#have been such a crybaby these past few weeks i have been crying on and off for the last five hours and if he so much as raises his voice | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

doitforbangchan · 3 months

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All Bark and No Bite 07

Happy Valentines day!!!!!! To celebrate this day of love here is an early chapter!!! Love you guys <3

Masterlist

Series masterlist

Chan x reader (y/n) x ot8

ABO!Nonidol!SKZ Alternate Universe

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Series Warnings: Fem reader, Smut, verryyyy nsfw, chan x reader, OT8 x reader, A/B/O, m/m/f smut, possessive! SKZ, possessive! Reader, anxiety and depression, reader is a CRYBABY, fluff, angst, virgin!reader, cursing, violence, pet names, dom/sub dynamics, Sub reader x mostly dom SKZ, misogyny and sexism, Ateez are depicted as terrible people (sorry Atiny!)

Chapter Warnings: possessive! Chan, kissing, sexual references, suggestive, misogyny, sexist ideals, crying (as usual), cursing, angst, fluff. (I am so bad with warnings please let me know what I missed.)

WC: 4k

MDNI 18+

Five days.

It took five whole days before your heat finally ended. Towards the end you had started to feel like it really was going to go on forever. For you and Chan it was an endless cycle of fucking, knotting, snacking and then starting all over again. You had almost forgotten what it was like to have a clear head, one where it's not being constantly overcome with the fogginess of your heat.

Your whole body was sore when you woke up on that final day. It had only been about 3 hours since you last came, the exhaustion causing you to pass out right after. Sore, tired, and thirsty. Those were the top things on your mind. Well, that and Chan. He had you wrapped up tightly in his arms while he snored next to you. The… activities must have taken its toll on him as well.

Now that you had a moment of clarity to yourself you couldn’t help but reflect on the last week. You felt humiliated. Never in your entire life had you ever acted like that. Then again, never in your life had you ever been that needy. That wanting. That horny.

It was a hard pill to swallow, that that's the way you had lost your virginity. When you imagined your first time there were always sweet kisses, lingering touches, maybe soft music in the background. Not the hard pounding it had been, the way you had begged it to be. You couldn't fault Chan for that. It was all on you. You know he did what he had too for you. You would apologize for that later.

You would have to apologize to the whole pack. Especially Jisung and Jeongin. Your heart clenched when you thought of the turmoil you put them both through. The amount that you cared for those boys is staggering to say the least. Really it was how much you cared for this pack. You had just met them but it felt like it's been a lifetime. And the thought of you doing anything to upset them… You buried your face in your hands to keep from waking Chan with your emotions.

Chan.

That's right. If there was one good thing to come out of this, it's that Chan said he loved you. Your alpha said he loved you. He had exclaimed it over and over again these past few days, everytime he came inside of you. You were too out of it each time to really register his words then. And he had claimed you. Marked your body for all to see. For all to know you belonged to him. That made you giddy, replacing the sad thoughts from before. You really were having a whirlwind of emotions.

As comfy as laying here with him was, you desperately needed to pee. As gently as possible you shimmied your body out from his hold. You knew he needed his rest. Once your feet hit the floor beneath, your legs almost collapsed under you, they were aching from all the different positions Chan had you in. Remembering it brought a red flush to your cheeks. You steadied yourself and made your way to his adjoining bathroom.

When you exited you found Chan sitting up in his bed, dark hair messy and eyes tired. When he saw you come through the door he gave you a sleepy smile and opened his arms for you to join him once more. You crawled in next to him with zero hesitation.

“Mm there's my sweet baby. I was beginning to think you skipped out on me.” He mumbled into your hair, using his hand to caress down your arm.

You let out a giggle at his words, “Never. Alpha.”

Now that you were in your right mind, you could take in what Chans’ room looked like. His sheets were a dark maroon color, and his curtains were of the same color. He had small strip lights behind his headboard and some wrapping around the ceiling. There was a large sound system in the corner along with a desk and a pc.

Chan pressed a peck against your head. “What time is it?”

You peered at the alarm clock next to the bed. “7:45. Still really early.” He hummed in acknowledgment and curled himself around you tighter.

“Let's nap a little longer before we tell the guys to come back. I’m sure once they arrive we’ll have our hands full again.” You nodded in agreement.

“Chan. One thing before we fall back asleep.” He hummed for you to continue.

“I love you too.”

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It was around 10:30 when Minho had gotten a call from Chan -the first time they had heard from him in days- that the pack could return home. There was an urgency from most of the pack to get home, to their own beds and to you.

Jeongin seemed to be the only one dragging his feet. He was terrified to face you and Chan, terrified that Chan would want to kick his ass for his behavior, or worse, want to kick him out of the pack completely. The young alpha had been assured many times that nothing of the sort would happen: that he had done no wrong, but Jeongin refused to listen to reason. It had been eating him up inside.

After their argument Seungmin and Minho had apologized to each other. They had a serious conversation with Felix being the mediator and the youngest beta was able to understand where the elder was coming from and vice versa. Minho definitely needed to chat about it with Chan.

Everyone else was just ready to be home. They loaded up the cars quickly and began the short drive there.

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After a nap it was time to get the house ready for the packs arrival. You started by opening all of the windows to air out the place, and rid it of the smell of sex that was lingering behind. Chan started the laundry while you did the windows, the sheets and bedding stained with your combined essence. Then it was shower time.

Chan took his time washing every inch of your body, paying special attention to the area between your legs. He was gentle with you. He knew you deserved it after he had been so rough with you during your heat. The alpha left sweet kisses on your bruised skin where his fingerprints remained, giving each one their own peck. He made sure to remind you after each one how sorry he was and that he loved you.

If you weren’t so tender you would ask him to take you right there in the shower. Instead you tell him shyly that you kind of like the bruises he left on you. That it is a possessive reminder.

‘Fuck she really is perfect’ He believed it wholeheartedly.

Once you were both clean and refreshed Chan gave you one of his tee shirts and a pair of his boxers to wear. He didn’t feel bad about ruining your clothes from before, if anything it brought him joy to rip them to shreds. They were just a reminder of the life you left behind, no need for that when all you need is the pack. Is Chan.

His shirt fell to your knees, completely covering your thighs giving the illusion that you had no bottoms on at all. You hadn’t noticed that little detail but Chan had. He gave your butt a swift patt as you passed him on your way to the kitchen. The alpha had merely stated the guys would probably be hungry upon their arrival and you immediately sprung into action preparing an assortment of breakfast foods. When Chan offered to help you, you had shooed him out stating it was the least you could do for everyone.

This was the kind of woman Chan had always wanted. Submissive, subservient, and oh so sweet. You had already proved yourself to be all of those things. He felt like the luckiest man alive to have found his perfect woman. To have his perfect woman wander onto his property.

When the rest of the pack arrived home they were hit by the appetizing aroma of bacon and baked goods. God it was good to be home. Changbin was the first one out of the car, flinging his door open and sprinting inside. Hyunjin and Seungmin laughed at the alphas enthusiasm as they exited the same car. The second car pulled up a moment later.

Changbin headed straight for where he assumed you would be- the kitchen making all these delicious smells. He was correct and was greeted by the sight in just a t- shirt standing over the stove while you flipped pancakes. He let out a low groan at the sight, causing you to notice him with a bright smile. He charged you and engulfed you in his arms. “Hello Baby!”

“Welcome home, Binnie.” You laughed when he lifted you into the air and spun you around.

Chan let out a loud cackle, watching Changbin, happy the boys were home.

Changbin set you down right as the other boys came to stand in the entryway of the kitchen.

Your cheeks were bright red and you cast your eyes down as you gripped the spatula. Now that they were all here you felt very insecure.

“Hi guys. I'm so happy you’re home.” You smiled shyly and bit your lip. Your actions made them want to melt into a giant puddle right there.

Jisung was the next to attack you with a hug, latching himself onto your body with a quiet sob.

“What's wrong Ji?” you questioned with worry. ‘Oh no what did I do?’ You wondered anxiously.

“J-just so happy you’re ok.” He let out in a wail. “I was so w-worried about you.” Your heart clenched at his words. You dropped the spatula on the counter and fully embraced him now. The tears are now beginning to form in your own eyes.

“I am alright, I have also been worried about you! I am so sorry for what I did to you.” You looked behind Jisung to the other guys, “For what I did to all of you and the stress it must have caused. Then causing you all to have to leave your home.. It's all my fault and I am so sorry.” The tears were flowing freely. Chan felt his heart break at your words. All of the pack did.

Jisung began peppering your cheeks with light kisses as Felix and Hyunjin swarmed you as well, it now being a beta cuddle pile in the kitchen.

“Y/n?” A timid voice called for you, you squeezed your way out of the beta sandwich to face Jeongin looking bashful. “I wanted to apologize to you” He looked at Chan “To both of you- for how I acted. I know it wasn’t cool and I can promise it won't happen again.”

You wiped your tears, “It’s my fault Jeongin. If I had been able to sense my heat this all could have been avoided.”

“If I had been able to control myse-” The young alpha was cut off by Chan bear hugging him. Jeongin returned the hug twice as hard, shocked at his alpha.

Chan pulled away with a clap to Jeongins back, “If you really hadn't been able to control yourself you would have taken her right there on the floor. This would have been a very different conversation. I’m proud of you Innie.” Chan turned to smile at everyone. “I am grateful and proud of all of my boys. Nobody here has to apologize to me.”

It was at that moment you understood why Chan was head Alpha. He was a natural leader, and he respected his pack just as much as they respected him. You could see it in the way the guys looked at him. You were definitely one lucky girl to have found yourself in this pack.

Chan turned to you next “And you,” He pointed right at you. “You need to stop apologizing. None of this is anyone's fault. It’s just nature, Baby. Plus because of your heat now every single person will know whose pack you belong in.” He gestured to the bite mark on your neck with a smirk.

At the mention of the mark you went to touch it but were stopped as Seungmin came up and tilted your head to the side to get a good look at it. Seems like these guys have no problems manhandling you now that you're mated to their Alpha.

Seungmin traced his finger over the red flesh, feeling the divots in your skin

He let out a low whistle “Damn Hyung, you really got deep in there huh?”

Felix snickers “In more ways than one.” Chan just flicks Felix on the forehead while everyone else laughs.

Minho had been watching this entire exchange, taking in everything that was said and how everyone acted together. It felt familiar, like it had always been like this. He could see how happy everyone was together, and it made him incredibly guilty for the way he's been acting and speaking about you. He knew he needed to talk to Chan today, needed to get all his thoughts off his chest to his alpha. To apologize man to man. He came up to you, and stopped right in front of you before leaning down and giving you a very soft tussle to your hair.

“Good to be home.” He smiled at you, Felix giving him a thumbs up.

Hyunjin was the next to speak, “Does anyone else smell burning?”

You gasped.

“MY PANCAKES!”

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After a group breakfast full of jokes made by the guys and some light pouting from you (still upset about your pancakes), it was unanimously decided to have a relaxing day, watching movies and napping. Seungmin had pointed out how tired you and Chan looked, snickering about why you both were so exhausted. All you did was blush and stick your tongue out at him, causing everyone to laugh at how cute you were. Seungmin teased you, “What? Gonna throw another can at me?”

In all honesty, every member couldn’t take their eyes off of the bite left on your neck. It was a symbol that you were claimed now- claimed by their alpha, for their pack. It almost felt like an invite. An invite for them to have you in the ways they've been craving. Your purity had already been taken by their leader, now it felt ok for them to shoot their shots with you; respectfully of course.

You all sat in various places around the living room (You made it a point to not sit next to Seungmin) You were in between Jisung and Felix on the love seat, the betas cuddling you and every so often laying small pecks to your skin. It brought a red flush to your skin every single time and they loved it.

Changbin had suggested a romcom, something you've all seen so if anyone falls asleep no one would be missing anything. It was settled on ‘the princess bride’, one of your favorites.

Chan noticed about half way through that you had fallen asleep leaning on Felix with Jisung sleeping leaning on you. It was the cutest thing he had ever seen so he sneakily pulled out his phone and took a picture, sending it to the pack group chat.

Minho was one of the only ones still awake and when he noticed Chan was as well he figured it was now or never. He shot Chan a quick text asking if they could talk. Once he read it Chan nodded at Minho and quietly lifted himself from his spot on the recliner, Min doing the same from his spot from the floor where he was wedged between Jeongin and Hyunjin.

Min followed Chan up the stairs up to the third floor and into Chan's office. The beta had been in there many times before, but this time instead of the normal comfort he usually felt it now felt like a confessional. That he was there to be damned for his sins and accept divine punishment. Though, honestly that's exactly what was happening.

Chan leaned against his desk casually as Minho closed the door behind him. The second it was closed the beta wasted no time in launching into his apologies.

“You have probably noticed I've seemed less than enthused lately, with the arrival of Y/n.”

Chan nodded, “Yeah I was waiting for you to come to me about it.”

“I guess the best way I can phrase it is I've been feeling overprotective and insecure. It’s just been the eight of us for so long, and literally out of nowhere there's another person coming in. Someone we don’t know or know exactly where she came from. And especially a stranger with baggage like she has with her family and another pack.” He paused like he was trying to find the right words.

“If I'm speaking honestly, when you brought her home into our pack without even mentioning it to me first, it kinda hurt my feelings. I am one of the other elders in the pack, and I thought I was like your second in command. It didn’t feel right not even getting a heads up. Don’t get me wrong- I am so happy you have found your mate. I know you’ve waited for her for a long time. And all the other guys seem to love her too. It was just a hard pill to swallow for me.”

Minho waited for Chan to scold him for his thoughts, but it never came. Instead, to his surprise Chan said “I understand, Min. It was really sudden. I honestly couldn’t believe I would let someone in so quickly either. And you’re right, you are my second. The least I could have done is run it by you. I am sorry Min.”

The beta rubbed his eyes and sniffled, keeping his tears at bay. He wasn’t one to cry, usually he's the one comforting the softer members when they cry. He especially didn't cry in front of his leader.

The alpha approached the younger and wrapped him in a tight hug. They hadn’t had a hug like this in a while, it was comforting to both of them. Minho was the first to pull away, Chan giving him a pat on his back

“Now that you’re being honest with me, what do you think about her now? Has anything changed for you or do we need to work on the trust?” Chan inquired genuinely curious.

Min took a second before answering, “ I think I'm coming around to her. In my heart I know she has no malice, it is just hard to trust an outsider. But honestly Chan, I think another part of why I've been having trouble accepting her is that-” He paused, unsure if he should say the next part. Fuck it, “ that theres a part of me that.. craves her. And I feel guilty about it since she is your mate.”

At his words Chan gave him a wicked smile, like he had been waiting for that answer. “Oh Minho. That is not a reason to feel guilty, at least not in this pack. I may be the jealous type, but the thought of sharing her with you guys.. Excites me. Makes me feel like I’m providing for my pack to be frank.”

“Well I know the other guys are feeling the same way, maybe minus the guilt.” Minho gave a light shrug.

The alpha kissed his teeth, “I can tell. They’ve been all over her since you got home. I’m going to have another discussion with Y/n about her role as pack omega, but I don't think she’s going to have a problem with it. She seems very taken with everyone. The hardest part for her will probably be accepting that it's ok for her to want them. To want you..” He could see the beta visible gulp at the thought. “ I also think all of us men have to talk about what is ok with her and what is not. And I need to get her to a doctor before any of you take her that way. Those suppressants really fucked with her body.”

“Do you think that’s why her heat came on so suddenly like that?” Minho questioned.

Chan nodded, “ Yeah she said she had been on them since she was a teenager, and hadn’t had a heat since she started taking them.” his eyes hardened, “Her pathetic father didn’t know how else to protect his daughter so he resorted to poisoning her.” The alpha practically growled at the last part.

Minho felt more understanding of why it all happened like it did. Now he really felt bad for his past thoughts. “That’s… really terrible. Hopefully the doctor in town will know how to treat an omega.”

Chan shrugged, “ I'll make an appointment for tomorrow afternoon. I have to take her to the police station tomorrow anyway, to clean up the missing persons file.”

Minho suddenly remembered you don't have any clothes to wear. He wanted to do something nice for you. He asked Chan if he could run into town real quick and the alpha smirked having caught on to the betas idea.

With one more friendly pat on the back, Minho made his way out grabbing his keys and left the home.

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It had been about noon when you fell asleep on the couch, and when you awoke it was late evening, the orange beams of the setting sun lighting the living room in a soft glow. Felix was awake underneath you, scrolling through his phone quietly so as not to disturb you or Jisung who was still slumbering on top of you.

When the blond felt you stirring he gave you a delicate smile, whispering “ Hi baby.” His freckles were very pronounced with the evening sun, illuminating them like intricate star patterns. If you hadn’t known better, you would think you were still dreaming.

In your awe of him you whispered back “You’re so pretty Lix.”

He set his phone down as the red rushed to his cheeks, he leaned in close so you couldn't see his blush. “ You wanna know a secret, Baby?”

“Hmm?”

“I think you’re prettier.” He left a delicate kiss on your cheek.

A drowsy voice was heard from atop you.

“Am I pretty too, Baby?”

You peered over to the other boy with a giggle, looking right into his barely open eyes. “Of course you are Ji. One the prettiest boys I’ve ever seen.”

It was true. You had never seen anyone who looked like Jisung. His bright boba colored eyes, his rounded chipmunk cheeks, and his pouty lips were uniquely Jisung. You couldn't help but imagine those lips of his on your own, and also somewhere else. He was very alluring to you.

He hummed in satisfaction, nuzzling his face into your side. He mumbled a muffled “and you’re the most beautiful I’ve seen.”

Before you could bashfully retort you were attacked by Hyunjin who threw himself on top of the three of you. “Hey finally you're up!”

“Ahhhh Jinnie!” Felix groaned at the bottom of the pile.

Hyunjin just cackled at the younger boy's plight. He rolled off of jisung and crouched down in front of you all.

“Been waiting for you to wake up.” He had a cheeky smile like he was excited then made eye contact with you and the smile grew even bigger. “There's a surprise for you upstairs.”

“For me?” you questioned in confusion.

“Mmhmm” He nodded enthusiastically, then rose on his feet and began peeling Jisung off of you. The younger beta whined in protest but doing nothing to stop it from happening.

Felix lets you stretch for a moment before helping you to your feet. Your legs still felt weak and Hyunjin must have noticed because he crouched down in front of you for you to climb on his back.

“Hyunjin.You can't carry me up two flights of stairs.”

He scoffed, looking offended. “Try me.”

A/N: To everyone worries about Minho accepting her, I hope this quells your apatite for the fluff <3 I really enjoyed writing this chapter, idk why but I hope yall enjoy it as much as I did.

Comments and reblogs are very much appreciated!

©doitforbangchan

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luvrxbunny · 7 months

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crybaby

Pairing: Eddie Munson x F!Reader

Prompt: Dacryphilia(?)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, insecure thoughts/relationship doubts, piv, unprotected sex (lmk if I forgot anything)

WC: 3.1k

A/N: *gasp* im on time?! i hope this counts- reader is crying but it's not a turn-on or anything, it's kinda just something that's happening

Eddie’s band had been on tour for a month now, all his classes were online and he’d Facetime you so you could ensure he’s doing his work but you still miss him. He’s supposed to come home in a week and you don’t know what you’re going to do. You’ve been stressed out of your mind without his calming presence, you’ve told him about some of your stresses and he’s helped but you’re starting to feel like you’re just putting a dampener on his tour so you stopped.

You miss him so much it’s heartbreaking. You knew it would be hard, after being with Eddie for two years now you guys have never spent more than a week apart. You thought though, that after being with him for so long you’d be fine, you’d saved up enough ‘Eddie Time’ to get through the month. You couldn’t have been more wrong.

He was nice enough to let you stay in his room for the month, and you never noticed how big his bed was. You actually used to complain that it isn’t big enough for the both of you but now the only thing you can think is how big it is. If this bed was really made for one person then why is it so big?

Your math homework is scattered on the floor, thrown off the bed in a fit of frustration. You miss him. It’s not that he could’ve done the math for you or anything but he’d make you feel better at least, help you google it and try to figure it out, maybe make you feel like less of a dumbass. But he’s not here. You sigh into his pillow before inhaling his faint scent, tears almost springing to your eyes.

You try not to tell him too much about how deeply your yearning for him goes. You don’t want him to feel bad for leaving, you couldn't be more proud of him for booking this little tour and you’d never want him to stay back for you… but it wouldn’t hurt if he could make a little more time. These past few weeks you’ve barely been able to keep him on the phone, only being available for a few minutes before having to run into a meeting, a practice session, or a vocal lesson. Apparently, he tried to cram all of his meetings and such into this week so that he could spend his last few tour nights getting shitfaced.

He had told you the plan in a rushed and staticky call while he was in an elevator, that was the only free time he had for you, his girlfriend. An elevator ride.

So now you’re in his favorite pair of panties and one of his shirts in case he wants to video call. He gave you piles of silly promises of video-chat sex, you laughed at them when he made them but started craving them after the first two days. He called you on the Wednesday of his first week gone with plans for ‘sex’ but ended up a bit too tired. That was the only time he called… You’re still hopeful though.

You try your best to hold back your tears as you press your face into his pillow. You jump when you hear the front door unlock but when you check the time you realize it’s just Wayne. He doesn’t mind you being here, you make your own dinner and buy groceries sometimes, other than that you guys don’t really interact so you stay where you are, sniffling into Eddie’s pillow. Unfortunately, you miscalculated how loud you were because suddenly Eddie’s room door opened and your body froze. You’re waiting for him to make some awkward attempt at a soothing, comforting conversation, muscles tense with the promise of embarrassment.

“Man, I don’t even get a ‘hi’?” Eddie.

Your head whips up from the pillow and your heart breaks at the way his smile drops along with his bags as he rushes to your side of the bed. “What’s wrong? Did Wayne say some-” You’re sitting up and crashing your lips into his with a sob, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling his body to press against yours. You’re still getting up, wanting to be as close to him as you can and now kneeling on the bed, almost his height as he’s standing. You’re gripping the sides of his face, whimpering into his mouth as he coos into yours and his hands are around your waist, pulling your body into his.

You only pull away once you begin to feel light-headed from the lack of oxygen and even then you’re still pressing kisses all over his giggling face. He has to wrestle you into a hug to get you to stop, laughing into your ear with his chest bouncing against yours. “So you missed me?” He says with a cocky tone, but when he pulls away to smile at you there’s a genuine vulnerability in them that you’re in love with.

You kiss him again, a little peck before smiling against his lips. “I missed you so much, Eddie.” Your voice cracks with emotion and his arms tense around you for a moment before lifting to cup your cheek and pulling you in for a slow, romantic kiss. His tongue slides over your lips before slipping into your mouth and relearning your taste. You can already feel yourself melting for him, all your bones turning to jelly and dampening your panties. You’re pulling him down already, trying to get him in bed and he’s laughing.

“Slow down, baby! I-” You kiss him again, a silent beg for him to just get in bed with you. You bring your hands into his hair and whimper against him as your hips twitch in the air just from his taste. You slide your tongue into his mouth this time, earning a shocked moan from the back of his throat as your tongue slides against his, admiring its softness and the moans the action elicits from him. His hands leave your body as he fumbles with his belt. He’s nodding subtly and subconsciously against you as he gives in to his needs.

You can hear him growing more unrestrained as he takes his pants off, his breaths quickly speed up and become heavier. His movements get a bit fumbled and frantic as he tries to kiss you and get his long legs out of his skinny jeans. He ends up crashing on you, tripping over his pants, and landing half on you half on the bed. He’s giggling intermittently, still trying to drown his lips in yours. You’re grinning wildly at his desperation, happy that he needed you as badly as you needed him.

“Calm down, sweetheart.” You chuckle half-heartedly against his neck once he gets his leather jacket off. He’s left in his wife beater, boxers, and chains, climbing over you, hands roaming every part of your body. He has this animalistic look in his eyes, one you’re sure matches the look on your face. You wrap your arms around his waist, running your hands lightly up his back and smiling at the way he shudders as his eyelids flutter. His hand comes up to rest beside your head as he lowers his crotch to yours, holding eye contact and groaning once his pulsing cock comes in contact with your hot core.

He leans back and reaches down for the hem of the t-shirt- his t-shirt that you’re wearing and pulls it up. He has to apologize for the way his hips jerk against yours, thrusting him against your covered pussy like he was actually fucking you, but he couldn’t help it, not when you’re wearing these panties. He leans back down and presses his forehead against yours to let a ragged groan out against your face. Your hips twitch into his slowly building pace at the sound.

“How-” He cuts himself off with a groan and buries his face in your neck, muttering praises and kissing the skin there before coming back up. “How can you tell me to- to calm down when you know-” One hand comes down to the band of your panties, reaching between your thighs to pull the elastic there and snap it against your sensitive skin. “You know you’re wearing these… hm? Explain that, sweetheart.” He says the last tone with a drop of venom, teasing the nickname you used for him earlier while purposely grinding his tip into your clit so he can watch you stumble over your answer.

He chuckles and pulls away once he’s had enough of your silent, trembling lips, trying desperately to form words for him. He pulls his boxers down to his thighs and takes one leg out before pulling on the elastic of your panties again. “Are you just gonna watch or do you wanna get undressed too, my love?”

He says it with a smirk but there’s something about it that’s more loving than teasing as it has a new heat blooming over the one that’s already resting in your stomach. You’d been just staring at him, admiring him as he undressed and you’re sneaking peeks at him even now, as you take your panties off. He smiles at your struggle to take them off, wiggling on your back to shimmy them around your thighs and he’s climbing back over you the second you have them off.

“Been needing you so long, baby.” His statement sounds so genuine as he strokes his cock against your entrance, the tip nudging into your messy hole on every other stroke. It’s a tease but Eddie doesn’t even mean for it to be, he’s just mesmerized by the way his cock is just crying into you, pouring everything he has into your perfect little hole. He groans and has to shut his eyes, a bit worried at how the thought makes his cock throb. He looks up at you for assurance once more and his face crumbles at the way you’re already staring at him. You’re giving him the big pretty eyes, the sweetest face you have, begging him to put it in, to fill your every crevice with his thick cock and he gives it to you before you can even blink.

He thrusts his hips forward, plowing his way through your tight ring of muscle, groaning at the way you squeeze his cock and the way your hands are gripping his shoulders, looking for purchase from the pleasure he’s assaulting you with. You try to stay calm, you keep your limbs from shaking, your eyes from rolling back and you’re trying to keep your face neutral but his cock twitches inside you once, and your entire resolve breaks. A shiver runs up your spine as you curl in on yourself and groan his name while pulling him down to lean into his neck. You can’t see the way his eyes roll back at your breath on his neck but you can feel the way he’s already shaking against you. His arms give out, dropping him to press flush against you with a grunt. He apologizes mindlessly, his hips never stopping their steady pace.

You are surrounded by him, floating away yet grounded by him. You love him so much and he’s been gone for so long. You’re overcome with joy at finally having your boy back in your arms, moaning sweetly into your ear, his adorable little body shaking against you as he fucks his desperate cock into you. He didn’t even know you were missing him so much but he came home early anyway, ready and wanting for you. You feel embarrassment nip at your belly as tears spring to your eyes. You try to bury your face in his shoulder and ignore it, let him keep fucking you as much as he needs.

You don’t want him to stop and if he sees you’re crying that’s exactly what he’ll do. You’ve never felt so consumed, so wrapped and completely enveloped in love before. You only started to even understand what love was when Eddie started loving on you. You’re so grateful for him and everything he is and his dick is sliding into you so perfectly. He’s bullying your G-Spot every time he thrusts in, his fat tip hitting your most sensitive spot and turning your brain to mush with every movement.

Your tear slides down your face when he moans your name into your ear like a prayer, like you’re the best thing he ever has or will have. It falls onto his shoulder and rolls off his arm, he slows for a moment, his moans turning into muted pants as he listens and observes. His hips slow even more when he takes in your shaking hands and trembling shoulders. He tries to pull your head from his neck, his pace more of a lazy thrust now but you refuse and that’s what makes him stop completely. “Baby?”

His voice is shaking and scared, his hand is trembling on the back of your head, softly cradling it. You whine into his neck and lift your hips, sinking his cock back into your hole with a hushed moan as Eddie clamps his eyes shut, bites into his lip, and presses his hands on your hips, forcing them back down to the bed. “Can’t fuck you if you’re crying, my love. What’s-” You cut him off with a shaky whimper at his term of endearment and try to explain yourself.

“Still wan’ it.” You whine to him like that’s the most obvious thing in the world. His hips twitch against you before his cock slowly slides out and back in again. “Yeah?” He questions before speeding up a bit, still keeping a tame, relaxing pace. Your muscles un-tense and your head falls back, exposing your neck to Eddie who happily dives in. “Yeah..” You sigh out as he starts pressing air-light kisses to your sensitive skin.

“Jus’ missed you so much, Ed.” He whimpers into your neck at the confession and his hips speed up just a fraction. “Needed you all the time but-” You whimper as he bites your skin gently, choosing to use a bit more force on some parts. “But you were so busy- an’-” You moan and dig your fingers in his hair as you feel the coil in your stomach begin to draw in, slowly tightening from Eddie’s thrust and your outpour of emotion and love. “An’ now you’re here and you’re so perfect and so good, Eddie.” Your eyes roll back as you lock your legs behind Eddie’s waist forcing him to keep his cock pressed into you fully, making you feel so full. His thighs are jumping at your words- so innocent but somehow have more effect on him than any dirty talk he’s heard before.

He pulls his head out of your neck, little droplets of water littering his long lashes. “Missed you too, doll.” His words are a rough whimper against your lips before he dives in, his hips now moving at a new speed, reinvigorated by your love. He’s kissing you messy, basically just pressing his lips against yours and fucking you, your tongues are everywhere, trying to taste everything and making a mess of both of your faces, all while his hips fuck into you with mind-blowing precision, sending tsunamis of pleasure through your bones on every thrust.

The coil in your stomach tightens even further, reaching the point of no return as your legs tighten around him again. You try to calm down, to keep your pussy from fluttering around Eddie but his knowing chuckle in your ear breaks your resolve, and your pussy spasms around him. “Yeah. Felt like you were trying something.” He reangles himself and adjusts his thrusts, changing them to a slow, hard grind so he stimulates your clit, bringing you to the edge closer than you expected.

Your hands fly to his shoulders, your nails grip him and he groans against you, his eyes rolling back with a gut-wrenching smirk on his face. “Mmm- Mark me up, sweetheart. I-” He breathes out a desperate breath of air, inhaling you instead with a strained whine before dropping into your neck again. His hips grow a bit frantic and his whines turn to rabid grunts as he fucks into you with everything he has, trying to hold off his orgasm as you moan and twitch around his overly sensitive cock.

“Cum all over me, baby.” It’s a request and Eddie was ready to beg but you let go at his first utterance. You explode all over him, he has to reach up lightning fast to slap his hand over your mouth as your eyes cross and you moan, completely debauched into his hand. He grunts out against his hand, biting his lip to try and hold his sounds in as you soak his dick, squeezing him erratically as you cum. He tries to hold back, let you finish basking in your orgasm before pouring his seed into you but your muffled sounds are too much. He whines out curses and moans of your name against the back of his hand as you moan for him into the other side.

His hips slam into yours one last time to push himself as deep as he can go before his cock explodes. He doesn’t know how he had so much cum inside him but he’s sure it’s going to overflow. He can’t even think as his orgasm tears through him, he can hear you encouraging him distantly and it forces another load to rack through his body. His balls are painfully tight as he tries to give you everything he has, completely empty his balls into you. It’s all for you anyway. He lets you know too, it’s the only thing he’s able to mutter to you as he cums. “S’all f’you, baby. All for you.”

He whimpers against you with a few more tremors shooting through his body before wrapping his arms around your waist and rolling onto his back with a sigh. You giggle softly and try to climb off of him but you get a groan of protest. “Eddie, m’heavy, baby.” You smile as you speak, letting your fingers run over his wet, pink lips. He snorts in response. “Liar.” He readjusts his position, sinking into the bed some more, wrapping his arms tighter, and falling asleep. You pretend to be upset that you’re left with no option but to cuddle with him until you fall asleep in his arms.

Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed it, here's the rest of my Kinktober Works, and be sure to check out my Main Masterlist!!

#eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson #eddie munson imagines #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson smut #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader smut #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x fem!reader

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jiyascepter · 7 days

Text

Training Blues

MASTERLIST

Pairing: Loki x gn!reader

Words: 1133

Warnings/Content: Hurt/Comfort; insecure, sad reader, crying, sweet & comforting loki (cause who doesn't love a caring bf?), kisses & cuddles, mention of other mcu characters (say hello!), use of 'Y/n', both loki & y/n are Avengers

Summary: Y/n struggles with feelings of inadequacy in training until Loki comforts them

A/n: Feeling a bit low lately, decided to write this *alexa play 'i can do it with a broken heart'*

"Y/n?" You could hear his voice booming down the corridor, getting closer to you. You hurriedly wipe your eyes with your sleeve, sigh, and rise back up, attempting to calm your body language so that your beloved, god of mischief, does not perceive you as a crybaby.

It had been about eight months since you joined the Avengers. For the last few weeks, it has been really rough since your training partner, Steve, was away for some missions and was replaced with Natasha.

You just could not keep up with her; she used to get pretty competitive during practices, and no matter how much you tried, you just couldn't match her speed. And it was frustrating. Not that she wasn't supportive; you just could not convince yourself that it was okay to lag behind.

You were occasionally training alone at night, which meant you didn't have enough time with Loki. And he noticed this.

You were exhausting yourself, and it broke his heart to see you like this, and it hurt him even more that you weren't telling him what was going on.

"Y/n, what peculiar matters have stirred within you this late, my dear?" He says this as he enters your room.

"Nothing, Loki, I'm fine." You answer by not looking at him and pretending to do your hair in the mirror. It crushed his heart to hear your big, cheerful voice fade into a feeble whisper.

He approaches you and wraps his hands around your waist from behind, resting his head on your shoulder and gazing at your reflection. "I know what's happening with you sweetheart, and I cannot bear to see you like this anymore." He murmurs it quietly, tightening his grip on your waist and bringing you into his chest.

You offer him a fictitious, reassuring beam and try to back away. "Everything's fine, Loki. I'm heading to the training room." You turn around, kiss his cheek, and start to leave the room when he grabs your wrist and pulls you back to him.

"You're not going. Natasha won't be in the training room anyway."

You frown. "Why? Where did she go?"

"I beseeched her to suspend your instruction for a brief span so you can focus on your well-being." He says, touching your cheek.

You give him a perturbed expression. "Loki, you do not understand. If I abandon my workouts for a few days, I'll lose my practice and—"

"And? And what, darling?"

The lump in your throat that had been lingering for the past ten minutes was too painful. You would break down even if you try to utter a single word now.

Like a baby.

You become silent and stare at him with a tiny grimace on your face. Loki catches your quivering lip and draws you close to his chest, his arms encircling your body. You couldn't help but finally break down in front of him, sobbing quietly against his chest.

No No No. How could you let go of your emotions in front of him?

He scooped you up and laid you on the bed in a matter of seconds, comfortingly lying next you and cocooning your body once again.

"Shh..shh...darling, it really hurts me to see you like this, you know."

You peek up at him, your wet eyelashes glinting.

"Y/n my dear, you've been hiding behind that stoic facade for too long." Loki murmured, his voice filled with concern, and softly brushed a tear off your face. "What's exactly troubling you, hm?"

You sniffle. "I just feel like I lag behind you guys. I am new to this, and I need to train so I can keep up. But for the past few weeks, it's like I'm failing."

"Hey, you're just eight months in, you don't need to exert yourself too much, you know." Loki says, his voice a soothing melody in the quiet room.

"I just don't want to disappoint anyone." You admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I don't want to disappoint you."

Loki's expression softens as his thumb brushes your cheek. "You never fail to falter my eyes, Y/n. In fact, you impress me so much throughout our missions that it distracts my focus."

He jokes, and you let out a gentle chuckle. He smiles back and leans in to kiss your forehead. "You are more than enough, always."

You smile through your tears softly.

He was so sweet with you.

He cups your cheeks and stares into your eyes while he speaks. "Do you know what else hurts me? The fact that you refrain from telling me what is going on with you."

You shift a bit. "I thought you would think of me as a crybaby if I complained too much... I don't want to set that image in front of you."

Loki chuckles. "Hey, you can share anything with me, I am your partner, am I not? And complaining about things does not make you a crybaby." He smiles and places a comforting sweet kiss on your nose.

"And even if such were the case, what of it? You remain unequivocally mine." He softly smiles down at you and wraps his arms around you once more, pulling your body to his.

You take a deep breath, feeling his warmth seep into you. "I just don't want to seem weak," you finally admit, your voice small. "I want to be strong, like everyone else."

Loki tilts your chin up, making you look into his eyes. "Do you remember the first time we met?" he asked softly, a nostalgic smile playing on his lips.

"You were so determined, so fierce, even when you were just starting out. I saw in you a spirit that could not be broken, no matter the odds. That same spirit is still there sweetheart, even if you feel weary right now."

You smile when he mentions that. "I was so nervous on the first day."

Loki chuckled, his eyes twinkling with affection. "And look at you now, my love. You've grown so much, accomplished so much. Do not let a few difficult weeks overshadow how far you've come. You are incredible, and I will always be here to remind you of that."

Loki's embrace settles on you like a peace blanket. Your love for him was coursing through your blood, reassuring you that everything would be okay as long as you had each other.

You nestle into his embrace, feeling safe and loved, letting go of the worries that had been weighing you down. With Loki by your side, you knew you could face anything, even your own insecurities.

"I love you," you whisper, feeling the warmth of his love enveloping you.

"I love you too, my dear," Loki murmurs back, planting a tender kiss on your forehead.

"Rest with me. Rest for a while."

Taglist in the comments because Tumblr is still buggy 😶‍🌫️

Lmk if you want to join my taglist or just click here

— thx for reading ♡

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pettydollie · 3 months

Text

good girl

warnings/notes: dirty thoughts (no smut tho), reader is girly/fem, pet names (good girl and sweetheart), cursing, crybaby!reader, SUPER SLOPPY/NOT PROOFREAD!

as you helped chris with his homework, he couldn't help but stare like he always did. you've been his tutor for about two weeks, and chris is sure he's in love. he stares at your glossy pink lips as they move, wanting so badly to suffocate you with his. what's a pretty girl like you wasting your time on someone like him anyway? not that he's complaining, he loves having you all for himself for a short amount of time everyday after school.

but he can't help wanting more.

is that weird? maybe. however, you wouldn't think so. you've had a crush on chris forever which is 3/4 of partially the reason you started tutoring in the first place. you think he's the absolute coolest and you're giddy whenever you're getting ready to see him.

"no.. but you're kinda close!" you look at one of his answers from yesterday's homework. he furrows his brows as chews on the back of your pen, forgetting that it's not his. you watch his lips wrap around the top of the pen, feeling mesmerized.

"yn? you okay?" you look up at the boy, still in a daze. you see him swallow, his adam's apple bobbing. you lick your lip swiftly before coming back down to earth. "yeah, sorry, just a little tired i guess." you smile. he holds back a smirk. he may be stupid in school, but he's extremely intelligent when it comes to you.

however, he just nods. "we can take a break." he shrugs, getting bored of this subject anyways. he’d much rather learn about you. you agree, putting your mechanical pencil down. he leans back in his chair, stretching out his muscles. he wasn’t even trying to show off, but you just happen to suck in a breath, mentally taking a screenshot of him.

“d’ya want some water or something? you hungry?” he asks politely. you stand up out of your chair. “it’s okay, i can get some.” your hand lightly brushes his shoulder as you walk out of his bedroom.

you head downstairs to the kitchen where you pour yourself a glass of water. matt’s sitting at the counter on his laptop, doing homework as well, you assume. after a few seconds, you hear, “he’s too pussy to ask you out himself,” matt starts out of nowhere. you turn around confused, full glass in hand.

you’re about to mutter a confused “huh?” but he keeps going, not looking at you, opting to stare at his screen. “so unfortunately you’ll have to be the brave one and make the first move.” he scrolls on his laptop nonchalantly, like he hasn’t told you the most fabulous news.

granted, you’re still confused. you know he’s talking about chris, that’s obvious, you aren’t dumb. but why wouldn’t he ask you out? is he afraid? that’s kinda cute, you think. “why doesn’t he wanna ask me out himself?” are you're a nervous wreck. you’ve never ever been the one to initiate any sort of romantic event in your life!

a recognizable voice is heard from behind you. “who?”

you shriek, dropping the glass of water. the glass shatters and chris is quick to grab your shoulders and pull you back before any shards hurt you. your hand quickly flies to your mouth. “i’m so sor-“

matt gets up from where he was sitting. “i’ll get the broom.” he exits the room which leaves you and chris for just a minute or so before matt returns. the water is spreading on the floor so chris grabs paper towels.

he kneels on the floor, soaking up the water as you stand frozen. tears begin to form in your eyes as a lump grows in your throat. you try to blink past them as best as you can before anyone sees you. they’ll think you’re childish, crying over a spilled glass.

what if chris doesn’t want you anymore? how dare you come into HIS house and break something so fragile. you’re ashamed of yourself. but what if he doesn't actually like you? what if matt's lying as a joke? you choke on a sob, causing a strange noise to come out. chris perks up, looking up at you. he leaves the paper towels on the floor as his face changes quickly, feeling concerned

he gets up. “oh sweetheart.” he coos, wrapping his arms around you. you’re engulfed in his large figure as you let the tears spill into the pink t-shirt that he put on just for you, not that you knew that.

matt re-enters the kitchen, raising a brow at chris as he strokes your hair with a hand. he shakes his head slightly as if to say “don’t talk.” and he points his chin towards the mess that’s still on the floor. matt folds his arms and frowns, thinking chris wants him to clean it.

but chris mouths “leave it there” and matt nods, leaving the broom against the counter as he exits the room again, letting you two have a moment. you’re babbling apologies into chris’ chest and he ‘accidentally’ smells your hair.

“you smell really nice” he whispers unintentionally, not meaning to say it aloud. his face immediately tenses. oh gosh, you’re gonna think he’s such a weirdo. but you don’t.. at all. you appreciate the compliment and you think he’s trying to distract you from the little mistake, which you appreciate.

you smile softly. “thank you. i-its strawberry pound cake.” you hiccup. chris cheeses. you’re adorable. you apologize again, “i’m really sorry about the cup. and the mess..”

he shakes his head and shushes you softly. “got that for like two bucks at target, don’t worry about it.” he reassures you and pulls away from the embrace, seeing your face all red. “yer a good girl, could never be mad at you.”

he wipes a tear freshly fallen from your eye, your lashes being long and delicate. in your head, you’re freaking out, no longer worrying about the glass. you remember what matt said earlier, which brings butterflies to your stomach

you feel very shy and dopey now. you break eye contact and grab his hand. “i have feelings for you.” you admit, getting straight to the point. “like really big. gigantic. so uh.. if you want, we could go out or something..” you nervously confess, waiting for a response.

meanwhile chris is like HOLYSHITHOLYSHITHOLYSHIT. he can’t believe this is happening?? you?? and him?? together?? on a date???? hes already thinking of places he could take you to.

he hums and you look up at him. his thumb brushes your face again, but this time it’s against your cheek. “do you like Italian food?”

a/n: literally what is this i’m so sorry. i decided on a plot halfway thru writing it was supposed to be a suggestive thing but i didn’t wanna lead u guys on bc i don’t write smut lmao.

tags: @latinasforchrizz @leah-loves-lilies

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x y/n #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #𝓬𝓱𝓻𝓲𝓼 𝓼𝓽𝓾𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓸𝓵𝓸

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chai-berries · 8 months

Note

i’m a little crybaby bitch & i just sobbed over a movie but all i could think about is being abby’s little crybaby gf & having her comfort me </3

sooo unfortunately/fortunately i am not a big crier when it comes to anything but one of my best friends is a happy/sad/bored crier and i’ve helped her calm down post cry a few times. she’s a true cancer <3 i’ll channel her into my thoughts.

im thinking of two scenarios, watching something sad without abby & watching it with her ⤵️

watching without abby:

she’d probably be working on something in another room when you decide to start a sad fucking movie. abby’s ears perk at the first sniffle, but she brushes it off cause it’s always allergy season. but when she hears you shakily breathe out “oh,,, my gOD” with your voice all broken and wet, she’s immediately sliding to a stop right outside the living room. you’re curled up with a huge blanket swallowing you, surrounded by snacks and your emotional support water bottle. she notes your wide, glossy eyes and coos “baby what’s wrong?” and you gesture at the tv, “she - she just loves her family so so much! and she couldn’t tell them before they died!” your voice is cracking around your words.

abby has absolutely no idea who “she” is but that doesn’t keep her from sitting down and pulling you into her side, rubbing her hand up and down your arm. “they’re just a - a great family” you stutter though tears. abby looks up at the tv and sighs. “baby, why did you chose the saddest movie on netflix?” you hesitate. “uh, i was up to the challenge?” “yeah? how’s it going?” she quirks a brow at you. you laugh wetly and abby mentally fist pumps. she presses a kiss to your temple. “okay, how about we watch something happy. ill refill your water.” abby gets up to go into the kitchen when she’s stopped by a tug on her back belt loop. you’re looking up at her, eyes less glossy but still not dry enough. “what?” she asks. “thanks for putting up with a crybaby for a girlfriend.” she picks up your hand from its place at her waist and brings it up to her lips. “anything for you sweet cheeks”

watching with abby:

“no, no, no, nah, not happening! abby, please tell me they’re not gonna do what i think they’re gonna do!” you pause the movie and shake abby’s shoulder, your face so serious in the light of the television. abby giggles and shrugs like a fucking twerp and nudges you to keep watching the movie. she tells you that “you’ll find out soon - keep watching” like she’s never, in all the time you’ve been together, been witness to the millions of times you deep dived imdb and wikipedia five minutes into a movie whenever it starts out with a sad scene.

you don’t do sad movies. and it’s for a good reason! you get all dehydrated and you look sick for hours afterwards!! it’s embarrassing and gross!! abby has witnessed it once and, like her father’s daughter, handed you a glass of water and pulled you gently into her arms, holding you until you got your breathing under control. and that was a week before you asked her out!! on your first date she told you that the crying thing made her want to “take care of you forever”… is it too obvious to point out that she soooooo got lucky that night?

however, in present time she might be sleeping on the couch for trying to get a depressing movie past you. she apologizes to you, tucking you under her arm. “i promise it’s gonna be worth your tears, okay?” she kisses your head. “and i always take care of my crybaby girlfriend, don’t i?” she kisses the same spot again. you relax into her side.

… sooo it’s safe to say you sobbed a whole lot at the end and completely soaked the front of abby’s shirt. you guys had shifted horizontal mid-movie, you laying on top of her. “i hate you” sounds a lot more honest when you’re not desperately clutching at the waist of the person you’re talking to. “but it was a good story, right?? aww i’m sooo sorry, baby,” abby rubs your back. she hands you your water bottle and chocolate before you even think to ask, like she always does. then, you begin the embarrassingly to you cute to abby process that involves sips of water, bites of chocolate, and your head following the rhythm of abby’s chest up and down as you match her breaths.

<\3

no but really we all know abby will always comfort you even if she has no context to what you’re crying about! ride or die babyyyy

#hi anon <3 #WHEW!#this took so much brain power #but i did it!!!!!!#abby anderson x reader #abby brainrot era #abby anderson x you #mads’ headcanons #q&a

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ckret2 · 5 months

Text

Chapter 32 of human Bill is convinced he's the best prisoner ever and does not deserve this abuse from the Pines:

Bill gets his fingernails painted! 💅🌈✨ Look at his fingernails, I drew this week's picture just to show them off. They're fun.

Bill also gets bound to a magic poppet that can control his every move.

It's hilarious for Dipper and Mabel, but not for Bill.

The early morning still was broken by Stan's wails of despair.

At some point during the night, the egg-and-toilet-papering kids had come back to Stan's car.

And they'd brought rocks.

####

Bill woke up with a sheet tossed over him and a cupcake sitting on the window seat. The cupcake was pink with green frosting and decorated like a happy jack-o'-melon. It was sitting on top of a note:

"Sorry I didn't mention I had plans tonight! Robbie's mom made cupcakes for everyone so I grabbed you one. The music video's gonna be AMAZING! I'll show you when Robbie posts it!" Mabel had signed with a shooting star.

Bill decided he hadn't been mad at Mabel last night at all.

He battled gravity to heave himself vertical, trudged downstairs to the bathroom, stuck his face under the faucet until his mouth tasted less like sour sandpaper, agonizingly dragged himself back upstairs to his makeshift bed, and collapsed under the sheet to wait until his head stopped hammering.

####

Sprawled on the living room floor, Mabel said, "What should I draw?"

"Draw me." Bill was sitting cross-legged on the sofa, watching the news and nursing a glass of Mabel juice. In an effort to counteract the lingering queasiness from overdosing on sugar and chocolate, he'd spiked the juice with two ground-up Elderly 60+ Vitaman™ brand Man Vitamins (khaki flavor) stolen from a bottle that Ford had bought for Stan and that Stan forgot to take.

"Okay!" Mabel turned around and squinted up at Bill. "Strike a pose!"

"Not like this!" Bill shoved a hand in Mabel's face to force her to stop looking. "Draw me how I really look."

"Bill, that's illegal. Remember?" Mabel pointed at the TV. Bodacious T was reporting on a child who'd dressed up for Summerween as "that weird out-of-towner who bothered us last year, you know the one," and who, under the Never Mind All That Act, had been fined fifty pieces of candy. The child's mugshot showed his crying face, but blurred out his yellow costume.

"He'd be the coolest kid in town," Bill said, "if he wasn't such a crybaby in front of the cops. Draw me anyway."

"I don't wanna get arrested!"

"Do you see any cops?" Bill grinned. "Just don't sign your name, nobody will know it was you."

Mabel considered that. "I can sign it someone else's name." She pulled out a few crayons.

"That's what I'm talking about! Do anything you want forever and frame the innocent!"

"What do you want me to draw you doing?"

"The coolest thing you can think of."

Mabel considered that, and got to work.

The news was boring now. They were talking about the weather, and it wasn't even interesting weather. "So hey, you were gonna tell me about filming last night?"

"Oh yeah!" Mabel said. "Did I mention the part where the dead rose from their graves?"

Bill muted the TV. "And I missed it?"

Robbie had decided the cemetery at his place would be more atmospheric than the trick-or-treater-filled streets (and less likely to have their shots ruined by passersby that didn't appreciate the depth of Robbie's lyrics). It went great, until the vibrations of angsty rock-and-roll stirred the slumbering corpses and they clawed their way from their graves. It turned out Gravity Falls had been having off-and-on invasions of the undead for the past year, ever since somebody decided to reanimate every corpse in town for fun, Bill.

"You can't prove it was me, I'm not the only one who knows how to raise the dead!" Bill laughed. "Hey—you're not drawing this body, are you? You said you wouldn't."

"I'm not, I promise!"

"Then why do you keep staring at me?"

"Um."

"Let me see!"

"No! Don't ruin the surprise!" Mabel picked up a glitter pen with feathers glued to the end and waved them in Bill's face. "And no cheating with your eye-bleeding psychic magic!"

Bill smacked the pen away. "Fine! So what did you do with the zombies? Feed one of the teens to them?"

"No! I chewed like four packs of gum me and Dipper got from the weird homeless dentist and made a fake baby brain. We used it as bait to lead them into an open grave," Mabel said. "And then we realized we could use the brain to train them to do tricks! So now we have dancing zombies in the music video. They actually learned the choreography pretty easily."

"Makes sense," Bill said. "I did fill the space where their souls should be with an insatiable hunger to party."

Mabel grinned. "I thought you said they weren't your fault."

"If they're good at dancing, I'm taking credit!"

"They were pretty good—especially considering how many limbs they were missing," Mabel said. "I'll show you when Robbie's finished editing the video."

"And I'll get to see you playing a creepy ghost kid, right?"

"Yeah! We were the greatest ghosts ever! Check it out, we were like—" Mabel fixed Bill with a dead-eyed slack-jawed stare and whisper-sang, "'We're the things that you have lost. Childhood joy, dead as a ghost.'"

"Chills."

"Dipper tried so hard to get in character as a ghost that he completely zoned out for a minute! When we shook him out of it, he said he felt like he had an out-of-body experience!"

####

At his computer, Robbie clicked play on a clip of the twins standing side-by-side in front of the cemetery gate. As they sang the chorus, Dipper's face went still; and then a spectral gray form rose out of his head, still singing in sync with Mabel.

"Whoa," Robbie said. "Sick. I'm keeping that in."

####

"So, it turns out my bro is an expert method actor," Mabel boasted.

Bill thought back to Dipper drifting up and down the stairs in the middle of the night. "Yep. Sounds like he's got quite a talent."

Mabel set down her crayons and held out a paper. "Okay—what do you think?"

Bill accepted the drawing. "Am I riding on the back of a rocket ship?"

"Like a bucking bronco! See the rocket flames doing a loop?"

"Sure do. Why am I holding a fish bowl?"

"It's like a cowboy waving his hat, but, you're in space. So that's your astronaut helmet."

"It's beautiful," Bill said intensely. "It's the best thing I've ever seen."

"Aw, really? Thanks!"

"When I take over the universe, I'm rearranging the constellations to look like this."

"Don't do that, though."

"Fine, but I'm hanging it up in my throne room." Bill set down his empty glass so he could hold the picture with both hands, beaming at it as proudly as though he'd made it himself. Big change from his lukewarm reception of her house drawing yesterday. She should draw Bill more often. Being a good artist meant understanding what your audience wanted.

Unfortunately, now that she'd finished her drawing, she didn't have anything to distract her from staring at Bill. And she'd taken about as much of seeing him as she could stand. "Bill. I say this with non-judgmental love. But you look sooo terrible."

"Yeah, I know. I think I'm shaped about as nicely as a human could ask for," he pantomimed drawing a triangle in front of his torso, "but let's be real, there's only so much you can do when you're working with a human bone structure. And there's way too much neck—"

"No! Bill, your body is beautiful just the way it is, and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. I meant your hair looks awful."

Bill had taken a shower yesterday morning, emerged with his hair all wet and tangled, and done absolutely nothing to detangle it. And then, with it still half damp and totally disheveled, he'd shoved it under a cheap acrylic wig for the rest of the night. And then he'd fallen asleep on the floor still wearing the wig.

And now, with the wig removed, his hair looked like a bird had plucked out half a scarecrow's straw brains and made a nest out of it.

"It sure does," Bill said, with the slightly forlorn air of someone complaining about a war in a far-off country over which one had no power.

"So brush it!"

"No. Never. You can't make me."

"Why not? I thought you wanted to keep your hair all triangly!"

"Not enough to touch it. Either it'll figure out how to straighten out on its own or it won't, I'm not messing with it. I've got enough going on in my life today." By which he meant he had the last lingering traces of a hangover, which was a valid excuse to get out of all social, moral, and aesthetic obligations.

Mabel groaned in frustration. "I can't take looking at it anymore! If you won't brush it, can I?"

Bill gave her a skeptical look; but then he flung his hands out dismissively. "Sure, why not? If it bothers you so much. Have at it."

"I'll be right back!"

She got her brush from upstairs and a spray bottle from the kitchen, and directed Bill to sit on the floor so she could get on the couch behind him. After making such a fuss about brushing his hair, Bill was surprisingly well-behaved with somebody else brushing it for him. He didn't even complain when Mabel accidentally yanked on some nasty snarls a little harder than she meant to.

"I feel like a corpse getting prettied up for my funeral," Bill said. "Grooming each other is how humans bond, isn't it? This is one of your little social rituals? If all you wanted was to make sure we're still friends after you ditched me last night, you could have just asked."

Mabel shoved her foot between Bill's shoulder blades. Wise guy. She joked, "Yeah! We're bonding now! After this we're gonna paint each other's fingernails and talk about what kind of boys we like."

"I want rainbow spiral fingernails."

Mabel really should be used to this—but she still kept getting surprised that Bill was interested in the stuff she liked. And not even in a patronizing sure-I'll-play-along way. He'd turned to look at her. There was a gleam in his eyes. He really wanted rainbow spiral fingernails.

And now she wanted rainbow spiral fingernails, too. "Fine! But look forward until I finish your hair." One way or another, Mabel vowed, she would reform Bill into a proper good guy—even if she had to drag him there kicking and screaming. Fun dress-up partners were hard to find, and she couldn't afford to lose Bill.

####

Soos wandered to the living room to find somewhere to hang up his and Melody's "Best Couple Cosplay" award, but stopped in the doorway.

Bill, Mabel, and Waddles were sitting on the floor, watching some kind of cartoon psychedelic fairy princess lecture a spider on the importance of colors, with a bowl of popcorn between them. Bill and Mabel both had bright multicolor fingernails and were eating the popcorn with chopsticks to avoid touching their nails. There was more popcorn on the floor than in the bowl. Waddles had taken no such cares to avoid dragging his freshly painted hooves through the carpet.

"Truth or dare," Bill said.

"Dare!"

"Dare you to assassinate the..." Bill trailed off. "I can't have the mayor assassinated, he runs Rainbow Club. And the sheriff and deputy invited me... There aren't a lot of public officials in this dumb town, are there?"

"I'm not killing anybody, Bill. Truth."

"Fine, coward. What's your favorite toxic fume fragrance?"

"That's easy! Gasoline!"

"Hey, mine too! At least on this planet. It smells like—you know that smell that heralds the coming of rain? Gasoline is the smell that heralds a really fun time."

"Yeah! Like going on a road trip!"

Bill paused. "Right! I was... I was definitely thinking about road trips. That's exactly what I meant."

Mabel added, "And it looks so cool when there's a little bit spilled in a parking spot—"

"The rainbow puddles! Yes! Big fan of the rainbow puddles—"

"I love parking lot rainbow puddles! It's like surprise happiness in the most boring place on the planet!"

Soos mumbled, "Girl talk," decided to hang his award up later, and left.

####

Dipper heard the bedroom door open and Mabel call, "Hey Dipper!"

"Hey." He didn't look up from his journal, where he was documenting last night's zombie adventures. "Oh, hey, bad news—Wendy said she got a text from Robbie, it sounds like all the footage from the cemetery last night is ruined?"

"Aww! What? But we worked so hard to train those zombies!"

"Yeah, it's just static. But everything we shot outside the gates is fine. I wonder if it's something supernatural that interferes with electronics?"

"Something supernatural? In the cemetery? Full of zombies? What are the odds of that!" Mabel laughed. "But heyyy, I've got some good news!"

"What?"

Mabel stuck a hairbrush full of gold hair between Dipper's face and his journal. "I got a replacement for the Bill hair sample we gave Pacifica!" She grinned and whispered, "Wanna make a poppet?"

####

It would have been really cool if the first full moon of summer vacation had come on Summerween. But the calendar gods were unkind that year, and instead, it came the next day, on June 23.

Which worked out, in the end, since it meant they didn't have any scheduling conflicts on the one night they could make a poppet.

They had the ritual space set up in their bedroom—a chalk star drawn on the floor with a black candle at each point—and the doll representing Bill—which Mabel had upgraded with button eyes and a miniature version of his favorite knit hoodie. They collected all the shed blonde strands off Mabel's hairbrush, wrapped them around the doll's neck, and tied them on. They set the doll in the center of the star; Bartholomew talked them through the ritual; the flames on the candles leaped a foot in the air, turned a pale blue, and then went out; and the binding ritual was complete. The doll was now connected to Bill Cipher.

"Weird," Bartholomew said. "Usually the flames turn black. I've never seen them turn blue before."

Dipper said, "That's not a problem, is it?"

"No, no. I've just never used the binding ritual on an alien before! I guess it works a little different!"

Dipper picked up the doll and eyed it skeptically. "Mabel, I know we said we're saving this for emergencies only, but—maybe we should test it out just to make sure it actually works?"

"I guess we should," Mabel said, grimacing. "Just—don't do anything that'd hurt him. Okay?"

Yeah, Dipper should've expected that. Whether he liked it or not, Mabel didn't just see Bill as her weird experiment in criminal rehabilitation—she saw him as her friend. He sighed. "Okay. But is it fine if we do something that would embarrass him?"

Mabel shrugged. "I don't see why not!"

####

As they crept from their room, Mabel whispered, "What if we stick him in a box and shake it up? And then tell him there was an earthquake!"

"I thought you were the one who didn't want to hurt him."

"Oh right."

Bill wasn't on his cushions under the window, so they crept downstairs. Halfway down, Dipper stopped, putting a hand on Mabel's arm. Bill was sitting at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, staring out the window.

"This is perfect," he whispered. "He's completely vulnerable. He's got his back to us, he's looking at the moonlight—even if he turns around, he won't see us because his eyes will have to readjust to the dark."

"I don't know if his eyes need to adjust," Mabel said. "Have you ever noticed he never turns the lights on when he goes into a room?"

Dipper considered that. He hadn't noticed—but now that Mabel mentioned it, Bill did have a tendency to lurk in the dark. "Well—okay, but he's still not looking at us. Let's see how this works..." He studied the doll; then turned it around and gently brushed a finger through its yarn hair.

For a moment, nothing happened; and then Bill swatted at the back of his head and looked around, as if he was trying to find what had touched him.

"I think it's working," Dipper hissed.

"Are you sure? What if there's actually a fly in the kitchen?"

Could be. "Let me see if it can control him."

"Careful—"

Dipper grabbed one of the doll's arms and tentatively lifted it.

Bill's arm shot up. He stared at it in bafflement. "Wh...?"

Mabel bit her lip. Dipper waved the doll's arm.

Bill's arm waved. After a pause, he tentatively asked, "Hello?" As if he thought maybe his arm was waving at someone and he should play along with it.

Mabel and Dipper clapped their hands over their mouths, fighting to keep their giggles quiet. Mabel elbowed Dipper, "Hey Dipper Dipper Dipper, get him to stand up, let me control his legs, I have the best idea—"

Bill knocked over his chair and had to flail his arms for balance as he abruptly jerked to his feet. He looked around, eyes wide and wild, an edge of panic to his voice as he hollered, "WHAT'S GOING ON!"

Dipper held the doll out to Mabel. "Okay hurry!" Mabel took it by the legs—

—and Bill started doing the cancan. He shrieked. "WHAT?!"

Dipper shoved his shirt over his mouth to muffle his hysterics. Mabel was letting little wheezy squeaks out through her nose. Bill's voice was almost an octave higher as he screamed, "WHEN I FIND OUT WHO'S BEHIND THIS, I'M GONNA SHRED YOU—" and they both got so close to bursting laughing out loud that they had to pause to punch each other's shoulders for self control.

Still holding one of the doll's legs up, Mabel hissed, "Dipper do you remember the bottle dance. Where they crouch down with bottles on their heads. Can we—can we get a tiny bottle for the doll—"

Bill was failing both arms to avoid falling with one foot held in the air. He grabbed the counter for balance. And then, with a grunt of effort, he wrenched his foot down and stomped it to the ground.

The doll's leg yanked out of Mabel's hand.

Dipper and Mabel fell silent, staring at the doll. They looked at each other. Mabel whispered, "It shouldn't be able to do that, right?"

They looked at Bill.

Bill's face was burning red, and he was so far past fury that his expression was perfectly blank. His eyes were huge, and round, and pointed straight at them.

They bolted up the stairs.

Bill charged after them.

They screamed in terror. They weren't loud enough to drown out Bill: "WHEN I GET MY HANDS ON YOU BRATS—"

Mabel grabbed Dipper's arm. "Dipper, do something!"

"Uhh—!" He tossed the doll in the air and caught it.

They heard an alarmed yelp as Bill was launched in the air and then a crash as he landed on the stairs again.

They scrambled into their room and slammed the door. "Safe!" Mabel said.

"Yeah," Dipper said, panting for breath. "Can't get us here."

The doll's head twisted 180 degrees to stare up at them.

They yelped. Dipper tossed the doll to Mabel. Mabel held it out at arm's length, threw it in her nightstand's drawer, and slammed it. It tried to open again and she leaned against it with her full body weight. "Dipper, the duct tape! In my craft supplies!"

"Which craft supplies?!"

The tiny knocking inside the drawer was echoed by the pounding at the door, accompanied by a string of creative death threats: "—and when I'm finished the coroner won't know which corpse was which! I'll make a belt out of your spinal columns—!"

"We didn't do anything," Mabel shouted, "it wasn't our fault!" She took the duct tape from Dipper and frantically wrapped it around the night stand. Dipper added, "It was someone else! And we'll never do it again—"

Sleepy and muffled, Soos's voice drifted through the door, "Dudes? What's all the hubbub?"

Dipper and Mabel gasped, "Soos!" "Save us!"

His voice the perfect tone of righteous indignation, Bill declared, "I'm being assaulted, that's what!"

Stan's voice joined in from downstairs: "BILL! If you don't leave those kids alone I'll cave your nose in!"

"THEY'RE THE AGGRESSORS," Bill screamed, half hysterical. "They are! I'm the victim here! I'm being victimized!"

Stan shouted, "Kids, good work! Bill, you can go to—" He grumbled as he self-censored, "—sleep! Shut up and go to sleep!"

"You can go jump in the bottomless pit, Stanley Pines! I'll tear you all apart with my teeth if I have to! NOBODY in this stupid junk heap of a shack is getting any sleep until I get my—"

From just outside the attic door, Stan roared, "BILL!"

There was a dull thud as Bill leaned against their door; a lot less shouty, he quickly said, "I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed, I'm going to bed."

"That's what I thought," Stan snapped. The kids heard his footsteps retreating downstairs. Soos said, "Um... night," and his door shut. After a moment, there was the creak of footsteps retreating from the attic door.

Dipper and Mabel slowly, softly snuck across the room to the door, and pressed their ears to the crack. No sound.

They stayed there for several minutes, barely breathing, listening to the silence.

Finally, Mabel pulled away and looked at Dipper. They both nodded, and Dipper opened the door a crack to check if the coast was clear.

Bill's eye stared in. "Hey, kids!"

They yelled. Dipper tried to slam the door; but Bill had already shoved his hand through. Fingernails painted with neon colors and black spirals clawed at the doorframe. He shouldered through the gap in the door, and then he was in the room, smiling much too wide and eyes fixed on them like helicopter spotlights on two wanted criminals. There was blood on his teeth. "Wow! Playing with poppets?"

Dipper upturned his suitcase and held it up like a shield. Mabel pointed a can of spray paint at Bill's face. Bill took a step closer and they took a step back.

"Pretty advanced trick for a couple of children your age," Bill said conversationally. "Not bad, not bad at all. Heck, I'm impressed you pulled it off! Although you didn't make a very smart choice of test subject." He stomped a foot twice.

Something in the nightstand thudded twice. The twins jumped. Bill laughed at them.

Mentally cursing himself for having flinched, Dipper straightened his back and glared at Bill. "You're just mad you got jerked around like a puppet! What's the matter, Bill—you can dish it but you can't take it?" Mabel looked at Dipper like he was crazy.

Bill's indulgent smile cracked, dropping into a snarl of rage. He shifted his weight toward them. Mabel dropped into a judo stance and Dipper sucked in a breath to shout for Stan.

Before anyone could launch a full attack, Mabel took a shaky breath in, forced a nervous smile, and said, "Bill, hey..." (His eyes snapped to her face like a predator that just heard a twig snap.) "This was—just a funny prank, and we're all cool? Right?"

"Mabel," Dipper muttered. "Shhh!"

But Mabel kept looking at Bill. "Right? Buddies?" She held up her arm, showing Bill her friendship bracelet.

Bill stopped and rocked back on his heels. He gave Mabel a long, hard look—like he was seriously considering whether to accept the reality she was inventing. "Yeah. Real funny." Smiling through grit teeth, he said, "You know—it's been a while since I've had my energy strung between two vessels. I didn't even know what that experience felt like for a human! Very interesting. Educational. And it was nice to feel weightless again for a second. Even if the landing was a little rough." He licked the blood off his teeth. One of the teeth shifted. "So—thanks so much for spicing up a boring night. It's been a real blast. Hasn't it." He stared at them like he expected an answer—and possibly like he planned to strangle whoever answered first.

Dipper and Mabel exchanged a look. Dipper shook his head slightly. Mabel looked Bill in the eyes again. "Yeah! Big blast. So, you're not... mad. Right? Nobody's mad!"

Bill stared her down for a moment longer; and then said, "Sure, kid! It's all fun and games!" He forced a laugh—and then another, longer one, hahhh, like he was exhaling all his rage. And just like that, he was back to normal. "I'll admit it—for a second there, you almost got me good! Not bad at all." He held out his hand insistently. "And now the game's over, so you're gonna give me that toy so I can neutralize it. Aren't you?"

Dipper bit his lip, looking past Bill toward the stairs. He could yell for Stan; there was no way Bill could kill them before reinforcements got here—

Mabel elbowed Dipper's side and whispered, "We can't keep it."

And she was right. Now that Bill knew about the doll, he'd be spending all his time plotting how to get past them to take it, and they wouldn't have a second's peace. Either he got it now, or he got it later. Bill wouldn't rest until the doll was out of their hands.

Because he was terrified of it. Why wouldn't he be?

"Yeah," Dipper sighed. "Game over."

"I'll get it." Mabel peeled just enough duct tape off the night stand to wiggle it open a crack and try to squeeze her fingers in. Bill stretched his hand toward Mabel, and the doll stretched an arm out of the drawer. Mabel flinched in surprise, but grabbed the arm and yanked the doll free.

"Ow." Bill grabbed his shoulder and rolled it gingerly. "Careful, kid, are you trying to dislocate my arm? I don't mind popping it back in, but eventually that socket's gonna wear out."

"Sorry! It was a tight squeeze." She held the doll over Dipper's suitcase shield. "Here."

Bill snatched it from her hand. "Thanks a million, star girl." He favored them both with his most nearly-charming, far-too-wide smile. "Good night, kiddos. Have sweet dreams."

"You too," Mabel said weakly.

Bill left. Dipper shut the door. He and Mabel both heaved a sigh of relief.

From the loft over the attic, Bartholomew called, "Is he gone?"

"What are you doing up there?" Mabel asked. "Barty-mew-mew the scaredy-cat."

"I'm not fighting that guy, I'm porcelain and he's crazy."

Dipper flopped on his bed and stared at the ceiling. "Welp. I'm gonna have nightmares about Bill chasing me up the stairs."

Mabel sat on her own bed. "He just wanted to terrify us. And to keep us from seeing we'd terrified him." She fingered the star beads on her friendship bracelet. "He wouldn't have hurt us, I'm sure of it."

"Wh—seriously? You don't think Bill—"

"I know! But he's changed a tiny bit! He'd hurt anyone else, but he won't hurt us," Mabel said. "Or—well, me, at least. But I think he'll leave you alone too if I'm with you!"

Dipper pushed himself up on his elbows to look at her. "If he'd caught us on the stairs, do you really think he wouldn't have tried to tear us apart?"

Mabel considered that; and then reluctantly admitted, "He wouldn't hurt me as long as he remembers he doesn't want to hurt me."

"Yeah, well. I wouldn't count on him remembering when he's mad." Dipper slid under his covers and rolled over. "Barty, can you get the lights?"

"Sure, one second." All the lights and lamps in the room flickered ominously; and then, with a sinister pop, snapped off without being touched.

"Thanks, man."

Mabel didn't climb into bed. She was staring at her fingernails. She'd painted them the same colors as Bill's; but she'd used a black marker to draw spirals on his, and he'd drawn stars and sloppy tiger stripes on hers. In the dark, the colors were all faded.

This time, just once, maybe she and Dipper were the bad guys. He might disagree—he'd actually been puppeted, maybe he saw this differently from Mabel—but that probably didn't make it okay to do it back to Bill just for fun. They should've saved the poppet for an emergency. And the cancan, she decided, was definitely too much.

She smoothed out her covers; then she pulled up her knees to her chest, hugged them, and stared thoughtfully down at Bill's face in the middle of her zodiac blanket.

####

In the dark and quiet of the downstairs bathroom, Bill sat cross-legged on the toilet lid. He held the doll in his cupped hands. Soon, he'd disassemble it—but not yet. Tonight, it was his tool. He shut his eyes and focused on it.

There was the thinnest thread of energy, channeled through his shed hair, connecting this doll to him. He studied the thread, feeling it in his mind, exploring it, strengthening it—until he could almost feel it tugging on him.

And then he started psychically groping for similar connections.

He set the doll on the floor, on top of the drawing Mabel had given him.

His other eyes—the billions of depictions of his face scattered across this planet—weren't meant to be used in this dimension. They were designed like windows he could peer through from the Nightmare Realm; here on Earth, he was on the wrong side of the windows to see through them. And he wouldn't be surprised if the Axolotl had somehow found a way to blindfold them on top of that—after all, he seemed to have done the same to most of Bill's other abilities.

But Bill was resourceful, he was stubborn, and he didn't have anything better to do.

He focused all his energy on trying to feel the drawing the same way he felt the doll, searching for a connection between this body and that face—and he searched, and searched, and searched.

He wasn't sure how long he tried. At least a couple of hours. Straining, straining—for nothing. His head hurt.

What was the difference? The doll was shaped like him, the drawing was shaped like him. What did the doll have that the drawing didn't?

The hair. A bit of his flesh.

Bill knelt over the picture, studying it in the dark. He opened an eye wide, wiped a fingertip across the surface of his eyeball to collect his tears, and pressed it to the drawing's eye.

He could feel a thread of energy stringing from his eye to the paper.

He climbed back on the toilet lid, shut his eyes, and focused on that thread. With an effort that threatened to split his head in two, he pried open his inner eye. And then he was staring up at his own human form from the drawing on the floor.

His body was shaking. His head was throbbing. He wobbled dizzily on the toilet; and as he saw himself topple off, his trance broke, the vision disappeared, and he blacked out. White spots burst behind his eyes.

When he next opened an eye, the room was spinning. He shut his eye. It was several minutes before he could sit up without being sick. He leaned against the wall and let the sweat on his forehead and cheek soak the old wallpaper.

The white spots he'd seen as he passed out were his distant all-seeing eyes.

He'd done something tonight. That was good. But there was no way he was seeing through any other pictures like that. He needed something he could focus his power through, like an antenna.

He needed gold.

####

(Last chapter of the year!! If you enjoyed, I'd love to hear y'all's thoughts & comments! Thanks!)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

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stuckwthem · 6 months

Text

soother | eddie munson x reader

summary: eddie helps you calm down when you're starting to have a anxiety crises.

word count: 1.5k

i was a bit anxious so i just wrote a little blurb :)

.｡.:*✧ 🧺🫐🤍 ✧*:.｡.

in between cleaning chores in your room, you find yourself curled up against the wall side of the bed, quiet and static. to be honest, you don't even remember how it started, the whole overthinking process that led you to a motionless state. the feeling of an unknown guilt, sadness and even a bit of anger consumes you out of the blue putting you through a loop of every silly mistake you could ever done. even though it's uninvited, it's a familiar feeling. anxiety — a useless, chaotic thing that has been haunting you the past few months, or years.

today is supposed to be different. eddie is set to arrive at your house in a few minutes, ready for a day filled with shared meals and quality time. it's his day off, and his desire to spend every minute with you extends beyond stolen kisses during his work breaks throughout the week. you don’t answer the door when he knocks, which he finds odd. eddie's curiosity lingers, you always welcome him with a delightful smile and open arms. so, he waits a few minutes until he’s using his spare key. you hear eddie entering down the hallway, and a thin line of relief makes the queasy feeling lessen.

he enters the room, all smiles and excited to spend the day with you when he sees how tiny and muffled you look on that bed. he’s worried, you don’t move or say anything, an unusual thing for when he’s entering your room, but you don't seem like sleeping when he hears the sniffling.

“baby?” eddie asks, approaching gingerly your body. he leaves his tiny package of goodies he brought you on your bedside table, and sits down on the bed, and now, closely, realizes you’re shivering a little. his calloused hand goes to your leg and then goes up until your arm, caressing it, but you don't turn around. instead, you try to stop crying, to not look weak or just a crybaby in front of your boyfriend. c’mon, you’re a grown up now! but it gets harder to suppress your tears when he’s there, and you're swept away by a wave of emotion that you can’t even comprehend.

he lies next to you, putting his head on between your shoulders and head, kissing your temple gently. eddie carefully takes his shoes off while getting comfortable around you, and you can just hear the stomping of his boots hitting the floor, and it's a strangely comforting sound, knowing he’s gonna stick around.

“wanna tell me what's wrong?” he whispers, not demanding, but there's a genuine preoccupation on his tone, a subtle acknowledgment of the recurring battles with anxiety that he's witnessed before.

“nothing” you whisper back, your voice raspy and tired. “just…i don’t know, it seems like there's too much in my head and…i can’t…” you struggle to cry and breathe and talk at the same time. eddie nods with his head towards you, with a knowing gaze, squeezing your arms so you know it's alright, you can take your time. but there's nothing to say, just a big knot on your throat and a heavy feeling on your chest.

"it's okay, it's okay," eddie assures you, and suddenly he's babying you, gently pulling your body into his chest, almost as if you were a fragile, precious thing. his fingers gently run through your hair, brushing a few strands away from your damp face, and then he embraces you with his other arm, intertwining your fingers as he reaches your cold hand. eddie takes both hands - his and yours - to your chest and takes a deep breath. "come on, breathe with me. will you, sweetheart?"

and you try to follow his request. your mind seems to become less clouded, gradually less noisy, and you stay that way for at least fifteen minutes, in complete silence, lying on his chest as he helps you to calm down. it's comfortable and familiar, something that makes you feel at home, as if you could break down all your barriers and never leave.

as eddie holds you close, the rise and fall of his chest becomes a calming rhythm, a lifeline in the storm of your emotions. his reassuring presence acts as a grounding force, bringing you back to this moment, to the present. the soft strokes of his fingers on your back provide a soothing cadence, creating a cocoon of comfort.

"it's all right," eddie murmurs softly, his breath a reassuring whisper against your ear. "you don't have to do this alone, sweetheart. i'm here for you, okay?"

his words echo through the quiet room, offering comfort and understanding. gradually the tension in your body begins to dissipate, replaced by a deep sense of security.

time seems to stand still as you lie there, wrapped in the warmth of eddie's embrace. the minutes stretch into an eternity, yet each passing moment brings a subtle ease to the turmoil within. it's as if eddie has created a haven where worries are momentarily set aside and you are enveloped in a sanctuary of shared breath and shared comfort.

"feeling a bit better?" eddie's voice is a soft murmur, breaking the silence without disturbing the stillness. you manage a nod, the weight on your chest lightening with each passing second.

eddie tilts his head and plants a soft kiss on your forehead.

“thank you, eds.” a breathy sound comes out your lips. you feel embarrassed, your whole face feels swollen now after crying and your head hurts bad now. you’re not ashamed because its eddie, no, he would never make you feel bad about showing your emotions, never. being vulnerable in front of him is easy, he’s your confident, after all. but the crippling anxiety makes you feel like a burden. “i’m sorry, i didn't want to ruin our day”

“hey, no no no, shh” eddie seems almost offended now, scowling at you.. he grabs your face, his two chocolate globes looking through yours, shaking his head. “our day just started, don’t say that. you didn’t ruin shit!”

“so-” you’re about to apologize when he stops you, giving your pout a kiss. a little laugh escapes when he catches you by surprise.

“no apologizing, you did nothing wrong.” eddie's voice is firm, dispelling any lingering doubts.

but he breaks his scowl into a big smile, showing his sweet dimples, and you can’t help it but reciprocate. its a weary and shaky smile, but he looks at you as if you just opened a window to a sunny day. encouraged by his genuine warmth, you let out a small chuckle, a release of tension that had been building within. his fingers, still gently intertwined with yours, offer a comforting squeeze.

"see, not ruined at all," eddie declares with a playful glint in his eyes, his tone lightening the mood. "now, how about we enjoy the rest of our day? what do you say, peach?"

it seems impossible, but eddie shows you colors brighter than they could be.he makes you feel loved, secure and like you can do no wrong. that makes you want to crawl towards him and simply fuse into one, cause no matter how close you were, never seemed enough. there's no gratitude in the world that could express the feeling, but you felt like god, the universe or whatever blessed force, made him just for you. healing every wound, taking any doubt.

you nod at him, a small positive sound coming from your lips, and he beams at you, loosening the embrace just a little to take the small bag you recognise from the bakery downtown, from the bedside table. from it he takes a glazed blueberry muffin, your favourite. as if he could predict you would need it.

“oh my god, i love you so much” you exclaim tenderly, sitting more comfortably to face the boy as he hands you the treat. you take it, feeling lighter and giggly again like a little kid.

you take a huge bite from it, closing your eyes as you did so, savoring the sweet and sour combination. you hum with pleasure, and hear a chuckle from eddie. between bites, you steal glances at the boy, who's watching you with an adoring gaze. you offer the muffin to him, but he refuses it, letting all the joy for you.

“here, there’s some…” he says, pointing to somewhere imaginary on your face, encouraging you to clean it. you follow his lead, attempting to clear away the nonexistent crumb, but you can’t seem to get it right, so he grabs your face again and with his thumb takes a trace of sugar, licks it off. you give him a weird grimace, a false expression of disgust, and with a mischievous grin, he mimics you. the room is now filled with laughter, a sweet melody that erases the lingering traces of anxiety. in this shared moment of lightness, you realize how eddie's presence transforms the ordinary into something extraordinary.

he can’t help himself when you look at him with those eyes, with such affection, passionate, staring at every little detail on his face, wondering how you could get so lucky, eddie has to break the little distance and meet your lips, tasting the sweetness of it, the memory of the glazed muffin awarding him with saccharin kisses.

you felt full. you and eddie in that room, or anywhere, really, you need nothing more.

#eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #stranger things #eddie munson #fanfic #eddie munson x you #eddie munson blurb

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scarasbaefy · 1 year

Text

linger

chars; scaramouche/wanderer

; fem reader, angst

note; I AM NEW TO THIS !! i neefd more angst i love angst so im doing it myself. emoly if u see this, HI !!!

Ⰶ

sitting on the bed you shared with your “husband” is all you seemed to do these past few months. scaramouche is rarely ever home. when he is, he doesn’t even bother to greet you. not a smile on his face, and no word is exchanged between you. there hasn’t been any intimacy either. no kisses, no loving touches.

“why don't you just leave him? it’s obvious you’re miserable.” tartaglia said as he seen you walk out the infirmary. he had no idea what he was talking about. he doesn't even know the feeling of loving someone so much that you don’t want to let go. “i love him.” you stated, no emotion present in your voice. who can blame you? you were in a loveless relationship. tartaglia felt bad for you but didn’t say anything more. you stared at his back, watching him as he continued to walk down the hall. everyone was worried sick at your depressed state, except of course scaramouche.

tartaglias words lingered in your mind. maybe it wouldn’t hurt to ask scaramouche why he was acting this way towards you. was it the girl everyone had been talking about? you’d occasionally hear other harbingers talk about a mysterious traveler ruining their plans.

you walked back to your room with the mystery girl in your mind. sometimes you would read reports from scaramouches missions that had been mailed in for filing. the way he wrote about her and complimented her skills made you slightly jealous. ‘it’s okay,” you told yourself, “soon, she’ll be the furthest thing from his mind!”

before him becoming distant, he would talk to you with the happiest look on his face. he would bring you gifts and strike down anyone who dared to look at you the wrong way, never failing to bring butterflies to your stomach. the memories of the past made you tear up. “i miss my husband.” you whispered as you rubbed your stomach, trying to soothe the sudden cramp you had been getting for a while now.

“i’m right here. stop crying. it’s making you look pathetic.” scaramouche said as he slammed the door shut. “do you know how embarrassing it is having a crybaby wife like you? lumine would never do this. everyone looks at us with pity and i hate it, and it’s all your fault,” his words dripped with venom.

you felt your heart drop. you didn’t know he was coming home today. the plan to tell him the news you found out from the infirmary suddenly slipped out of your mind, fear of what he’d do to you replacing its spot.

“i-i.. when did you arrive? i thought you wouldn’t be coming home for another week or so,” you said as you wiped the tears from your eyes.

scaramouche walked in front of you, grabbing ur face with one hand while rubbing the tears away rather harshly. you immediately tried prying yourself away from him. “stop! you’re hurting me!” you shouted, grabbing his wrists and forcing his hands off your face. “oh give me a break,” he started, “now i can’t even wipe your tears away without you acting dramatic? isn’t this what you want anyways? god, how much more useless can you get? if i knew you were going to become like this, i wouldn’t have married you. id rather walk this land alone a thousand times and witness my friends get killed, than to be seen with a person like you.” your heart dropped for a second time. this time, the aching pain lingered longer.

you slowly smiled at him. one of those smiles you give when you’ve had enough. months without him talking to you and this is how he treats you? scaramouche furrowed his eyebrows at your reaction. no one should be happy after being insulted.

“okay.” you said, the smile turning into a bitter expression. you stood up and shoved him away from you. “take your lousy ring,” you took the ring off your finger and threw it towards his feet, “i’m sick of this, and you, and everything you haven’t done. i haven’t done anything to you to deserve this,” scaramouche stood there with a surprised face. he stumbled as he reached to catch your ring, regret immediately washing over him. never in a million years did he think you’d be capable of talking back. you’re a sweet person with no room for hate. “don’t look for me,” you continued, “don’t follow me. don’t even bother mentioning my name,” you made your way towards the door, hand reaching for the doorknob, “and by the way, don’t be surprised when one of your subordinates reports back to you telling you they spotted me with an infant that resembles you.” the electro vision on your back flickered before the sound of thunder roared and lightning replacing where your body once stood, teleporting you out of the building.

#hi #wyd #i didnt know what to write about #scaramouche #wanderer #angst #scaramouche x reader #wanderer x reader #scaramouche x reader angst #genshin #genshin impact #teyvat #childe #tartaglia #oneshot

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fatallyfalling · 2 months

Text

Bitter Water 0.07 ~ ♆

“ You were nothing like him. You were more. And maybe that scared him a little. “

warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, ptsd, forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, death, nightmares, unintentional self injury, alcohol, insinuation of suicidal thoughts, mention of aphrodisiac abuse, sexual abuse, etc

{{ word count }} 8.2K

{{ prompt }} Six months was never going to be long enough. You would have sooner dug your heels into the earth and bared your teeth than go back - but you have to keep them safe. You only ever wanted to keep them safe….. in the end you never could…

{{ a/n }} Markiplier voice: “Hi - It’s me! I’m not dead! Which is an awful surprise considering how many people wrote my obituary yesterday! PREEMPTIVELY! In case i did die! But i didn’t! so suck on that!” anyhoo - This is LONG but also get ready to cry <3

p.s.- I promise reader isn’t a crybaby they’re just traumatized 😭 I also apologize if this is a bit scattered, it’s been in the works for over three months now but i swear you’ll get more consistency from reader here on out akkfkskdkskd The ending is also a tad rushed i just REALLY wanna get into them being older so I can write with more substance IM SORRYYYY

They’re alive.

Two words. Three syllables.

This mantra kept you moving. You’ve been home for little more than a month, but the treacherous plague of the arena had left its permanent reminders engraved on your skin. Still, you were too often dragged back by those same claws, kicking and screaming, under the blanket of night to relive the horrors of the 67th annual Hunger Games, only to awaken with bitter copper coating your tongue and a twisted scream retching from your throat. You’d already lost count of how often your episodes upset Dorian and Callan. They were too young to understand the poltergeists that haunted your nightmares. The poor boys had even started running to your father on wobbly legs dragged down by sleep to rouse the gruff man, bleary eyes the size of saucers, as your cries echoed through the too-big house. It sputtered that vital flame still fighting to ignite inside your chest to see them cry because of you.

You hated yourself for it.

Marjorie had hobbled up the three steps to your porch on creaking knees, breathless and panting as your Father led her into the finely furnished house the first night the terrors returned. He hadn't even bothered for his brown leather duster to cover the mangled remains of his dominant arm. Sweat pooled on Marjorie’s brow as the elder gripped her threadbare shawl tighter around her shoulders. The panic on your Father's face was all she'd needed to follow the man home in the middle of the night. Your screams met the elder's ears first. Then Dorian and Callan came bounding out of the parlor to meet her with fearful eyes and tight hugs. "Please, help them, Nana!" The twins blubbered between tears. An expression heavy enough to resemble grief painted your Father's features as Marjorie connected her gaze to his.

"I'll see what I can do."

The unfortunate reality was that there wasn't much that could be done. Marjorie had even enlisted Mags’ help in deciphering a possible treatment plan for the traumatic stress that seized your mind, but any leads ended up inconclusive. A specially brewed tonic of chamomile and lavender before bed at least aided in closing your eyes to combat the insomnia you'd developed, but little could be done to keep you asleep. You had daily sessions with Mags to try and sort through the inner turmoil. But progress was slow going, and you rarely made it past recounting the first few weeks of life in the arena before tears bubbled and panic took over your chest, squeezing so tightly you feared suffocation. Marjorie suggested seeking a higher level of care for your condition, but Mags signaled things might only get worse for you to be removed from your loved ones again so soon. You'd agreed with your mentor. As harrowing as your experiences had been, all that mattered to you were the twins smiling faces and the warmth in their embraces, or the idle chatter over an evening meal about their latest school projects or primary school gossip. The normalcy helped in its own way.

Your father once tried to coax you into going to a local medical clinic on one of your better days. "It's just a check-up." He'd claimed. But after angry red scratches peppered his one good arm, and you were huddled in a corner far from the door like a wild animal set to pounce, the idea was left to rot amongst other failed attempts to heal your internal wounds.

As much as you hated to admit it, your episodes had only worsened since being back.

There were four things you'd learned to despise since surviving The Games.

1. Water

2. Closed Spaces

3. Finnick Odair

4. President Coriolanus Snow

Your aversion to water still clamped around your throat like a vice. But that natural, sometimes visceral, longing for the sea was a heavy weight in your chest. Water still brought painful memories to the front of your mind, with soap suds burning your eyes in the shower between ferocious blinks, but the salty spray of coastal air was too enticing to turn from. You still found yourself sneaking away from Victor’s Village in the wee hours of morning to the brine scented sands down a tall-grassed hill behind your house. Unlike your home, tucked away in a more secluded, woodland, part of town, the Village was right along the coast outside the edge of the port. You could see the lit up pier and ship docks down the shoreline in murky shadows over the horizon, occasionally illuminated by the ever turning lighthouse nestled amongst the cliffs younglings favored to dive from.

You’d ventured up to the cliffs a handful of times since returning to District 4. The wind was wild and whipped your hair this way and that with howling gusts up the face of the rocky mountain. Summer was nearing the end of its course, with crisper air wafting in from the ocean that sent shivers up your spine, and the hair on your arms and the nape of your neck to stand on end. You’d wander up at night, cloaked in shadow with whisps of moonlight curling over the planes of your face and arms. If anyone below witnessed the picture of your gauzy night clothes billowing in the wind amongst the shadows passing your face under moonlit clouds, they’d think they saw an apparition. One of the local myths, told only in hushed voices in warm taverns by rosy-cheeked, ale scented, fisherman out of Peace Keeper's earshot. You didn’t dare try to jump. However tempting the darkest reaches of your mind made the caress of its fingertips along the veil of your sanity, pawing the sheer curtain as if asking permission to flood your thoughts and set that roaring inferno in your chest loose, you stayed firm on the damp earth.

You wouldn’t do that to your family.

Days were easier than nights at least. You favored the large, second story bay windows of the grey dappled house, soaking up warmth from the sun and your personally home brewed tea. Your father had tried to replicate your recipes while you’d been away but Dorian and Callan loved to remind the poor elder that yours still tasted sweeter. Another thing the twins had missed in your absence. You’d taken it upon yourself to teach the younglings the simple brew in perfect replication, earning giggles of sheer joy from the boys and an eye roll from your bemused Father. You’d also begun a small collection of your personal recipes in a small leather bound journal gifted to you from your father to replace the old water damaged cards you used to keep the instructions on. Amongst freshly printing the terms you still tucked the old cards between the pages as keepsakes and tell of origin. You cherished the small book tremendously.

Cooking had also surprisingly became rather cathartic for you in a way. Doing something with your hands helped ease the nervous habit that created burning red crescents in your palms, especially when it came to kneading dough or fixing herbs to garnish meals. It had been an adjustment to fix more filling meals that made enough if not more for your small family. Instead of saving every scrap, or even skipping your own helping to allow the twins seconds, there was enough to feed everyone and then some for once.

The wealth that came with winning The Games was generous and easily enough to live well into the rest of your lives. But it also cast a heavy weight on your shoulders. Another permanent reminder of the spilt blood that coated your skin in phantom stickiness. Sometimes you wished nothing more than to be rid of the fortune, but the prospering health of your siblings always managed to chip away at the solid guilt cocooning your heart.

All you ever wanted was to provide for them and keep them safe.

Safe.

Three months have now passed since You’d arrived back in District 4.

Finnick Odair had kept his distance, if not attempting to avoid you entirely. Well - as much as he could with what shred of free will the boy had to spare. He was exhausted, and the knife that had carved out his bleeding heart from his chest had become a rudimentary ache. No matter how heavy the concealer his stylist’s applied was, dark circles and hangovers could only be hidden under playboy charm and pointy smirks for so long. Since Finnick’s announcement as a “Desirable” Victor four months prior, he’d felt the Capital collar and chain around his neck tighten and yank in whichever way Snow commanded with growing severity. Part of him was surprised there wasn’t bruising where the icy torque would have rested on his throat.

There was never a ‘day off’ for Finnick Odair. Not anymore. There was always a performance to be made, or an appearance at a party, or a sticky-fingered Capital elitist client spewing sultry filth in his ears that made the boy want to either be sick or run the lethal triple blade trident hanging in his bedroom through their gut several times.

The retched hunger of Capital elitist’s, heiresses, and whoever else was rich enough to pay the sharks prowling in shadowed corners of banquet halls or knew who to speak to in order to arrange an ‘evening’ with the ‘Prince of District 4’ was insatiable. Every minute detail of the Golden Boy’s daily life became scheduled, prepped, scrubbed, tested, ordered, dressed, touched, and pressed. There were no choices, no breaks, no compromises.

If Finnick Odair wasn’t perfect or spotlight ready for even a millisecond - people would talk. If Finnick wasn’t flirting or hanging on the arm of someone new every night they’d get bored. If there was no gossip, no allure to the honey-tanned playboy they’d lose interest and President Snow would bring down the iron fist poised mere inches over the carefully crafted safety net around Mags and the few people he dared hold higher than himself.

Cold water helped ease the pressure.

The freezing splash of droplets on his tanned skin was palpable. The opposite of sparks and flames which singed lapping, invisible burns through his veins and made setting himself ablaze more appealing than the possible friction of another persons touch for a thousand years. It was an expensive effort to not flinch away or recoil from groping hands. The most Finnick allowed himself under a mirror-practiced mask of feigned pleasure or pride was a minuscule flutter of muscle in his sharp jaw and the continuous picking at invisible lint from progressively more revealing tunics and netting.

Finnick didn’t want to think about what kind of scrap fabric or net he’d be forced to wear years down the line if the stylists were already pushing to show more skin on the Victor.

Scrubbing calloused palms down his mascara streaked cheeks, the taste of sea salt met his tongue. Poseidon’s waves had effectively washed the remaining remnants of gold luster from his neck and shoulders in the rolling shallows. Finnick took his time to savor a thorough inhale of the briney coast. He hadn’t bothered to venture back to his house in the Victor’s Village culdesac. He was lucky to have slipped away from the escorts Snow often ordered to be close by. Protecting the “merchandise”. Shades of navy and indigo painted the horizon with thin smears of pink where the endless sky met the waves.

The air was crisp, sending small puffs of white air into the atmosphere under tired breaths. Finnick had just barely returned from yet another unremarkable Capital function. He didn’t care that his luxurious trousers were now soaked to mid thigh in the frigid water, or that his fingertips had gone numb and pruned. He just wanted the memory of touch and the stupid damn gold dust gone.

“Damn it…” Finnick sighed. It was another exhausting effort to bite back the string of curses threatening to push through his teeth on pointed canines. To curse Snow, curse the Games, hell - curse all of Panem and the Capital for all he cared.

The boy let his sea-green gaze sweep across the coastline. Part of him wondered if snagging a boat from the docks and going off on his own would be worth it. Mags would never agree to it. Before the Games, Finnick would have accepted a quiet life as a fisherman, helping younglings and living off the daily catch.

But he wasn’t normal anymore. He wasn’t even a kid.

‘You’re just a kid.’

‘You’re both just kids.’

The memory pierced Finnick’s mind, drawing a crease between his brows and a wrinkle in his nose.

He wasn’t allowed to be a ‘kid’ anymore. He didn’t have a choice. Tearing his gaze from the sparkling lights of the bobbing sailboats sleeping in the far-off dock, Finnick’s gaze lifted to the spinning lighthouse on the cliffs. The weather stained roofing and salt eroded stones that made up the building left an eerie aura to the tower. Some of the older younglings (himself included) had spun ghost stories to scare the youngest kids around campfires on the dusty sands in mid summer.

He’d missed Summer.

The short cliffs were quiet much like the docks, a sleeping district soon to be awake in a matter of hours. There was a chilled breeze swaying the tall pine trees. Breathy smoke curled around the boy’s shoulders as he set himself moving. The frigid air and water had numbed his legs but he welcomed the cold. Late November didn’t freeze the coast but it sure as hell made things icy up here in the north. Wet sand sank and remolded under his leather boots. The boy had cast down his gaze towards the sand for only a moment in quiet contemplation before snapping back to the cliffs at the sound of a shrill cry.

“What the hell?”

Another sob ricocheted across the cliffs and swam over the shore through his eardrums. The sound was pained, and warrior instinct had his eyes scanning the cliffs over and over for its owner. Remembering he did in fact have legs, the boy put them to use, kicking up sprays of damp sand under heavy strides as he made a break for the curving paths that led to the summit. The specter of pale, gauzy fabric had been his only clue that someone was up there. Maybe he was an idiot for chasing danger, a fool for following the snapping thread in his chest like a second heartbeat. He’d remembered that scream as vividly as the day he’d witnessed you finish the Games.

His lungs started to burn halfway up as a haggard cough choked from his throat between ragged breaths. His calves barked in protest at the uneven terrain but he pushed himself harder. Already cycling through worst case scenarios the Victor had thrown caution to the wind well beforehand. Despite every fiber of his being screaming to stay away and forget. Forget the thread, forget the draw, forget the stupid hunger that made his fingertips twitch or the buzz in his ears get louder under your cold gaze.

He just had to get there. To you.

But why?

You were just another Victor. Just another cog in the grotesque clockwork of Snow’s empire. You were just like him.

You were nothing like him.

Maybe that was it.

You weren’t a career. You weren’t born and bred to kill. You weren’t him.

You were more.

And maybe that scared him a little.

Your name was a desperate prayer on Finnick’s tongue as he crashed onto the clearing he’d glimpsed your hazy form upon.

It was empty.

Maybe he was losing it a bit. Reckless paces that brought the boy peering over the edge on a tightened stomach that feared the possibility of what lie below dropped as sea green storms met empty rocks. You weren’t here. A vulgar curse huffed from his chest as damp hands fisted bronze waves as he paced around the empty clearing.

Maybe he was crazy.

But unbeknownst to the bronze-haired boy, your trembling form quickly retreating through the brush on bare feet that had the hemming of your nightclothes snag on stray twigs, growing caked in smears of mud by the second, said otherwise.

Six months passed too quickly.

The sun was a glowing smear between grey, puffy clouds. The weather had been dreary and damp for weeks now as winter set in. Maybe the sun had pushed past the clouds as a form of goodbye. A last touch of warmth before the metal tomb that stretched down the station platform before you swallowed you whole.

The Victory Tour was to begin in a matter of moments.

There was a cruel sense of comfort as you peered across the cobbled station at your family and the ever bustling Capital team featuring Thatcher Bellstone - your escort, and Hyacinth, your stylist from the Games, who was currently fussing with straightening jacket collars and lint rolling trousers.

Everyone had been dressed to the nines in typical Capital fashion. Callan and Dorian featured matching knit hats and handmade mittens, your Father bearing a new fur lined duster, and Mags had a cream colored muff to protect her aging hands that matched her coat.

And Finnick - God why was he even here?

His navy wool coat matched the emerald scarf hugging his throat in a neat knot. Black trousers and snow dusted dress shoes holding a casual stance as the boy’s bronze waves danced in the breeze. Your jaw set in annoyance. The two of you still hadn’t spoken, hadn’t interacted since the train ride six months ago. Vague glimpses of Bronze waves and liqueur coated chuckles had ventured through your cracked windows some nights but you could barely look at the fellow victor without wanting to punch him. The pleasure he seemed to take in being “Desirable” made your insides churn.

All cheshire smirks and no bite. That’s who Finnick Odair was. You’d stopped trying to decipher the hazy echoes of his cries that barely formed your name three months ago. How he’d even seen you on those cliffs that night was wild all on it’s own. Maybe you had imagined it - some half-baked, desperate, imaginary cry for help. Useless. Worthless.

He’d never care about you - maybe anyone - that way. It didn’t matter.

None of it mattered.

Adjusting the dappled grey coat Hyacinth had dressed you in to match the twin’s, you averted your eyes from the Victor just as sea green irises flashed in your direction. You were thankful he wouldn’t be coming with. Finnick would rejoin your ensemble once the tour made it back to District 4 in a few weeks, but until then you’d be Peacock free.

Your senses felt wired with electricity as cameras flashed, with your knuckles burning under the vice-like fists you’d balled at your sides. You didn’t want to go, but you didn’t have a choice. It was tradition for the Victor of every Games to take a tour across the twelve districts and speak to the families of fallen tributes. The idea made you sick. You hadn’t won anything. You’d only survived.

Dorian and Callan were blubbering like sea sponges against your chest as you bent down to grip them tight. “It’s just for a little while…” You murmured while breathing in the love in their identical hair. The words were meek and your breath hitched on the end of the sentence but you bit down on the hiccuping sob prodding your throat and squeezed the boys tighter.

You’d said similar words before entering a death match mere months ago.

“Shh.. it’s gonna be okay, there’s plenty of tea in the ice box. Just don’t stress out Pa okay? Do your chores and be good. I love you.” You murmured between pressed lips, pulling back to look the twins in the eye. The boys nodded vigorously, giving tiny smiles between tear stained faces and red button noses. “We’ll be SO good!” Callan chirped with a small salute.

“That’s my boys.” You rasped, pulling down both of their knit hats over their eyes before quickly standing just as cameras flashed and elated shrieks echoed across the stones from the boys. Your heart squeezed as scruff brushed your cheeks while your Father came to envelope you in a bear hug with his good arm.

“Be good kid, be good..”

“I will, I will…” You nodded back, squeezing the man just as tight.

“Come, Come! We need to keep on schedule!” Thatcher clapped their burnt sienna gloves twice, calling everyone’s attention and causing the warm embrace of your Father to disappear as he returned to the boys a few paces away. The twins were busy ogling Finnick. Ironically, despite your disdain for the Darling, they’d taken a steep interest in the older boy as some “cool kid” much like how they referred to popular younglings at school. It made your eye twitch sometimes, but Finnick wasn’t mean or short with them. If anything he was kind and caring. Gentle. It was weird, seeing Finnick be gentle with someone other than Mags.

You tried to brush off the rising warmth in your chest.

Mags had soon appeared beside your Father, and the two silently communicated in hushed whispers from the man with Mags waving off his worries with gentle nods and heart warming smiles. They no doubt were discussing how to handle your terrors and your ‘zero alcohol’ rule they’d been enforcing the past months. You were thankful they didn’t let you sink too far, but sometimes the itch for that familiar numbness and sway in your vision picked at your brain a bit too harshly.

“Right! We have a tight - tight! Schedule to follow now. Smile for the cameras and let us be on our way dear. You’ll be back before you know it!” Thatcher bellowed between a phlegmy cough. Rolling your eyes, you gave everyone one last hug before standing in front of the bronze-haired Victor while everyone else filed onto the train or off to the side.

“Peacock..”

“Still using names are we? Didn’t know you liked me that much~” Finnick all but purred, earning another eye roll from you. “Shut up. Just - don’t corrupt my siblings while i’m gone. I can barely handle one of you, I don’t need three Peacocks running around.” You huffed with a wave of your hand. Finnick chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling in his chest as his voice had all but deepened and matured further these past months. “Can’t say that’d be the worst thing, would it?” You felt the tips of your ears burn at the flirtatious tone in his voice and shoved his shoulder away before turning around to face the train.

“Goodbye, Odair.”

“Hey - just..”

You couldn’t help but stiffen as the boy turned you back to face him, a firm hand gently brushing your shoulder. The urge to punch him had your jaw setting all over again.

“Don’t sink. You’ll be back.” Finnick’s voice was soft, softer than you’d ever heard it and for a moment you felt as if a thread ran from your heart up to meet his fingertips on your arm. He was never gentle. Not like this. “Stop being weird, Peacock.” You shrugged his hand off your shoulder despite the burning you felt in your cheeks and swiftly turned and strode away.

You had to have imagined it. The softness in his eyes that made him look younger, more alive. The honey in his tone that matched something you’d only read about. There was no way.

None.

The metallic click of the train car doors closing managed to snap you out of your thoughts as you scrubbed a stray tear from your cheek. Hyacinth coming over to flit about a powdered brush to fix the small amount of cosmetics she’s applied to your skin earlier that afternoon. “It’s wonderful to see you again darling, absolutely wonderful.” The stylist chirps while brushing an airy kiss past each of your cheeks.

You feel a bit sick.

A lot sick - actually.

Time moves almost in slow motion for a moment as your knees buckle and next thing you know you’re on the floor hurling up the biscuit and pear jam you’d choked down that morning. Ringing starts in your ears and a shrill cry from Hyacinth has Thatcher and Mags bustling over to help as the room sways and your trembling hands become blurry behind tears.

You’d been caged all over again.

The tour took a little over two weeks.

Every day and different district you visited felt like an eternity. You’d barely been able to keep anything down as the haunted faces of fallen Tributes and their families plagued every waking thought. Hyacinth continued applying increasingly heavier cosmetics to try and conceal your pain. Your facial features had become gaunt from the retching with deep smudges of purple making homes beneath your dull eyes. You couldn’t stand looking out at the families of people you had or hadn’t killed and having the audacity to apologize and read a flimsy notecard scrawled in neat cursive by Thatcher expressing that their deaths somehow meant something. You’d been verbally assaulted by crowd members gathered in the District’s Judicial Complexes more times than you cared to count.

Liar.

Murderer.

Cheat.

Thief.

The colorful names they called you felt like repeated blows to the gut. And they somehow knew exactly where to hit. Part of you wondered how Finnick had done this. How Mags had done this. How any Victor of the Games had done this. You couldn’t do this. You couldn’t handle any of this.

“I-I can’t… I can’t Mags…” You’d begged and pleaded with your mentor to let you not go on stage. Begged her to not make you face another grieving family while you stood there alive like some prize winning salmon. It didn’t matter how much you’d survived you were still a coward. You didn’t deserve to be here.

Coward.

You’d been a coward to hide. It didn’t matter that you’d survived, you’d still killed and fought your way to the end of the 67th Games. You were everything those hecklers claimed you to be and worse and you knew it. Mags gripped your shoulders tight and forced your eyes to meet hers. Her stare alone told you everything you needed to know before she wrapped you in her thin arms and squeezed tight. You didn’t have a choice in this. You understood she’d have done everything and anything to keep you from going out there if she could but she couldn’t.

By the time the tour reached District 7 you’d gone numb.

“Panem thanks your tributes for their bravery. A-and I thank… th-thank them for their sacrifice…” You stammered on the sentence you’d read six times now. You’d continued to stumble through it for the past six districts you’d been forced to speak in front of. A bottle hits the front edge of the stage with a shattering crash, and angered shouts rouse from the crowd as Peacekeepers force themselves forward in an ordered line, batons shooting from holsters and sharp-shooter rifles strapped across their chests. Your eyes squeeze shut as white gloves grip your under arms and force you away. The speech remains unfinished.

Heavy wooden doors slam behind you and gentle hands grip your face as your mouth contorts to an even deeper frown. The owners fingers are soft, but a tinge cold. Mags. Your eyelids crack and the flimsy, wrinkled notecard in your hands falls to the floor as you crumple into the elders arms. The embrace is short as Thatcher comes up to usher your team to the train as shouting starts to echo through the thick doors behind you.

Coward.

“Best we be on our way. Things seem to be getting a bit out of sorts here.” Thatcher chirps, but their face is solemn as your eyes meet. “Come now Dear,” They sigh. Your only reply is a meek nod. Hyacinth provides a small handkerchief to wipe your eyes and the mechanical maneuvers of the Capital train greet your party as the machine lurches into motion minutes later. ‘Just a few more days…’ You try to remind yourself as Mags helps guide you to the observatory car. You didn’t need the physical support but welcomed it as the two of you found places to curl up on the large, curved sofa. The seats were as plush as you’d remembered.

You’d managed to spend most of your down time here. The scents of damp earth and various florals were comforting. Except the stark-white roses, which had been removed from the various coffee tables to one corner of the room. You tried not to look at them. Your mentor laid a gentle hand to your knee as you curled up to peer out the window. Buildings passed and turned into tall trees, citizens working the lumber were only spotty blurs amongst the rush of the train. “It’s hard to keep doing this over and over Mags…” You sigh, sparing a glance to the elder before continuing. “It’s almost like reliving the arena over and over…” A small squeeze to your knee was enough to turn your attention from the window.

Mags’ eyes seemed far away. Although she maintained eye contact with you, you could tell she was somewhere else. Revisiting the countless tributes she’d mentored in the past no doubt. Her small smile didn’t meet her eyes like it normally did. A few hand gestures from the woman was enough to convey what a part of you was itching to ask.

“It never gets easier. Only tolerable.” You echoed. Mags nods, and your knee receives another small squeeze. Your response is a small hum, moving a hand to cover hers as your fingers gently interlace. You’d had quite enough of the tears and the pains overwhelming your thoughts. The past half a year had been harrowing enough. Maybe it was time to take something back from Snow. From the Capital. From the Games. From all of Panem. A muscle in your jaw tenses before you speak, “I-I want to get better.. learn to tolerate it.” You mutter.

“I’m sick of being useless. Of sitting, and doing nothing. I don’t want to show the Capital that they hold power over me. That they’ve hurt me. They’ve seen enough of my heart, it’s time they see something else.”

An echo of words from the train platform almost a week ago ebb their way to the forefront of your mind.

“Don’t sink.”

You wouldn’t sink. Not anymore.

A twinkle of hope appears in Mags’ eyes as spiteful determination sparks in yours. That flame in your chest sparking back to life with a newfound vigor. You’d be better. You had to be.

You will not die. You will survive. And you will float - not sink.

You don’t stutter through anymore speeches from them on. You wouldn’t let them see that they got to you. Even if you broke behind closed doors, hiccuping sobs on the onyx tile of your bathroom floor, you wouldn’t dare let anyone else see it from now on.

Coward.

Arriving back to District 4 was a monumental relief, even if it was only for a day. The twins were overjoyed, forgetting a certain Bronze-haired boy’s existence the moment you stepped onto the cobblestone platform. Your nickname is a shriek behind elated laughter as you kneel to embrace the boys.

“Sheesh, what have they been feeding you boys? You’ve gotten taller and it’s only been a week!” You quip behind a coy smile. Dorian simply shakes his head and clings to your arm while correcting you that it’s been longer than seven days while Callan hollers a retort saying you’re lying. “Nuh uh! We’re just the same!”

You’re dressed in the same dappled grey coat with the edition of a sage colored scarf as breathy puffs of white air curl through your conversations.

“Uncorrupted just as you ordered.” Finnick quips with a dramatic wave of his hand and a slight bow as he approaches. Your eyes roll in annoyance but you can’t help the slight pull at the corners of your mouth. “My hero,” you deadpan as you rise, picking up Dorian and setting him on your hip. Finnick is dressed much the same as when you last saw him, though his bronze waves are more tousled than usual. His scarf is tied tighter around his throat, but you still catch the tinge of red and purple smears under his jawline. A tightness seizes your chest as Finnick seems to notice your stare and adjusts the knitted material.

“It’s nothing.” The boy claims, but a crease draws his brows in, and his tanned fingers pick a piece of invisible lint from the lapel of his navy coat. “Hm,” You hum in response, averting your own gaze back down to the twins as you feel an awkwardness rise in the air. You clear your throat while scrunching your nose and wetting your lips a moment before moving to say hello to your Father. Finnick remains rooted to his spot, but you can sense the Darling’s eyes lingering on your form as you retreat.

The rest of your visit to District 4 runs smoothly. There isn't much of a speech to be given, rather a small banquet is held in your honor instead. You dread parties, and a painful twist in your stomach squeezes as you sit through the meal that night under the beaming lights of the Judicial Complex auditorium making your head start to spin. What a part of you wouldn't give for one of the many glasses of champagne floating around, but based on the daggers Mags sends your way each time you reach for one of the crystal glasses has you quickly retreating and second-guessing your decisions. Finnick is somehow glued to your side much to your dismay. The boy looks almost like a prince. His pine-colored poet's tunic is cut low, almost to his navel, with black, slim-fit trousers with knee-high laced boots to match with a shimmer of iridescent luster sprinkled across his clavicle and the highest points of his cheeks. The miniature rendition of his famous trident rests around his neck again as well. Part of you wonders if Hyacinth and the boy's stylist were in cahoots behind the scenes as your equally pine-colored ensemble matches the elegance of Finnick's outfit a bit too well. You weren't fond of form-fitted clothing but had become rather desensitized to the matter following Hyacinth's frequent choices to show off your figure. Your garment tonight was a form-fitted silk gown that featured a high slit up your left thigh and an open back. The sleeves were off the shoulder and flowed in a balloon-like fashion before gathering once more at your wrists. Inky, strapped shoes with a short heel could be glimpsed at your feet as well. part of you wondered if Finnick had caught on to the whole ordeal but by the carefree, cheshire smirk on his rosy lips you couldn't tell.

Finnick had caught on the moment you'd stepped into the auditorium.

It felt as if he’d been set on fire. Sparks shot like lightning up his arms and across his chest as he couldn’t help drinking you in from across the room. That excruciatingly tight thread in his chest started to fray.

Finnick tried not to think about it.

He couldn't. He shouldn't.

'Shit...'

The closeness as you sat beside Finnick absentmindedly picking at your plate, not even a foot away had the boy so overwhelmed he couldn't think, only sparing a glance your way every now and then while trying to casually drape himself over his chair. The effort to keep a smirk on his face and a carefree aura was suffocating. What the hell was wrong with him? You’d sat next to or across from one another plenty of times. He'd seen you dressed up like this plenty of times.

Okay - maybe it had only been on screens but that was besides the point.

He had to get a grip. He'd already heard the rumors of there being something between the two of you from the Games starting to stir again amongst the elites as the end-of-tour banquet in the Capital district edged closer in the coming days. You didn't need more to stress over. especially not regarding him. You may have been able to keep a mask of chemical calm when dealing with everyone around you but he could see the shadows under your eyes and the limpness in your hair. Your hands still trembled, and your lower lip remained puffy from biting it. He'd learned your anxious habits from quiet observation. He had plenty of his own tells he was well aware of himself.

Finnick silently cursed himself again.

You were lucky enough to sleep in your own bed for the night, though Dorian and Callan insisted on joining you as if they were attention-deprived puppies. You welcomed their embraces as they nestled close, but knew you'd end up in a corner of the mattress without any blanket to keep warm as the boys occupied the majority of the bed space available. But you didn't mind. Nor did you want to leave them again so soon. But the tour had to be finished. You rested easier that night than you had in weeks, despite the bed-hogging of your siblings.

The morning was met with a quiet breakfast and another teary-eyed goodbye. Then it was back on the train and on to the final three districts. Homes of the Career Tributes.

This time around, Finnick had joined your party of escorts for the last leg of your journey. He claimed he had some occupations to fill and favors to uphold but didn't offer more explanation than that. He'd also opted for wearing higher-necked shirts and sweaters around the train, which you had found unusual compared to his normal attire, but didn't bother to question. It was his business and therefore you needn't bother with it. Pretty Peacocks had Pretty Peacock things to do, you supposed.

The remaining districts were as troublesome as the last eight. District 2 was especially harsh, considering the blade you'd driven through the chest of their male tribute in the final moments of the Games. The district of luxury held nothing back as the family spewed filth your way for your cowardness in killing their son. You couldn't manage to keep your dinner down that night. You didn't stay in your personal quarters either, opting to remain in the Observatory car instead.

You hadn't missed the dazzling limelight of the Capital district.

You especially hadn't missed the pawing hands of the elite citizens.

The gala outside of President Snow's mansion was beyond anything you'd seen previously. To say the vibrant lights and overstuffed buffet tables were overwhelming would be an understatement. They were downright outrageous. Between the high-pitched caws of heiresses and the phlegmy coughs and sticky fingers of brokers and other top-class citizens and staff, you felt your skin practically buzzing from the overstimulation. You wanted nothing more than to slip away or melt into the floor. Peacekeepers lined every alcove and doorway on guard. But there wasn't any concern for the groping hands or lingering touches as you tried your best to squeeze through the crowd. Thatcher had disappeared almost instantaneously, swallowed up by the sea of brightly dressed vultures. You felt your breath grow hyper as your eyes darted around in search of anyone to hold onto and ground yourself. Finnick could be spotted across the swell of dancers in the hall hanging on the arm of two squawking elitists. The Darling was dusted in a similar luster you'd seen at the banquet in District 4, except in much more excess as the boy wore an organza tunic the color of his eyes that left little to be imagined. His trousers were bone white with chestnut dress shows. The Darling was equally adorned in dainty, golden chains as he was glitter and smudged lipstick. Your own cheeks burned at the blatant display.

What on earth was he doing??

Your eyes locked for a mere second, your bewildered gaze pleading, if not begging but the victor paid you no mind as pointed, too-white canines flashed in scandalous conversation with the people around him. You were utterly stranded.

Someone gripped your backside suddenly, earning a yelp and the urge to whip back and punch but instead, you whirl, backing straight into someone's shoulder. Amid the swirling music and voices, you felt tears spring to your eyes, threatening to spill as a gloved hand catches your waist and you're steadied on your feet. Your deep aqua gown whispers on the tiled floor (yes, another secret match to finnick's ensemble) and you're sputtering apologies quicker than you can think. You had to get out of here.

"It's quite alright Dear. A bit overwhelmed are we?"

"I- uhm... I'm so sorry, s-sir." You stutter as you behold the man standing before you. Snow white hair slicked back, with a neatly groomed beard and stark white suit has you gulping down the lump forming in your throat.

President Coriolanus Snow is standing in front of you.

You wish nothing more than to be shot dead right then and there. The creator of your horrors, of the hardships across the districts and the killing games children are forced to play in, was standing in front of you with his hand on your waist. A wolf in sheep's clothing. The devil himself.

A string of colorful profanities cycles through your mind as you're only able to blink in horror and feigned surprise. Any confidence or spite you thought you might have leeches from your mind as your skin blanches.

"I've been meaning to have a word with you. You did quite well in the Games this season, and have caught the interest of a few...clients, of mine. Not to mention the Mockingjays flittering about with rumors of a certain Darling, hm?" The President's tone is hollow. His steeled gaze bores into your own and you can't form the words to reply before the gloved hand at your waist slides up your torso and over to the back of your arm as the older man begins to guide you. The crowd instantly parts and conversations nearby halt, obviously eavesdropping on what the President of Panem has to say.

"Let us move away from prying ears. Gossip is a terrible thing." The President drawls as he pats your elbow. You swallow hard with a meek nod, sucking your lower lip between your teeth and feeling the taste of copper coat your tongue. You bit too hard.

No words are exchanged between the two of you as you pass a very unbothered Finnick, his cheeks and honey-tanned skin are flushed as his overly dilated pupils pay you no heed. Something was wrong. very wrong. The Darling reeked of champagne, mint, and something you couldn't place, and strong. The heiresses on his arms were speaking in hushed, sultry tones, and were tugging at his barely-there tunic. The boy wasn't fighting back. Your stomach drops to your toes as you can only sense the growing fear coming from the crease between his brows and the muscle fluttering in his jaw.

The greenhouse the President brings you to has bile rising to your throat. Every pot, bed, soil flat, and more was covered in white roses. The sickly sweet scent had your skin crawling and nose scrunching, despite the tang of fear on your tongue and the gnawing pressure squeezing your chest. Snow gestures for you to sit on a stone bench near a small fountain. The water gurgles as it threatens to overflow the basin it waters. Snow takes his place beside you, a gentle twist in his torso that sends whispers of his blazer over his silk shirt.

"You put on quite a show in the Arena my Dear. Playing soft and subtle but outlasting the wolves and striking like an asp in the end. You caused quite a stir amongst high-profile viewers. There have been whispers of intrigue about you. Many people covet a doe amongst a pack of wolves. Soft and sweet - like a lily among a field of thorned roses. Something to control," Snow begins. You feel miniscule compared to the powerhouse of a man beside you. You worry he can scent the fear seeping into your bones as you clasp your hands together like a vice to hide the trembling.

"I-I'm sorry. I don't quite follow."

Snow chuckles. Chuckles. The sound makes you wish to crawl out of your skin.

" Certain individuals feed on control. On submission. Complete - submission." The President's eyes grow dark and feel yourself shifting away, though the attempt is futile on the small bench.

"I'm saying people want you. You're - Desirable."

Desirable.

You'd heard the word only in hushed whispers less than a handful of times. Mainly when Finnick was involved. This couldn't be good. An awful nausea settles in your stomach as the President makes his proposal.

"Predators enjoy the hunt of their prey. The thrill of the hunt. They want a new Desirable Victor. Yes, they've had their shiny new Princeling to enjoy and ravish. Mr. Odair, if I'm not mistaken. But with your victory and spectacular display, they crave more. So I'm offering this," The mention of Finnick's status holds a venom that solidifies the sickness in your gut. If you could run far, far away right now, you would. And you'd sure as hell hunt down the vipers coiled around Finnick and take him with you.

"Become Desirable - or those fetching siblings of yours, and dear old Father, and everyone you hold dear, will be punished. Severely. What are their names? Dorian? Callan?" The President squints his eyes, crow's feet becoming pronounced around the corners of his eyes as your throat goes dry. Horror shoots through you as your heart all but shatters into a million pieces.

"Maybe I should throw in your dear Peacock, hm? The Capital would adore a star-crossed scandal. Trading their prince for a heartbroken princess?"

"P-please..." You murmur, the word barely audible.

"There's no room for discussion here. They'll be dead by morning if you don't accept. For the greater good of Panem and the strength of the Games, Dear."

Your vision blurs as defeat slashes your chest. Your limbs feel like jelly as you feel blood drip down your chin from the bite on your lip and a dampness coats your cheeks.

"Let them live..." You squeak.

Shame filters through the horror and disgust you feel. But you have to keep them safe. You'd lay down your own life sooner than any of theirs. Always.

A white glove smudges the blood from your chin, a crimson stain coating the President's glove as he accepts your agreement and gestures for you to stand. You do.

"Smile for the cameras Dear, tonight will be grand."

You can't bring your lips to move. Another tear slides down your face.

President Snow wipes the stray tear from your blanched cheek as a vile grin adds to the wrinkles on his face. You say nothing as the Predator guides you away from the greenhouse and up to the balcony overlooking the party. The President clears his throat and the room falls silent.

Finnick is nowhere to be seen through the crowd and panic surges through your chest.

"My dear citizens of the Capital, and all of Panem. I have a very special announcement to make this evening. As you know, we are gathered here tonight in honor of the Victor of our 67th Annual Hunger Games. " Snow's voice booms over the gala. Your insides churn as he continues to announce the sentence to seal your fate. You'd lost an even bigger game than you thought imaginable. You can’t find Finnick anywhere. A part of you wants to scream.

"May I present to you my dearest subjects, the doe who won against all odds. They prey who vanquished the beasts. Your new desirable," Snow bellows your name with a venom that makes you fear vomiting right then and there. You weren't a Victor, you weren't a survivor, you weren't even considered a human anymore. You were a product. You were a doe staring down the maw of a starving wolf.

You were nothing.

Mechanical shutters fill your ears as flashes blind your vision. You’re supposed to be smiling. Things will get worse if you don’t smile. But all you can feel is the bile rising in your throat and your leaden tongue refusing to move. The sickly scent of roses invades your senses as gloved hands pat your trembling ones that grip the President’s suit jacket like a vice. You don’t dare move an inch.

There are two things you've learned to despise since surviving The Games.

1. Liars

2. President Coriolanus Snow

@emerald-09 @reader-bookling123 @finnickodaddy @thehairington86 @darlingsoulbeautifulthoughts @avoxrising @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @whens-naptime @violettbae @the-lonely-abyss @secretsicanthideanymore @nexxus13 @takanparadiae @yourdailymemedelivery @wowzabowza69 @c4ttheart @lizzo-del-jaileraka @inatimate-icarus @thestrals-and-firewiskey @honethatty12 @goldencolorrock @cherrsnut

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taeloke · 2 months

Text

Overanalyzing 4KOTA Chapter 142 instead of just waiting for more info (2/2)

Part 1

This is the part where I talk about King and no one else. Also, this is more ramble than analysis by the end, and I'm making myself not worry about length this time, so...you have been warned :) As for Mertyl, I'll definitely talk about him again over the next chapter, though I might not say as much as I did the first time.

Firstly, look at this face. Remember all those seasons ago, when everything was peaceful for like a single week? How sweet and thoughtful this little guy was, especially against his own personal wishes?

This is King--regardless of how he's like on the outside.

Elaine herself described him as someone who tries to act tough but is really a crybaby. He's someone who can't seem to stop wearing his heart on his sleeve. He always tries to hide his feelings to keep everyone else from worrying, but try as he might, anyone will see through his "tough act" if they're around him for long enough. Awakened or not, he's not King if he's not a highly emotional character like that. He's just a lot better at putting a cover over those feelings now. He's grown up for real.

If you read these last few 4KOTA chapters without remembering the original Seven Deadly Sins story, it only makes sense to look at him more like an ass of a father right now. There's a lot to his perspective that we just haven't gotten to witness yet, and one of the easiest conclusions to make from all of that unknown space is "King loves Nasiens more than the adopted son he raised." For crying out loud, he's giving an immensely scarce cure-all to a young man who introduced himself as a human without an explanation for why Myrtel hasn't received it yet. We don't even know for sure if he's tried using the Drug of Yore to treat Myrtel's condition in the past right now.

There's just one problem about that conclusion: King isn't like that at all. It only looks like he is because this family drama is fatally poisoned with tension and misunderstandings at this point. It's starting to explode.

Remember how way back in the series, King first thought Diane without her memories of him would be better off without him at all?

I think that's a lot similar to what he's thinking with Nasiens right now. If King didn't play a part in their present happiness, then what right does he have to want their love? He'd label that as too greedy or selfish in a way that he can't allow himself to be. He thinks he knows his place, and that place is somewhere forever distanced from his first-born kid.

But he can't just do nothing for Nasiens. Maybe just one totally subtle yet significant expression of love can slide, right? What could he, seemingly as nothing more than a ruler, possibly give to Nasiens to make him happy? Maybe if he gives Nasiens just one perfect gift, Harlequin will feel like he was good for his son at least once. He'll feel like he's finally atoned for losing Nasiens for too long and failing him as a father, and then he can let that "sin" go. Surely, Nasiens wouldn't be happy knowing the truth anyway. He'll be better off never learning about his true relations, since he's built his life without it already. Assuming that "logic" is what King's going through, a lot of his actions make sense to me.

And yet he still almost slipped up and spilled the beans.

Nice save, King, but if you gave Nasiens more time to think he would have realized what you really meant. Tioreh gave him time to realize she believed he's a fairy and his initial freeze then was the exact same.

None of this is easy for King. It isn't easy for any of them. In some ways, those past 2 years must have felt like forever to him. Precious time to have his first-born kid around that he'll never get back. And after 2 years of keeping distance...

"Sorry, I couldn't help but follow you."

"I just wanted to help you out, in any way I could."

King can't keep his distance anymore. His true feelings are starting to break free.

"Hee hee... Don't be shy, now. I just want to be of assistance."

Sure, King. Saying it like that totally doesn't make it sound like there's more to this, even with your confident/amused chuckle.

Of all the gifts he could give Nasiens, I'm sure King believed this was the one thing Nasiens couldn't refuse to accept from him. A powerful healing drug that he advertised as one-of-a-kind and a once-in-a-millennium opportunity. With it presented not only as that, but also as something that might bring Percival back, how could Nasiens reject such a gift? Right?

...And then Nasiens rejects the gift. Immediately, King gets so nervous that he breaks character.

He immediately started sweating too. King prepared everything up to this moment, and he has no excuse as Nasiens questions him and calls him out.

And Nasiens is right to call him out because of how this looks.

Nasiens, just like us, doesn't yet know what the truth here is. He's right to be suspicious and King needs to realize that plans in how the changeling duo is handled need to change right now. Ready or not--telling the truth is the only way to save what's actively starting to cave in.

But the sad thing is...I have a feeling that it's too late already.

Things are only going to get worse from here... I don't know how, and in a way that makes this feel more awful.

Sixtus should tell King that Mertyl saw him offer the Drug of Yore to Nasiens. There's no doubt in my mind that King will realize the problem once he has that information and try to do whatever he can to make things right. PLEASE don't make him too late again. At least give him a chance to talk to Mertyl before things fall apart if that's where all of this is headed.

#nnt king #4kota #mokushiroku no yonkishi #nanatsu no taizai #nnt #ramblings #I feel like I have even more to say #but i cant think of any more #and i want to send this today soo

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dum1s-writings · 1 year

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Well, hello! It's nice to see an active total drama writer in here! I love this show so much and the fandom is like dead 💀

So, I had this idea...

It could be headcanons or a fic/one-shot, whatever you feel like the most!

But, what about the reaction to the TDWT crew to Chris bringing his niece with him?? Like, the reader is just a sweet 19 y/o teenager who looks for their safety and actually cares about them??? (Total contrary to his uncle lmao).

It doesn't have to be with one character specifically, most like how they would react overall to the reader wanting to protect them from Chris (AND PLEASE MAKE THE READER PROTECT CODY FROM SIERRA I BEG U)

Anyways, have a nice day!!! <3

~~~The Nice McLean~~~

I fucking love Total Drama!! I firmly believe Leshawna should've won the first season. I'll try to add my least favorite characters from World Tour to avoid being biased.

Warnings: Chris McLean, Sierra's stalker behavior, attempted manipulation from Alejandro, Duncan being kind of an ass, does Cody being a crybaby count? I'm making it count.

Pronouns: They/Them

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright contestants I have another surprise for you." Chris looked at the tired teens. From behind Chef came another teen. They smiled and waved to the other teens.

"Another contestant?" A few questioned simultaneously.

"Oh hell no. Their mother would kill me." Chris slung his arm around them and tugged them close. "This here is -Y/N- McLean, my nibling."

"Heya," their smile got bigger "I hope we can get along."

Everyone was too shocked to speak for a moment. Sierra was trying so hard not to flip her shit. Chris McLean's nibling was actually in front of her.

"So you're related to Chris?" Harold finally asked.

"Yeah. My mom is his sister." -Y/N- answered truthfully.

"Think of -Y/N- as a co-host. Another Chris of sorts." The older man smirked. "They'll keep an eye on you famous wannabes while I can't."

First of all we'll get the obvious out of the way, the cast fucking love you, after getting to know you. Obviously at first learning you're related to the devil host, Chris McLean, they immediately thought this season would be twice as torturous. But give them a couple of days or weeks and most of them would willingly jump from the plane for you. The others may take some time.

I'll start with the ones that take no time in becoming your fans:

Cody: for him the moment he saw you give a genuine smile was when he trusted you. Having dealt with Chris's shit for so long made him aware of a real and fake smile. Also when you demand Sierra leave him alone? Oh yeah he likes you even more now. Expect a lot of clinging, as much as he can, crying for one reason or another mostly Sierra and excessive praise for the small things.

Lindsay: my sweetheart, so pretty so.....not traditionally smart. She saw you looking super nice in your outfit and that was it. Anyone with fashion choices as good as yours are definitely trustworthy. Please become shopping buddies after the show is over.

Owen: this big lug. He really tries to see the good in everyone. More often than not he's wrong. But he's genuinely happy he's right about you.

Sierra: she knew about you before anyone else. Obviously she's going to trust you from the get go. You're related to THE Chris McLean. That trust may or may not waver...TBD. Either way watch yourself around her. Keep a close eye on your belongings.

The neutral ones who need a bit more time are:

Noah: he just doesn't trust easily. Take no offense to it. I think only Owen was lucky enough, being an actual giant ball of sunshine and stupidity. Perhaps if you sneak him some Noah-Safe food he'll trust you faster.

Gwen: poor girl has been scorned by the world so often. It's left her with a few trust issues. Maybe stick up for her and watch some good horror movies together. Reassurance is the key, she was painted as a bad guy from the beginning. Let her know she's more than that and it's okay to admit she did wrong. Help her move past that.

Leshawna: this bad bitch (lovingly) knows her worth. She wants to make sure others know it as well. Don't talk down to her and hype up her plans and ideas and she'll consider you worth her time and respect. Also keep Alejandro away from her. Please. My queen deserves better.

DJ: he's a softie and a Mama's boy. He does want to trust you. But after his failed restaurant with his Mama it might take some time. People in power never helped him or his Mama. In fact he wonders if they were sabotaged. Help him find ways to "reverse his curse" and he'll definitely trust you, also maybe offer his Mama a job as a chef, especially if it's a higher position in a private kitchen.

The ones who just straight up dislike you and take a long time to like you are:

Alejandro: his family caused him so much trauma. He doesn't trust ANYONE. He may act like it, nodding to your advice and being nice. But alas tis all a front. He's really just waiting for the perfect moment to betray you. When that time comes and goes and you're still nice to him? Yeah....you may have started chipping away at his walls.

Heather: the queen bee. The head of every group project. Highschool taught her to look out for herself. So did the first two seasons of Total Drama. She'll bitch at you and talk shit about you "behind" your back. Just brush it off and continue being nice and you'll win her over, eventually.

Courtney: the Type A Psychotic Crazies and debate team caused Courtney to believe only Courtney can help Courtney. She'll refuse to trust you and judges those who do. In fact it's not until she's kicked off will she finally trust you. Maybe meet up after the show and talk to her, she'll apologize to you and own up to her wrongdoings.

Duncan: the runaway delinquent. The hardass he is doesn't trust you, purely because of your last name. Chris ruined his life, more than he himself could have. Being stalked no matter where he went for 2 years put him on edge. Abolish Chris's stupid "must always sing" rule and his opinion on you might change.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hopefully this works. I didn't know what to do for most of it. I was winging it big time.

#dum's writings #dum's requests #total drama x reader #total drama world tour #x gender neutral reader #x gn!reader

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mana-jjk · 6 months

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I would love to hear your thoughts on inuokko post-shibuya. like how toge goes through the acceptance of his injury, how yuuta would help and be so supportive of him and also their reunion…just want to hear your thoughts on it! go wild! I love inuokko <3

oh my gosh anon thank you i have so many thoughts !!

feel free to send more asks about canon or au’s !! i have so many thoughts it’s insane i an incredibly not stable about inuokko and it’s a little scary tbh.

Post-Shibuya

• so i think it’s important to establish that the time between shibuya and gojo’s unsealing was 19 days. let’s just sit on that for a few moments, just a little more than two weeks.

• what gets me is that a week after toge’s 17th birthday, he is traumatically amputated and alone.

• i do think yuuta was the one to find him, having arrived at around 1:30 a.m. to shibuya. it’s heartbreaking in itself to consider, because even unconsciously if toge calls, yuuta will come barring nothing.

• yuuta is immediately dispatched to shibuya and everything with the culling games is happening so he doesn’t even know if his friends are okay and that’s the hardest part.

• waking up brings a numbness, quiet acceptance that’s been beaten into him since he was a kid. it was inevitable that he was going to severely injured at some point in his life. that’s why he didn’t cry or scream or even feel angry. he was just numb.

• going with the theory that his wraps were meant to contain curse residuals/poison, there was severe nerve damage that extended from the now stump to his shoulder and even a little down his abdomen. shoko tried her best to help him learn how to move again, but she was overbooked.

• every morning, afternoon, and evening, he was forcing himself to move and learn how to maneuver without his arm. he mostly fought with his legs and cursed speech, so he was grateful that he hadn’t lost either. no matter how much inwardly his heart wished otherwise. losing an arm did throw him off-balance so he practiced a lot in learning to fight without the weight.

• no matter how much shoko tried to convince him to rest, he couldn’t force himself to sit still, every time he sat down, he thought of yuuta and maki and panda fighting out there alone. the dead civilians stared back at him in his dreams. the feeling of a thousand cleavers sinking into his flesh pulsed. he couldn’t sit still, so he did what he’s been doing since his parents gave him up. he trained, he fought, he prepared to sacrifice what was left of his body.

• when they called forth everyone willing and able to fight, toge didn’t even hesitate. despite being a traumatized teenager just learning how to tie an empty sleeve, marching towards death was as natural as breathing.

• stepping into the meeting point, he’s in the mind of the soldier, focus on nothing but the next fight, trying to ignore the way his shoulder aches from phantom pain.

• surprisingly, it’s maki who sees him first. while she knew from yuuta what had happened, it still ached her own scars to see him. yet, boldly as everything else she does, she comes up to him and grabs him into a forceful hug. panda isn’t far behind, even with his reduced height. for a moment toge can do nothing but blink.

• yuuta is a breath behind, a mixture of overwhelming relief and devastation all at once in the blue of his eyes, wanting the other to be thousands of miles away but unable to shake his last memory of digging through the shredded remains of civilians, praying to find him whole.

• toge sees him, sees the distress in his eye and reaches out. his hand encloses around yuuta’s, and the distress melts into relief that spills down his face, a crybaby as always. at least that’s how it goes in his mind, past the way his shoulder spasms to do just that. it isn’t relief spilling from yuuta’s eyes, it’s a quiet understanding and grief that tears his heart apart.

• not so long ago, his presence brought relief, his strength was depended on, and he had the ability to at least wipe the tears from his friend’s eyes. all at once it hits him, the scars on his shoulder burn, the feeling of a thousand cleavers on flesh no longer there, the sight of maki’s burns, panda so much smaller, yuuta crying over him, always over him. his own bloody hand tying his tourniquet, not knowing where his friends are, not knowing where he is, alive or dead, hands digging through the debris, strangled breath, pain, burning, darkness, blood, smoke, debris, dead eyes, everyone was dead, why wasn’t he dead?

he didn’t save them.

he couldn’t protect them.

and after everything, that was what broke him.

• he cries, and as everything it’s quiet. the hitch of his breath is enough to send tears streaming down all their faces, just as he feared he’s inevitably cursed them again. it’s only a moment before maki steps aside and warm arms are wrapping around him. he cries until his face burns and his throat hurts from the hitched sobs, but yuuta with tears streaming down his face accepts every curse with open arms.

Recovery

• when everything is over, toge doesn’t really know what to do with himself. all he’s ever known was to fight and sacrifice and part of him thought he would die in the war. now that it was over, he couldn’t wrap his head around actually living.

• he spends his days trying to relearn everything he forgot, having been so focused on learning to fight that he hadn’t even considered what it meant to learn how to cook or write or even properly sign with one hand.

• through it all, yuuta is there, sometimes unbearable in his presence and persistent belief in toge. always watching, yet forcibly holding himself back from intervening after a stern talking from maki. toge failed in the simplest tasks, again and again, and sometimes he could only kick in frustration. but through it all, yuuta never left, never looked at him with pity. sitting and waiting like a golden retriever waiting for the word.

• the few times toge cried, like when nobara complained of being hungry and toge tried to shape rice but couldn’t get it right. he stood in the kitchen, tears blurring his vision, fingers twitching violently, unused to so much use. yuuta had walked in, took one look at him and wrapped his arms around him. strong and so familiar to the way he lifted him from the rubble. he didn’t say anything or trying to pull him away, he just held him as they stood in the kitchen, rocking gently on socked feet and smelling of fresh laundry. eventually toge stood back and tried again, producing a slightly bumpy but edible riceball. yuuta tried to make his own and sent toge into tears again over how absolutely clumsy and misshapen it was. with his single arm, he guided yuuta as best he could and returned the bashful grin yuuta gave him with something almost like relief.

• toge eventually got a prosthetic arm, one he could funnel cursed energy through, but the domain had left a number in phantom pain. a consistent poison stopped only by sigils and yuuta that felt like a thousand knives in his nerves. sometimes it was unbearable and left him wandering at odd hours with gritting teeth and pulsing nerves. he never liked waking anyone up, so yuuta ruined what little sleep schedule he had to ensure that rika always listened for the others footsteps.

• toge never told him, but yuuta’s reversed curse energy was different from shoko, where shoko was practiced and efficient like a bandage, yuuta felt like a warm hand over the injury that pressed until it was absorbed entirely. he never had a mother to wipe away his tears or even a sibling to pick him up again, but the way yuuta wiped his pain away made it seem as though it didn’t even compare.

• the first time toge cooked alone, yuuta cried at the first bite even as toge teased him for being a baby. later, he would gently hold his shaking hand that twitched with exertion with a reverence that shook toge to his core. sometimes the care he treated toge with scared him, so afraid to give yuuta, warm and kind yuuta, the broken pieces of himself. but sometimes yuuta made him feel like he wasn’t broken, that he was something precious. kindness and love that so warm and encompassing, it terrified him.

• it’s through shoko he hears that yuuta is considering going abroad again. despite everything he’s been through, the idea terrifies him like nothing else. still trying to learn how to live, he never considered a life without yuuta in it.

• so he hides, shutting down with all the willpower he had to recover disappearing with yuuta. every time yuuta knocks, he burrows deeper under his covers, willing himself to disappear like he should have before.

• he should’ve known that the people around him never seemed to understand why it would be for the better. maki shoves open his door, drags him out, and drills in his head once again that he lost his chance to escape the day he stepped foot in the school. he loves them, loves them more than any word could describe, and their love in turn aches like an open wound but at this point he can’t imagine living without them.

• yuuta finds him later, sitting outside in the garden he always found comfort in. it’s quiet when yuuta kneels in front of him, taking his hand with a kind and dopey eyes with a soft smile that he must know always strikes a cord in the other, “i am considering going abroad again,” he says, a juxtaposition of healing and breaking him apart again and again.

• “and i want you to come with me.”

• toge was a weapon as far back as he could remember. what the higher ups demanded, he obeyed. he lost his entire life to being that weapon, destroying himself and learning to never yearn for more. he never imagined he’d get to experience what others did, never thought he’d see the outside of japan. never thought he’d live long enough to consider it. but here yuuta was, offering him not only to shatter the perception of what his life should have been, but offering to spend his own proving that idea wrong every day.

• there was no sign or words to convey that feeling, the fear and hope that settled heavily on his chest. the weight of the world crushing him a little more everyday. the coward in him told him to shake his head, to stay where he knew and never leave. but didn’t he have to eventually? well into his third year, he never considered what came after.

• nobara and maki were getting an apartment in the city, permanent partners in missions, in life. panda was continuing yaga’s work, learning how to live on his own for the first time, navigating a world not built for him. yuuji and megumi were still figuring out how to live through their trauma, but they had each other and talked frequently about finding their own place after graduation. everyone was moving on, even if they always had a place for one another.

• “you’re the reason i can wake up everyday and believe that it’s okay for me to be alive,” yuuta says as if he doesn’t already have his heart in his hand, “please let me convince you the same.” and toge was helpless but to agree.

#inumaki toge #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #yuuta okkotsu #inuokko #ottoge #jjk panda #maki zenin #megumi fushiguro #itadori yuuji #nobara kugisaki

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