught you she liked she was a mess under you and Hoseok and Hobi angled the camera so it would catch what you were doing. You began licking her clit with small kitten licks while she worked on Hoseok taking him all the way into her mouth before playing with his balls he was groaning out struggling to keep the camera steady as he caught all of it.

"Ugh God," He grunted looking over at you as you added a third finger into Chi and making her clench around you and you could feel her pulsating which meant she was close.

"You wanna cum?" You asked slowly your fingers down only to pick the pace back up again when she nodded around Hoseok.

"Yeah?" You asked thrusting your fingers a little rougher this time and she pulled away from Hoseok not expecting the sudden motion to come from you and she cried out your name looking at Hoseok as she felt a familiar pressure building up and Hoseok knew that look. They used it in their movies,

"Baby you might want to step back," You smirked knowing what she was going to do but you kept pumping your fingers in and out of her faster and faster with a little more pressure each time until she came around your fingers letting her juices gush out and onto your face and on the floor as she scratched her nails down Hoseok's arms who was grunting as he got it all on camera. The mere sight of Chi squirting was enough to make him cum on spot but he'd kept himself from cumming wanting nothing more than to finish inside of you.

"That was so fucking hot." You whispered and Hoseok placed the camera on a filing cabinet pulling you into his arms and kissing you, he didn't care that you were covered in juices, in fact, it turned him on more.

"Hobi no more teasing." You begged and he put you down on the floor getting you onto all fours and smirking from behind you,

"What do you want baby? Beg for it." He was pushing his lip in and out of your entrance making you clench around nothing as you body ached for him,

"Just fuck me Hobi!" You begged and his hand rested on your waist as he thrust deeply into you kissing down your spine as you arched your back for him. He grunted as he felt every inch of you around him, clenching around him tightly as you let out whines of pleasure.

"F-Faster Hobi." He grunted not knowing if he would be able to hold out that long when Chi slid underneath you to start sucking on your clit while he fucked into you, the sight alone was making him edge closer and he moaned out as he felt you clenching more.

"You like this baby?" He began to increase his pace as you let out moans of their names gripping onto the carpet beneath as you as you felt your orgasm approaching faster.

"You like me fucking into you while Chi sucks on you pretty little clit?" You nodded not being able to form words thanks to the euphoria you were feeling and he moaned out as you pushed your hips back into him wanting to feel him deeper. The feeling of having Chi suck on your bud while he fucked into you was intense and it was making your head spin.

"I'm going to cum." You whimpered disappointed that the pleasure was coming to an end and Hoseok angled his hips to hit that exact spot that made you cry out his name.

"Cum baby." Chi mumbled against your clit and you whimpered gripping onto the carpet trying to keep yourself steady as you came around Hoseok, your legs shook as he grunted thrusting into you as he fucked you through his orgasm pulling out and groaning out when he saw Chi cleaning you up with her mouth.

You all laid in silence for a couple of seconds before Hoseok finally spoke,

"D-Do we ever talk about it again?" You moved over to snuggle into his chest and smiled,

"Please. I want to do that again." Chi looked up at you and then to Hoseok to see if he would be okay with that and he nodded.

"I'd like to as well, just not yet. Fuck I think I'm all fucked out for the week." He grunted looking over at Chi who was laughing along with him.

"I hope not, you have something to film and edit later in the week." You mumbled and Hoseok just chuckled pointing over at the camera.

"Might have to introduce our new star." He whispered in your ear making you blush at the thought of it and he kissed your cheek lovingly.

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @chimchims-stories-and-tales @fan-ati--c @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @callingmyangel @btsiguess-kpop @rjsmochii

163 notes · View notes

frostsinth · 4 years

Text

A Line in the Sand - Pt. 1

A commission for the lovely @ivymemnoch, a continuation of her Monster Match Devaraj the reptilian monster, which you can find HERE.

Ok, so I love Devaraj, and I think he’s a dorky-dork who doesn’t realize quite how dorky or large he is. I hope you guys like him too! Keep an eye out for more adventures between him and his new “ambassador”.

Want your own Monster Match? DM me for commission prices/wait times. Check out my MasterList for more stories. And otherwise, just keep on keeping on!

He finally fell silent, and I stared at him. Dumbfounded. My mouth opened and closed uselessly a few times, and he waited patiently. I tried to wrap my head around my swirling thoughts, but found it obscured by more fog than the steam that filled the sauna.

“I… I don’t even know your name!” I protested finally, and was surprised to find I was actually considering his offer seriously.

His toothy grin returned. “My name is Devaraj. Shall we be on our way?”

....

I stood quietly to the side, shifting anxiously from foot to foot. The main door opened, and I hastened a glance over, pulling his scarf to further obscure my face. But it was just another patron, stumbling about drunkenly. I watched as he paused, looking about as if trying to orient himself, then staggered towards us.

I slid a little closer to the horse’s side, ducking my head as the drunkard passed us by towards his own mount. Calling as little attention to myself as possible. Devaraj took little notice of him, simply adjusting the saddle and straps as he readied for departure. I wished he would hurry; he moved with such languid calm, whereas I couldn’t seem to sit still. It was almost frustrating. While I had to admit the dark orange scarf he had wrapped about my head and neck before our departure from his private room did seem to keep all but the most curious eyes from me, the old bath house was still crawling with guards. And they were only getting more agitated as time snaked on.

I shifted again, my eyes darting about for perhaps the hundredth time in the past ten minutes, before returning my attention to his mount. His horse was huge, a practical colossus that dwarfed both of us and was likely much more suited to field work that long distance travel. The big gelding snorted repeatedly, tossing his head and flicking his tail at me each time I moved. As if he hadn’t made up his mind yet about me. Suddenly, I heard a THUNK of something heavy being dropped and spun, hands up defensively, to find the staggering drunk.

“Hey!” Cried the man in surprise, having skidded to a halt and now staring slack jawed at my new companion. “What in the nine hells??”

He had dropped the saddle he had been fetching in his surprise, and glanced down at it stupidly. Yellow eyes turned to consider him, long red tongue flicking out. The man’s own eyes widened even more, and I saw him draw a breath.

“Here you are, sir!” I exclaimed quickly, darting around and gathering up the saddle before he could make any more fuss and draw unwanted attention to the stables. “You seem to have dropped this!” Carefully, I spun him about, which despite his larger bulk was easy considering the amount of liquor wafting off him.

“Dats a damn-” He started to say, peeking over his shoulder.

“A damn fine night!” I interrupted, clapping his shoulder. Guiding him over to the stall he had initially approached when he had first passed us before realizing he was missing a key component to his departure. “Don’t let us keep you from enjoying it!”

He looked down at me, blinking stupidly. I noticed a small pouch at his belt, and my hands itched. The familiar tinge of excitement nipped at my gut. As he shook his head in disbelief, he staggered. I caught him roughly, as if with great difficulty, and used the opportunity to relieve him of the little coin he had left. The light and quick experience of my nimble fingers meant he didn’t even notice the exchange. Chances are he wouldn’t until late tomorrow, if he ever did. I tucked the pouch into my own clothes, hoisting him back up.

“Strangest thing…” He mumbled as I helped him right himself.

I steadied him, helping him take a final step and drop the saddle on the gate. Worried he might still raise an alarm. But he rubbed at his face and heaved a sigh. Seeming to have already forgotten the scaled man behind us. I sent a silent prayer for the blessing that alcohol stupor was for me at that moment to whatever deity might be listening.

“Come, hotblood.” Devaraj’s thick voice carried easily through the drafty barn, and I patted the man on the back one last time. He seemed content to stay put, leaning over the railing. Breathing deeply with sweat on his brow.

I glanced about warily again as I skirted over to the reptilian man, but no one else seemed to be paying us any mind. He mounted the big barrel chested gelding with a light, bounding leap, tail slapping into place behind him on the beast’s rump. The horse shifted and tossed his head with a snort and started forward almost before his master had fully settled. I wondered how hard it would be to keep pace with the gelding, and readied myself for a long night. It was as good a way as any to make my escape unnoticed. I briefly contemplated how long I would have to keep up pretenses before giving him the slip...

A gasp escaped my mouth as I suddenly found myself snatched from the ground as the big horse trotted past. I had been so distracted with my cautious search I hadn’t fully noticed their approach. And I had certainly not expected the scaled man to be able to so easily scoop me off the ground. I wriggled in the air only briefly before I was plopped into the space in front of him on the saddle. My face flushed hot as I found myself pressed to his chest again, my shoulder against his sternum, and swallowed hard in an attempt to dampen my suddenly dry mouth. At least this time he had a little more clothing on, I told myself.

Odd clothing at that. Less suited to the chaotic weather patterns of the region and more to a place of hot sun and long days, which only raised more questions about him. His tawny colored tunic was rough, woven loosely into a light and breathable material. It sagged low at the collar, reaching almost all the way to his navel (if he’d had a navel; I suddenly couldn’t recall the smooth, soft plated scales of his abdomen being interrupted by any such nub). His top was sleeveless, and the arms unhemmed, but he had thrown a long, ripped grey cloak about his shoulders upon our exit. It smelled of sand, and was not so long to hide his thick tail which still stuck out the bottom. His trousers were darker, thicker, with worn leather patches inside the thighs to ease the rub of long days in the saddle. They came to just below the arch of his hips, accommodating the head of his long tail, but he had another dark ruddy orange cloth that wrapped around his hips multiple times.

He took up the reins with both hands now and spun us about, his big, bare arms encompassing me and further obscuring me from view as he spurred his mount on out of the dark lit yard. There was a shout from somewhere behind us, and my heart leapt into my throat to keep company the lump forming there. But a few breaths later, with no sounds of pursuit, I started to relax. And finally had a moment to fully assess my own situation

My seat was precarious at best, and the jostling, springy gait of the large horse had me bouncing up and down irregularly. I wasn’t used to riding, let alone sideways with both legs hanging off the same direction, and gripped the horn of the saddle so tightly my knuckles looked bone white. Despite my best efforts, I still found myself sliding down.

“Easy there, hotblood.” Came that thick voice, and his arm hooked around me. Yanking me back into place. “I would hate to pay severance on your first day if Nur accidentally trampled you.”

I was surprised to find his tone sounded… cheery. Perhaps even teasing. I chanced a glance up at him, and his yellow eye flicked down to meet me over his scaled cheek.

“Nur?” I echoed, sounding a little dumbstruck.

Devaraj neatly tucked one scaly arm around my waist, pulling me closer to him as he passed the reins to that hand. I stiffened as he leaned over me, his torso coming ever closer. Now freed, his opposite hand came around and patted the bulky side of his mount.

“That would be this old bloke here.” He explained before leaning back and passing the reins back to that hand. “He didn’t have a name when I purchased him, and hasn’t objected to this one as of yet.” He shifted in the saddle, and I drew in a tight breath as he rolled his shoulders back. He settled his arm in a casual, relaxed embrace around me, and used his thick legs to steer the big horse along the pitted road. “I suppose you come with your own name, yes? Though if not I would be pleased to select one for you as well.” He reached up with his free hand, tapping one claw on his long chin. “I think ‘Sera’, for you.”

“I already have a name.” I shot back, a little irritated.

What did he think I was? Some sort of pet? I shifted in place, but despite the unease I felt at his touch, I couldn’t help but admit that his arm around me steadied me, and I no longer slipped and slid about. I begrudgingly settled, deciding I was grateful to ride along. Though I hoped we would be procuring a second horse soon. Not that it mattered, I reminded myself. I would be leaving his company as soon as I was able.

“Hmm? Oh. That’s disappointing. I thought ‘Sera’ would be lovely as a name.” He did actually sound disappointed and his chest hissed as he gave a deep sigh. “What shall I call you instead then, hmm?”

“... It doesn’t matter.” I reconciled softly after a moment, suddenly feeling strangely exposed. As if giving him my name made it all real. It also occurred to me I couldn’t remember the last time someone had even asked me my name. “You can call me ‘Sera’ if you’d like.”

I peeked through the gap between his elbow and chest, but the sauna and the town beyond was already almost out of sight. All I could see was the fading, bobbing light of the lanterns in its yard. And those too were already quite small. Like fireflies, though it was far too chilly a night for them.

“As you wish.” He replied, nodding his chin lightly. “I think the name ‘Sera’ fits you well. It is a respectful title in my home tongue.” His mouth hissed pronouncedly around the ‘s’ of the name and I almost shivered as the sound hit my ear.

“And where is that?”

“Hmm?”

“Home.” I clarified, looking down at my hands. Trying to ignore the proximity of his broad chest currently brushing against my shoulder.

“Ahh, yes.” He shifted in his seat again, and the hairs on the back of my neck raised as I sensed his fierce eyes settle on me. “I am from Kaoru, a city in the desert you humans call Sandfall.” He tilted his big head to the side. “And you?”

I stiffened, swallowing hard again. “I am from… nowhere.”

“Nowhere?” He echoed. “What an odd name. Is that a city, or a village?”

“No, I mean-” I stopped short, looking up at him to see his yellow eyes gleaming. Realizing belatedly he was teasing me. I glanced back at my hands, face flushing.

“So, no-name Sera from nowhere,” He continued on as the heavy hooves of the horse thumped rhythmically beneath us, sounding amused, “I never did ask what brought you to my room this evening. What made you a fugitive to your own people?” His horned head cocked to the side as I tensed again. “May I assume it has something to do with the coin you relieved that reveler of at the stables?”

My head ached as the blood flushing my cheeks suddenly rushed from my face. My mouth dropped open uselessly and I started to sputter some semblance of response. I stopped after a few attempts, realizing I was getting nowhere. The realization of my guilt, and his knowledge of it, spurned me to silence. I felt cold and clammy with fear, and wondered if he was actually a bounty hunter. I doubted my petty crimes had raised the ire of any town enough to lay a bounty on my head, but it made everything else click together in place. I tried not to move too much as I evaluated the best possible manner of a more immediate escape.

“It is not my business what you did before I employed you.” He intoned after a few restless minutes of riding, and the back of my neck tingled with a cool breeze of relief and suspicion. “However, you will need to desist such actions in the future. It would not do the reputation of my people any good if each place I visit suddenly finds themselves bereft of their valuables.” His sharp yellow eyes flicked down to me briefly before returning to the road. “Certainly the humans would assume the crime mine before yours, given the choice between us. And much besides,” He steered the gelding to the left at a fork in the road, “I am paying you now, and attending to your needs. You should have no need to pursue such a course anymore.”

I didn’t have an answer for that right away, and swallowed heartily. I still considered trying to slip beneath his arm and slide off the horse. I was certain I could escape in the woods and be far on my way before he could even hope to dismount and pursue me. But I wasn’t entirely sure such a dismount from the high back of Nur would leave me on my feet. And I didn’t fancy spending a cold night in the woods without supplies, nor any idea of where I was headed.

“Aren’t you afraid I will steal from you?” I finally asked, my voice soft.

There was a deep rumbling in his chest by my ear, and it took me a few moments to realize he was chuckling. “You could certainly try, I suppose. It would be amusing.” I jumped as his clawed hand came up, gently tugging his scarf from around my head. It slipped easily loose, and my freed hair tumbled about my shoulders. “However, what is mine is now yours. So in essence you would only be stealing from yourself.” I watched him curl the scarf loosely around his neck and give a pleased little grunt as he seemed to settle himself into it. “I assume you see the logic in my reasoning that you would not bother with such an attempt.”

I looked down at my hands, unsure how to respond to that. A million different doubting questions ran through my mind. It took me more time than I cared to admit to realize that he was offering me his trust. Unbidden, unearned. Just handing it to me… I wasn’t sure I believed it would come so freely. Trust was never that easily given. I wondered how far we were from the next nearest village...

“I must say, I am already quite pleased with our arrangement.” He continued, long tongue darting out. “I would usually be forced to make camp by now, due to the temperature of the night. But with your warm body against mine-” His arm around me flexed to emphasize his point, “-I find myself much more wakeful and energetic.” His thin nostrils flared slightly. “I also find I enjoy your scent.”

“Umm… y-your welcome?” I offered, uncertain how else to reply. “... I’m not sure what you mean though…”

His chuckle returned. “Our natural body temperature runs much cooler than yours.” He explained. “We depend on external sources of heat, such as the sun, to keep us warm enough to do everything we need. Move about, digest our meals, and so on. Usually nights here are too cool for me to continue to function.” He curled himself tighter around me, and I stiffened as I felt his chin rest on my head. I could feel the soft underside of his neck through the hair there. “But with you here, I feel very alive. I could stay up all night.”

He gave a soft hiss that reverberated through his body without ever sounding like it left his mouth. It tickled at my eardrum and threatened to send a shiver down my spine. Instead, I shifted, and felt him move to accommodate me while simultaneously pulling me even closer. It made it hard to believe his motives were purely my warmth; I tried to wriggle myself loose, but he merely shifted again and tightened his arm around me.

“D-don’t you need to sleep?” I stammered, wondering not for the first time that evening exactly what I had gotten myself into.

“Not much,” He replied, “An hour here, an hour there.” He finally curled his head back, looking down at me with those fierce yellow eyes of his. “Humans require more, I believe. Your circadian rhythms demand you sleep for most of the darkest hours. Which I find strange, since you can obviously continue to function throughout them if you so choose.”

“Our what?” I wriggled again, trying to put more space between us. And nearly falling off the horse in the process.

His arm quickly tightened, catching me before I plummeted backwards head first. “Your circadian rhythm.” He repeated, righting me without comment but resuming his mold to my body. “The internal process that regulates your sleep-wake cycle. Do not fear, I shall make an effort to respect yours. But please be sure to let me know if I seem to stray from this commitment.” His great horned head cocked to the side. “I am not as familiar with humans as I would like to be.”

As I would like to be? I echoed in my head, trying not to outwardly show my panic at his words.

“Since we are on the topic,” I said, breathlessly as my heart settled from my near fall, “May I ask… what exactly you even are?”

His chuckle was replaced by a loud, deep laugh that rattled my bones as it rippled through his chest against my shoulder. “What good fun you are, Sera. I am most pleased. You know you are the first human to ever ask me? At least directly.” He bared his sharp teeth in another ‘grin’, and I swallowed nervously. “Most just, how is it you say? ‘Beat around the bush’. It is quite irregular and short sighted.” He pulled me tighter to himself, settling his chin on the top of my head again. “We call ourselves the Nessiim. I believe I have heard some of your own calling me a “lizard man”, or, alternatively, “dragonkin”. I am not certain why, as I have seen many lizards and do not believe I bear much resemblance to them. I have not yet the fortune of meeting a dragon, though I believe the similarities would remain few.” He fell silent for a moment, and I chanced a glance up at him. His features seemed drawn, his scaly lips pinched together, his brow scrunched.

“I-I am sorry if I upset you with the question…” I stammered. And surprised to find I meant that.

He shook his head. “Not in the least, Sera.” His lips curled back to reveal his sharp teeth again, though only a hint this time. “I enjoy your curiosity. I am afraid I was merely a bit… bogged down in reminiscing the unfortunate use of these words as… well, how shall I put it?” His long tongue flicked out as he thought it over. “Unfavorable, I suppose. Spoken as an insult.” Devaraj straightened his shoulders, his long lips twitching slightly. “However, it is of no concern! The Nessiim are unknown in these parts! It is simply a matter of being misunderstood, I am certain.”

I hesitated, glancing at the road ahead. Or at least, what I could make out of it. Nur and the scaled man at my back seemed unhindered by the dark, and we plodded along steadily. But perhaps not so easily as I had originally concluded. A sudden dip in the road had the big horse staggering to catch his over-sized hooves, and I jolted in surprise, my hands knocked from the horn. My arms came up instinctively, and I wrapped them around Devaraj’s neck as I began to fall out of the saddle again.

I needn’t have bothered, of course. His arm quickly compensated for the sudden shift, wrapping about my middle and pulling me up. But as I simultaneously hoisted myself backwards by way of my arms about his neck, his saving movement brought me to sit with the front of our torso’s pressed flat together, my thigh pinned to his hips. And our faces mere inches apart.

His intense yellow eyes met mine, visible despite the only light coming from the moon broken between branches, and his snout so close I could feel his breath on my cheeks. I froze, suddenly captivated. They were unlike any eyes I had ever seen before. The sunny color filled them from edge to edge, and was flecked with jagged streaks of gold surrounding black slitted irises. He seemed equally surprised as I was, holding my gaze. I couldn’t read his expression well, as whatever similarly humanoid facial features he had were obscured by thick mottled green scales. But after the initial shock wore off, I decided he looked… curious. No, more than that. Intrigued. Perhaps… interested.

“Ah… S-sorry.” I breathed, my voice light.

For once, he seemed to have no answer, and simply gave a tiny nod. His long tongue darted out, probably instinctually, and I started slightly as its forked tip brushed the end of my nose. That broke me from whatever trance those sunny gold eyes held me in, and I instantly felt my cheeks set back to their hot blaze. The very corner of his elongated mouth twitched, and he cocked his horned head to the side.

“Perhaps we should take this as a sign to make camp for the night.”

I cleared my throat, nodding my fervent agreement. He turned Nur easily as I settled back into my original position in front of him, leading us off the road. A few yards past there was a small clearing between the trees, and he pulled up the big gelding with a soft click of his tongue. Nur gave a great huffing snort that I felt myself rise and fall with, and Devaraj gracefully swung out of the saddle behind me. I didn’t have time to access how to manage my own descent before I found his hands at my waist. Plucking me gracefully from the saddle even as a little squeak escaped me.

Placing me back on my feet, he paused, and our eyes locked again. I swallowed, moving to take a step back. His eyes studied me for a breath longer, then he placed a heavy, clawed hand on the top of my head. Scruffing my hair back and forth.

“Come. I have but one bedroll at the moment, but I am happy to share it.”

I pushed his hand away, taking another step back. “I-I don’t think that would be appropriate, sir.”

He cocked his head to the side, obviously a little surprised by my hesitance. “Devaraj is fine, Sera. And I thought I had already clarified my intent for your employment?”

I coughed, turning and beginning fumbling to undo the straps to free his camping gear. “I-I just don’t-”

“It is cold, though perhaps not as much to you.” He mused, interrupting me. I stiffened as he came up behind me, reaching past my own arms to pluck the now freed gear from Nur’s back. “I would prefer to lay at your side to borrow your warmth. However, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.” He walked over to a nearby tree, quickly spreading out the canvass covering to drape over the cleared patch of ground beneath and securing it tightly. “You may use my sleeping roll. I can lay alongside Nur.” He chucked, setting up the aforementioned roll with a flick of his wrists. “It would not be the first time. Though I do not find his scent as pleasing as yours.”

I slowly undid Nur’s saddle after hobbling him, wiping one hand down his broad flank. “Th-thank you…”

He nodded, then offered me his tooth filled grin. “I do not wish you to be uncomfortable. Please, be certain to tell me if I overstep.” His head cocked to the side again as he considered me. “It seems Nessiim and human culture are different in some respects.”

I set the saddle on an old log framing the small clearing he had led us to. He moved off, patting the horse fondly with his back to me. I watched his long tail sway as he moved, watched his tongue flick out and the way his broad shoulders flexed beneath the patchy grey cloak. Alright then, I thought to myself. That seemed more respectable… Though I couldn’t suppress the stab of guilt at taking his bed roll. I slowly moved over to it, crawling under the makeshift tent.

“Are you hungry, Sera?” He asked, glancing over at me. When I shook my head, he nodded. “Then I wish you pleasant dreams, yes? In the morning we shall discuss our route.”

I pulled the blanket about my shoulders, looking over at him hesitantly. “You never did tell me what it is you do, sir.”

“Devaraj.” He reminded me. “Or, if you wish, you may call me ‘shri’. It is like your ‘sir’, but less… Hmmm,” He thought that over, tapping one claw to his pointy chin, “Less formal, I suppose. Though still respectful.” He raised one scaly brow at me. “I still would prefer you call me Devaraj, but understand if you wish to maintain a more professional relationship.”

I felt my cheeks flush again, and brushed one hand back over my head. “Ah, yes,... shri.” The word was a little strange on my tongue, but if that was his preference, I was determined to learn it. “You never did tell me-”

“All a good discussion for the first rays, yes?” He interrupted, waving his hand. “Rest assured, it is legitimate and profitable. But we can discuss it more tomorrow.” He leaned against the gelding’s flank, who huffed at the intrusion to his own perusal of the sparse vegetation around our tiny camp. “I am already beginning to feel sluggish from the evening air and should endeavor to conserve myself.”

I hesitated, but settled down into the bed roll at his words. Though I was unable to resist a final peek at him as I did. He didn’t seem to notice, and settled against the roots of the tree nearby. Nur wandered closer, and he took the draft horse’s head between clawed hands gently. The big gelding gave another gentle huff, nosing his companion. He didn’t linger long, soon wandering back off.

I tried to sleep, tossing and turning a few times as slowly and carefully as I could to not disturb my new employer. But I kept checking to see what the scaled man was doing. As I watched, he seemed to slowly curl tighter and tighter into himself. His cloak wrapped about him, his head to his chest. At first I thought he intended to sleep in this manner. Another stab of guilt hit me as I realized he must be cold. His eyes seemed a bit glazed, his breathing oddly slow. It certainly wasn’t a horribly chilled evening, but if what he said was true…

“Umm… shri?” I called softly, and instantly stiffened as a delayed breath later his yellow eyes flicked to me. “I… I would…” I hesitated, then sat up a little. “I haven’t slept in the woods before… would you come lay with me? I would feel safer…”

He shifted slowly, his motions sluggish. “It isss alright, Sssera.” He mumbled, his thick voice hissing with drowsiness, his lips barely moving. “You do not need to-”

“I-I’m not!” I said quickly, then wondered if he could smell a lie with that long red tongue of his. “I really would… if you are comfortable with it too…”

Slowly, he rolled to his feet, then heavy footed, staggered over to me. I scooched to the side as he crawled in. I felt him falter, as if uncertain, his yellow eyes looking me up and down. I lifted the corner of the blanket, offering it to him. He gave a deep, hissing sigh of relief, easing himself into the roll beside me. His arms came up, tenderly wrapping around me. Pulling me close to the soft scales of his torso and burying me in the scent of sand. I stiffened, swallowing hard. I wasn’t sure what I had expected when I had invited the man into the bed, and kicked myself for being so foolish. I shivered briefly. He was cool to the touch after the warmth of the blankets. But within mere moments I felt the adjustment.

“... Thank you, Sssera. It isss kind of you.” He murmured against the top of my head. “I… I do not like to be ssso immobile…” He sighed again, pulling me a little closer. “You are very warm.”

“You don’t need…ah... it is your bedroll after all…. B-but this is just for tonight.” I mumbled against him, breathing in his soft scent. It reminded me of sunshine and hot summer days. “We’ll figure out another arrangement for tomorrow.” If I’m still here. I added softly to myself. Though laying tucked against him... well, it didn’t really seem all that bad, if I was being honest. I had certainly slept in worse places... with worse company.

I felt him shift, coiling into a ball around me. Enveloping me in his body, so close I could feel the slow thrum of his heart against my fingertips on his chest. We lay still and quiet like that for a long time. His breathing deepened, but when I snuck a glance up, his eyes were still half open. Long tongue darting out now and then. I wondered if he was falling asleep; or perhaps Nessiim slept with their eyes open? I recalled what he had said about only needing a few hours. Though he seemed in a trance, unmoving save for the deep, thick breaths that filled the tent like a forge’s bellows. It was warm in the bedroll, and despite my trepidation, I slowly felt myself grow heavy. Sinking into a deep sleep...

...

UPDATE: Part two HERE

#monster x human #monster lover #monster boyfriend #lizardman #reptile boyfriend #lizardman boyfriend #lizardman lover #terato #exophilia #slow burn #soft fluff #A Line in the Sand

97 notes · View notes

zhuilingyizhen · 4 years

Text

mdzs juniors // modern looks

trousers? idk her.

Lan Jingyi

being the fashion diva he is, you know he takes great care of himself. his hair is always really soft and he has a skincare routine he follows religiously.

the ends of his hair (which is still v. long, bc i need ponytail ljy, but he cuts it sometimes) are dyed blue, and he wears his hair in a ponytail.

only his right ear is pierced at first, but he gets the other one pierced too so he can wear long dangly earrings.

jingyi’s fashion taste is definitely the most out there, compared to the other juniors. he prefers dresses over skirts (but likes both of em), and hates jean shorts but likes jeans.

he wears a lot of light blues, and l e a t h e r

(not neccessarily together though. he has a black leather jacket he wears with red)

go-to outfit is a white tee or crop top paired with high-waisted jeans. probably wears checkered vans or something, but also likes leather boots. despises heels.

he also likes ripped jeans & graphic shirts, but can and will enjoy wearing a cropped tank top with a short skirt.

loves experimenting with makeup and nails, especially doing up his eyes

eyeliner!!!!!!

sometimes he goes out wearing a hot dog costume just to hurt jin ling. oyzz thinks it’s both the worst and best thing ever. lsz is facepalming so hard rn...

(but he loves them. most of the time.)

Ouyang Zizhen

cropped hoodies. jl thinks they’re an abomination.

go-to outfit is a short-ish brown-beige hoodie with a plaid skirt.

wears the most jewelry!!

a jade necklace lsz gave him on his 16th birthday. emerald earrings jl gave him. (ljy got him a 5-year book subscription to this one book box company).

he also has a flower hairpiece his sister gifted to him. his hair’s just long enough to tie up in a bun

smells like ginger lilies. it’s the perfume.

the ends of his hair are dyed this bluish-green?? idk how to describe it but if you’re on tumblr you probably know what i mean.

wears very cutesy stuff, but hates overly tight clothing (only cause it’s not comfortable for him, if you wanna wear clothing like that, go for it!)

will wear yoga pants, but never black on black bc he likes color.

has really soft clothing. probably the most diverse in texture of clothing.

changes the color of his nails like every other week. fools around with them a lot, and is pretty good at them now.

pastels!! flowy clothing!!

everything has to be matching. he has like five different phone-cases (they were on sale) to match certain outfits.

randomly has this galaxy cat shirt that he adores.

sometimes wears color-changing contacts for fun, or to match an outfit.

sometimes wears concealer, but not much more makeup than that. special occasions call for eyeshadow!! absolutely rocks a smokey eye.

ugh he’s just so soft

Lan Sizhui

sometimes will wear cropped tops, but only with a blazer/cardigan.

hates collared shirts with a passion. is forced to wear them anyways.

not as fashionable as oyzz & ljy. as a child be basically wore the same outfit in different colors everyday.

really likes floral patterns!!

kpop idol hairstyle. it’s like that short messy-but-not-really kinda way.

puts on clear nail polish. he and oyzz do nails together once or twice a month.

a lot of blues, greys, and whites.

wears vampire sleeves?? idk how to explain it. they’re like... poofy but elegant.

skinny jeans!! he likes the dark blue ones.

turtlenecks!!

likes lacy clothing! or just lace in general. he thinks it’s pretty.

in place of headbands, he and ljy have these woven cloth bracelets they wear almost 24/7.

wore a white dress once and the other juniors almost died,, it was amazing on him

doesn’t wear any facial makeup (once almost stabbed himself in the eye with a eyeliner pencil, has never recovered)

likes wearing flats.

has this one cross earring hat he wears on his right ear, to really complete the soft bad boi/idol look.

has this white flowy button-up that he adores. wears it all the time, with black yoga pants or dark blue jeans!

Jin Ling

the most floofy, oversized clothing. will bury himself in a comfy sweatshirt or hoodie and never leave.

surprisingly the only one of them who likes heels, cause they make him taller.

longer hair than oyzz, but shorter than ljy’s. wears it in a ponytail, with bangs framing his face (kinda like jzx’s hairstyle)

when he isn’t wearing a hoodie or sweatshirt, he’ll steal Jingyi’s beloved black leather jacket. Jingyi doesn’t really mind, bc he lives for jl dressing up.

the outfits ljy makes jl try on are scary.

will wear dresses and doesn’t give a fuck about what anyone has to say about it.

has a thing for ribbons. idk why-

not a fan of plaid or patterns in general. however (unrelated), he will wear eyeliner/mascara on special occasions.

oyzz gifted him a lotus fragrance. he has no idea what to do with it though.

sometimes wears pink lip gloss.

he wears a lot of yellow, blue, purple, white, and sometimes pink. refuses to wear red, but sometimes is forced to.

jean shorts during the summer!! the one season where he can’t wear hoodies/sweatshirts.

once ljy forced him into this denim overalls-skirt thing. very cute.

sneakers & boots.

comfort > fashion

sometimes he’ll be in the mood to dress up (ljy’s favorite days) and actually put an effort into looking nice. the others melt.

#mdzs #ouyang zizhen #jin ling #lan sizhui #lan jingyi #mdzs juniors #mdzs headcanons #the untamed #hcs #outfits #fashion #modern au #junior quartet #addy rants #about shit she doesn't know about #:)

41 notes · View notes

klaumiel · 3 years

Text

You are all I’ve got ,Damien.//Chapter 8: First date

It was a middle of the night, I got woken up by noises outside. Every Friday night my neighbour

use to have parties until early mornings. Usually, that wouldn’t bother me, but that night something else brought me out from my sleep. Like for the last few nights Damien’s arm was around me, he held my hand every night, he wouldn’t fall asleep if I wasn’t next to him and as soon as I moved he would wake up and check if I’m around only then he could go back to sleep. But that night was different, what really woke me up was his hand squashing mine very hard I could feel my fingers getting numb, his hands were shaking, heart pounding in his chest right next to my ear, his breath was fast and deep, his chest and face were wet from sweat.

I carefully released my hand from his, to don’t wake him up suddenly. Moved myself closer to him and gently placed my hand on his cheek, but before my hand reached his face, he jumped up with the scream, he was terrified.

‘Maya?!’ he said with a terrified voice, desperately waving his arms looking for me.

‘Shhh… I’m here’ I sat up next to him rubbing his shoulder. He quickly wrapped his arms around me and pulled me closer. I squeezed him tight, making sure he knows I’m there with him. His heart still beating fast ‘It was just a nightmare… It’s OK’ I said, rubbing his back, trying to calm him down. His muscles were so tense, and his embrace was strong, a little bit too strong. I placed a small kiss on his neck, pulling his head closer to me, he buried it in my hair, trying to calm his breath. I knew that asking him what happened is the worse that I could do. We sat in silence on the bed for a good few minutes.

‘I am sorry baby’ he whispered with his face still buried in my hair, his voice was breaking.

‘It’s OK… just relax’ I said gently scratching the back of his neck ‘just try to relax.’

I looked at the clock it was three in the morning, I could hear loud music from the house next door. I had so many thought in my head, I knew it is going to be hard for him, after everything he went through, all the horror he saw in prison. Being alone for seven years, with nobody to properly talk to, nobody who could show him at least a bit of warmth and love. Just left by himself after losing his father, everyday thinking about death.

I remembered our afternoon in town and recalled all the moments, how uncomfortable he felt in the shopping mall, holding my hand all the time, scanning everything and everyone, avoiding any eye contact with everyone who wasn't me.

Only after going through all these moments, I understood how stressful that must’ve been for him, how much he was trying to hide it, for me to feel good. I started to feel horrible, how did I let that happened? I should’ve known. We should’ve taken it slow, one place at the time.

A few minutes later, he slowly let go from the strong embrace, I cupped his face rubbing his cheeks with my thumbs ‘ Damien, I am here for you. No matter how hard it will be, you have me. You can talk to me, I won’t judge you … I can only imagine how hard it is for you … but we will get through this, I promise ‘ I said, his expression softened.

‘You are a real angel, baby. I would die if I’ve ever lost you’ he said softly resting his forehead on mine ‘Yesterday was a bit stressful, I didn’t realise until we walked into the mall. It was so crowded … I … I felt like everyone was looking at me like everyone knew my past like everyone knew I just came out of prison… like there were all judging me. I know it’s not true, but still...’ he said, looking away.

‘Honey, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have taken you there so soon. It was very selfish of me … I should’ve asked you first.’

‘Maya, stop blaming yourself again. Is not your fault… I shouldn’t be such a coward.’

‘Damien, you are not a coward. You just came out of prison, and you are trying to adapt back to everyday life. It takes courage to take that step, you’ve been through hell and yet here you are. With me, being the most precious and loving man I ever knew. You just need a little help to get back on track… and for that you have me… we will take it slow.’

‘Thank you’ he whispered

‘If you want you can stay here today, I will go to dad’s party by myself. I won’t be long. They will understand.’

‘No!... I mean… no, it’s fine I will go, as long as you are there I will be fine’ he said, grabbing my hand.

I nodded with a smile. At this moment it was clear to me, he didn’t want to be alone. Anywhere but not alone.

We laid back, Damien put his head on my chest, holding my hand.

‘Try to relax’ I said, interlocking his fingers with mine, stroking his head to help him relax.

He fell asleep very quickly, I stayed awake just in case if he needed me again.

We were getting ready to go to my dad’s birthday party. I decided to ask Shaun to come over to pick up the cake and take it with him, but this was just an excuse. I wanted Damien to meet him first before everyone else, so it would be easier for him later on.

‘Could you help me with the zip’ I asked ‘ I love this dress but is a complete pain to zip up.’

‘I course’ Damien smiled, turning to me, he moved my hair to one side and zipped my dress ‘You look so beautiful in purple.’ He smiled, looking at me in the mirror.

‘And you look smoking hot’ I smiled, turning myself to face him, I took a step back and looked at him ‘Damn boy!’ I said, fanning myself with my hand. He looked amazing in a tight patterned light blue shirt, neatly tucked in his dark blue jeans, two buttons were undone, showing just the right amount of skin to make me feel warm inside. His hair with usual fringe, only he could pull a fringe like that.

‘Is it ok? I don’t want to look like I am trying too much’ He asked, putting the belt on.

‘It’s perfect’ I smiled, but inside I just wanted to rip all those clothes off, suddenly the doorbell rang. I took Damien’s hand ‘Are you ok?’ I asked

‘Yes,’ he smiled and kissed the tip of my nose.

I ran downstairs and opened the door.

‘Sista!’ Shaun smiled from ear to ear, Angel was standing next to him. She looked even more beautiful than the first time we met.

‘Get it you...’ I said hugging him ‘ Hi Angel, how are you doing girl’ I smiled and hugged her.

‘Do you have coffee?’ Shaun asked, entering the kitchen.

‘Yes, there is some left in the machine, help yourself’ I said gesturing Angel to go ahead ‘ Mi casa es su casa’ I smiled

She looked around the living room ‘You have a beautiful house, very homey’ she smiled

‘Thank you, I try’ I saw Damien coming down the stairs, I could see that he felt uncomfortable, but I let him do it the way he wanted it. I smiled at him reassuringly.

‘Hi, I am Angel… lovely to meet you. Damien right?’ I felt relieved when she approached him first and pulled her hand to greet him. She was so sweet.

‘Hi, Angel … Nice to meet you too’ Damien smiled and shook her hand, Phew, one down.

‘Damien!’ Shaun shouted from the kitchen, put the mug with the coffee down and approached us ‘ So good to finally see you in the flesh… I’m Shaun, her better version’ he laughed, pointed at me, and embraced Damien patting him in the back.

‘You wish’ I laughed

‘Nice to meet you Shaun’ he smiled, returning the embrace, he looked more relaxed already. I knew that Shaun would make met a lot easier for him.

‘Now... Maya, bad news’ Shaun said, grabbing his mug.

‘What happened?’ I asked a bit worried

‘Unexpected guest arrived this morning for dad’s birthday ‘ he said, sitting down on the sofa next to Damien. ‘ Uncle Rob’

‘Are you kidding me?! What does he want?... this guy has balls to show up like this’ I was furious, uncle Rob was my dad’s younger brother who’s the best qualities were insulting everyone any chance he had.

‘Apparently, he couldn’t miss his brother’s birthday, well, but most likely he needs money again. Mum said that his lover kicked him out, and he has nowhere to go.’

‘I am guessing she kicked him out for cheating?’

‘Well, obviously … what I am trying to say is...’Shaun turned to Damien ‘ he can be a bit of a dick sometimes, he loves insulting people and… Maya is his favourite target, but as you probably already know she is a tough cookie, so they usually argue.’

‘ I just hate sexists, and he is a dick! If you trying to tell me to keep my cool, you can forget it… ‘

‘Maya, dad will be there to handle it, I am just trying to warn Angel and Damien… just ignore him.’

‘Don’t worry about me, it takes a lot for me to lose my shit, prison is the best place to test your patience and teach you to deal with dickheads. He can say what he wants about me, but if what Maya is saying is true, he better watches his tongue. I hate when someone talks shit about women, mostly the ones close to me.’ Damien said, looking at me with this soft loving glance.

‘Bro, I can tell you already that dad will like you … it’s like hearing him. Exactly the same words, ’ Shaun smiled, I could see a relieve in Damien’s eyes. He was anxious about meeting my dad, mostly because of his profession.

‘Listen, I don't want to kick you out but time is running, mum is probably waiting for this cake’ I said

‘You are right, she is all stressed out already. Meeting both Damien and Angel the same day. You know her she wants everything to be perfect…we better get going sweetie’ Shaun smiled at Angel extending his arm to help her get up. ‘See you there soon.’

Once the door closed after them, I turned to Damien and smiled.

‘I am fine baby’ he smiled before I managed to even open my mouth.

During the drive I told him about my family, all the small details that I missed before, he asked me a lot of question, I knew he wanted to impress them. He insisted on stopping by the florist and buy my mum flowers, he also insisted on me to wait in the car.

We arrived at my parent's when I turned off the engine I saw Damien getting anxious, rubbing his hands on his trousers taking deep breaths. I’ve put my hand on his and squeezed gently.

‘Just say it, and we will go back, whenever you feel is enough, just tell me.’ I said

He took a deep breath ‘ Let’s go, I can already smell the barbeque’ He smiled and opened the before we managed to approach the house my mum jumped out with a massive smile on her face.

‘Oh my god, look at you! ‘ She ran and kissed my cheeks and turned to Damien ‘ Welcome sweetheart, it’s lovely to see you here. I am so happy that everything worked well’ she smiled

‘Is good to meet you, Mrs Clark’ he said, passing her the biggest bouquet of lilies that I think she ever received.

‘ Oh, stop it! Call me Alicia… I hate all these formalities, make me feel old ‘ she laughed and kissed his cheek.’ Come on, come in, you two.’ She wrapped her arm around Damien and squeezed gently, resting her head on his arm for a second. I knew she would welcome him like that, but for some reason seeing it I felt so good. But can he handle so much love at once? Wasn’t that too much?

We walked to the garden where my dad and Shaun already discussed their opinions about how to handle the grill.

‘Shaun put oil on these burgers. Do you want your lady to eat charcoal?!’

‘Richard!’ My mum called him, he turned and smiled when he saw us.

‘Sweet muffin! Look at you so pretty!’ He kissed my head, he looked at Damien who tried to hide his nerves. ‘ And you must be Damien… ‘ he said, turning to him.

‘Yes, it is good to meet you, Sir’ Damien pulled his hand towards my dad, who grabbed it firmly and pulled him towards him and embraced him. My dad wasn’t a lot taller than him but was definitely bigger and stronger ‘ Welcome in the family, son… I am glad you are here in one piece.’ I could hear my dad saying to him. I wasn’t expecting my dad to react like this.

‘Don’t call me Sir again, I’m Rick’ he laughed patting him on the arm ‘ Come with us, lets the ladies have their gossip, and us men deal with what is important… food, looks like my son seems to have a problem with handling the grill’. Damien looked at me when my dad pulled him towards the barbeque, I nodded with the smile, he looked like he didn’t expect such a warm welcome.

I decided to leave them be and join Mum and Angel on the swing for a little bit of chat.

‘Hello, ladies’ I said and sat on the swing opposite them poring myself a bit of sangria.’ And uncle?’ I asked, not seeing him anywhere.

‘He decided to go and buy better alcohol, he doesn't like what we have, he prefers cheap beer ‘ Mum said unimpressed, she hated uncle Rob he was always a liability for Dad when his parents died, never helped my dad looking after their little sister. He never appreciated anything my dad did for him only asked for more. ‘ And how is he ?’ Mum asked, pointing at Damien.

‘It’s been only a few days, but he is doing well, slowly we will get there’ I said looking at him having and conversation with my dad.

‘Maya, what are you not telling me?’ She knows, of course, she knows.

‘It’s nothing mum, I’m sure this is normal but … he is having nightmares. Yesterday I took him to the mall, and I thought it was okay, but last night he told me it was too much to handle… I feel so horrible, I should’ve known’ I said, lowering my voice.

Angel sat next to me ‘He will be like this at the beginning, it’s normal. You just need to pick up his pace and be there for him. A lot of ex-prisoners suffer from trauma, but as soon as they get help and support the easier will get. He seems to be doing ok, he is stressed that’s understandable, but he doesn't look like he is troubled … you are worrying too much, he will be fine … actually … he is laughing at Shaun’s jokes …that’s not normal’ she laughed.

‘Oh my, Shaun’s dad jokes’ I rolled my eyes.

‘The point is sweetheart, by worrying so much you crate the problem. Just see what happens, take it day by day as it goes’ Mum smiled at me ‘ I am delighted that you two are finally together, he looks like a good man. Like someone who will look after you and always respect you, and that’s what we all looking for.’

Suddenly I saw my uncle entering the garden with the crate of cheap beer

‘I just hope that Dad will handle him today’ I said quietly to Mum

‘Me too sweetie, me too’ she said

My uncle was tall and skinny, the complete opposite of my dad’s appearance. His hair as always in a messy bun always looking like a cheap rock star, with that stupid smile on his face.

‘Oh! Who we have here!? Two new faces! ‘ He shouted, approaching Damien. I got up ready for the confrontation, they greeted each other when I approached, uncle turned to me ‘Maya, look at you, looking better than last time we saw each other’ he said turning back to Damien not even waiting for my response ‘ be careful with this one mate, she can be difficult, always have something to say when not asked .’ He laughed, but nobody else did.

‘At least I have something constructive to say, not just insults’ I said already boiling inside.

‘Yeah sure… and where is your bird Shaun is she hiding from me?... shy one huh? I know I have that effect on women’ He spotted Angel talking to mum ‘ Holy shit boy, that’s a fine chick… you did well’ I could see Shaun losing his shit, dropping the spatula and taking a step towards uncle, my dad stopped him with his arm also fuming.

‘Rob! You’ve been here three minutes and managed to insult my daughter and Angel. You are not in the pub. Behave or get the fuck out of here! I will not tolerate this in my house, you are talking about my daughter, so mind your fucking tongue! …’

‘Chill brother I was just messing around’ he, said, grabbing a beer and walking off.

Damien rubbed my shoulder smiling at me ‘ Burgers are ready baby, you said you were hungry’ he said, passing me the plate.

‘Let’s all sit down and eat’ My dad said, taking the rest of the food to the table.

After dinner we all relaxing, my uncle was already drunk. We were all waiting for the bomb to drop.

‘So Damien… do you have any ideas on what you want to do now? Any plans?’ My dad asked, pouring him another beer.

‘Well, yeah… I had plenty of time to think. I have a few ideas, but we will see. First I need to find a job and then start making plans’ He said a little nervous but definitely a lot more confident than before.

‘Any job in particular?’ Mum asked

‘I would like to find something in the kitchen, for a start. I know that nobody will hire me without proper education plus with past like mine will be more challenging, but I would like to be a professional chef.’

‘So no fixing bikes?’ Shaun asked

‘No, this is my old life. The past, my dream always was to be a chef in my own restaurant or own my own food truck. My pop use to push me to go to gastronomy school, but back then priorities were different, business was more important than my education.’

‘Well, I have a perfect place for you to start’ my mum smiled ‘ my friend owns a restaurant in town and is currently looking for a station chef, his current employee is opening his own business and is leaving in a couple of weeks. The place is a few minutes from you, also as far as I remember he is offering training and some kind of scholarship in his school. Is this something you would be interested in ?’ she asked

‘I don’t know what to say… well yes that’s exactly what I am looking for … I think… I didn’t have a chance to do any research about what do I really need. I was more prepared to wash the dishes from the start, to be honest.’

‘ I will give Leon a call tomorrow morning and give him your phone number, you can always go for a test day and see how you feel with it. Leon is a lovely man, very patient and collective, and I know that he will like you.’ My mum smiled

‘Thank you, Mrs Clark’ Damien smiled and looked at me, his eyes were sparkling with happiness.

‘Alicia!’ She shot him an angry glance and smiled right after

‘Alicia, thank you, Alicia… I am really grateful’ he said a little embarrassed but happy.

Uncle Rob let a loud burp and pointed his finger at mum ‘Are you seriously sending him to this henpecked idiot? He lets a woman run his restaurant… Pathetic… He is going to teach the poor chap the wrong things…’

‘Says someone who is playing away from home every chance he gets and treats his women like garbage ’ I said angrily

‘If a woman doesn’t obey needs to be put in her place, and is not your fucking business what I am doing!’ he raised his voice, looking at me aggressively, Damien clenched his fist under the table, he was about to say something, but I’ve put my hand on his to stop him. He immediately relaxed, and we both looked and my dad who got up from his chair with an angry expression.

‘I had enough of you bullshit Rob! You are not going to speak to my daughter and my wife this way! Get the fuck out of here right now, or I will get rid of you myself! You show up without any explanation like to your own house with the attitude and insulting everyone… I don’t want you here… get the fuck out!’ My dad approached him and lifted by his shirt, pushing him towards the door. We could hear them arguing by the front door.

‘I am so sorry you had to see this, he wasn’t invited’ my mum said a little embarrassed.

‘Shaun warned us beforehand, so we were kind of prepared, and you shouldn't apologise is not your fault’ Angel said calmly

‘It’s all done mum…let’s just enjoy the rest of the evening’ rubbed her shoulders.

We spent the rest of the evening talking and laughing in a family-like atmosphere.

My parents announced that they are going on an extended holiday around Europe to have some alone time. Damien was a lot more relaxed, he got along with Shaun and Dad very well. It was a relief to see him happy, enjoying himself with the family.

Next day I woke up alone, Damien wasn’t in bed. I looked at the clock it was 1pm, we came back very late the night before so I wasn’t surprised that we slept late. I got up and walked downstairs expecting Damien to be there, but it was too quiet, I didn’t hear him. Instead of him on the kitchen table, I found a massive box of pink roses and lilies beautifully decorated. He remembered I loved pink lilies!

Next to the box was a note. I instantly recognized his handwriting, I told him how much I liked it when he showed me a notebook with his poems the other day. I picked up the note and a huge smile built on my face.

‘’The blaze of sunshine touches my face,

As I woke up with your thoughts, I can’t erase

And then outside the window the view I start to gaze ;

Tryin’ to solve the mystery as complex as a maze

How is it that you are real?

My dreams never created something like you.

I still have to pinch myself, because I’m amazed you are true.

Be ready at 3pm :) ‘’

I stood in the dining room with a massive smile on my face, unable to believe my luck.

How a man who went through so much horror in his life can have so much love in him, so much sweetness and kindness? And how is it possible that I love him every day more and more… how much more it could be?

I got ready and sat in the living room, waiting for Damien. It was a hot summer day, I had no idea what he was planning.

Suddenly I heard a loud noise outside the house, I picked up my bag and run to the door.

I saw Damien climbing off the motorbike taking off his helmet, he looked at me with a smile running his hand through his hair. He talked with my dad the night before about buying it, I didn’t think he would do it the next morning. This man doesn't stop to surprise me.

I ran to him, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing deeply, he smelt so good. His fresh citrusy cologne mixed with the smell of hot engine and leather, giving him this sexy sharpness.

‘Thank you for the flowers… and the beautiful poem’ I smiled when finally pulled from the kiss.

‘Better get used to it … this is just a starter …’ he said with a cocky smirk running his fingers on the small of my back.’ How do you like my beast?’ He asked, patting the seat of the bike.

‘ I love it …you look very sexy with it.’

‘Are you ready for our first date?’ he asked

‘Date?! … You didn’t tell me … I am not wearing proper clothes for a date.’ I said, pointing at myself just in shorts and a blacktop.

‘You look perfect… just grab a jacket might get a bit blowy …and It’s at least an hour ride.’ I smiled, and I ran back to the house to grab a leather jacket.

‘Where are we going?’ I asked

‘Surprise’ he smiled, passing me a helmet, and sitting on the bike. I sat behind in and wrapped my arms around him ‘Comfortable?’ He asked, rubbing my leg with his hand.

I nodded and held on him tight when he started the engine, and moments later were on the road. The familiar feeling of freedom filled me, the speed, wind, adrenaline all this reminded me of the times when I was riding with my Dad, but this time felt different, better. I could feel Damien’s heart pounding under my arms wrapped around him. Only then I understood how much he loved it, why he spoke with so much passion about it, he missed it and finally after all this time he had it back.

After a long drive on the hideaway we turned to the unmarked rough, woodland road, from a distance I could see the sea. At the end of the woods was a small road, wide enough only for the bike, that led to the small beach. We stopped next to the rocks, I took off my helmet and instantly smelled the freshness of the sea.

‘Is this…?’ I asked looking around

‘Yes… this is the beach I told you about’ Damien said extending his arm for me, I took his hand, he led me through a small bit of sand towards the small cave, big enough to shelter from the intense sun.

‘Damien, this place is beautiful ‘ I said looking around, the beach was really small and cosy. Completely separated from the rest of the coast with small cliffs around it, absolutely magical.

‘I thought that you might like it’ he smiled ‘ I got everything prepared’ he added unpacking the bags that he took from behind the rocks.

‘Did you come here already today?’

‘Yes, I brought everything before coming for you … it’s a date after all… I thought this will better than a fancy restaurant, I know, you are not a fan of fancy places’ he said, placing the blanket in the shadow.

‘Honey, you have no idea how much I love it here, I take this million times over any fancy restaurant.’

‘I know…’ he said gently grabbing my hand ‘ Come here’ he said, pointing at the blanket and pulling me towards him‘ I brought some food, drinks and wine’ he laid everything down.

‘Well, I didn’t bring my swimsuit, so I hope nobody will see me here … but I am not going to sit here in these clothes’ I smiled taking off my shirt, boots and shorts.

‘I didn’t want to give away the surprise, I got you a swimsuit’ he smiled passing me a small bag.

‘You really thought everything trough didn’t you?’ I smiled undoing my bra, he shot me a mischievous glance.

‘You know what, I changed my mind, give it back … You look better without it ‘ he said, reaching for the bag.

‘ Hey!… not everything at once, I want to enjoy a bit of sun. Plus as far as I can see you are still in your clothes … how fair is that?’ I laughed and pulled away.

‘Fair point’ he said with the cocky smile and took off his clothes, leaving only shorts.

‘That’s better.’ I smiled, but I couldn’t hide the blush on my face. Can he stop being so fucking hot! He spotted where my eyes were travelling and decided to change the subject, he knew I didn’t want to go there yet.

‘You know… yesterday was great. I was shitting myself the whole morning, but when we arrived at your parent's place, and I met everyone, I really relaxed… I think last night helped me a lot. You have an amazing family’ he said, opening the wine.

‘I am happy to hear that, my Dad likes you … And my Mum is absolutely in love with you … they are good people, they always have good intentions. Well, I can’t say that about uncle Rob, but everyone else loves you.’

‘I delt with guys like him all my life, I usually would’ve just ignored him, but he insulted you and your mum, and that��s something I can’t accept … nobody has rights to insult my girl without facing the consequences…the only reason I didn’t show him my fist was your Dad being ahead of me.’

‘Uncle Rob has a big mouth but is a pussy, it’s a waste of time on him… he was a liability to my dad all his life…but let’s not talk about him, better tell me more about this place … how often you used to come here?’

Damien poured the wine into the glasses, he was silent, clearly deep in his thoughts, he passed me the glass and smiled.

‘First, let’s make a toast’ he raised his glass

‘For our first date.’

‘First of many’ he smiled, and we clinked the glasses ‘ This place used to be my escape from daily life. Not many people know about it, you can’t just drive a car here… For a little while, I used to come here every Saturday to clear my mind, forget about all the shit that was going on around me… I missed this place, and I am glad that it didn’t change a bit… because now I can share it with you’ he said, holding my hand.

‘ I am feeling honoured to be here, this place means a lot to you, and you decided to bring me here… thank you’ I looked in his eyes, his expression was soft and sweet. That look I could only see when we are alone, only when he looked at me.

‘Did I ever tell you how much I love you?

‘Yes, but I don’t think I will ever get tired of hearing it.’

‘Seriously … I mean it, Maya. To be honest, sometimes, I think I love you more than I love myself.’

‘Damien… I … I love you too, I wasn’t sure at first… but the thought of losing you, and your long silence, the unknown of where are you, if you are OK…that pain just proved to me how much I actually love you… and now I have you with me and… this feeling grows stronger every day… I have no words to even describe it…I never felt like this before.’

He leaned towards me, rubbed my cheek with his thumb and kissed me gently pulling me closer ‘ I just want you to know that from the moment I stepped out from the prison my life, the life that you saved, became yours… and no matter what future will bring remember that it will always be yours.’ His lips pressed on mine and pulled me on top of him, as much as craved him, as much as wanted to go further, I didn’t want to go there yet. I needed to see his other side. I knew that those sweet little moments are the only thing that could help him with his fears and nightmares.

‘Fancy a swim? I smiled getting up ‘ Last one in the water swims naked’ I laughed already running.

‘Ok.. you asked for it !’ He laughed and ran towards me, in seconds we were surrounded by warm waves wrapped in each other's arms enjoying every moment. I felt like the happiest person in the world, I didn’t want that day to end. The happy smile on his face was the most precious view in the world.

We sat on the sand watching the sunset, Damien’s legs and arms holding me from behind, my head resting on his chest.

‘Do you remember your promise?’ I asked gently marking circles on his leg.

‘Of course… I remember all my promises… which one in particular?’

‘You said something about a dream you had … us, here … you said something about showing me this dream.’

‘Oh yeah?... wasn’t that you saying that we will recreate that dream?’

‘Maybe was me … maybe you… does it matter?’ I turned my head towards his biting my lip.

‘Alright … we better get started then’ he shot me a cocky smile before kissing me deeply ‘ but remember … this was my dream.’

‘I am all yours’ I whispered into his mouth, he pulled me closer wrapping my legs around him, seconds later we were naked, laying on the shore waves, hitting our bodies while we moved as one completely lost it each other’s touch, forgetting the whole world around us.

I didn’t know what future had planned for us but one thing I knew for sure, he was the only person I wanted to share it with.

#Damien #damien jones #lovelink #lovelink damien #lovelink fanfic #damien jones fanfic #fanfic

11 notes · View notes