#why is this chapter turning so poetic?

[wildernessuntothemselves]

And here he is now at the door, as graceful and delicate as ever as he moves towards your still body. He rests a knee on the bed and leans over you, squeezing his arm under your body and helping you up like a guardian angel rescuing his human. But like Lucifer, he’s no longer an angel, and his hands only pull you further down into this inescapable abyss.

#ew gross #why is this chapter turning so poetic? #i guess it's cuz it's feelings heavy #bitch disgusting #mort talks #yamqn

[kamiversee]

➶-͙˚ ༘✶ 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙁*𝘾𝙆 𝙇𝙄𝙎𝙏

✧.* CHAPTER 37 || The Priceless Gift

[ { SYPNOSIS } ] ➤ A tale in which Gojo Satoru blackmails you into seducing a list of people to clear his debt. Sounds easy enough, right?

[ { CHAPTER CONTENT } ] ➤ language & more fluff.

[ { WORD COUNT } ] ➤ 5.3k

[ { PAIRINGS } ] ➤ jjk men x f!reader. gojo x f!reader. geto x f!reader. toji x f!reader. choso x f!reader. sukuna x f!reader. nanami x f!reader.

[ [ chapters mlist } ]

——REMEMBER WHEN YOU ASKED YOURSElF if your feelings for Choso were fading? Remember how you thought for a moment you were actually falling for Gojo Satoru, the same man who blackmailed you? Yeah, maybe you were just a bit confused.

Choso's calming voice echoed through your ears and you felt like you were about to cry tears of joy. You wouldn't say you were head over heels for the man but given the fact that you just received such a heartfelt gift from Gojo and now Choso was speaking to you for the first time in about two months...

There were a lot of emotions fluttering around in your heart. You were so fucking conflicted. Even though, your decision should be easy, right? Gojo blackmailed you and Choso treated you perfectly, why are you finding difficulty in choosing who you should settle your heart on?

Why do you want them both in the first place? Is it because you know there's something about the blackmailing situation that Gojo's not telling you and that whatever it is, you know it'll change how you feel? Not to mention, you can't just ignore all of Gojo's poetic confessions.

He called you his eternity.

Meanwhile, Choso hasn't sent even so much as a text in two whole months. You can't be upset with him for it because you understood how hard it was for the man to spend time with you amid the uncertainty you brought but even so, a text every now and then would've been nice.

"Is that okay?" Choso suddenly asked, breaking you from your thoughts, "Is it possible for me to see you today?"

"U-Uhm," You swallow. Your hands were shaking so badly. When did your anxiety get this bad? All of your nerves were everywhere and your heart was throbbing. "Give me a s-second, Choso. Please?"

You hear him sigh softly, "Take as long as you need, angel."

Your eyes shot up to the ceiling as you smiled at his words yet again. After a moment of blushing you nodded, "I'll be right back." You told him.

Choso hummed, "Alright."

With that, you carefully placed the phone on mute and then rushed back to the living room. A new movie was on the TV and the trio seemed to be decently into it. Well, with the exception of Gojo who turned his head as soon as you popped around the corner.

His eyes met yours and both of you sent each other a look. Before you could get anything out, the man mouthed out his words to you, "Just go."

Your brows furrowed. How did he even know you were about to ask them if it was okay to leave? Did he set this up? You do remember Gojo mentioning that you should try talking to Choso during winter break but, he couldn't possibly be behind this, right?

He wasn't. But, Gojo wanted you to be with Choso. He puts your happiness above everything and Gojo so clearly saw the way your eyes lit up at Choso's contact popping up on your phone. The white-haired man wasn't even jealous over it either (he thinks), he was actually happy for you.

So, of course, if you come running around the corner after a few minutes of talking to Choso, it's obvious what you came to say. Given that, Gojo's look was serious and if you didn't go, he was going to force you to.

You, too frozen to move yet, simply stood there with wide eyes as you processed Gojo's mouthed words to you.

The male sighs and then stands up, humming a quiet I'll be back to both Geto and Shoko who hadn't even realized you were standing just around the corner. Gojo then walks over to you, placing a hand on your stomach softly and lightly pushing you back around the corner.

You bat your eyelashes at the tall man as he backs you all the way away from the living room, "S-Satoru, I-"

"Shut up," Gojo utters, his voice low and relaxed with you, "I don't want a single argument from you. Go to him."

You grab ahold of his wrist and he stops pushing you. "But what about-"

"What about what?" He sighs tiredly.

You swallow, "What about you?"

Gojo's heart skips a beat and he smiles, "What about me, sweetheart?"

"I can't just-,"

"First, you tell me you shouldn't be in love with me, to which I agree. Then, you'd tell me about how you missed Choso. And now, he's called you and I'm pretty sure he asked to see you so," Gojo leans down to your eye level and his gaze softens, "Where's the hesitation coming from?"

Your eyes are all glossy with stressed tears, "I don't know, Satoru. I-I'm confused."

"About what?" He chuckles a little, struggling to wrap his head around your current emotions.

"Who I want," You explain.

He shakes his head, "Don't be."

"But I-"

"I'm no good for you. You know that." Gojo emphasizes, "Please don't let me intoxicate you with my feelings. Let's not complicate this, okay?"

A frown takes over your expression. Never in a million years did you think you'd find yourself in such a predicament where you struggle to choose between one man and another.

You sucked in a deep breath and look off to the side, "Satoru..."

"Just... At least go see him." Gojo murmurs, moving his hand to your chin and turning you right back to face him, "Then, maybe make up your mind afterward, yeah?"

"Won't seeing him just make it worse?" You ask.

He scoffs, "No. The worst thing you can do right now is pick me over him."

"But-"

He whispers your name, "Go see him."

You're too hardheaded to listen right now, "Satoru-"

"If you spend another minute here complaining," He shuts his eyes for only a minute, then his tone goes void of that loving emotion, "I'm telling Shoko about the list."

Your eyes widen, "You're not seriously blackmailing me again, are you??" You question in disbelief.

It's so obvious now that the man is a good actor because the way his entire mood shifted back to the one you initially dealt with when the list started is almost frightening.

"I told you, sweetheart," He stands up straight and his gaze is dark, almost cold, "I'm no good for you."

You frown and inch closer to him, placing a hand on his arm, "But... You can be."

He grits his teeth, "Stop that."

"Stop what?" You question, tipping your head to the side with this gentle look in your eyes.

"Trying to figure me out. I told you, I'm not some problem for you to solve." Gojo utters. He doesn't sound upset but he's earnest with you, "I don't want to argue with you anymore so, please, just go see him."

The two of you stare into each other's eyes for one last long moment before you give him a little nod and a quiet okay. Gojo lets out a relieved sigh and then moves his hand to the back of your head and pulls you close to him. Your eyes go wide as he does so and you can tell his short-lived cold attitude has faded away.

His lips then press into your forehead and he stays still for another long moment before pulling away. You then lift your head and your gaze up to him and he looks down at you.

His hand moves to the necklace around your neck, feeling it against his skin for a moment as he smiles, "Go on now, go be happy with him."

You wanted to argue and say you could be happy with him instead, that you could just stay right here and give in to the impending blossom of feelings in your chest for him. But, Gojo would never allow you to do so.

So, instead, you just gave in and soon parted ways with the man after one last hug and a quiet thank you for everything. Gojo then walked you out and he told you that you could come back whenever you wanted, whether it was later that night or early the next morning, he said it didn't matter-- if you wanted to come back, he'd be there to open the door for you.

With that, you and him finally separated.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆ .　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

As you left the apartment, you unmuted your phone and raised it to your ear, "Hello?"

You're surprised Choso sat there the whole time but, his response was immediate, "M'still here." He mumbled.

You smile a little, "Where uh, where do you want to meet up?"

"I'm actually at my art studio right now," Choso tells you, he sounds a little tired. "I'll leave the door unlocked for you."

"Okay, I'm on my way," You say.

You can't see it but he smiles at the fact that he'll be able to lay his eyes on you again, his heart rate increasing at the thought alone, "Cya soon." Choso hums.

His voice was so mellow and relaxed and you loved hearing every second of it. After that brief conversation, the two of you got off the phone and you left the apartment complex completely, quick to get in your car and drive to the man.

The drive felt longer than ever. Each second that passed, each red light that stopped you, every street you drove by, it all felt as though it were going by in slow motion. Your heartbeat was increasing and increasing, anxiety creeping up throughout your veins and making you sweat a little.

Since when did Choso make you this damn anxious? You had to control your breathing as you drove, making sure you took the proper turns as the location of his art studio was imprinted into your brain, even though you'd only been there a few times.

You wondered what he was doing there at this time of night. It was around nine o'clock and you didn't know Choso to do anything artistic around this time. But, maybe things had changed within the two months you went without him. What if he had changed?

What if he sees you and he realizes he doesn't feel the same anymore? What if he gets tired of waiting for you to be ready? What if you were to confess to him and he turns you down? What if he fell for someone else?

Your mind wouldn't stop pushing question after question as you drove. You were beyond uneasy and you loathed that feeling. Choso was supposed to be your peace of mind. He usually is. Normally, when you think about the man, you can't help the swelling of your heart and the smile that spreads across your face.

Where are all these negative thoughts and emotions coming from?

Is this, perhaps, what he experienced? That uncertainty that Choso said he felt before he left you, is this what he meant? The process of wondering all different kinds of scenarios over and over and never being sure of what'll prove to be true and what won't?

You hope Choso didn't experience this-- this sucked.

Before you even realized it, you were parked outside of the designated address. You had to reach in your bag for some perfume and spray it on yourself just in case as if that would bring a calming to your unsettled nerves.

Then, with a deep breath, you got out of your car and headed inside. The building was rather large, filled with all kinds of rented-out spaces, and Choso was located on the fifth floor.

You took the elevator up, taking multiple deep breaths as the elevator creaked and creaked, dinging with each floor it passed up until you reached the fifth. You paced down the lengthy hallway until you got to his place and then stopped in front of the door.

Swallowing hard, you carefully placed your hand on the doorknob and twisted. Opening the door, the studio was dimly lit as you entered and at first, you couldn't see much. The studio was huge and tall, having enough room for its own second floor, which is where the light was coming from.

You were quiet with shutting the door behind you and locking it. Carefully walking through the scattered and various art supplies lying around, you traveled through the room and toward the back, making your way up the short set of stairs and soon laying eyes on Choso.

He was sitting on a couch and you think your mouth watered at the initial sight. His head was turned to the side as he looked at one of his paintings and his positioning on the couch was just...

There was this purple LED light that kept the room dimly lit and it only made the man all the more attractive. Choso was manspreading, his thighs parted so sexily as he sat shirtless in these black slightly paint-covered sweatpants. His hair was loose and his muscular arms were stretched over the back of the couch comfortably.

That was, until he saw you in his peripherals and turned his head to you. You froze in your steps as your eyes met his and you think you forgot how to speak. Choso's brain seemed to stutter as well as he blinked a few times.

You then watched him slowly shift to stand up and your feet slowly moved toward him. Both of you took a moment to process but your bodies were moving on their own and Choso was quick to rush over to you as you rushed toward him.

Your bodies clashed with each other and your arms went up over his neck whilst his larger arms went around your waist. The scent of his cologne and a hint of fresh paint entered your nose as you nuzzled into him.

Your feet left the ground for a second as Choso squeezed you and lifted you into the air, holding you as if he'd waited forever for this moment. With a fluttering heart, you chuckled in reaction to his tight grasp.

Choso carefully places you back down and his arms ease from around your waist as he instead grips onto your sides. Your arms slide down and you rest your hold on his biceps for a moment as the two of you take in each other's features for the first time since he left.

Slowly and carefully, his hands leave your sides completely, finding solace in cupping your face in his palms, "Holy shit," Choso gasps, gazing so deeply into your eyes, "I missed you so much."

You bat your eyelashes at the male, a smile printed across your features as you do so, "I missed you too Cho."

His brows tense at the softness of your voice and you notice the heavy bags under his eyes. Choso leans his face close to yours, pulling you in as he does so, "I'm sorry."

His apology perplexes you and you giggle nervously, "For what?" You ask through an uneasy smile.

"Not calling or responding to your texts," He explains, "T-That was shitty of me and I'm sorry."

You peer into his almost doe-like brown eyes and you literally watch as his pupils expand into a larger size. Shit, has his eyes always dilated to such a degree when he looked at you? Or... Is this just your first time noticing?

"No, you don't have to apologize, Cho. It's okay," You hush out to him, your eyes unknowingly glossing up. Water coated your gaze due to your heightened emotions.

From uncertainty to straight-up anxiety, everything felt like it was about to crash over you. You'd waited for so long for this very moment and you almost forgot what it was like to be with Choso. However, standing here right now allowed all those memories to rush back to you in a matter of seconds.

Those late-night rendezvous with him, the laughs, the smiles, the teasing, the joy, the fun, the mischief-- all of it. Every last memory of this man thrums throughout your mind within a single moment and you remember it all.

You remember what it felt like for your heart to skip a beat when he spoke to you, what it felt like to experience that breath of fresh air that was his presence for only a moment. You finally recalled how Choso was your freedom. He is your peace, paralleling how you are Gojo's eternity, his whole.

Choso's fingers slip up along your face, just barely making contact with your eyelids and forcing them shut so that your tears could fall freely, "I really hope these aren't because of me," He murmured, quick to wipe away the moisture as soon as they fell from your sockets.

You sniffle and your smile has yet to fade, "They're tears of joy I swear."

He smiles and you watch the corners of his eyes crinkly a little as water glosses over his eyes too, "You're that happy to see me?"

"Yeah," You whisper, your voice trembling in emotion.

The man pouts and tips his head to the side a little, "I'm so sorry, princess," Choso apologizes again, weighing his face even closer and so much so that your breaths are shared.

"You d-don't have to apologize, I understand. It's just... I dunno, one call would've been nice," Your voice is so shaky and fragile that it even affects the way he holds your face.

His touch is so light that it's almost as though it's not even there, "I couldn't..." Choso sighs. His tone is soft and shaky just like yours, "One call is all it'd take for me to end up right back in your arms as I wish to be."

You frown, "T-Then what changed today? Hm?"

His lips are almost on yours, "I couldn't take it anymore. It may have seemed like it was easy for me to create that distance between us but..." Choso swallows hard, "I couldn't go even twenty-four hours without thinking of you."

Your frown lifts to a half smile, "Yeah?"

Choso nods and the gesture is done almost needily, desperation vexed into his gaze as he simply pours his longing emotions down into you through his soft looks alone. His sights then slip down to your lips, "Can I please kiss you?"

It was as though you could feel the physical squeeze his request had on your heart. The grip was strong, dangerous, and threatening. Your heart was so loud and heavy you could feel it pounding against your ears and blood and heat rushed there and to your face.

You nod a little and then shut your eyes in sync with his, both of your lips finally pressing into each other. There's pure tranquility flooding throughout your entire being as his soft, long-since-untouched lips move against yours. A floodgate of pure and swelled emotions had burst open as his lips were met with your own.

Sure, he doesn't kiss you like how Gojo does but, that doesn't make it any less enjoyable.

Choso's lips are soft, careful against yours, and steadily moving over yours in the way he remembers you enjoying. You relish in his touch, the taste of his tongue soon settling over yours and he prises your mouth open and slides right in as if that's exactly where he belonged.

A slight hum exits your throat as you kiss him back fervently and his hands move away from your face and back down to your waist. Choso jerks your body closer and up against his own, his fingers sinking into you even through the thick layers of clothing you wore. For a moment, as you make out he shifts again and this time works your coat off your body, allowing it to fall to the floor.

You were too engrossed in his lips to care and even pushed yourself right back into him afterward. Choso smiled against your lips as you did so and then he snaked his arms around your waist and walked you backward to the couch he'd previously been sitting on.

Both of your mouths go a bit wider and your tongues swivel over one another sensually with a loud and wet slick sound. With your lips never prying from each other, Choso carefully eases back down onto the couch and you comfort yourself right on top of him.

The sound of your kissing, his hums, and your light moans filled the entirety of the art studio, the noises bouncing off the walls and hitting both of your ears-- adding to the sensuality of it all.

With a loud smack, Choso just barely pulled his mouth from yours, "Fuck," He pants and then groans out your name so lowly that it spurs chills up your spine, "I missed you so fucking much."

You grin, "Yeah?"

"Every day," Choso begins, struggling to catch his breath, "I missed you more and more every single day."

You peck his lips one more time and gaze down at him through low-lidded eyes, "I missed you too."

His touch slides down and Choso settles his hold on your hips as you comfort yourself into his lap. He's still panting and his face is flushed. Cheeks reddened, the tips of his ears smothered in blush, his lips moist from you, and his expression needy.

Choso does that thing you missed where he simply basks in the feel of you being with him, taking in your every detail like always, "You're so... so fuckin' perfect." He compliments, unable to stop the words from spilling out of his mouth, "You..." His words come out breathily, "You consume my thoughts, y'know that right?"

You smile, "Do I?"

He nods almost like a little puppy. "You do."

With a slight chuckle, you never once break the eye contact, "Y'know... I wasn't expecting to see you today so uh, I didn't get you anything." You tell him.

Choso sighs and tips his head back against the couch, still gazing up at you, "My gift is you being here right now, I couldn't ask for much more than that."

"That's so sweet," You giggle, gushing at his words to you, "But, I still wish I actually got you something."

His eyes are low on yours, barely even open as he gazes at you with those naturally sleepy eyes of his, "There's no need, baby. Trust me. You're all I wanted for Christmas."

You roll your eyes, "Okay Mariah Carey."

He flashes that sexy yet lazy smile of his, "I really didn't mean to reference her but," He shrugs, "It works. Also, I got you something."

Your eyes light up, "Really, what is it?"

"Well, technically I made you something." Choso clarifies.

The shifting of your body over his makes him suck in a sharp breath as you grow eager to know what he's got for you, "What is it? Either show or tell me already."

Choso grips your hips a little, "First off, quit' movin' so much. Secondly, it's two gifts and the first is over there," He nods his head off to the left and your sights rush in that direction.

You spot a relatively large box wrapped in pretty gift wrap with a pretty big bow on it, "Aw, Cho you didn't have to get me anything..." You say, despite being ecstatic about it as you raise yourself from his lap.

His hands slip off your body whilst you stand to your feet and then pace over to the designated box, quickly picking it up and shaking it a little as if that'll tell you what's in it. It's large and rectangular, relatively thin but still big nonetheless.

"I hope you like it," Choso hums while he sits up a little and watches you take a seat beside him.

Your hands work to tear open the gift. The item makes your eyes go wide and your jaw drop completely. To little surprise, it's a painting. But, not just any random painting. And no, it wasn't that first portrait of you he made months ago when he first met you...

Instead, it was something much more beautiful. Most of Choso's artwork consists of dark colors and thick sharp lines that mold together to form something beautiful. But this? Oh, it was almost foreign to the man's art style.

In your hands was a painting of your eyes. Within your pupils was your eye shade but when you look close enough, you spot small words made out within it in different shades. He'd used those words to express the things he sees when he makes eye contact with you while simultaneously capturing the beauty that is your eye color.

It was gorgeous.

You read so many different words; beautiful, love, perfection, amazing, smart, talented, inspiring, breathtaking, soul-touching, my epiphany, peace, euphoria, god's greatest creation, etc. The list went on and on, each word so very tiny yet easy to read if you looked closely enough. All of which was painted within your eyes.

Outside of that, the image was still stunning, capturing your lashes down to the finest ones, the texture of your skin even imprinted perfectly, and the feel of genuine emotion oozing off the artwork in your hands.

Your speech was stripped from you as you took in what you were staring at. How do you respond to such a dedicated piece of art? Your heart was pounding against your chest once more and you didn't even realize the image had brought tears to your eyes until a droplet trickled onto your hand.

"F-Fucking hell," You curse, your breath unsteady. Sniffling was heard from you as you dragged your gaze up and to Choso, "I..."

His eyes are casual on yours, as if he didn't just give you something that took him months to capture properly. "Merry Christmas," Choso uttered, nervousness hinted in his words.

Your brows tense up, "You... When..." You struggled to piece together the right thing to say as you looked back down to the item, "C-Choso, I love this."

He bites back the cheesing smile he almost flashed, "I'm glad you do."

"H-How long did this take?" You whisper, moving to wipe your joyful tears away and look back up to him.

Choso shrugs, "Few' months."

"Were you working on this before you... before you left?" You ease out in question.

"Mhm," He hums, "I'm uh, I'm not the best with words at times so, for every time I wanted to say one of those things to you but couldn't, I painted it. Then, after I left... Well, the rest of the words began to fill the shape of your irises faster than I expected." Choso explains to you.

You place the gift down to the side and crawl across the couch to him, grabbing his face and pulling him close before crashing your lips into his. Choso laughs into your kiss, his eyes widening for a split second before he flutters them shut and kisses you back. It's heavier than the one prior as you make out with him gratefully.

Barely breaking away for air, you hush out your words to him, "Thank you."

Choso was about to say you're welcome but he was cut off by your tongue sinking into his mouth. He simply melted into your touches and aggressive kisses, adoring the feeling of it all.

His body turned a bit to get more comfortable kissing you and one of your hands slid down to his neck, feeling all of his skin tense under your touch. Choso soon breathed out your name in between your kisses, trying to gain your attention but you were so wrapped up in thanking him through the motion.

To snap you out of it, Choso suddenly takes control and you feel his teeth latch onto your bottom lip and he nibbles, pulling your skin slightly as he groans and moves a hand to your waist. His hand swipes under your shirt and he firmly squeezes your side, abruptly tickling you and making you chuckle away from the kiss.

You both part from each other with soft laughter and Choso smiles at you, "Baby, you have another gift, y'know."

You shrug, "I don't need it, that was enough. That was perfect, Choso."

"You're gonna like the second one too though," He says, playfully pouting.

Your head shakes, "Whatever it is, return it if possible, I don't need anything more."

He smirks, "It's not exactly something I can return..."

A sigh leaves you, "What is it then?"

With a little huff, Choso moves to stand up. When he does, his arms go up and he stretches a little. The man then slides over a little to stand right in front of you and you peer up at him with wide and curious eyes.

Raising a brow at the man, you remain confused, "What is it?"

Choso leans forward, placing his hands on the back of the couch and trapping your smaller frame in between his arms. "I got a new tattoo I wanted to show you but, I want you to find it."

There's no way. He didn't tattoo his dick, did he?

You chuckle and shift to sit comfortably in between his muscular arms, "Choso... How is your new tattoo gonna be a gift for me?"

"Search for it and find out," He taunts.

You nearly told him that he's just like his brother in that sense but then you mentally cursed yourself for even comparing the two in the first place. With a roll of your eyes, you start moving your hands, "Finnnee.."

Slowly, you move to his waistline where his black sweats are, carefully and sensually pulling at the drawstring as you keep your eyes up on his. Choso's gaze is down on your face the entire time, even as he feels you tug at his sweatpants.

"Am I gonna' have to take these off?" You ask suggestively.

His head tilts a little and he nods, "Mhm, take em' off me, princess."

You do your best to keep control of your hormones as his words hit your ears. Then, you carefully pull his pants down a bit, stopping when he starts talking again.

"You won't have to search too far down though," Choso adds on.

You finally break eye contact and look down, seeing the band of his boxers and having something tell you to just barely pull them down. So, you do. Revealed to you are dark-inked letters written in cursive that are almost hidden beneath the left end of his prominent and sharp v-line. You bat your eyelashes at what the letters spell out.

It's your fucking name.

"Holy shit," You curse as your eyes broaden and your head tilts to inspect it, "Choso I know this isn't my name tattooed on you..."

He chuckles and pushes himself up so that he can stand straight up, moving a hand down to the fabric of his clothing to reveal it in full without exposing his manhood, "It is," Choso hums.

You look up at him, your face completely flushed, "Why would you-"

Choso pulls his pants back up and clicks his tongue, "I already told you, princess," Once he's presentable again, he leans down to your face once more, "I'm all yours."

GOJO SATORU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

GETO SUGURU ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

TOJI FUSHIGURO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢

KAMO CHOSO ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙈𝙚𝙙𝙞𝙪𝙢 / 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ZEN'IN NAOYA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙀𝙭𝙩𝙧𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙡𝙮 𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮

ITADORI SUKUNA ✔︎ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙎𝙚𝙢𝙞-𝙀𝙖𝙨𝙮???

NANAMI KENTO ☐ 𝘛𝘳𝘶𝘦 𝘋𝘪𝘧𝘧𝘪𝘤𝘶𝘭𝘵𝘺: 𝙃𝙖𝙧𝙙

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#the f*ck list #the fuck list #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you #gojo x reader #choso x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #sukuna x reader #naoya x reader #geto x reader #gojo satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #toji fushiguro x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #nanami kento x reader #choso kamo x reader #kamiverse #kamiversee #smut fic #jjk smut #gojo smut #geto smut #choso smut #toji smut

[vixstarria]

My Fanfiction Master List

All fics can also be found on my AO3.

The following have accidentally turned into a series, although each can be read as a standalone.

Mostly Astarion x female Tav / reader, although other characters do make appearances.

Most are shameless reader self-insert, too.

To summarise: a take on Astarion's relationship progression with a hectic, unhinged bardlock Tav. Mostly humour and banter, fluff with light angst. And then there's the smut.

Ongoing series

Bloodbang Chronicles - post-game continuation of my bardlock series (see below), Astarion x f!OC

Masterlist | chapter 1 of 3 (so far) - start here

One-shot series:

Fluff

In chronological order, as they would take place in-game:

Where my nice, simple plan fell apart - scenes of Astarion x Tav relationship progression in Act 1 generally

Another Gift - Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion, reflections on vampirism / Astarion's past

Mark me as yours (Astarion POV) - takes place the morning after 'Missionary with the lights off' (filed below under smut) - a day of pining in camp in the life of Astarion

Down by the river (alternating POV) - 18+, takes place immediately after 'Mark me as yours' - Astarion and Tav spend a night by the river, away from camp

Something real (Astarion POV) - An evening in camp, Astarion and Tav are finally alone

Are you mine? (Astaion POV) - just flirty pillow talk and comfort

Gentle Warding Bond - short & sweet, Astarion finds the "true love's caress" and "true love's embrace" rings in the Shadow-Cursed lands and makes a decision

Admit that you love me - Act 2, Gale fucks around and finds out, Lae'zel becomes poetic and Astarion most certainly does not tell you that he loves you

Confession (Astarion POV) - title self-explanatory, love confession, tooth-rotting sweetness

The Morning After - short fic, follow-up to 'Confession', morning in camp - banter, humour, etc

Intimacy - Astarion's struggle with sex and intimacy, includes some fairly softcore smut

Communication - It has been nice, but it's time Tav and Astarion actually figured out what it is they're doing and what comes next [Most recently posted oneshot]

A night at the inn (part 1) - the gang gets a chance to let loose for a while. Humour, banter, and a lead-up to something smutty to come [Parts 2 & 3 under smut]

Smut

Also part of series.

Missionary with the lights off - Uh. Some really mindblowing sex here. No, really. Porn with plot, fluff to smut

Seeing stars - Astarion is jealous. What's more, he's eager to prove that no one could possibly compete with him.

A remedy for sleeplessness - porn no plot, Tav can't sleep and Astarion takes matters into his own hands

What do you want to do with it? - porn no plot, dirty talk, 'use your words', oral sex (male receiving) (kinda)

A night at the inn (part 2) - porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, dirty talk, oral sex, PIV and more

A night at the inn (part 3) - continuation of porn, Astarion x Halsin x F!Tav/Reader, vampire bites as an aphrodisiac edition

The Sheath of Frontiers - Wyll's never been with a man. Astarion and Tav decide this must be rectified. (and yes that was an anal pun)

Challenges, shorts and misc

'Erotic Misadventures' - my entry for the BG3 April Foolishness challenge: 'write something spicy that uses the worst possible terms for body parts, sex acts'. Reader beware.

Untitled - Ask reply HC, Astarion accidentally attacks Tav during a nightmare

A cut - Tav accidentally cuts themselves, and Astarion scampers over like a cat to a can of tuna

Untitled - Ask reply, bonus scene following Seeing Stars - jealous giddy Astarion enacts revenge on Wyll after his failed awkward dance seduction attempt

'Gentle Warding Bond' should rightfully be here also, but it's too relevant to the 'plot' if you can call it that

My OC bard (bardlock) headcanon

(the lady in all the above fics)

OC Questionnaire

OC more in-depth questionnaire

Another 'get to know your Tav' post

OC songs and outfits

Why my Tav fell for Astarion

Why Astarion fell for my Tav

Going strong and planning to do more.

P.S. I am a whore for comments, and nothing sparks joy and feeds further inspiration quite like a simple "HHHNNNNNG ASFKJAGJLKSJF" in comments or reblog tags.

P.P.S Feel free to leave a comment if you'd like to be added to a taglist. :) And if so, do let me know if there are any categories you would prefer to be excluded from.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #astarion #astarion fanfiction #pinned post #I give you my soul #You can give me your HHHNNNNNG ASFKJAGJLKSJF

[wannaeatramyeon]

Seong Taehoon x Reader: Letters

Final chapter spoiler! G/N. Taehoon in the military and you ask for-

"Letters?"

"Yep!" you grin, popping the 'p' as Taehoon looks on incredulously.

"Why the fuck would I send letters when I can just text you?" 

"Because," you tip onto your toes and reach up to kiss him, "It'll be romantic."

Profanities are mumbled under his breath.

.

.

Taehoon feels like an idiot. He feels so cringe he's going to crawl out of his skin.

He texted you today, video called you last night. Yet your request for letters runs round and round his head.

Rattling like an incessant, annoying bug. Reminding him of your request accompanied by hopeful eyes and a sweet kiss.

Fuck.

The paper looks so very blank. Large and looming and intimidating. Like an exam sheet 5 minutes before the end and nothing has been scribbled down.

How is he even supposed to start this?

'Dear Y/N,' 

-is immediately scratched out, scrunched up then tossed towards the garbage can.

.

.

You receive a letter a few days later. 

Your name and address written in scratchy chicken script. The fact that it was delivered successfully is a miracle in and of itself.

With uncharacteristic patience and utmost care, you peel open the envelope. 

A few paragraphs fill half the page. You read over his words, feel the hesitation between the lines, and soak up the love that you know has been poured into this act. Just the fact that he has done this says more than enough.

.

.

Taehoon is snippy, snippier than usual on video call tonight. His short dark hair and uniform seemingly amplifying his hard edges.

You know his leg is bouncing out of shot.

"Haven't you received it yet?" He cuts you off mid-sentence.

"Received what?"

"What do you think?"

“Your letter?”

Taehoon confirms it with a scowl.

You give him a grin, brushing past his question and leaving his mood sour.

.

.

There's mail waiting for him. Correspondence.

In a plain white envelope, with simple stamps.

But the writing- 

His name, with your particular slant of characters and loops as unique to him as your laugh.

The way he opens the envelope is the opposite to you. Teared open, fingers urgent.

(When was the last time, anyway, that he received a handwritten letter?)

His eyes scan the words. What could be cringe, he finds endearing. What could be sappy, warms him. 

Feels your absence more than ever after reading, counts down the days until he can see you again. 

He regrets his letter. That he has none of your poetic ramblings, or interesting turn of phrases. That he isn't able to express his emotions, taking pen to paper like a duck to water, as well as you do.

He’ll have to do better with his next one.

Yet- 

Taehoon is left love drunk, mood light and floating on air when sleep takes him that night.

#taehoon seong #seong taehun #taehoon seong x reader #seong taehun x reader #how to fight #seong taehoon x reader #seong taehoon #taehun x reader #taehoon x reader #how to fight x reader #how to fight headcanons #how to fight manhwa #viral hit headcanons #viral hit manhwa #viral hit x reader #viral hit taehoon #viral hit #wannaeatramyeon

[tojiwrd]

4: fate is fickle ; gojo satoru

pairing gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary when satoru breaks off your engagement, you understand and accept it. but when he marries someone else, you don't understand because he didn't want to be tied down.

content warnings family problems, bad, sad, emotional infidelity, dangerously short chapter im sorry getting you ready for the next one <;33 flashback flashback y did satoru end it with u??

word count 1.3k

a/n i'll beat both of them up i promise

send thoughts ↞ prev next ↠ to be added to taglist

People said promising yourself to someone you love was euphoric; it was a feeling you couldn’t achieve through any other form of happiness or drugs. Satoru believed that because when he asked you to marry him and you said yes, he felt as though he could rearrange and hang every star in the sky to spell your names for the rest of eternity. It was electric, the feeling, and he couldn’t get enough of it.

But Satoru wasn’t somebody who was ever in the midst of two lines; if he was happy, he was so fucking happy, and if he was sad, he was so fucking sad. 

Growing up in his home hadn’t taught him many things, but he’d come out of it with two lessons he’d always abide by:

Never, ever make promises you can’t keep.

If you can go against Gojo Takayashi’s wishes, do it.

He knew that he should wait to tell his parents about his engagement with you until you were with him, which is why he didn’t let it slip during the first dinner he had with his parents since he put a ring on your finger. When his father said he’d invited a guest over, Satoru felt more at ease to keep his mouth shut because, even though his parents were not his favorite people, he was itching to see their reaction. The little boy that lived somewhere in the abyss of his mind expected them to pop champagne, for his mother to immediately call each and every one of the people she knew to tell them the good news, for his father to pat him on the back with a gleeful smile that made him feel like he’d at least done one thing to make him proud.

And, even though his second rule was to always strive to go against his father, he felt it would be some sort of a twisted poetic number for his father to be proud of him for loving you. For you loving him back.

Kimura Hana was pleasant, and her parents even more so. Despite that, both children on the dinner table that night had a hard time trying to entertain themselves with the dull conversation. Their fathers droned on about their next upcoming business ventures, constantly toasting to the point they’d made a toast to the art of toasting, claiming that it was the best excuse for people to down more alcohol with good intention. 

Hana kicked his leg underneath the table from beside him and Satoru, Y/N-loving, elated-over-his-engagement-in-private Satoru, almost sent her a glare for being so close to him. But he covered it when he noticed a small napkin she passed his way, a small giggle leaving her lips. 

He opened it, and there he read, in pretty and small handwriting with red ink:

this is sooooo boring.

He looked around and patted his pockets subtly when her lithe fingers reached out, right above his lap, and offered him a pen. He gave her a small smile before replying:

If i have to hear another stupid toast, I’m going back to my room

She scanned his reply, and he noticed her lips curve up upwards as she did. Satoru leaned back, fork mushing the leftovers of his desert as he waited for her. Her hands reached down, and placed it right on his thigh and he almost jolted at the slight hint of her fingers against his jean-clad thighs.

He shakily opened the response, a misplaced sense of guilt ravishing his brain.

what about me???

He tried not to think much before he replied, reminding himself that this was friendly. She was being friendly.

You can come up too. I’d hate to leave you here with the wolves.

“Gojo,” Hana said, her voice loud enough for the entire table to hear. Satoru turned to her, raising his brows. “You wanted to show me that book, right?” She turned to her mother. “Ma, do we have enough time for me to go up and check it out?”

Her mother smiled a very specific kind of smile, and Satoru once again reminded himself that this was friendly. 

“Oh, of course. With the way things are going, I think we have about twenty more toasts to go.”

Satoru glanced back at his father who, in his drunken stupor, paid him no mind while his mother barely looked his way, eyes focused on the empty plate below her. 

When Hana went through his small bookshelf, something he didn’t think she’d actually do, he sat on his messy bed and watched her. She stopped at one of the books and pulled it out, a small smile on her lips as she turned back to look at Satoru. 

“What is this?” she asked, plopping down on the bed as she scanned a CD he’d placed in the middle of all the books. It was something Geto had given him once after a fight he’d had with you two months into your relationship, and if he remembered correctly, he’d written, on top of the case with a thick, black marker: move on bro!! Geto had brought it up in one of your recent conversations and said he wasn’t right in the head to think either of you could ever move on from the other, and followed that statement by saying you were meant for each other.

“Uh, my friend gave it to me after I had a… well—”

“A breakup?”

It was a small falling out, but he didn’t correct her because it was so long ago. So, he nodded. 

“Breakups are so—they’re so annoying.”

Satoru chuckled, curious. “Got your heart broke or somethin’?”

She shook her head vigorously, as though she hated that statement with every fiber in her bones. “No, at least not recently. Probably because I hate the idea of meaningless relationships.”

Meaningless relationships? “Elaborate.”

“I don’t know! Like, I’ve thought about it and I just don’t see the reason to tie myself down to someone, you know? I’m young and I have a lot of time to get serious and have joint bank accounts but now? I feel like if I ever tied myself down, it’d end sometime because we end up hating each other for holding each other back while we’re so young.”

He tried not to think about her words too much, but it was hard. He was sure she’d say something completely different were he to tell him about you and your engagement, sugarcoating her words and saying stuff like not you! I’m just talking about me, of course. And that was what he didn’t want. He appreciated her brutal honesty because she was unknowingly giving her perspective on something he hadn’t thought about before getting engaged. 

You love her and you’re her fiance, a part of his mind told him, holding him back from probing further. But another part, the part of him that was always scared over one thing or another pushed him to ask her more. 

And he did, he asked until he was unconsciously convincing himself that the two of you shouldn’t go through with this, but not enough for him to break it off with you. 

What did convince him to break it off with you was something that happened around a month later, after he and Hana had hung out plenty of times due to the increasing closeness of their parents. It was because he found himself shifting his chair closer to hers during dinner. It was because he unconsciously raised his thigh everytime she passed him a note and didn’t reach out his hand so her fingers would graze over it. It was because he was texting her more than he was texting you, and a part of him didn’t seem to mind it. 

He knew it was wrong, despite the plethora of times he tried to convince himself that it was platonic. He couldn’t deny that there was something so utterly wrong about how he didn’t want to tell Hana that he was engaged to you. He didn’t end it with you after doing something that would instantly cross the line he’d been teetering over the edge of for a month, he ended it with you when he felt like if she would cross that line unknowingly, he wouldn’t stop himself from giving in. 

And Satoru didn’t want to cross that line.

#tell me how we feel ab this bc im kinda scared #babies im literally batman vengeance will be served dont u worry #gojo x reader #angst #jjk #jujutsu kaisen #gojo angst #gojo satoru #gojo satoru angst #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x you #gojo satoru x you #jjk angst #jujutsu kaisen angst

[teriri-sayes]

Reactions to Deal Maker's Chapter 196

TL;DR - Game console has a fingerprint recognition function, so Cale couldn't play it. Wi tempting Cale and Raon to stay longer. Alberu and Cale talk about Ahn Roh Man. Cale meets GoB and GoH.

Unplayable Game

So the game console wouldn't let Cale play it because there was a fingerprint recognition function. Even creating a new user needed the fingerprint of the previous owner of the game console. Thus, Cale asked Ron to borrow for a while Blood Demon's arms that got cut off before she turned to dust.

There was some details about the game. The player's avatar was a child, though the child's sex was unclear to Cale. The child stood on a meadow and five planets in different colors were in the sky.

One funny part here:

Cale: (Wait, is it okay for me to show myself operating this game console so naturally to Ron? Uhh... it's too late now though...) Cale: *smiles awkwardly at Ron* Ron: *has a strained smile* Cale: (Did he just look at me as if I'm very funny?) Ron: *reverts back to his gentle smile* I will be heading to Chief Eunuch Wi then. Cale: ...Uh, okay.

Now that this arc is nearing its end, are we finally going to have Cale's conversation with the Molans? I'll be cheering for you, Cale! 😂

Wi's Temptations

The chief eunuch pleaded to Cale to stay in the Central Plains longer by offering him lots of stuff. Slacker life? We'll grant that dream for you! Central Plains food tour? No problem! Raon wants sweets? We have the most delicious fruits, though it will only ripen in 6 months.

Cale's reaction to that was to avoid Wi and try to leave the Central Plains as soon as possible. 🤣🤣🤣 He even found Wi scary when Wi attempted to tempt Raon with sweets. But c'mon, Cale. Someone's finally offering you a chance at a slacker life, but you're running away from it?

Then again, given how the murim people were keeping their distance from Cale as if he was someone so amazing they couldn't dare to approach, Cale's reaction was not a surprise. Yes, Cale. Your bad feeling is right. They are your Caleism believers.

However, HD was now following CH around instead of Cale. What? What about my HD x Cale ship? Did I just see it sinking? Nooooo... 😭

Bright Alberu

We had another conversation with our bright sun, and they discussed about Ahn Roh Man. Cale dismissed the possibility of Ahn Roh Man being a hunter, and Alberu said he would contact Ahn Roh Man through the customer service line of Taerang to get more information.

Cale noticed that Alberu was brightly smiling, and when he asked why, Alberu replied that he had just finished talks with other countries about Cale's mine exports. Cale viewed his smile as insidious, but the author poetically described the smile as "fresher than the flowers blooming on a spring day."

Cale wanted Alberu to come with him in his world hopping, but realized that if Alberu did that, it would only be if Zed was involved and it was a dire situation. Ah, I guess we won't have Alberu going to other worlds too. 😞

Cale and the Gods

Cale finally read GoD's message, and immediately refused meeting GoB. But GoD insisted, even suggesting Cale to just have a peek of GoB's face.

However, things didn't work out for Cale because GoD told Cale that the very impatient GoB was actually heading his way! Cale was still in Blood Demon's childhood bedroom, but he suddenly heard the sound of heels and found himself alone in the room.

Just like GoD, Cale froze and found himself unable to move at the presence of GoB. And when GoB spoke, Cale thought that GoB's voice resembled an elegant old lady... YES! My theory was right! GoB's a woman! 🤩 Our dom mommy Goddess of Balance! Or was it grandma because her voice sounded like an old lady?

GoB explained to Cale that his actions were causing imbalance, and the other worlds and gods had to carry the "counteracting weights" to maintain balance. But Cale and his companions were overdoing it, so the others were having a hard time.

She was grateful to Cale for his work against the hunters, but still warned him that despite his good intentions, balance had to be maintained. And cautioned him that some of the imbalance he created might even come back and harm him and his companions who caused the imbalance. This was something that even she could not stop.

Cale was shocked at her words, and she laughed "Fufu" before proposing a solution - become a god. Okay, I seriously laughed hard at this one. 🤣🤣🤣

GoB said that if a god's myth spreads across worlds, the "laws" of those worlds would accept it as reality, and thus create a new balance. She whispered to Cale's ear if he wanted to become a god, and added that rejecting it was a bad idea.

Her voice sounded gentle and soft, but was also oppressive and insistent. Her words had an irresistible charm, but Cale resisted it. Or more like, Cale was busy trying to resist DA from running wild. 😂

However, while GoB was talking to Cale, another god arrived. It was the God of Hope (GoH), whose arrival was signaled by the flickering lights in the room. And DA's response to that was cutely hilarious. 😂

GoB: *tries to recruit Cale into godhood* DA: Don't stop me, Cale! I want to make a god kneel! Cale: (No.) DA: LET ME OUT, CALE! Cale: (Why are the ancient powers so crazy?) GoH: *arrives in the room* DA: Oh, two gods are too much. Okay, bye! Haha! Cale: (This crazy bastard...)

Ending Remarks

I very much enjoyed today's chapter. The gods part was the best. Cale's slacker life dream keeps getting further from him though... 😂Next chapter would be a continuation of Cale's meeting with the gods. Will GoH also recruit Cale to be a god? 🤣🤣🤣

P.S. GoD, you lucky guy. You get to have mommy Goddess of Balance to dominate you? 😳

#tcf spoilers #trash of the count's family

[fleet-of-fiction]

Jake Kiszka x Narrator & Sam Kiszka x OC.

Chapter Four

Summary: The Jones Family are new additions to the sleepy community of Beech Run. A tight knit scattering of rural houses, where everyone knows everyone. Deeply religious and overbearingly strict, the daughters of the family are kept under lock & key by a fanatical Father and submissive Mother. They watch from bedroom windows as their neighbours, The Kiszkas, draw intense curiosity and desire to be free. Madness of youth , hope & obsession collide to bring the danger of forbidden love to poetic ends. (Era A/U)

Warnings: Religious/ Parental trauma. Penetrative p/v sex. Dom/Sub dynamics. Ass play. Oral F/Receiving.

Winter 1985 (Flash forward)

Jake was gone; to begin with. The absence of him echoed all around. Like the vapours of his breath still lingered in the mist, just waiting to be breathed in.

It had been ten days since I last saw him. Standing on the edge of the street where all the Christmas lights twinkled an array of colours I couldn't feel anymore. The rot had set in.

And I'd watched him go. Without a rope to tie around his neck, or mine. Because using it to tether him to me hadn't worked. It was seamless how he disappeared into the density of the encroaching fog. Those reds, greens and blues that ran along the neighbouring windows fading alongside him.

I didn't know quite how profound the loss would be until I realised it was infinite. And suddenly I understood why poets were driven mad.

"Bonnie?"

The rain was lashing against the windscreen. I hadn't noticed. All I could see was the swirls of grey and white of that night he had walked into the road. Forever locked in that moment, never stepping out of it even as I traversed the present moment.

"Yeah?" I replied, turning my head to look at a pair of eyes so painfully similar to his that I couldn't stare for too long.

"We're here." Sam informed me, gesturing towards the blurred image of the church beyond the rainy glass.

I looked down at my hands. Balled up in my lap like I was wringing out a damp cloth.

"I can't do it." I shook my head, adamant that I was going to let roots begin to grow beneath where I sat before I ever got out of the car.

The warmth of a hand on my shoulder snaked over the curve of it from the seat behind me. And the tenderness of it made the tears begin to flow once more.

"Come on." Jolene soothed, "Be strong today, and I promise you can fall apart tomorrow."

~

Summer 1984

Jakes house smelled like beer and fabric softener. There were empty bottles strewn across the kitchen work tops and half eaten bags of chips sitting on the table. He immediately scrambled to try and make the place look more presentable as he opened the door for me.

I was endeared by it. But too tired to really care if the place was tidy or not.

"My Dad." He explained, sliding his arm across the counter in an attempt to gather all the empties into the trash can. "He usually has some buddies around to play poker and jam a little once a week. My Mom usually makes him clear the mess up, I guess he forgot tonight."

None of it felt real. Not the words exchanged in the hospital room or the way my little sister had clung to life with her eyes closed, none the wiser to the heated exchange. I could feel the coil around me tighten, a fear that I had done the wrong thing starting to choke me.

"It's fine, Jake. Really." I assured him, feeling the tears come.

He dropped the trash can and bounded across the kitchen, reaching me in one single heart beat. Fingers wrapping around my shirt, pulling me into his circle. The rush of comfort was overwhelming, doing nothing to stem the flood that was building. But it didn't feel quite so futile once I pressed my face into the curve of his neck.

"Hey, hey..." He soothed, "Everything will be alright, you know that?"

Whatever it meant to have walked this path, I couldn't go back. I'd had a taste of defiance and it had gone down like nectar. Sweet and alluring, with none of the bitterness I'd expected. And although I had a moment of doubt, the moment Jake held me it dissipated into nothing.

"Not yet, I don't." I sighed, letting the damp spot I'd made on his shirt seep onto his skin.

"Yes you do." He replied, noticing what I'd done and pulling the shirt completely off. "You being here means that you do."

The wall clock was ticking. The gentle buzz of the refrigerator sounded out over the silent house. It was strange to hear these familiar sounds in a place that was completely new to me. It didn't feel like home, but I didn't feel homesick for anywhere else either.

"It's been a long night. We can sleep on the pull out in the garage, I don't want you to have to deal with Josh's sleep talking in my room." He said, lining up my expectations like he always did.

"I don't care where we sleep." I shrugged, taking the shirt he'd dumped on the back of a chair and straightening it out absently as if my hands needed something to do.

He noticed.

"You're restless." He surmised, taking my hands into his and wrapping them around his waist. "Maybe we won't sleep, then."

"I couldn't." I confessed. "I keep replaying the sight of her laying in that hospital bed, helpless. And all my Dad cared about was making sure I knew he thought me a whore."

A smug little grin began to dance across Jakes lips.

"A whore?" He chuckled. "I have never given you a dime, how much do I owe you?"

His softness had me melting into it. In the face of my misery, he smiled and brought me into a light no God could ever provide. The sweetness of his love all the payment I'd ever need for the things he took such delight in from me.

"Forever." I replied, "You owe me forever."

The gentle nudge of the tip of his nose turned my cheek.

"Forever it is, then." He replied, nuzzling into a kiss that was slow and delicate.

I liked his house. The way it felt lived in. I could feel the love in the walls, the intimation of welcome and the chaos. I wondered how it could be that such love manifested under a roof so close to one that could scarcely keep the warmth in.

"I think this is what God meant when he talked about love." I whispered, letting him guide me through the house towards the door that opened up into the garage.

Jake was unapologetically shirtless. The base of his spine sitting above his belt, two little dimples that seemed to wink as he walked. Every fibre of him appealed to me, as if he'd been placed at my doorstep to adore.

"Don't worry about God." He mused, pushing open the door to reveal a cool breeze coming in from the drafty expanse ahead. "We make our own luck, our own destiny. We make our own love."

I felt as if I should have been exhausted. But being in this cavern of wonders always took me back to the night he took my virginity. I couldn't step into it without being reminded of the beauty of it, the way he'd been so gentle and calm.

I wasn't a virgin anymore. Any semblance of innocence I had given to him, willingly. I knew the softness of a man's touch and the aggressive streak that could come with heightened arousal. I knew that look in his eye when he wanted my body more than my soul. Things a girl could never understand.

"Fuck me, Jake."

I wanted it. Not to take the pain away, or numb the doubts racing through my mind. But simply because I wanted it. I wanted the rough and the smooth of his body against mine. The rush of blood to his penis, to feel the veins pulse at my touch.

I wanted the power. The femininity of it, to know he ordained himself to me. For the longest time I'd lived under a rule that was not my own. I governed myself now, my mind and my body.

"How would you like to be fucked?" He asked, pulling out the bed whilst keeping his eyes on me.

I could have been shy about it. I could have said it didn't matter, that he could fuck me however he pleased. But it wouldn't have satisfied me.

"Like the whore my Father thinks I am." I replied, without shame.

His hands were already at his belt. Loosening the buckle. Pulling it out of the loops swiftly.

"You'd better take off that dress and get on all fours, then." He instructed, matter-of-factly, as if I hadn't just said the most debauched thing to ever escape my lips.

The immediate flood was inspiring. He was so sure of himself, so certain of his ability to arouse me. Sometimes I forgot that I instilled that same heat within him. And so I did as I was told, letting my clothes fall to the ground as I crawled onto the bed.

I heard the unmistakable thud of his jeans as he kicked them off. The waistband of his boxer shorts as he slid them down high thighs. Soon his hands were at my hips, positioning me at the very edge of the bed with my toes almost peering over the precipice.

"Like a whore." He repeated, sinking to his knees. "I wouldn't fuck a whore like I loved her."

I had known his love and it was powerful. But so too was his propensity to make me feel like the most desired creature on earth. It carved out an obsession within me that had caused a ripple throughout my whole life. I simply wasn't the same girl I'd been at the start of summer.

"Then don't." I said flatly, "Just for once, don't love me..."

The way he didn't hesitate, the way he didn't even verbalise it. He understood what I needed without fixating on the how or the why. I closed my eyes as he spat on my cunt, rubbing his saliva into my submissive clit as he positioned himself.

He loved me so much he would do this for me. The sacrifice was not lost upon me. Part of me wondered if he had been waiting for me to submerge myself beneath the dark waters trying to drown me. If all along he'd wondered if the virgin would go rogue.

"The pastor's daughter has finally listened to the devil." He uttered, through gritted teeth, leaning in to my pussy like it was a water fountain, curving his mouth into the slit like it was about to satiate his thirst.

"He speaks to me every day." I reiterated, my voice trembling on the tongue that sliced into my entrance.

He trailed it upwards, licking a clean stripe from my pussy into the valley of my ass. And there he set to work, chasing all the choirs of angels that had ever sung to me. They flew skyward out of my mouth as I let out an agonized cry of pleasure.

He ate like a man starved. Like a man who had never set his tongue to speak, let alone venture into the parts of my body that never knew it could feel so good to be lashed.

"You know I love you." He breathed, his words strained on the way he swallowed.

"I know." I replied, almost in whisper.

"Good." He murmured, railing his tongue against my swollen lips. "Because for the next five minutes it's going to feel like I don't."

I was immediately drawn to the paint peeling on the brick wall. I was never really sure why my eyes zeroed in on it. Perhaps because my other senses were overwhelmed. I just needed something to tether me to this plane of existence. To feel as if any of it was real.

I stared at that white speck of flayed paint as my body convulsed. Jake, like he had lost his damned mind, sucked my pussy lips into his mouth and the devilish sound that it made turned my cheeks crimson.

And then, without any warning, I felt it. The curious finger that opened me up, a delicious new venture to take my mind away from itself. And I closed my eyes against it, not even able to tether myself to the wall.

My pussy, feeling the void of his touch, pined as he gently probed inside that other begging place. Filling it, exploring it. And I didn't have any way to fight it, least of all when he slammed his cock into that neglected hole. Fingers edging further into my ass, his hard beast giving me exactly what I had asked for in my pussy and my mind on the verge of euphoria as I forgot even the first syllable of my own name.

He was wrong. He'd never been more wrong. As he heaved and pounded, delicious strokes that hit me deep and hard I'd never felt more loved. My entire body pulsed with the magnitude of each thrust. My vulnerability laid bare, like he'd seen the heart of me since the very first time we'd caught each other's eye.

I wanted to touch him so badly, so maddeningly. But it drove me wild how easily he could take control and I would submit. Despite my shallow breaths, a gasp still managed to find it's way to my lips as he pulled out of my ass, swirling that same finger around the hole before stroking it with the pad of his thumb.

Everything I had come to know about sex was at Jake's teaching. Even this. This moment of sheer abandon, forceful indulgence in something I had clearly needed for so long but hadn't known what it was that would cure me of this melancholy.

I was nearing the point of thoughtlessness when I heard his whisper. His body leaned into the curve of my spine, his stomach nestled against me as his hand pulled back my sweat drenched hair. Cock held deep inside, his lips at the shell of my ear.

"Whore..."

There it was. Every single facet of my soul lingering in the ether between us. Getting fucked, getting my pussy so unashamedly pounded I felt nothing but pride. In Jake, in myself. There was nothing outside of it, nothing outside that one word that I had now reclaimed.

"Hail Mary, full of grace..." I recited, my voice barely audible over the stream of moans. "The Lord is with thee..."

"That's it little whore, pray..." Jake encouraged, wrapping my hair around his fist.

"Blessed art thou among....uhh...women..." I choked, feeling my head reel back as he pulled. "And blessed is the...oh, fuck...fruit of thy womb..."

He fucked harder, faster. Keeping my body aligned with him by pulling my hair.

"Tell him." He urged, "Tell your God who you belong to now."

My brain completely shut off from the inhibited parts that would scream at me to be decent, to have the kind of sex that God would approve of. There was nothing but the throbbing girth and savage onslaught of Jake fucking me left to commit myself to.

"Holy Mary, Mother of God..." I breathed, my mouth unforgivingly dry. "Pray for us sinners...now...and in the hour...fuck...in the hour of...fuck......"

"Our Death..." Jake completed for me, sending me into an orbit that was higher than any heaven could hope to be.

Had it only been five minutes? Every muscle and sinew ached, every nerve ending a blaze. My cunt was soft and wet, filled with his cum and the moisture of mine. My hair follicles stung, raw from the pull. I felt Jakes body slide against mine, sweaty and spent. The violence of his furious assault in the flush of our flesh.

I'd never felt more at peace.

"You want me to fuck you like that again, my death might be a real concern." He sighed, falling onto his back as I tried to regain my composure.

I'd never seen him look so absolutely ruined. The sweat and the rose in his cheeks making him look decidedly demonic. The dilation of his pupils made his eyes look pitch black in the almost darkness. He was my satan, my sinful reason to renounce all that I had ever known.

"But what a death." I replied, trailing a palm down my wet breasts, feeling my skin pricked with sweat. "And when you're entering the gates of hell you'll have sweet memories to keep you company."

"Hell can only exist if you believe in it." He said morosely, pulling me down into the clammy circle of his arms. "And after tonight, I've got a feeling you'll be less inclined to worry about ending up in eternal hell fire."

My cheek was sticking to his chest. But I didn't care. I let my skin absorb into his. Running my finger up his stomach, catching the little drenched hairs below his belly button.

"I don't care." I didn't know it until I said the words out loud. "All I want to do is make sure Jolene gets better, and make sure she never goes back to that life."

I had no concept of the time as I opened my eyes. I could feel the heat of the afternoon burning behind the garage door, though. A beam of yellow light framing the steel door. I sat up on the pull out bed, wrapped in blankets as if I'd been tucked in as I slept.

My dress was still draped on the arm of the chair opposite, everything left as it had been the night before. The only thing missing was Jake, his muffled voice carrying down from the house above.

I dressed in haste and found myself feeling a little nervous as I climbed the stairs towards the kitchen. Voices falling to silence as I turned the door handle.

I could feel the atmosphere thicken as I walked in. Jake was standing by the island, his palms flat on the counter and his head bowed. As if he'd been engaged in a conversation that brought him no joy. His Mother was standing at the hob, stirring a pot of something that smelled delicious. Her faded smile awkwardly returning as she caught sight of me.

Josh and Sam were sitting at the table devouring a plate of pancakes, their sister idly reading a book with her feet up on the chair next to her, barely noticing my entrance.

"Sit down, dear." Karen offered, "There's pancakes on the table and I'm making some porridge if you prefer."

The kitchen was still littered with the night before, empty beer cans and chip bags. But nobody seemed to care, and it made me feel more at home. Despite the lull in conversation as I took a seat around the table, I had hope that it was because nobody had expected me to be there.

Sam, still chewing his food, smiled.

"Do you think it'd be ok if I went to see Jolene in the hospital?" He asked, shoving an empty plate towards me.

"Sweetie, we talked about this." Karen said, pointing her wooden spoon at him. "I don't think Mr. Jones would appreciate that."

Perhaps I should have interjected. I could feel Jakes eyes on me, waiting for me to agree or disagree. Ronnie looked up over the lip of her book, and Josh offered me the syrup.

"You don't have to walk on eggshells." I ventured, "I don't have anything to say about my Father that will be positive."

"I already told you." Jake sniffed, "She doesn't want to go back there."

Karen shot her son a knowing look, one that I couldn't be a part of. But I understood the meaning of it. She would protect her flock from the bullshit my family posed, but she would welcome me regardless of it. Whatever it meant, she had to trust that her son had everything under control.

A part of me doubted that she held that much trust in her youngest son. I didn't know why, but I'd seen the careless nature in Sam. His propensity for letting himself run away with frivilous ideas. This and Jolene's chaos was a deadly combination.

"You're welcome to stay here as long as you need." Karen offered, putting a bowl of thick and gloopy porridge in front of me.

She sprinkled it with some fruit and looked pleased with herself. The sort of Mother I'd never known. Suddenly I was ravenous and began spooning the mixture into my mouth like I hadn't eaten in days. Maybe I hadn't?

"Don't they feed you over there?" Josh asked, amused by me.

Jake railed his palm against the back of Josh's head, ruffling his curls.

"I know you're joking, but be fucking nice!" He warned, pushing Ronnie's feet off the only empty chair before taking it.

"I am being nice!" Josh replied, shrugging in surprise. "Sorry, Bonnie."

I shook my head. It didn't matter. Sam was still waiting for me to say something to his request. As if what Karen had said didn't answer the question for him.

"So, what do you think?" He continued, "About me being able to go up to the hospital?"

I was still chewing on the blueberries popping against my tongue as I sluiced the porridge around my mouth. Savouring the taste. Wondering if breakfast was always this delicious, or did everything just taste better now that I was free?

I was still formulating an answer when the doorbell went. The ring of it making everyone exchange this strange look of wonder. Perhaps their doorbell was so seldomly pressed it came as a surprise that someone was at the door. It struck me that the Kiszka house was an open door policy. Anyone that knew them well enough to have occasion to visit simply stepped inside.

"I'll get it." Jake said, after realising nobody else would.

It didn't take long for me to hear the voice my brother used when he was trying to be polite, but it was nothing more than a facade to the way he really felt. I could hear the clipped tone, the words appropriate enough but I could imagine his smug little face.

I shot up from the table. Determined to make this problem go away. Feeling as if I owed no more bullshit on their doorstep.

"What do you want, Ben?" I asked, letting Jake step aside as I approached the door.

He didn't look smug at all. There was this pained look in this eyes that I'd never seen before. Like he hadn't slept. His shirt wasn't tucked in and his hair wasn't neatly combed as usual. His chin was trembling, as if he was on the verge of tears he would never allow himself to shed.

He was forlorn. "Can't a brother check up on his sister?"

I almost laughed. "I really don't think you care."

"I do..." He replied, without hesitation, his eyes widening to prove his point. "Of course I care. I've got one sister in the hospital and the other one hiding out in the house across the street. We need you to come home, both of you."

The use of the word 'we' incited an anger in the pit of my stomach I hadn't known burned quite so brightly. It flared in the whites of my eyes and made my palms grow clammy. I looked to Jake, but he simply held the door open and waited to move on my cue.

"Close the door Jake, we're done talking."

He didn't ask questions, he just let the door swing free. When Ben stepped inside and jammed his foot against it closing, only then did he gently move me back. Standing in front. Meeting my brother at eye level.

"Take your foot out of my door, dude." He softly warned, "That's not cool."

He didn't even look at Jake, it was as if he wasn't even there. Like this wasn't his house and he was nothing more than a minor inconvenience.

"You disobey your Father, you disobey God." He said ominously, "Is that what you want, Bonnie?"

I couldn't entertain him. Every word that spilled out of his mouth now sounded like the most ridiculous thing I'd ever heard. Nonsense. The word of God? A tool used to keep me compliant. In fear. I could see his concern laced in his furrowed brow, but it was misplaced.

He wasn't concerned for me. He was concerned with the reaction he would get if he went home empty handed.

"Yes, Ben." I replied, "That is what I want. Ok???"

He'd forged his way into every traumatic moment of my life. Standing on the periphery of every abusive little thing Dad had ever said or done to me. Like a strange little voyeur, living under the same roof but having an entirely different experience.

"You heard her." Jake echoed, kicking my brothers foot aside before slamming the door in his face.

The eggshells were still being walked on as I hurried back to my breakfast. It broke my heart. And I couldn't eat another bite, everything going down in lumps as I sat there fighting back tears. Everyone was silent. I couldn't take it.

"Yes, Sam." I mumbled, trying to find my voice without it breaking on tears. "Get your jacket, we'll go up to the hospital."

His eyes lit up. His smile beamed. Like I'd handed him the holy grail and told him it would grant him unending powers. The sort of joy that was only reserved for the first flushes of love.

I looked at Jake, knowing it wasn't like that for me and him. He wouldn't find joy at being granted access to my hospital bedside. He would be injured at my side, or cutting down the last tongue that ever tried to tell him he could not see me.

I could still feel the ache between my legs that he had left as a reminder of his unwavering devotion. And I knew that whatever was to come would be a testament to that. To the coil wrapped around us both.

I couldn't fathom what was about to happen.

To be continued...

@caprisunsister @thewritingbeforesunrise @takenbythemadness @katuschka @its-interesting-van-kleep @lvnterninthenight @writingcold @jakekiszkasbuttsweat @edgingthedarkness @velveteencatch @lyndz2names @nina-23-45 @itsafullmoon y @char289 @dancingcarbon @gvfpal @violetstarcatcher @wetkleenex-gvf @jazzyfigz @gvfmarge @ignite-my-fire

#greta van fleet #jake kiszka #josh kiszka #fanfic #gvf #greta van fleet fan fiction #fanfiction #gvf fanfiction #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiszka x reader

[odyssean-flower]

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 10 - The Honeymoon (Part 2)

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: You and Neuvillette have a fun time on Erinnyes Warnings: None except for the fact that this story is 50% written based on vibes Note: I update this story on AO3 first so please subscribe to the fic there if you’d like to read it faster Note 2: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette hanging with one of his kin

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 “Madame, we have arrived at Marcotte Station.”

The whisper in your ear was accompanied by a gentle shaking of your arm. “Ugh…?” you let out a moan and opened your eyes. Your head was resting on something soft—what was it? You turned your head and was met with lilac eyes peering into your own.

You had been resting your head against his shoulder.

“Oh!” your head practically flicked back. “I’m so sorry, I can’t believe I fell asleep…”

Great, just great. Way to start your date with a good impression! You glanced at his shoulder. It didn’t seem as though you had drooled on him, at least.

“No need to apologize,” Neuvillette said as you took out a small mirror from your purse and fixed your hair. “You should get all the rest you need. We have a long walk ahead of us, after all.”

“A long walk…” you repeated as you gazed out at the long walkway that stretched into the distance. Why did they have to build everything on the other end of the island? At least you wore comfortable walking shoes today.

You stood up and stretched, then thanked Elphane before climbing down the aquabus’s ladder. Neuvillette followed, and the aquabus soon departed after.

You started marching ahead. The burbling of the fountains and the chirping of finches, along with the refreshing morning air made a pleasant accompaniment to your walk. All your earlier nervousness seemed to melt away, replaced with a bubbling excitement. You now understood a little why people woke up early to jog in the morning.  

“There is no need to walk so quickly,” Neuvillette said, even as he easily caught up to you with his long legs. “We have plenty of time, and personally, a walk is much improved by enjoying the scenery.”

“Is there scenery to enjoy here?” you asked, confused. You had visited the opera a few times over the years, and while you always found the sight of the opera house rising into your field of vision awe-inspiring, you didn’t find the walk there very interesting.

“Of course. Why, just look at this river running beneath our feet and converging into the vast waters in the distance. See how clearly the water reflects the mountains, grass, and flowers. I have always considered Erinnyes to be the perfect combination of land and water.”

You couldn’t help but smile at hearing Neuvillette wax poetic about the water. Neuvillette might seem inscrutable on the surface, but he was really a man of simple pleasures and predictable habits. Although you suspected that you and him had different aesthetic tastes, you enjoyed the challenge of trying to see the world through his eyes.

“But don’t you get tired of seeing the same sights every day for hundreds of years?”

“Not at all. There is always something new and interesting to see, whether in the land or the people, particularly the latter.”

“The people?” you looked up at him. “You’re a people-watcher?”

Neuvillette rubbed his cheek awkwardly. “Is that such a surprise?”

“Yes. I mean, well…” you struggled to word your thoughts the right way. “It’s just that…you always make an effort to maintain a distance from people in order to stay impartial at all times, so I assumed that you didn’t have that much interest in humans.”

“You’re not entirely wrong,” Neuvillette admitted. “But I do in fact enjoy observing the citizens of Fontaine go about their daily lives. It helps with my duties as the Chief Justice as well.”

“That does makes sense,” you said. “Tell me about the kinds of people you see here, then.”

“Very well then, Madame, if you insist. I’m afraid I’m not much of a storyteller, however.”

Neuvillette then started to tell you about all the strange and interesting sights and incidents he had witnessed here. Though he claimed not to be much of a storyteller, you found him easy to listen to and happy to be interrupted whenever you asked for more details.

Before you knew it, the sun had climbed higher in the sky and the opera house stood before you. There were very few people around. The Fountain of Lucine danced high in the sky.

“You know, it’s funny how I've never attended a trial here since we’ve gotten married,” you said as you gazed up at the tall building. “Perhaps I should rectify that in the future.”

“I thought you didn’t enjoy trials.”

“I don’t,” you admitted. “But lately I’ve started gaining an interest in them.”

It was true. Before, you would mainly read the newspaper for the news of the day and the serialized novels, but now you've started to read the judicial affairs section, particularly the court cases presided over by Neuvillette.

“Besides,” you added. “I’m a citizen of Fontaine too, so it’s my civic duty in a sense, to contribute my part to the power source.”

You had somewhat expected Neuvillette to tell you not to force yourself, but instead he said, “If you ever decide to attend one, tell me, so I may reserve a seat for you.”

The two of you turned left, in the direction of Erinnyes Forest. As paved stones gave way to uneven dirt, you felt the atmosphere change. Not just in the sky, which seemed to darken all of a sudden, but between the two of you. It felt as if this honeymoon-date was beginning in earnest. You glanced up at Neuvillette, wondering if he felt the same way you did, and found him looking down at you with an unreadable expression in his eyes. Both of you hurriedly looked away.

“This place is very beautiful,” you said, in an attempt to distract you both, but it was also the truth. You liked the feel of the pine trees lining one side of the path and the slate gray cliffs lining the other. It felt like you were being shepherded to somewhere magical. “It’s a shame that not a lot of people come here.”

Your hometown was to the west of the Court of Fontaine, located in pretty much the middle of nowhere. It was a peaceful—some might say boring—locale. The only time you had ever come close to running into monsters was when a group of hilichurls set up camp on the outskirts of your village, but they were soon cleared out by some hired adventurers.

“I agree, Madame. But there are reasonable justifications as to why that is. Erinnyes is different from the other regions of Fontaine.”

“Because of the strange fog and the vishaps? But I read that they don’t attack you unless you attack them first.”

You had been nervous about the vishaps, but assured yourself that with Neuvillette there, there was nothing to worry about.

And, there was the long-suppressed adventurous part of you that really wanted to see them for yourself.

“You are correct, but it is still better to be careful when you come here.”

You nodded, then looked around. So far, you haven’t seen anything even remotely similar to a vishap. You didn’t even see any hilichurls or Treasure Hoarders, even though you had also read that there were plenty of both that could be found here. Perhaps Neuvillette was taking you on a safer path.

You stopped when you passed by a small waterfall.

“What kind of flowers are these?” you knelt down and stared at a small azure flower growing by the water. “I think I’ve seen them in a book, although I don’t recall their name.”

“This is a Lakelight Lily,” Neuvillette knelt down next to you. “They mainly grow in Erinnyes.”

Then, after seeming to consider something, he picked it and held it out to you. “My apologies,” he said, suddenly looking awkward. “I am of the understanding that it is a custom to give flowers on dates, but I didn’t know what were your favorites. It’s not suitable, I know.”

You stared at the blue flower in his hand, feeling your heart flutter and heat rise to your cheeks. “I…um, thank you,” you carefully accepted it, and brought it to your nose. It smelled pure and refreshing, like a mountain spring. “It’s absolutely perfect.”

You could feel Neuvillette staring at you again. You wondered what sort of ridiculous expression you had on your face right now. “I…I wish I have my flower press with me. I would love to preserve this flower. It was one of my hobbies back home, you know, flower pressing. I had an album full of clippings from the plants that grew around my village. I liked looking at pressed flowers as well. Oh, Lakelight Lilies, I’ve read about them before! Do you know the legend where the previous Hydro Archon was said to have given one to the last Lochknight?” you babbled.

It was funny. You were able to talk to him relatively easily at home, despite the fact that it was arguably a more intimate environment than here, but now it felt like you were talking to him for the first time. Although, I was nowhere near as bad as this when we first met.

“Your album must be a sight to behold. Would you allow me to see it some time?”

“Oh, you can’t now. I threw it away a long time ago. It was just a childish pastime for me anyways.”

There was an awkward silence. Neuvillette looked caught off guard. You wanted to punch yourself in the face. This is why…

“Oh, um, by the way,” you said, your voice sounding too loud in tranquil environment. “I don’t really have any favorites. For flowers, I mean. It’s not something I really thought about before. So you don’t need to worry about buying me a bouquet or anything. …Do you have a favorite flower, sir?”

Your eyes were fixed on the flower, so you couldn’t see the expression on his face as he quietly said, “I am of a similar opinion,” He then reached for the flower. “May I?”

“Oh, sure…” you said, giving the lily to him. He took it, and then proceeded to tuck the flower into your hair, just above your left ear. Even through his glove, you could feel the warmth of his hand. It lingered in your hair for a moment.

“I don’t mean to go against your opinion, Madame, but in my view, flowers are most beautiful when they are alive and placed where they look best,” he said, then gestured to the water surface. You looked no different than before, except for the fact that there was now a Lakelight Lily in your hair, and yet you couldn’t help but feel that your reflection showed a stranger. “You see? It’s beautiful.”

You couldn’t look away from his eyes—you weren’t sure you even wanted to. Somehow, you managed to tear away and turned your head to the side and spotted another lily next to the one Neuvillette picked for you. You reached for it and, spurred on by a sudden spurt of boldness, picked it and tucked it in Neuvillette’s hair.

“There,” you said. “Now we match.”

A soft sigh escaped from Neuvillette’s lips. The distance between the two of you wasn’t so close, but you swore you could feel his breath against your hair.

After a charged silence, Neuvillette stood up. “Let us not tarry here any longer. I want us to spend as much time at our destination as we can.”

“O-Okay,” you nodded, still feeling flustered.

As you continued your walk, you soon encountered a wall of thick fog. As you remembered, this place was called the Foggy Forest Path, and it did indeed live up to its name. Instinctively, you reached out your hand, and it bumped into a silk-covered one. You held onto it tightly. The hand was limp for a moment, as though its owner was surprised, and then it hesitantly squeezed yours back.

“We should hold hands so we don’t lose each other,” you said and looked up at him, or rather, where he should be. The fog was so thick that you could only see the faint blue glow of the Lakelight Lily in his hair.

“…Yes, you’re right,” Neuvillette said. His voice sounded like it was coming from far away. His hand gripped yours even tighter. “Please try not to let go.”

“I won’t,” you said, and started walking forward. Everything except the dirt road right before your eyes was obscured. You couldn’t even hear the chirping of the birds. It was as though the whole world had disappeared, and the only thing anchoring you to reality was the firm, warm grip on your hand.

After what seemed like an eternity, but was probably only a few minutes, the fog cleared.

“Wow…” you breathed out as you stared at the sight before your eyes.

It was the azure blue Weeping Willow, standing in the middle of the lake like a fountain spout eternally frozen just before its water droplets hit the ground. There were smaller willows standing on the banks of the lake, like the attendants of a glorious lady.  

You stepped forward, taking your hand out of Neuvillette’s grip. You didn’t notice him staring at his hand intently after you did so.

“This place is incredible!” you exclaimed, turning back to Neuvillette. He looked up at you. “I can definitely understand why this is your favorite place in all of Fontaine.”

You had seen pictures of the willow, but seeing it for yourself was a completely different experience. Your legs seemed to run forward on their own before you remembered yourself and stopped. This was technically supposed to be a date, after all, not a field trip.

“Ahem, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you said. “Shall we go on ahead?”

Neuvillette strode up to you. “But of course, Madame,” he said, then extended his elbow out to you. You stared at it for a few moments before realizing that he wanted you to link arms with him. How unexpected.

The sun shined brightly down upon the two of you as you descended the slope. You expected Neuvillette to move into the shade, but he didn’t. The tree was even more majestic and extraordinary up close. It looked as though it was floating in midair.

“If only I have a Kamera,” you groaned. “I need to take pictures of everything!”

“In that case, let me unveil another surprise for you,” Neuvillette said. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a well-polished device. “A Kamera.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you, sir?” You took it in your hands and examined it. It looked a bit different from the Kameras you were used to seeing. “I didn’t know you owned one.”

“It was a recent gift from the Melusines.”

“A recent gift? Was it a birthday present?”

“Yes, from about a hundred years ago.”

You nearly dropped the Kamera. “A hundred years ago? That’s not recent at all! This is an antique.”

Neuvillette looked genuinely confused. “It isn’t?”

It was easy for you to forget that Neuvillette was actually hundreds of years old. If asked how, you would have to say that he simply didn’t act like it. Not that you knew what a person who was hundreds of years old acted like. Perhaps it was the fact that he never talked about his past very much.

Come to think of it, the Melusines were hundreds of years old as well. Lately, you had been surrounded by people who were vastly older than you.

The thought of it made you feel small, but also exhilarated. You imagined that this was what explorers felt when they encountered ancient ruins for the first time.

The Kamera wasn’t difficult to operate. After fiddling with it for a bit, you figured it out and proceeded to snap photos of all the flora and fauna. Neuvillette followed behind you as you trekked around, occasionally directing you away from threats.

You could feel his gaze boring into your back. He followed you at a respectable distance, neither too close nor too far, but you couldn’t shake off the feeling like you were being stalked by a starving beast that wanted something from you. It was unnerving, and it made you feel awfully self-conscious. But more than that, you felt guilty. Despite your lack of romantic experience, even you knew that this wasn’t how a date should be. Hell, not even an outing between two friends should be so one-sided. But you knew that if you brought it up with Neuvillette, he would just say something along the lines of “I’m happy as long as you’re happy.”

You had always been the type to follow the lead of others when it came to situations like this. It was easier that way, and you justified it to yourself with the reasoning that you were boring anyways. But now that you were dealing with someone who was content to follow your lead, you were beginning to understand the pressure it placed on others.

“Monsieur Neuvillette,” you turned around to face him after some thought. “I’m getting tired of this.”

Neuvillette’s face fell. “…I see. Yes, of course you would be. There isn’t much in entertainment here. I can take you back to the Court of Fon—”

“Not in that way,” you interrupted him. “I mean of this silence. This is your favorite place, and yet you’re not telling me anything about it.”

“I’m afraid that I have no talent for being a guide. I’m sure the books you’ve read are more than sufficient.”

“It doesn’t matter. I just want to hear your voice.”

Neuvillette was silent for a minute. “…Very well, Madame, if you insist. What would you like to know?”

“Well…tell me about the water here.”

Neuvillette brightened a little at that. He is so predictable, you thought. He started to tell you about the water veins that spread underground throughout Fontaine, and how the tree is affected by them. According to him, the water veins contained information, making Erinnyes a sort of information system.

“And you can learn that information by tasting these water veins?” you asked, fascinated.

“Yes, I can.”

“Isn’t that a bit…disgusting? I mean, drinking water straight from a lake is a bit…”

“Disgusting?” Neuvillette seemed genuinely perplexed. “Why would it be?”

Then, before your astonished eyes, he took out his cup and filled it with lake water and drank it. His face relaxed into a smile. “Ah, exquisite. Would you like to try some?”

“Um…no thank you, sir,” you politely declined. Sampling his imported water was one thing, but drinking lake water was something else.

“So, is this the lake where the maiden of the lake, Daeira, gave Hauteclaire to Erinnyes? Was this the place where Erinnyes threw her sword before she disappeared?” you asked a question that had been on your mind since you arrived here.

“It may very well be. I know that many of the prevailing theories believe that this is that very lake.”

“What do you mean? Surely you were…”

“No, Madame, I’m afraid I must disappoint you. I was not around during that era.”

“You weren’t?” You were mortified by how rudely you blurted that out and the genuine disappointment that sprang up in your heart. Your expression must have been equally impudent, because Neuvillette actually let out a chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand. But you could still see his crinkled eyes.

The air between the two of you was no longer quite so awkward. Neuvillette was smiling now, so everything was alright. You would endure a thousand humiliations just for that.

And now you learned something new about him.

“How old did you think I was?” Neuvillette asked, still smiling.

“I, um, shouldn't say. It’s rude,” you mumbled, looking away. “You do look very…er, good for your age, though.”

“What was that last part, Madam? I couldn’t quite make it out,” Neuvillette stepped closer. You couldn’t tell if he was serious or teasing you.

“It’s nothing. Can we go to the tree now?” You awkwardly changed the subject. “I’ve been dying to take a closer look at it. I heard that people used to worship it in ancient times.”

“Why, certainly,” Neuvillette held out his arm to you. “Let us go.”

The lake spread out before you. It was bigger than you thought. You could see geese peacefully swimming on the surface. The water was so clear that you could see down to the bottom. The tree’s thick roots stretched out beneath the water, disappearing into countless underwater caverns.

“How are we going to get there?” you wondered out loud. You hadn’t brought swimwear, and you weren’t a very strong swimmer. Was Neuvillette going to…?

“No need to worry,” he said, then led you to one of the blue trees by the lake. There was something next to it covered by a tarp. He lifted it up, revealing a wooden rowboat.

“Oh, wow,” you said, walking around the boat and taking pictures. It looked newly painted. “Did you prepare this?”

“Yes,” Neuvillette nodded, looking a bit bashful.

“It’s wonderful. But where are the oars?” You couldn’t find them inside the boat or outside.

“We won’t be needing them,” he said. “You wished to see me demonstrate my powers, did you not?”

“Agh…” you scratched your head in embarrassment. He got you there. “You really don’t have to do this just to entertain my idle curiosities…”

“Nonsense. I’m doing this simply because I want to,” he said.

Neuvillette dragged the boat out to the water, then helped you into the boat before getting into it himself. He placed his hand on the side of the boat, and it started moving out on his own.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting—something flashier, perhaps. But this was just like him.

“Shall we take a tour around the lake before going to the tree?” Neuvillette suggested, and you agreed.

The boat moved at a leisurely, peaceful pace. The swans from before glided past your boat, seemingly unperturbed by the new arrivals. Neuvillette pointed out the schools of colorful fish swimming in the depths. You couldn’t see those water veins he mentioned, though. Perhaps they were deeper under the water.

You snapped as many pictures as you could, partly because you wanted to capture all the beauty of this place, but also partly to hide your face from Neuvillette’s stare with the Kamera. Occasionally, he would take a sip from his cup.

You wondered if he realized how unsettling it was. Maybe he was so used to being watched that he had become desensitized to it. You, on the other hand, fidgeted at being the focus of someone’s attention.

At last, you couldn’t take his stare anymore. Your face wasn’t that interesting and you knew it.

“Monsieur Neuvillette, would you like to take a picture of me?”

A breeze blew a strand of your hair against your eyes, and you tucked it behind your ear. Neuvillette’s eyes followed that motion. He didn’t say anything.

“Monsieur Neuvillette?” you raised your voice.

He blinked several times, as though he was rousing himself from deep thought. “Pardon me, Madame?”

“I said, would you like to take a picture of me? You’ve been staring at me for too long now. Shall I return the Kamera to you?”

“Have I?” Was it just your imagination, or did the tips of his ears turned red? “I apologize for my discourteous behavior, Madame.”

“I would have thought that you understood how uncomfortable it felt after I did the same thing to you before. Was it enjoyable for you, at least?”

You said the last part sarcastically, but Neuvillette didn’t seem to have picked up on it. “Yes, very much so,” he said sincerely. You gave him a look. “Ah, my apologies, I didn’t realize you were being sarcastic.”

There was a short silence as Neuvillette looked anywhere but you. He took another sip of water. You noticed that his hand was shaking slightly. Was he that flustered?

At last, he spoke again. “May I have the Kamera, then?”

“Sure,” you said, handing it to him. “What are you going to take a picture of?”

“You, of course. Didn’t you offer?”

“Yes, but…never mind, do as you will. It’ll be good to have a picture of me for Lady Furina.”

“Lady Furina?” Neuvillette’s brows knitted together. “Why would I show it to her?”

“For proof of the date. I’m sure she’ll give you a hard time if you have nothing to show for today.”

“Furina,” Neuvillette said, his tone sharp. “Will have no choice but to accept what I say, proof or no proof. Please do not worry yourself about her.”

Neuvillette’s touchiness about this subject was something you were well-acquainted with. It put you on edge as well. But you didn’t feel like arguing about it with him right now.

“How should I pose for the picture? If you want me to smile, then I must refuse. I am not good at smiling on command.”

“It’s fine. I simply want a picture of you. That is what people do on dates, is it not?”

Neuvillette looked around, and his eyes landed on something. The boat moved closer to one of the smaller blue willows growing around the lake. Lakelight Lilies grew in profusion near the roots. The boat turned so that your back was facing the tree.

Neuvillette took a long time with the Kamera, frequently looking up from it. He doesn’t need to take it so seriously, you thought. It’s just a picture. In the meantime, you tried to concentrate on smiling naturally. Despite what Neuvillette said, you wanted to smile for his picture. It was the least you could do.

You thought of all the things that made you happy. The pictures of Remurian ruins in my books, that spot in the woods near my house, the cake my old housekeeper makes for my birthday each year, my comfy reading nook, talking to the Melusines…Neuvillette putting my painting in his office…

“Pfft…” a laugh threatened to burst out of your mouth as you felt the corners of your lips lift. It still made you giddy just thinking about it. Ah, this is so embarrassing…I’m getting too excited over something so trivial…

Click. Click. Click. The sounds of the Kamera went off in succession.

“I thought you said just one picture,” you said.

“My apologies. My finger slipped.”

His finger looked pretty deliberate to you. “I thought the Chief Justice didn’t lie.”

No response. It appeared that you got him.

“Shall we go to the willow tree now?” you said to spare him the awkwardness of having to explain himself.

“…Yes,” Neuvillette nodded.

The boat made for the island at a quick speed. Once it made land, you stepped onto the ground and looked up at the tree in awe. Up close, you could see that the top part of the tree was in fact connected to the base by several thick blue roots. The drooping branches were like droplets of water suspended in air. They covered the entire island and practically blotted out the sky. You could understand why the ancients revered this weeping willow.

You asked Neuvillette for the Kamera back and resumed taking more photos. Unfortunately, there were no traces of any interesting ruins as far as you could see. Maybe they were underwater. Of course all the good stuff is there.

Neuvillette was looking at the branches as well, but not in the way you were looking at them. He was staring at them critically, as though examining them for blight. You remembered what he said about the tree reflecting the state of the waters.

You walked over to him. “Does the Chief Justice’s job extend to inspecting trees?”

“This is one of my duties, although it isn’t entirely related to my position,” Neuvillette said, gazing at a branch. He took it and displayed it in front of you. “Do these leaves look a bit yellow to you?”

You stared at the leaves closely. At first glance, they looked to be a vibrant blue, but comparing them with the leaves on the other branches, they did seem to have a greenish cast.

“I’m not entirely sure,” you said at last. “The color does look a bit different.”

Neuvillette looked thoughtful at your words. “I see,” he began to walk towards the water. “It would not hurt to check the water veins to see if there are any hazards that need to be dealt with.”

“Are you going to go underwater?” you asked, following him.

“Yes, but I promise to make it quick,” Neuvillette stepped into the water, still with all his clothes on, and submerged himself.

You watched him as he swam around. He was quite the swimmer.

It was noon now, so you decided to set the picnic up. You laid down the blanket in the shadiest spot and spread out the food, which consisted of sandwiches, a pie, and of course, plenty of water for Neuvillette. Your stomach was grumbling, but you needed to wait until Neuvillette came back before you could eat.

You sat down on the blanket. In the distance, you could see little cottages here and there. They must be summer houses. Ah, if only you had the money for that.

A pleasant breeze blew. The sunlight shining down through the branches cast your surroundings in a blue light. It felt like you were underwater.

This place was very different from your claustrophobic hometown, where everyone was in everyone’s business, and the big city, where it was easy to get swept into the tide of people and never make it out. Both places have their own charms, but Neuvillette had introduced you to somewhere outside of those two paradigms.

You doubted that you would be able to come here often, but it was nice to know that places like these existed and were accessible.

Just as you decided to go to the edge of the water again to see if you could see Neuvillette again, you spotted a flash of purple out of the corner of your eye. You turned and screamed when you saw what was there.

It was a large, purple beast with a long snout. It was covered in spikes. Its magenta eyes looked oddly familiar, but there was no time to think about that now.

There was a vishap in front of you.

“Neuvillette!” you shouted. “Neuvillette, please get up here! There’s a vishap here!”

There was a loud splash as Neuvillette emerged from the water. You rushed into his arms, hiding your face in his robes. You felt him freeze up.

“What is it, Madame?” he asked urgently. His arms wrapped around you, and he began to stroke your hair. “Are you hurt?”

You pointed behind you with a trembling arm. “It suddenly appeared out of nowhere…”

“Ah, I see…” you heard a note of sternness in his voice. He gently turned you around. “It’s perfectly natural to be scared, but I promise you that no vishap in Erinnyes will ever hurt you.”

You looked up at him. His lilac eyes stared back into yours. You could see the worry in them. You felt your heartbeat settle down.

“Do you trust me?” he suddenly murmured.

“…Of course I do,” you said, and he let out a sigh of relief.

Now that you were no longer scared, the gravity of what you just did came back to haunt you.

“Um…pardon my impertinence, sir,” you said, and nonchalantly stepped away from Neuvillette. Talking with him casually—okay. Holding his hand—questionable, but at times necessary. Pressing yourself against him—the height of shamelessness. Even if you were scared for your life, you had to behave in a dignified manner. I have to remember my place!

He did see you in just a towel, though, a part of your mind whispered. So what does it matter?

Oh, do be quiet! You thought back.

Neuvillette’s hand, which had been on your shoulder, lingered in the air for a moment before dropping. You could feel him looking at you, as though seeking something, but you stared resolutely at the willow’s trunk.

After a moment, Neuvillette went towards the vishap. You heard him say something in a language you had never heard before. He sounded cross. The vishap answered him back. Was it the language of the vishaps? Did Neuvillette have some sort of connection to them?

Oh, now you remembered why the vishap’s eyes looked so familiar. It and Neuvillette both shared the same slitted pupils. Hmm…

“Come here, Madame,” he said to you. You hesitated before obeying and stopped just behind him. Perhaps it was just your imagination, but you thought that the vishap looked a bit ashamed.

“I’ve reprimanded this vishap for frightening you. She shouldn’t have shown itself before you without my presence. She told me that she didn’t mean to surprise you. She came up from the water because she smelled an unfamiliar scent.”

“Oh, she must have smelled the picnic food…”

“She apologizes for the scare,” Neuvillette said. “She hopes you’ll forgive her.”

“Um…I accept…your apology,” you said to the vishap. The vishaps here were supposed to understand human language. “Sorry for screaming.”

Now that everything was cleared up, it was time for lunch. The vishap showed no sign of leaving, so you supposed that it was joining you two as well.

You sat down on the blanket cross-legged, making sure to leave enough space for Neuvillette without having to sit too close to him. He sat down across from you. It took a few moments for him to adjust due to his long spats. He could have worn shorter ones, at least, you thought. Perhaps you should have brought a chair.

“We’ve got tomato and lettuce sandwiches, an apple pie, and water from rivers of Qingce Village,” you gestured at the spread. “I made the sandwiches, and Marie baked the pie.”

“Thank you for your hard work,” Neuvillette said. He picked up one of the sandwiches and bit into it. He closed his eyes.

“Is it good?” you asked nervously as you watched him eat. “I hope it’s not too dry.”

“It’s delicious,” he said after he swallowed. He smiled at you. “You’re a woman of many talents.”

“It’s just sandwiches…” you said. Neuvillette could really go overboard with the compliments sometimes.

“Be that as it may, it was excellently made,” Neuvillette said, then reached for another sandwich. You started eating as well.

“So, Monsieur Neuvillette, how were the water veins?” you asked as you cut a slice of pie after finishing a sandwich. “Did you learn anything from them?”

“Yes, but it is nothing too serious, thankfully. It can be dealt with swiftly,” he said, as he sipped his water. He glanced at you a little, as if wanting to say something else.

“That’s good to hear.”

Before you met Neuvillette, your idea of a Chief Justice’s responsibilities was the same as anyone else’s. You assumed that he mainly dealt with trials and other court matters. But now you were learning that his duties extended beyond that. It made sense, considering he was an ancient being. Just what was Neuvillette, anyway?

The puzzle of his true identity was not something you had ever indulged in before, but now for the first time, you were a little curious.

The vishap was sniffing at the remaining sandwiches. Was she hungry? You picked up a sandwich and held it out to her. “Would you like to try one?” you asked, then turned to Neuvillette. “Sir, can she eat human food?”

“She can,” he said. His voice sounded a bit strange.

You moved your hand closer to the vishap’s mouth. She opened it, revealing rows of sharp teeth. You tried not to recoil. The sandwich disappeared into the mouth.

The vishap blinked her eyes, then made a noise. She seemed happy.

“Hey, that tickles!” you laughed as the vishap licked your hand.

“Ahem,” Neuvillette cleared his throat behind you. The vishap ducked her head.

“Oh, it’s alright, sir,” you waved your hand. “I don’t mind feeding her our food.”

“That is not what was on my mind…” Neuvillette murmured. But he didn’t elaborate any further.

After cleaning up, you and Neuvillette spent the next half hour taking pictures, chatting, and enjoying the scenery. The vishap would occasionally go underwater and bring you treasures like shells and Tidalga, which you carefully tucked away in your purse.

Before long, it was time to leave for Merusea Village.

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#genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #neuvillette x reader #neuvillette x female reader #the winding path of fate #my fics

[buckyarchives]

Domestic Life Of a Living With a Runaway Assassin. [Intro.]

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x soulmate!reader

Summary: you hate many things in life. you hate soulmates. you hate the avengers. you hate guns. you hate loud snorers and complicated relationships.

Bucky Barnes is associated with all of those things, yet you can't find yourself hating him

W.c: 2.1K

Series playlist linked here

Author note: this was actually one of my first long form fics I wrote in many years, its carrys a nostalgic feeling and means a lot to me. i wrote it like last October and thought abt kinda rewriting some stuff and posting it here! I thought some of you guys woudk enjoy this story. this is only a short darbble that teases the story, next chapter shows how they met and everything after that. It takes place right after CA:TWS and it’s a soulmate AU!

Masterlist

Soulmates.

The legend goes that when the universe was created and whatever higher power you believed in created humans to have two sets of legs, two sets of arms, and two heads. Now because the world is cruel and no one can have nice things, whoever is in charge up there split us up into two beings but forever being connected by our souls. Spending the rest of our life waiting and searching for our other halves. Never being our true whole selves without them. How poetically tragic.

It turned into a weird way to make money nowadays, you felt like no one really cared about the reality of soulmates now. It was made into shitty romance movies, or stupid scientific searches for your one and only soulmate that was definitely an internet scam. People literally faking soul marks towards celebrities for their one chance with them that their delusional minds make up. 

All just a desperate attempt to feel whole and loved but your one and true person. Always and forever destined to be.

What a touching story. Too bad you think it's all bullshit

No genuinely, you were supposed to believe your life's purpose was to find this one person in the entire universe that matched you, and without them, you what? you were going to be miserable for the rest of your life? The universe is a scam. You had given up on the whole mad search for your other half years ago, you didn't understand why you couldn't go out and find your own partner without having to match up those stupid words on your shoulder. 

“I'm sorry, you probably don't feel very safe with me.”

Those stupid words. You hated the idea of soulmates but you couldn't stop yourself from the hours of wondering just what the hell that was supposed to mean. You had no interest in seeking out your soulmate but you could wonder what type of person they may be. Were they really a dangerous person? Would you genuinely not feel safe with the said person when you first meet? Would you even meet them?

Questions had swirled through your head since the day you got it. Those questions had died down a little, you were getting older and most of your peers had already met their soulmates. You noticed soulmates were not just romantic, they came in friendships, some didn't work out, some came between children and parents, and some came through your fire escape at night, covered in blood and knocking down your favorite plants.

With a loud crash, your feet carried you through your new york apartment to your living room. You saw the outline of him crouched down on the floor. “I'm so sorry, I know that was your favorite plant.”

Okay, spoiler. You had found your soulmate. You weren't excited about it as the rest of the world expected, but it happened. You weren't some hypocrite that would suddenly abandoned all beliefs and fell head over heels for your soulmate once you met like one of those stupid romance movies you mention earlier, you were not some cliche. Especially not with a poor excuse of a runaway-brainwashed-assassin soulmate, at least you would try convincing yourself that.

“My god Bucky, how many times do I have to tell you to just go through the door.” you pinch the bridge of your nose as the tired old man scrambles to clean up the dirt and scattered pot beneath him. “I mean, you practically live here now.”

“I'm not using the door, someone could see me.”

You think Like that's better than having someone see you climb through the fire escape, asshole. You scoff and shake your head and begin dragging yourself to the kitchen. You had a slight quirk at the end of your lips, an amused smile, you hoped Bucky didn’t see in the dark. Maybe he did, you didn’t really have enough time to ask him the deets on the effects of the serum. 

You swing open the cabinet door and grab a trash bag and first aid kit. God only knows how bent out of shape bucky is tonight. Making your way back into your living room, Buckys still muttering under his breath about your stupid plant and “god dammit it's fucking freezing out there.”

throwing the trash back at him, he looks up at you. His eyes are beautiful. His hair is sopping wet and you were hoping to any god above that he wasn't bleeding out on your floor. You were not losing your security deposit for your reckless runaway assassin soulmate. God, that's a mouthful, you need to give him a new nickname.

 “So, what's the damage?”

“s’ nothing, I'm just cold. It started raining hard.” he looks like a wet shaking dog. Your heart aches.

You look him up and down. Noticing the water dripping from all his clothing. “I see that.”

You sigh and take a few steps toward him. Bucky eyes follow your moments precisely. He has a bit of a staring problem. You snag the hair tie off your wrist and swiftly tie his brunette wet mop of a head into a little man bun. Cute. you shake your head.

“Stay, I'll be right back.”

Bucky watches you in awe as your body ascends back into the darkness of the room and around a corner. He's uncomfortable and his socks are wet. The leather vest is wet and he feels like he's trapped in his own skin, and Bucky feels too heavy. 

Slowly, he begins to unstrap all weapons on his body and toss them to the side so you don't have to see them. You didn't like guns. He had a designated place where he hides them because god-forbid Bucky messes up your apartment aesthetic with his dozen of unsettling and quite scary weapons. Your words, not his.

Unzipping the leather top and peeling the fabric off himself was less than a nice feeling, it made him cringe and sent a quick shiver down his spine. Bucky tossed it to the side, he’ll deal with that tomorrow. His hands feel the thin black shirt that's left, it's wet too. Fucking hell. He doesn’t remember the New York weather being this bad in September, he also barely remembers anything so his memory isn’t too reliable. Bucky slowly peels the fabric over his head, he hopes he doesn't mess up the bun you did, he never did it right.

Bucky hears your feet pad against your floor. He pushes back a smile. You're holding a towel and some clothes. He watches you as you crouch down next to him on the floor, he notices that your eyes are squinted and your bed head is apparent. A twinge of guilt hits him now knowing he had woken you up. Bucky whispers, “I woke you up.”

You sigh, again. “I was having a bad dream anyways.”

“About?”

You inhale, scoffing to yourself. “I was being chased by Jimmy Fallon with a jar of pickles – because you know, I hate pickles – and he was yelling at me about the importance of eating vegetables, but he sounded just like my mom.”

Bucky didn’t remember who Jimmy Fallon was, “you must think you’re so amusing, don’t you?”

“Maybe.”

Bucky curls his toes and is unfortunately reminded of his very wet socks. He leans forward to untie his hefty boots. Your eyes trail along his naked back, his muscles flex and suddenly you are just a little more awake. You watch his left arm in all its glory, taking note of the ragged and scarred tissues where metal meets skin. Scratch marks are littered around the edges, and you feel sad for him, imagining how those got there. The moonlight highlights his metal arm, making it shine and look quite beautiful. You could never tell Bucky that.

“It's been a week.” you finally breathe out. Bucky freezes in place as his fingers wrap around his laces. He feels guilty again. “And you didn't leave a note this time either. I thought...”

Trailing off, you stop yourself before you say something you were going to regret. Your mind wanders, you felt so incredibly stupid right now. Truth is, you didn't agree with the whole soulmate ordeal but it seemed like ever since your unconventional first meeting with Bucky, he has stuck to you like glue. He just kept coming back and then leaving again. 

It took you many of his overnight stays and weirdly domestic mornings making scrambled eggs together and then turning into a worry machine after he leaves. You realized had grown to care for him deeply. Bucky always came back, but you were scared for the day we might not. 

Bucky is– literally, a lost puppy. He had been on the run and actively avoiding the few stray agents that knew he was still alive when he met you. 

Bucky remembered back when he was a kid, dreaming about the day he would meet his soulmate. He and Steve would stay up all night talking about their soul marks, or just words (as they used to call it), and what they thought their soulmates would be like. Bucky was obsessed and simply put, a hopeless romantic. 

Then Steve met his soulmate, Peggy. And then he technically died and Hydra happened, Bucky thought his soulmate would have been dead because he was out of his time now. After being brainwashed and having been broken and put back together by Hydra, Bucky could still never shake the feeling of you still being out there, it was like some instinctive feeling in his bones, he had hope and it was one of the only things keeping him going. 

And he was right.

Bucky had many doubts when he first met you, given his situation. But you were not scared. And that was enough for him at the time.

But now he just feels guilty for giving you the burden of being his soulmate. He was trying, really.

“I'm sorry, doll.” his voice didn't sound like his own, he shrugged the rest of his boot off and followed with his socks. Finally. “I should have left a note. I'm safe, you're safe, and I'm here now.” 

Bucky heard you sniffled and you turned your head with an embarrassment look and glossy eyes. Like you were ashamed for caring.

“sweetheart...” he scooted closer, hoping you wouldn't mind his damp skin on yours. Bucky reached for you, wrapping his flesh hand around yours and giving you a small squeeze. Your head turned to him, a small smile hidden on your face by the darkness of the room. He saw it. Bucky might even think you're an angel. “I won't leave without saying something next time, I'm sorry.”

“Do I even want to know what you were doing out there?”

He hated lying to you but his life was complicated. “Just trying to fix some things I did.”

You nod. “Good.”

The silence between the two of you isn't uncomfortable, the past few months have been silent– at least with bucky. He is your soulmate. He is also the winter soldier, and the winter soldier is always moving and hiding. Bucky Barnes is always moving, always. He had been that way even way back in the Howling Commandos. 

You were his safe haven. Your relationship was on and off but your bond was strong, it was wordless and tentative and strung together by patching wounds at midnight and soft, domestic glances over coffee. Your house– just you were his place where he could just stop, pretend as if nothing mattered and sit on the couch and watch reality television that you loved. Bucky found it questionable but you said “it will help you get with the times.” Bucky just watched it because he knew it made you happy. 

Bucky Barnes had been moving all week, fast. He had almost died, twice. He was never going to let you know that though. Bucky was due for some Hell's Kitchen or dance moms. He was also not going to tell you that. 

The moonlight was fading and you could hear the faint sound of birds chirping outside, barely silenced by the bustling city life of people leaving for work. You are still sitting next to Bucky, and you nudge him with your elbow. His attention is now drawn to you. You bite your bottom lip, a horrible habit you had, bucky hated it. Bucky brings his thumb up to your face and pulls your lip away from your teeth. He wants to kiss you.

“Go take a shower, you stink.” That works too. He smiles and you laugh. Yeah, Bucky thinks he can stop for just a little longer this time.

-

Feedback and comments make the work go round, comment to be added to the tag list!

Tag list : @ivywasmaroon @ozwriterchick @slytherinambitious @wintermischief

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #marvel #marvel fanfiction #bucky fic #sebastian stan #bucky barns imagine #bucky x female reader #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x gender neutral reader #sebastian stan x reader

[kindasleepywriter]

Bird of Prey - Chapter 13: Crash Landing

Bird of Prey masterlist. Azriel x Fem!Reader.

Chapter summary: On the run from the Night court, injured and alone, you wonder if there's a point to all this suffering.

Story rating: Mature - Minors DNI

Warnings: Graphic injury, implications of previous possible dubcon, suicidal ideation. (Also this is unedited but ill do that asap)

Word count: 0.7k

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In the middle of winter, the winds of the Night court felt more like knives than they did a soft caress. Perhaps straining your left wing almost immediately after ascending over the large expanse of trees had had a role to play in your torture, but you couldn’t think of anything other than the pain as you struggled over the border towards Day, barely managing to glide over the divide between the two courts.

Unsteady flight patterns had you tumbling down through the treetops barely a few hundred feet past that point. The loud cracks of the snapping branches and the rustling of the pine trees engulfed you, so loud that you couldn’t hear your own exclamations of pain going down.

Curled around yourself on the forest’s icy floor, surrounded by the debris you’d taken down with you in your fall and the feathers you’d ripped out in the process, is where you finally yell apart. You laid there for hours, quietly sobbing as you tried to convince yourself to get up, get up, but you couldn’t, not until light began to sweep over your position.

Everything came crashing down on you in waves, the reality of the situation, and you couldn’t make heads or tails of it. Why couldn’t any of it make sense?

Azriel. He’d hated you at first, that you were sure of. He had no reason to trust you or help you, and you had only given him reasons to dislike you even more. You hadn’t been kind, but neither had he, not until... until after the study, when he had seen you burn the doorknob. Not until after Feyre saw through your memories.

Not until you became a tool, one they might be able to wield… if they gained your trust.

Gods, it hurt to think that all of what happened between you and Azriel might’ve just been an act, but the pieces all fit together like building blocks, one by one. It explained why he had suddenly found it in him to care for you, how he used your own weaknesses against you.

Fury and heartbreak tore through you, and that’s when you had started screaming in pure anguish through your sobs. You hadn’t admitted it, not out loud, but he must’ve known, known that you loved him. How easily you had fallen too, how little he had to show before you betrayed your instincts for him, your centuries of knowledge. As easily as a leaf falls in autumn at the slightest breeze, you thought bitterly.

But why would Azriel go after you, even when Rhysand held him back? Were they still hoping you would change your mind, that you would come running back? Your head kept spinning in circles until you didn’t have any more tears left to cry, until your throat felt as tight as a vice.

By that time, in the early morning sun, only numbness was left in you. There was no more fire left to burn, no more hatred towards those who used you, you’d spent it all. The only embers left had turned against you. Once more, you had been played for a fool.

You’d picked yourself up at the first sign of light despite your injuries, wings lacerated deeply and at least a few ribs broken, and dragged yourself into the first cave you found, uncaring of any danger that may be lurking in within. Maybe that would be a more comforting ending, you thought. Putting yourself at the mercy of nature, your only true friend, was a poetic way to go. No more betrayal, no more cruelty, only the Mother’s sweet embrace.

You shuffled to the farthest wall you could reach and curled down on the cold floor once more, your wings oozing blood at an unsteady rate. Unconsciousness settled over you comfortably, a blanket of death draping over you in a final moment of peace. You hoped it was over.

Today is a day of suffering, it would seem. Almost ready to post the next chapter, it'll be posted somewhere in the next 7 days!

Banner created by the amazing @saradika!

Taglist: @sapphenaa @minnieoo @weasleyreidstyles @anuttellaa @acourtofdreamsandshadows @fightmedraco @some-person-somewhere

#azriel x reader #azriel #acotar #acotar x reader #acotar fanfic #azriel fanfic #azriel POV #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #enemies to lovers #bird of prey

[rogueddie]

Different Time AU, Steddie Fics

Important: READ THE TAGS! Also, leave a comment and kudos! These fics are amazing and I love them and I hope y'all do too 🕓

I'm a Fool to Want You

senoritablack

Steve Harrington is a regular at Valentine’s, a word-of-mouth, traveling party for queers. As a hard-knocked detective in a town meant to kill you slowly, he’s not meaning to be anything but drunk at tonight’s shindig. Somehow, with the help of a gorgeous pianist, he finds himself in love.

Words : 7,755 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Set in the 1940s )

Don't threaten me with a good time

QueenOfSwords1312

No sooner is Eddie through the door, bottle in hand, than he’s being swept up in someone’s arms and pressed back against a wall. He blinks a few times to steady his vision after the near-whiplash move and comes face-to-face with Coriolanus himself, Steve Harrington. He’s got one hand on Eddie’s waist and the other has smoothly made its way into Eddie’s hair at the back of his head. And Eddie’s still clutching the damn wine bottle neck so he only has one free hand to grasp at Steve’s sweater.

The last time Eddie had seen the beautiful man, he’d been on stage, covered in fake blood and waxing poetic about all the bad decisions he made in his life to land him where he was. Which was hot , if a bit sad, but definitely fucking hot.

“You’re—” Eddie starts, but Steve cuts him off.

“Gonna kiss you now, if that’s alright,” Steve says, already staring at Eddie’s mouth.

Words : 7,496 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Modern au )

What Do You Want?

Sharpbutsoft (BuckysButt)

He hears the clink of glass pearls first, then feels a bare arm pressed alongside his own, warm through his thin cotton shirt.

“You here alone, handsome?” asks a low, husky voice, right into his ear. Steve turns to see the most beautiful person on whom he’s ever laid eyes.

Tall, with long, dark hair and darker eyes. A gash of red lipstick on her full lips, a stylish fringed dress and a strings of pearls hanging off her boyish frame.

Words : 1,543 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

( The whole series is great, and it is also written / co-written by dodger_chan. Set in the 1920s. )

May I Have This Dance?

sky_neverending

Steve attends a masquerade with Robin, and ends up meeting a handsome stranger who awakens a new feeling.

Words : 3,162 Chapters : 2/2 Rating : Teen And Up Audiences

AO3 : x

( Set in the 1800s )

Moments can be Monuments to You, if Your Life is Interesting and True

DiscoSuperFly

Working 911 dispatch in a small town is equal parts stressful and rewarding. Steve likes to think he's making a difference.

Eddie quietly returns to Hawkins and is surprised by everyone who chose to stay.

Why would a golden boy like Steve Harrington stick around in this dead end town?

Words : 58,749 Chapters : 7/7 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Set in the 90s )

Betting On Your Name

FIick

“But I don’t want her Eddie!” The prince throws his hands up. “Why can’t my father see there are other candidates who are closer to me, right here at home!”

“Who do you want then?” Eddie asks his breath catching in his throat, his hands itching to reach out and reassure. This is a dangerous game. Far more so than a silly childhood bet. It’s a very easy thing to say he’ll give Prince Steve the air from his lungs, and another entirely to do so.

Words : 4,533 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : General Audiences

AO3 : x

( Medieval au )

the devil’s camaro (please don’t remember me, it’s only 1993)

roosterroo

It’s 1993. Eddie works at his local garage after serving time for a drug charge in high school. There he meets Steve, a typical well to do suburban dad type, who turns everything Eddie believes on his head. And he’s married- but also flirting with him?

Words : 32,798 Chapters : 6/6 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

Here is the Repeated Image of the Lover Destroyed

stevefuckingharrington

He could feel the warm, wet red of his blood slipping down over his fingers and dripping onto the forest floor. He had been stabbed before of course - it came as part of the job - but never quite like this. He could feel himself dying, his life slipping through his own weak grasp.

It was no longer a case of ‘if’, but ‘when’.

Words : 1,744 Chapters : 1/1 Rating : Mature

AO3 : x

( Medieval au )

Blood 🩸 & Caffeine ☕

Witch_Weakly

Eddie's got a little vampire...problem. You see, he normally feeds once a month from the blood bank at the hospital where he works. And that's normally fine. The blood provides him with life for a few days - breathing, hunger for real food, a healthy sex drive. And then that fades away, replaced by a mild bloodlust that gets stronger until he finally needs to feed again. This cycle is fine as long as he doesn't go too long. As long as he feeds before he gets so numb and so hungry that he loses himself. Except one day, that's exactly what happens. And it's only been a few weeks since his last feeding. Way too soon. In a panic, he feeds early and now needs silly human things like sleep during his scheduled night shift. Guess it's time for a trip down to the coffee shop. But on top of meeting a hot barista, Eddie finds that his little problem is only getting worse.

Words : 17,756 Chapters : 9/9 Rating : Explicit

AO3 : x

( Modern AU )

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #fic rec #ficrec

[gretavanlace]

Poppins (part 8)

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: adult themes, illusions to sex, angst, alcohol consumption, etc

*We’re getting down to it, only two (possibly three) more chapters to go ❤️

It feels like the air has been punched clean out of your lungs, but just as quickly, logic takes over and shakes you straight.

Obviously, you’ve misunderstood…and you tell him as much.

“I guess I’m not following you, Josh.” You attempt a casual laugh and nudge his shoulder with your own, scrambling for normalcy. “But, I suppose it really isn’t any of my business, anyway.”

His stare remains locked on Lily, with that proud, faraway look that so often softens his expression when he watches her. “You’re following me just fine, sweetheart. You’re just a little off kilter because I sort of threw it at you. I’m sorry for that.”

Funny, you’ve never actually had an ‘I must be dreaming’ moment…but you’re certainly having one now. That has to be it, you’ve conjured this jumbled up mess inside your head.

You’re at home, still sleeping off the blunt shared with Jake. Right? No, you can feel the warm humidity of the day building in the air, there is the faint knock of a woodpecker lost somewhere in the trees, there is the sound of him breathing, waiting, existing, beside you.

This is no dream - but it’s every bit as confusing as one.

Afraid she might overhear, you pitch your voice less than a whisper, so quiet you almost don’t hear your own question, but Josh does.

“Yes, she’s Jake’s,” a gently possessive edge nips at his tone. “Biologically. It doesn’t matter, that little girl is mine, and I’m her’s. But yeah, that’s what I meant when I said I could never repay him. Look at her…”

A smile breaks across his face, warm, gorgeous, and absolutely beaming with adoration as he studies her pointing something out in the sand. Her buddy leans in closer to inspect her discovery, as they carry on what seems to be a very serious discussion.

“He gave me my favorite girl. My everything. I would’ve died for him before, now I’d do it with a smile just because he asked. How could I ever level the playing field?”

There’s that playing field making its appearance again, albeit for a very different reason this time around.

“I don’t understand.” And you don’t. You’ve never understood anything less in your life. You can’t get a read on how, or why, or if it really even matters. It’s like someone has taken all the facts you’ve ever known to be true and mixed them all up. Nothing makes sense. Nothing fits. The puzzle is jumbled and missing pieces.

“It’s a lot, I know.” He shrugs, already intimately acquainted with the situation that has ripped the rug out from beneath your unsteady feet. “Maybe I shouldn’t have told you, but if I’m being honest…which I guess is exactly what we’re doing here…I didn’t want him to beat me to it. I wanted to be the one to tell you. I really don’t even know why, and it sounds stupid now that I’m saying it out loud.”

“He never said a word.” The moment you speak the words, you remember Jake’s, she looks like her dad.

Josh leans back against the weathered wood bench and crosses his ankle over his knee. You’d like to ask him how he’s so casually fucking with your head, but you know this really isn’t about you at all.

“Of course he never said a word. Our stoic mystery man, whom you can’t seem to quit. Just remember, my love, still waters run deep. There are a great many things that Jacob has never said a word about. He would have, though. Eventually. Something about you seems to just drag things to the surface for us. Sorceress.”

He’s only teasing. Likely trying to lighten the heaviness of the conversation, but you blush all the same. As only Josh can, he both grins at the pink in your cheeks, and pretends not to see it, to spare your pride.

The way they speak - so alike in sound, inflection, turns of phrase, poetically laced and lovely - only serves to confuse you further. At times, it's like being with the same man who just happens to have split personalities.

“A great many things Jacob has never said a word about,” You muse,” Bigger than this?” You’re not sure you want to hear the answer.

A laugh, easy and genuine, trips out of him, louder by far than anything that has been murmured thus far, “Fuck, I hope not!”

Lil’s head snaps up, attention hooked; though her friend is more interested in watching her reaction than what she is reacting to. “Daddy said a bad word!” The accusation in her tone makes him sigh, defeatedly.

“No, I didn’t!” Josh holds his hands up in innocence, clearly enamored by her tiny cross examination. “Daddy said truck. We were playing the rhyming game.”

“Like we play in the car on the way to Gramma’s?” She shouts over, with disappointment now coloring her end of the exchange…she delights in catching grown ups misbehaving.

“That’s the one.” He smiles with an exhale of relief, like a little boy who has just successfully evaded punishment. “Never, ever, tell anyone how coolly I just lied to that angelic face.” He adds through his teeth, smiling with a wave in her direction.

“That angelic face can be brutal.” You giggle at his nonsense. “Last week she caught me eating one of those vegetarian sushi rolls you hog for yourself, and milked me for extra goodies at snack time for days in exchange for silence.”

“Jokes on you,” he rolls his big brown eyes as if he can’t believe your behavior. “I count them, and I knew it all along.”

“Yeah, well, you just admitted to counting your sushi rolls, so who should be ashamed of themselves, here? ‘Cause it isn’t me.” You’re joking, but only a little.

After an absurdly easy stretch of silence, he turns serious and quiet again, “Look, I know that I dumped this on you, and I know you’ve probably got a million questions…you deserve answers to every single one of them. Come to mom’s with me, yeah? She’s making a big lunch. Sammy’s bringing the dog. It’ll be fun. We’ll eat, she’ll eventually insist on keeping Lil for the night and we’ll go home. I’ll make you dinner and we can talk.”

“Talk? Is that what the kids are callin’ it these days?” You grin, how is everything always so easy with him? This shouldn’t be so casual. It shouldn’t feel this normal to joke about sleeping with him while grappling with something so monumental.

Incidentally, why are you joking about sleeping with him? Because you want to put it out there, that you’re still thinking about it, that you still want it…that’s why.

How do they do this? Both of them. It hardly seems fair. Or normal, for that matter. And he has the nerve to talk of sorcery?

The wind is fluttering through the leaves, rustling them like a soothing psalm. It causes your thoughts to wander…which seems odd; how could you be thinking about anything but this nuclear bomb he has just detonated inside your head. But somehow, wander they do, your thoughts - and you find yourself eyeing the trees, trying to hone in on the one lucky enough to have earned Jake’s favor.

Like always, Josh seems to know what you’re thinking. “It’s across the park. Over closer to that little pond where Lil likes to feed the ducks.”

“What?” You adopt a puzzled expression, though you cannot for the life of you fathom why. Josh knows. Just like his brother, Josh always knows.

It is a frustrating, exhausting fact, but a fact all the same.

“Jake’s tree.” He clarifies, proving what you already understood to be true…that he can peer inside your head and heart as easily as he could were you made of windows. “It’s over by the pond. Would you like to see it?”

“No.” You brush your hands over your arms as if you’ve caught a chill, though the air borders on muggy.

“Okay,” He nods, completely at ease with this unusual situation you’ve found yourselves in. “Would you like to see him?”

Awkwardly, you watch those leaves as they wave and dance together, anything to save from meeting his eyes.

“Is okay to say yes, love…” he taps your knee, just an innocent ‘hello’, and so different from the last time he touched you. “I’d like to see him too. He’ll undoubtedly be at our mother’s lounging around like he owns the place. Come with us.”

“Do they know?” You venture tentatively, “Your parents?”

Your eyes are on him now as he shakes his head. Sometimes you forget how truly beautiful he really is and then you wonder how you ever could.

“Contrary to popular belief, Jake and I can keep a secret.”

“Not even your mother?” You find this hard to believe, as much as Jake taunts his twin for being a ‘mama’s boy’, he’s just as bad. They trust her with everything.

Josh nods at Lily, who is now flouncing her way over like a fairy who has misplaced her wand…all swishing ponytail and laughing eyes. “Not even her mother.”

The windows for questions has slammed shut, leaving all of yours to slam against the pane of glass like dazed birds.

~

“Rosie, get down!” Sam’s voice barks across the kitchen, startling you out of your thoughts. Rosie, unfazed and standing on her hind legs, continues to peruse the veggie plates and chip bowls Karen has set out on the counter, sniffing out delicious scents and temptations.

“Rosebud, I swear, if you don’t—“

“Samuel,” Karen scolds, snapping at him with the hand towel she’s been toting around. “Get off your ass and get her. Stop acting like an idiot in my kitchen.”

Sammy lopes over and grabs his faithful companion by the collar, lovingly tugging her away. “I don’t come here to be treated like I’m five, ma.” He complains, sweeping open the back door.

“Shut up, and go help your brothers.” She’s turned away from him and smiling, but judging by his returning smile, he has heard the adoration in her admonishing words.

At the table, bathed in the warmth of Karen’s sunny kitchen, you watch Jake and Josh confer near the enormous lilac bush Kelly has insisted be torn out.

“Too close to the septic system.” He’d informed the room when everyone protested ripping such a beauty from the earth, “The roots are gonna screw it all up and not a damn one of you are gonna want to come help clean up the aftermath.”

Of course, the boys have been tapped to help, as Kelly insists there’s no time like the present, and of course, Sammy has been shirking his duties ever since. True to form, rather than joining the twins, he opts for a chair to toss a tennis ball to Rosie from.

Your heart warms watching his honest and open face laugh gleefully as she chases down her bouncing prey. He is the sweetest gem, and you wish you knew him a little better.

But, as it so often does, your attention wanders back over to Josh, in his casual weekend wear, clean and crisp…and Jake, looking gorgeously rumpled and out of place in the domesticity of it all. You know he smells of ember and the Booker’s he is currently nursing out of a plastic tumbler to ensure Lil doesn’t ask questions.

You miss them both. They feel very far away as you watch on, smiling when they raise their arms to point something out to Kelly in perfect, unplanned, synchronicity.

Karen is suddenly beside you, staring out across the deck as well, chomping on a baby carrot. “It’s fun to watch them, isn’t it?”

She offers you a veggie and you take it, nodding in complete agreement around a bite.

“See how they mirror each other?” She marvels softly, wistful for her babies. “They’ve always done it. Even in the hospital, one would move, and there would go the other. Josh had terrible colic - briefly, thank god - and Jake would tense up even before Josh made a peep, like he could feel it coming. They’re each other's keepers.”

Be it motherly intuition, or perhaps just the nostalgia of having all of her boys home at once, she has chosen an ideal time to share. With the men all outside either tending to chores or shirking them, and Lil napping on the couch, you have her, and her memories, all to yourself.

“Tell me more about what they were like.”

If she senses something more behind the question, she doesn’t let on. “They were terrors. Little monsters, just awful. But, gentle angels at the same time. Always quick with a hug or a thoughtful comment. Even when they were just tiny things, they honed in on people and just sank their little teeth into heart after heart.”

“Some things never change then, I guess.” You shouldn’t have said it and long to take it back. They get their empathetic third eye from their mother, and you know she’ll clock the situation for what it is.

But again, she stays mum on the subject of why you seem just as wistful as she.

“They struggled so hard in school,” she finally confides, eyes on them as they begin wrapping ropes around the root of the bush that, evidently, must go. “It was painful. Mostly because they were just so intelligent, but it was all locked away when it came to brick and mortar schooling. They just froze right up behind those little desks.”

You knew this. Josh has explained their plight a hundred times over, wringing his hands with worry that Lily-bit might struggle to overcome the same mountains. Still, it’s so difficult to imagine them, easily two of the most intellectually enriched, well read and spoken human beings you have ever met, grappling with crippling learning disabilities.

“We worked with them endlessly, and hired tutors, and they tried so damn hard.” Her voice wavers a touch, as if she’s swallowing down tears. “When the pieces started falling in place for them, Josh took to reading faster than Jakey. He had these phonics books he liked, and they would hole up in their room for hours while Josh helped him sound the words out. I used to listen at the door. It was like magic…Josh would utilize all the inner workings of that shared mind they can access, and somehow, he’d make it make sense for his brother. He’d remind him to slow down and really see all those turned around letters so kindly it made you want to crumble. Josh was the only one Jake ever went to for help, you couldn’t have paid him to be that vulnerable with anyone else. And Josh just soaked it up, helping Jake connect those dots. He’d grow so ecstatic and proud with each tiny success.”

You both laugh as Josh shoves at Jake’s shoulder, pointing angrily at the lilac and their task, clearly unhappy with something his twin hasn’t executed to his liking.

“That’s when I knew he’d be a teacher.” Her hand, so warm and maternal, pats your shoulder. “Josh, that is. We knew Jake’s fate the minute he was old enough to crawl towards a guitar.”

“The music man,” you watch him nip at his cup, leisurely and mellow, even as his brother barks orders at him.

“The music man.” She concurs, crunching into another carrot. “Always. Have you ever seen him play a song by ear? He’ll listen to it once and just stare off into space like nobody’s home. But really, he’s plucking all those notes out and locking them away. Next thing you know, he’s got it. Just like that. It’s incredible. Kelly and I used to look at each other and think, where in the hell did he come from?”

“Josh, too,” you offer, though of course she knows. “He sings to Lil all the time. Makes up these dumb little songs to make her laugh, or to help her remember something. And he sings in the shower because he seems to think it’s a magical box where no one can hear him.”

“Ah, yes,” she laughs, sliding her plate closer to you, ever the ‘mom’ wanting to nourish anyone who walks through her hallowed halls. “The shower concerts. He used to steal all the hot water constantly. It was worth it, though, to listen. They had a little band for a while. Did you know that?”

In your mind’s eye, the few pictures you’ve seen, pop up to say hello. “Sort of, but Josh kinda blew it off when I asked. Said he just helped Jake out with a few gigs when they were kids.”

A belly laugh, so much like her sons’, trills out of her. “It was way more than that, that liar. Used to have to drag them to all these shitty bars and parties. Samuel played bass. A friend of theirs, the drums…or sometimes Josh. That was always interesting. They were a mess, all over the place, but they had something special. And that’s not just mom talking, everybody said so.”

“So, what happened?”

“They started gaining a little recognition. Started being invited to play at the nicer places around town, and that was the idea all along, we thought. But, suddenly, Jake wanted nothing to do with it.”

Jake calling it quits would have been the absolute last thing you would have deemed to be the nail in the coffin.

She senses your surprise and nods along with it. “He finally told me why one night. Came in after having one too many at one party out in the woods or another. I sat him down at this very table right here and I know he thought I was about to climb up his ass about tapping a keg with his friends or whatever the hell they did that night, but really, I wanted to drag the truth out of him. The truth that mattered.”

“And?”

She leans back in her chair, shaking her head as if she still can’t believe it. On your end, you watch Josh snatch the cup from Jake’s grasp to steal a sip of his own.

“And, it made sense…his reason. Once he said it out loud it made so much sense I still don’t know how I’d missed it. He said things were falling together too cleanly for the band. That he knew they were headed for something that would be too heavy to easily put down, and that he knew it wasn’t what Josh wanted.”

A sigh sounds sad, but her eyes swim with pride for her youngest twin. “I told him he should let his brother make that call, but he’s always been wiser than the rest of us when it comes to Josh, and he said ‘That’s the thing, ma. He’s always gonna choose what I want. He has to think he’s choosing what I want.’”

Your throat feels tight with tears bitten back, “The way they have carried each other all through life is just…” you fall silent, lost for apt words.

“Yeah, well, they used to beat the hell out of each other on a regular basis, too, but that is for another day..” She nods toward the doorway behind you, and you turn to see Lil, rubbing her eye with one fist, and clutching her blanket with the other, as she stumbles nearer to coherency and her grandmother.

Karen scoops her up and whispers in her ear…Lil nods along and nuzzles her blankie, which is actually an old shirt of her daddy’s cut in half. Maroon and decorated with strange, colorful, geometric shapes, it has been her comforting companion for as long as you’ve known them.

“Okay, then…” Karen stands and deposits her favorite person down on her teensy feet. “Time to get this lunch finished up.”

Lily is sent off with a bribery popsicle to play with Rosie and Sam, as the two of you begin preparing to feed the brood.

~

“Why do I always find you up here, poppins?” He’s leaning against the doorframe, like the casually dapper lead in some movie he would never watch.

You turn away from the desk, where you’ve been gingerly touching relics, as though strolling through a particularly lenient museum.

You love this space, and you make no apologies for it. “I like it in here. Comforting chaos is kind of your brand. Both of you. Why do you always seem to be sneaking up on me in here?”

He grins softly as you lob the question back at him. “I suppose I am always sneaking up on you, aren’t I? Looking for you, searching you out, hunting for my girl.”

Hunting for my girl…jesus.

A gentle hum is your only reply as he slips into the room, kicking the door closed with the heel of his boot. He has showered since the lilac bush incident, and stepped into clean clothes that still somehow look disheveled.

His hair is still slightly damp, and you long to bury into it, to breathe in the perfume of fresh shampoo and him.

“You spoiled me last night, you know, babe.” Down he plops on his bed, the crowned royal head draped across his sovereign throne, just as he had been the last time you found yourself in this room with him. “Why don’t you come over here and allow me to indulge a little more, hmm? Can you be quiet, pretty girl?”

“Jake.”

He kisses the air lazily in your direction, folding his hands behind his head against the pillow, like you haven’t spoken his name at all, “C’mon, baby, I haven’t had my dessert yet.”

You want to go to him. God, how you want to go to him. You want to climb on top of him and fuck his beautiful mouth until you fall apart, and then you want to lie with him in this silent world it seems time has forgotten. You want to be his while her face smiles out of all those curling, yellowing, snapshots. She was so beautiful, a stunning package to hide all the ugliness she had in store for his precious heart.

But, you want truth even more.

“Would you have ever told me?” Your question - accusation? - comes a whisper.

He sits up slowly, eyes locked in and narrowed on yours. He knows what you’re asking, but he’s trying to make certain. You let him watch you for the longest stretch, with his pretty face tilted, studying, observing, until you’re fighting to sit still under his white hot scrutiny.

“Yes.” He nods, at last. “I think I probably would have. It’s interesting, isn’t it? The way you coax the truth out of us. Are you a good witch, or a bad witch?”

There they go again, singing different verses of the very same song.

“She’s what you gave up?” You lean forward, hushed and hungry for answers. “Like we talked about?”

He nods again, barely perceptible in the movement. “Like a kidney, right, poppins? Only so, so much worse.”

Questions gridlock inside your head as he shakes his own. “I told you before, it isn’t my story to tell, babe…and that’s just the way this one has to be.”

He closes up shop with a blink and saunters, calm and cool as ever, over to the door. “C’mon then, Mary Poppins, if you aren’t going to allow me to have my way with you, we really should rejoin the others.”

~

“Would you like something light?” Josh peers into his fridge while you watch from your perch on the counter. “I just picked up some strawberries from that little stand around the corner, I could make us a big salad. Fruit, nuts, romaine, a nice vinaigrette?” He holds up the basket of berries proudly. “Look how fat they are. Fucking beautiful.”

“Whatever you want, Josh,” you smile at his enthusiasm, as well as his eagerness to please.

He turns his attention to the pantry, and your pulse picks at the memory it conjures. “Pasta?” He holds up a box of angel hair, shaking it around invitingly. “I could whip up some butter and herbs, get you drunk on carbs.”

“Seriously, whatever you want is fine. Order a pizza for all I care.”

True to his predictions, Lily remained at the Kiszka homestead, and was half asleep in Jake’s arms by the time the two of you took your leave. And now here you sit, aching to blurt out question after question while he forages in his kitchen to put together a meal you couldn’t care less about.

“Alright,” he nods, and back to the fridge he goes, finally turning to face you bearing an untouched container of his beloved veggie sushi rolls. “Pretties for the thief?”

“It was one damn piece, Joshua.” You laugh, rolling your eyes at his ridiculous name calling.

“Grab a white and a couple glasses,” he nods over at the wine rack.

You do as instructed, and join him where he has settled in the living room, placing the stemware carefully on the coffee table before uncorking the bottle of reisling you selected. It should be chilled, but neither of you have ever cared much to begin with.

On his elegant end, he loudly wrenches open the plastic container and slides it over unceremoniously.

Without cheers, he tips his glass and then shrugs, “Okay, sweetheart, this is the story of myself, my Lily, and my idiot brother…”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @jakesgrapejuice @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @gretasmokerising @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordie-gvf-admin @calumspretty @sunfl0wer-power @sad1lynn @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie

#greta van fleet #greta van fleet fic #fanfic #greta van fic #greta van fleet fan fiction #greta van fleet smut #greta van smut #gvf fic #jake gvf #josh kiszka #jake kiszka #jake kiszka fanfiction #jake kiszka smut #jake kiska fic #jake kiszka fanfic #jake kiskza x reader #jake kiszka imagine #gvf jake #josh kiszka smut #josh kiszka fanfiction #josh kiszka fic #josh kiszka imagine #josh kiskza fanfic #gvf josh #josh gvf

[lovemyromance]

SJM doesn't write her men as fuckbois, end of argument. This is romantasy, this is not real life situationships.

She writes her men as prideful beings, unwilling to kneel for anyone but their woman.

She writes her men as desperate for their female counterparts, willing to wait centuries to even earn a second glance.

So this concept of "Oh, Azriel & Elain don't actually want each other, they're just trying to blow off steam." Is ridiculous.

Regardless of their past, their background, the second they meet their love interest they fall in line and are head over heels for that ONE woman. It's not finicky love. It didn't just pass over the course of 2 pages.

SJM empowers the women more and gives them previous love interests. Feyre had Tamlin & Isaac Hale. Nesta had half of the seedy bar crowd in Velaris (no shade, go off city girl) & Tomas Mandray. Elain had Graysen.

You know what their past flings didn't get?

A POV.

We never got a POV from Tamlin, despite him being a main character and love interest in ACOTAR. We didn't get a POV from Tomas or random dude in Nesta's apartment. We didn't get a POV from Graysen.

You know which MMCs did get a POV?

Rhysand.

Cassian.

Azriel.

That in itself should be enough evidence that whatever happening between Elriel isn't just a fling, as the antis try to make it out to be.

Rhysand got a POV when he was endgame with Feyre. Cassian got a POV before he was endgame with Nesta. Now Azriel gets a POV, and there's only one sister left....

Why would SJM give Azriel a whole POV otherwise? Why not just tell it from Elain's POV?

And no it's not because that would reveal how much she apparently secretly loves Lucien while she's ready to drop her panties for Shadow Boy

That bonus chapter in ACOSF was not just SJM being in a silly goofy mood and deciding to write fuckboy Az as a new part of the story.

Also - all these people clamoring "wELL hAvE yOu rEaD tHe aZrIeL bOnUs cHaPtER?" They're just trynna use each other - Have YOU read the bonus chapter?

What part of that longing and tension and pining gave you lust and incel behavior? This man feels so undeserving of her, he thinks even touching her is to taint her goodness.

That shit poetic af.

He's out here being Azriel Allen Poe, describing her hair like dawn and begging on his knees to taste her and y'all are out here thinking "nah, they're just a fling."

Do you spout poetry and are tortured every waking moment with the love you hold for your situationship? If so - I don't think they're a situationship anymore bestie.

And Elain also wanted his hands on her. The antis trying to spin "oh she was indifferent to it, she could have been fine with or without him" is so ridiculous because literally she says yes. OFFER AND PERMISSION. She is aroused when he touches her NECK. Like come on, how down bad do you have to be for someone to get turned on when they touch your NECK. And, on top of that, she feels hurt when Azriel says this is a mistake.

Would someone only trynna get laid feel hurt over that? Would they avoid the other person after if they just wanted to blow off steam? No. She wanted Azriel just as badly. And anyone who tries to say otherwise, is just flat out not reading the words on the page.

When will Eluciens & Gwynriels quit trying to cheapen what is canon in order to make their ships work? SJM doesn't write fuckboi men. That's not up for debate.

And the fact that they'd rather have Az be using Elain (or I vice versa) for sex than actually hold feelings for her says a lot.

#elriel #azriel #elain archeron #pro elain #elain x azriel #acotar #elain #antielucien

[sweetracha]

Dollhouse Chapter 1: God Meets Barbie

Product Details: Physiological Horror, Angst & Manipulative Fluff

Choking Hazard: Themes of stalking and premeditated crimes, kidnapping, obsession, Stockholm syndrome, delusional fantasies, and illusions to murder

A special thank you to my beautiful bug @goblinracha. This crazy dream world would not be a reality without you. Thank you for staying by my side all this time. Love you bug 💗

Spring flowers bloomed like paint on a blank canvas. Yellow tulips bleed into red roses, accented by violets and stark white daisies. A handcrafted bench sat in a stone clearing, outlined by dewy moss. The setting of the tea shop was perfect for Minho. Every day after work he would visit the small business, get his cup of tea and a blueberry scone, then sit on his bench. So, one day when someone was in his spot he stopped in his tracks. He was about to tell you to leave, that you were ruining his daydream. But then, the light hit your face just right.

Honey gold sunlight dripped from your features. He could tell your skin was soft as silk. Your hair was framed by a beautiful white bow. The dress you wore reminded him of a romantic picnic. It was strawberry red with white squares. The way it flared at your waist gave the most stunning illusion. The skirt pillowed your lap where your smooth legs crossed over one another. Sweet little high heels sat on your feet. The femineity that emanated from your stature excited Minho. A poetry book perched in one hand while a cup of herbal tea sat in the other. You looked like a doll to him—the most beautiful Barbie doll.

He couldn’t help but stare at you, so lost in your own little world. Minho wondered what words you read when your red-lined lips turned up into a sweet smile. What made your pretty cheeks blush all of a sudden? When you paused and looked around, were you deep in thought about the poetic words before you? Questions slowly began to morph into worries. Were you safe? Why would a dolly be by herself in public? Someone could hurt you! Someone could break you! What if you got a scratch on your sweet skin? If no one was going to collect you, he would. Minho would be a perfect God controlling your world so nothing could come near you. God’s plan takes time, Minho knew you were worth the wait.

The first step in his plan? To get a copy of the book you were reading. He must admit the poems were crafted beautifully, however, some of these words were too big for a dolly such as yourself to understand. How could you understand the concept of love if Minho wasn’t showing it to you? He bets no one had ever loved you the way a doll was meant to be cherished. Soon enough he began seeing you every day, even coming 10 minutes earlier just to be there when you arrived. Minho stopped sitting at the bench deciding it was truly meant for you. His routine was always the same. He would sit down at the metal garden table and wait for you to walk in. Some days you even flashed him a little smile and a wave. You were handcrafted perfection. Then once you sit down and pull out your book, Minho would jot down the tea you were drinking. You always left the tag handing out, silly girl. The chart was neat with tallies keeping track of your favorites. Recently you began enjoying a berry hibiscus blend over your typical honey camomile, he believed it was for the changing seasons. Then after you were fully immersed in the world of your book, Minho would get up to grab his order. This meant he would have to walk behind you and smell your perfume, florals, and sugar-coated berries. He couldn’t get too distracted however, he was on a mission. Mentally Minho would take note of what page you were on. Once he had his order in hand and made his way back to his table, he pulled out his copy. Obviously, he put a different book sleeve over the original, Dolly couldn’t know he was watching her. God just had to make sure his dolly wasn’t reading anything her glass eyes shouldn’t see.

Spring finally turned to summer, and day in and day out Minho fell more and more in love. He was convinced at this point you were purposely picking love poems just for him. You were skipping multiple pages just to re-read the words you chose for him. His favorite poem was the one in which the lover declares that he is forever devoted to his lady love. Minho saw it as a confession, that you wanted this just as much as he does. Even the love interest in the story described you as a picture-perfect match…almost too accurately. Something felt off to Minho.

Something was wrong, something was very wrong right now. He heard the classic click of your heels on the stone pathway as you took your rightful display. Minho looked up to see what outfit you decided to grace him with today, soon his emotions soured. The tight black cocktail dress hugged your body in ways that he did not approve of. He did not like how the sleeves fell off your shoulders, exposing your bare skin to the harsh light. It was far too short to cover your silky legs, leaving you open to being scuffed up. No not his dolly! His dolly was limited edition, 1 out of 1 ever made. You would never do this on purpose. Who was corrupting his prized possession?

His answer soon walked in dressed like the definition of a prick. Tall lanky features strolled in, taking up too much sunlight. A mop of blonde and brown curls sat heavily at the front of this head. Thin round frames circled his deceiving eyes. The combination of brown slacks and a red sweater assaulted Minho’s vision. Then the foul creature of a man stopped at you. Not only did he stop in front of Minho’s love, but he also had the nerve to talk to you. Then he dared to sit down next to you. The sounds you made as the creature attacked your exposed skin were clearly a call for help. Despite you clearly not wanting him around, it kissed you. You were in so much shock you didn’t pull away.

Infuriated and filled with rage Minho got up and stormed behind you two, tripping on his way. Minho smirked on his way down to the cobblestone as his tea flew from his hand, straight onto the beast. He shot up with a roaring yell and you quickly followed suit. However, instead of inspecting the man who had you trapped, you went to the poor soul laying on the floor.

“Are you okay?” you reached out a hand to the stranger. Minho gladly accepted it.

“I'm fine, just tripped over some loose pathway” He replied like it wasn’t all planned.

“Oh, they can be such a hassle! My heels get stuck every day” Your giggle was like a master symphony. “I should go check on him if you are alright.” All Minho did was nod in response and bask in your glow as you graciously smiled at him while bidding goodbye.

Minho stood and straightened himself out. You were worth a few cuts to the hands, you were worth all the pain in the world. On the bench next to a soiled napkin laid an unassuming notebook. One Minho had never seen you carry before, it must be that awful man Minho thought. He would do you a favor and take it far away. It probably contained information not suited for a dolly such as yourself. Minho decided it was better to leave early today. That way he can spend more time figuring out how to save you. He could tell by the glint in your eye you were a damsel in distress.

Later that night as Minho was preparing to go to sleep, something intoxicated his mind. There was a voice telling him, not commanding him, to read the notebook. Whatever was inside was vital to your rescue. When he cracked open the worn leather bindings he was appalled at what he read. Word for word, line for line, beat by beat, tempo by tempo, this notebook followed your poetry. The stories you picked for Minho to read were embedded on the pages in front of him, not in print, but in ink.

Minho rummaged through his bag to find his own copy, the one with the false cover. Like something from a nightmare, he analyzed the covers. The ‘property of’ label identically matched the author's signature. That's why the poems seemed so specific, why they painted the pure image of his lady love. You were the muse behind the pen. Enraged Minho threw the book against the wall, shattering a glass frame in the process. He didn’t take kindly to theft and being a criminal meant consequences.

It hurt Minho to see the glass tears fall down your splotchy face. Another bootleg dress was now soiled in mascara. He knew why your face glistened in sadness. That foul beast tricked you into a false sense of love and it's hard for him to continue his games when he is 6 feet in the ground. Like a perfect God, however, where there is death there is life. From the cracked foundation of your heart, he would grow a royal garden.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind but something seems to be troubling you” Minho stands beside you with silk cloth in hand. He reached out to offer you a small gift.

“Oh-Hi sorry for ruining your tea time. I am okay.” The sniffles that left you made Minho smile wickedly.

“Sweetheart, I can tell something is wrong. I know I am just a stranger but I am also willing to listen” He took a seat next to you. He buzzed in excitement at his proximity to your beauty.

“You aren’t a stranger” Your light blush looked stunning on you. Minho will remember that shade for the future. “I see you here all the time. Honestly, I should thank you for spilling tea on that asshole yesterday” That giggle could cure all diseases.

“Oh? You two seemed happy yesterday” His questioning tone was laced with sarcasm.

“Yeah, I thought so too! Then I show up today to a breakup poem. A POEM! What kind of artsy shit would break up through a poem!” A poem that Minho deliberately crafted for hours after analyzing all of that creature's writings.

“That's awful! Here, you tell me all about it and I’ll listen” The blush on your face deepened as he took the cloth from you are dried your sculpted face. “Im Minho by the way”

“Y/n”

“That is a lovely name, Doll”

Before either of you realized then summer weather began to be followed by a chilling breeze. The trees that surrounded the courtyard colored the atmosphere with browns, yellows, and reds. Day in and day out you were comforted by the sweet man you knew as Minho. You couldn’t deny the butterflies he gave you. Those bunny teeth that flashed through his smile and his cat-like antics made you swoon. He would fight you on every little thing but immediately follow it up with a lingering hug. Even the nicknames he gave you made you feel special. Dolly, he always called you Dolly. Oh, how you wished to be HIS dolly but you weren’t sure if he even felt the same way. It was clear Minho guarded his emotions. Something was off with him but in a charming and curious way. If only you could peek into that mind of his.

Storm clouds erased the sky while cracks of lightning rang in the distance. What started as the little pitter-patter of droplets on stone became a downpour. Minho couldn’t tell if the thumbing in his ears was the sound of hail or his own heartbeat as you snuggled into him for protection. He covered you as best he could with his jacket, not wanting your custom paint job to smudge. Fixing your hair might take some work, and the outfit is better off trashed than repaired, but Minho was willing to do anything to keep his doll pristine. He caged you in a tight embrace as another boom of thunder came too close for comfort.

“Dolly, I think we better get you somewhere warm and dry. Poor thing you are shaking” He wished he could transfer all his heat to you, blue wasn’t the color he assigned to you. No, you were pinks, blushes, peaches, and roses. “Let’s go back to my place, hm? I’ll make you a nice cup of tea.”

Minho’s house was the same on the inside as he was on the outside. Cozy, quiet, a little unassuming, but absolutely charming. Soft browns and ivory whites seemed to be the palate of choice. You sat at the oak table waiting for him to come back from the kitchen. Your hands felt the grooves closely, Minho sure had an attention to detail even if he didn’t show it. He wore the same pair of gray joggers and a white tee almost every day. You wondered how many identical copies he owned.

“I had it made back when I lived in Korea, an old friend of mine is a woodworker” he broke you out of your spell. The cup of tea he set in front of you was an odd color, candy pink with the smell of something like medicine. You weren’t going to be rude, however, maybe his choice of tea was just unusual.

“It’s beautiful Minho” he smiled as you sipped some more.

‘Not as beautiful as you, Dolly”

You didn’t know how to react, a deep dark blush taking hits place on your cheeks.

“There is that blush I love so much. My pretty pink princess.” was it just you or did the room seem to be getting blurry? A loud thumb snapped you out of your hazed thoughts.

“What was that?” When did your voice become slurred?

“Oh, probably an old piece in this house settling. Doll you look sleepy, why don’t you shut your eyes.” You wanted to protest but the weight of your eyelids was unbearable at this point. As your head rushed to the table you caught a glimpse of something familiar. Was that your ex’s journal on Minho’s bookshelf?

“Shhhhh good girl Dolly, go to sleep. Mommy is about to show you your real world, Barbie.”

The headache you woke up with was unbearable, maybe the weather got to you more than you thought. You blinked at what sleep was still left in your eye and tried to take in your surroundings. When blue and pink hues spotted your vision in blinding circles you were scared. This can’t be Minho’s room. Speaking of Minho, where was he? You believed you could see a figure sitting on the bed in front of you…almost posed. Now that your sight was clearing you saw hands folded in their lap. Their feet were perfectly pointed forward and their back was pin-straight.

“Minho? Minho! Where am I? Minho please!” You cried out but only got a curious hum back. Then the figure looked panicked.

Next, you could make out what he was wearing. This was something you never in a million years could have seen him in. An oversized white sweater with a brown vintage teddy printed on the front. Blue cotton overalls were buttoned up but one strap hung loose. Frilly blue socks sat on those pointed feet. Then came his hair, soft brown, unlike Minho’s dark chocolate. The hair pillowed in volume, it looked soft to the touch. Finally, you saw his face. He wore a joyful smile similar to a patient kid on their birthday. Brown eyes look in every last detail.

‘WHO ARE YOU” you scrambled back behind the bed.

“I um…I…” he stuttered as if he couldn’t speak, or rather, wasn’t allowed to.

You tried to study the room, to plot your escape but your senses were overwhelmed. Surrounding the mystery man-child was a sea of blues. He sat on a star-themed bed and was now cuddling a fuzzy white star pillow for comfort. It was blue for as far as your eyes could see, then you looked down. Not only down but up, side to side, and behind. You wanted to scream at the assault of pink to the mind. The bed you awoke in was almost identical to the other but where there were stars, there were now hearts. You even had a fluffy white heart pillow waiting for you. Actually, their two sides were exactly identical. Blue walls and pink walls. Blue desk and pink desk. Blue makeup and pink makeup. Even blue and pink waste bins. You started to panic.

“Barbie barbie please calm down” Your eyes darted to Minho walking into the horror show. You slowly backed to the Pepto wall. So the stranger was named Barbie?

“Mommy, she is scared” You cringed at the whining concern in ‘Barbie’s’ voice.

“Ken it's okay, Mommy is going to get it all fixed. Mommy always makes everything better, right? Be a good boy and stay here while Mommy tried to talk to our pretty doll”

Ken? If his name was Ken…then who was Barbie. As if written in a script, your eyes flashed to the wall behind your bed. Big white letters spelled “B-A-R-B-I-E”. You were Barbie.

“Minho what is this? Where are we? Who is that—” your frantic game of 20 questions was cut short.

“Mommy.”

“Huh?”

“I am Mommy” His voice was cold without any room for negotiation. “This is Ken” the softer man gives you a sweet wave. He felt safe to you, you weren’t sure why. “And you, my dear, are Barbie”

“I’m y/n!! What are you on Minho! This isn’t you! Haha funny joke, but its over now.” The hysterically frightened laughter that left you scared even yourself.

“Barbie” with each step forward, you sunk lower. “Why is this not me? This is what I’ve been planning all along. This world I created is for you, for you and Ken to enjoy. I will do nothing but love you here. I will love you, cherish you, care for you; Barbie I will do everything for you! You will never have to lift a pretty finger again! Work is gone, heartbreak is over!” he stooped in front of your trembling body. Slowly Minho kneeled as if you were a hurt animal.

You fought with your mind. A part of you wanted to kick him and run. Another part wanted to take his outstretched hand. It mimicked the one that dried your tears many weeks ago. Did he cause those tears? You were sure what was real and what wasn’t. Why was he looking at you like that? Like he truly loved you. What kind of sick person would do this to someone they loved? What if this is what love was? What if he was true love?

No! Snap out of it, he kidnapped you! He probably kidnapped the poor boy who you were pretty sure wasn’t named Ken. Minho was twisted in the head! You wished you never wondered what went through his mind when he looked at you. This is what he saw. You were nothing more to him than some doll to take his fantasies out on.

But then why did Ken look so happy? Why did he wear that goofy shy smile on his face? Why did he keep asking Minho if you were okay? Did he worry he was the one scaring you? Ken looked normal besides his tailored clothes and abnormal positioning. Did he want to be here? Maybe it wasn’t so bad.

“Barbie, get out of that pretty head of yours. Here, stand up. Let Mommy help you.” Your hand gravitated towards his against your will.

“Minho-”

“Mommy.”

“Min-”

“Mommy, Barbie. It’s Mommy”

“Mi-”

“MOMMY!” that was the first time you ever heard him shout. You coiled back at his sharp tone.

“Mommy…Please explain what this all is…”

“Oh, my sweet innocent Barbie. This is your world. My whole life I’ve been looking for the most unique dolls to love and care for. I met Ken a while back at work. The poor boy lost his job and I felt it deep inside me that it was meant to be. When he came to live with me our lives just fit. He was made for me. Then I saw you, and I felt the same. You are so precious, made of glass my love. I can see right through you. Every emotion is worn on your sleeve. The world was not right for you. So I created a new one. All I ask is that you follow the rules. Be a good doll for Mommy, and Mommy will love you endlessly.”

Your doe eyes met his dark ones. Once again Minho left you lost. Would you ever be able to read him? This offer was tempting and you had no clue why. You felt your heart tighten in your chest at the thought of staying, but it also broke at the thought of leaving him. However, with the look on Ken’s face, you were pretty sure you didn’t have a choice. You would play for now. Barbie could be anything right? Then Barbie will play the role written for her. Only until she could find a way out.

“Doll, let me show you what your world has to offer” Minho pulled you in like a dancer. He got close to your ear and whispered “Let us love you.”

@smally97 @lixiesweetbrownie @seo--changbin @lyramundana @j-onedrabbles @hyuniebeez @jisunglyricist @chvngi @hanjisunginc @whatudowhennooneseesyou @sugarmelin @felixsramen @koala-wonderland @lookitsjess @lxerhan @dwaekki081199 @camixiez @dutchessskarma @stvrfir3

You lay in bed designated for you. Intoxicated by battling emotions, you just stared at the pink void of the ceiling. How were you ever going to get sleep now? Does anyone even know you were gone? Maybe Minho took care of them too. Pent-up frustration brimmed in your eyes. "Han" the creaking floors sounded like they spoke.

"My name is Han" You looked over to the other bed to see the sweet man beginning to turn away.

Before you could turn back around a faint buzz caught your attention. Opening the drawer you found a mysterious phone and a text from Minho to a group chat called "Dollhouse" as well as the list of rules Minho promised you. Following them meant eventual freedom, you needed to remind yourself. The phone couldn't do much besides call and text both Mommy and Ken...Minho and Han. You tossed it in the drawer and turned back, hoping to get a little rest.

Laying face up in the pink bedside table, the phone was brought to life.

Incoming message from

<censored>

<click to decode message>.

#{dollhouse au 🏩} #stray kids #skz #stray kids smut #skz smut #stray kids fluff #skz fluff #lee know #han jisung #minsung

[epochofbelief]

Strictly Confidential: Chapter Four

A Feysand Modern AU

She’s a law student turned confidential informant. He’s a federal prosecutor with one goal: bringing down her boyfriend for his white collar crimes. What could go wrong?

Author's Note: I finally did it! Shoutout to SZA's song "Saturn" for helping me finish this chapter. I'm so excited for where this is going, everyone. Please let me know if you would like to be tagged. No promises on the editing.

Strictly Confidential Masterlist

My Other Feysand AU Fic (Completed)

Chapter Four

Feyre cursed herself for a fool from where she hid, deep in a supply closet on the fifth floor of Tamlin’s environmental empire, Spring Solutions.

She wasn’t supposed to be here. It had taken days for her to convince Tamlin to finally show him around her work. Only after she assured him she wouldn’t leave his side while there had he agreed to let her accompany him to the office on the following Friday morning.

Feyre forced her breaths to remain steady as another person passed by the door, the band of light between the door and the floor guttering with the motion.

“Where the hell is she?” A muffled, angry voice filtered through the walls around her.

But then the sound of the footsteps, along with the angry voice, receded.

Feyre took a deep breath. It was now or never.

She placed her hand on the cool metal of the door handle and pushed.

Three Days Earlier

The newfound knowledge of Tamlin’s alleged crimes slowly ate away at Feyre over the next several days. She couldn’t focus on her schoolwork. She missed a cold call in class. Her father called twice and she actually managed to ignore him.

When Tamlin returned on the following Monday, Feyre had to force herself to act as if nothing had changed. She let him touch her, kiss her, wax poetic about how much he had missed her.

Before he proceeded directly into his study to get back to work.

Feyre was on pins and needles for the hours he sat at his computer. She waited for the moment he somehow discovered she had accessed his computer and came to demand an explanation.

But he never did.

And so Feyre began to execute the next part of her plan.

When she came home from school on Tuesday, she gushed about how much she was enjoying her environmental law class. Tamlin listened intently, sitting forward on the couch as she paced in front of him, declaring her newfound intentions to pursue a career in environmental law. Lucien, who had been present for Feyre’s little performance, leaned against the kitchen counter behind Tamlin, eyebrows creeping higher and higher as Feyre delivered her monologue.

“That’s great, honey. I’m so glad you love this stuff as much as I do,” Tamlin said, eyes shining with sincerity. Feyre bit back her disgust.

“I really do,” Feyre said. “Which is why I wanted to ask if you would be open to me shadowing you at work. I would love to talk to some of your in-house counsel, just get a feel for what environmental law looks like in the real world.”

Tamlin sat straight up.

“Oh. Really?”

Feyre nodded, ignoring Lucien as he folded his arms at her words, his eyes tracking her every movement.

“Let me think about it,” was all Tamlin said. Feyre didn’t want to risk pressing harder, so she dropped the subject for the night.

But the next day, she resumed her prodding. Asked Tamlin if he had had time to think about it. After receiving a similar response, she waited until Thursday to ask once more.

In the intervals in between, Feyre found herself looking over her shoulder everywhere she went. On the train to and from the law school, during her walks in the park, while she was at the gym. She knew the FBI had to be on her trail, but never once did she catch a glimpse of Special Agents Claret or Lapis. And though she knew there was no possibility that Rhysand was the one observing her, she couldn’t help but wonder what he would think of her life if he was watching. Her quiet, appallingly small life. If he was watching, he would see her utter lack of a social circle, the disgusting amount of hours she spent hunched over her books, snacking on chips from the vending machine and whatever form of caffeine was closest.

It was probably better that Rhysand wasn’t the one watching.

On Thursday, Tamlin at last relented. He offered to meet Feyre at his office the next morning, for an hour before his lunch meeting.

And Feyre had duly accepted.

After her Friday morning class, she took the train back downtown, getting off at a stop about a block away from the enormous high-rise building that housed Spring Solutions. The receptionist, a young woman who looked to be a few years older than Feyre, struck up a conversation with her as they waited for Tamlin to emerge from the elevators that led up to his floor.

“I’m Ianthe,” the receptionist said, long blonde hair cascading over narrow shoulders, her sky-blue dress making her eyes pop. “You must be Feyre.”

Feyre gave Ianthe a nervous grin, shaking her perfectly manicured hand. This woman must spend hours on her makeup every morning. Her skin was absolutely flawless, lower eyelids lined with white, black mascara only further emphasizing those piercing blue eyes.

“Sorry,” Ianthe beamed. “Tamlin’s mentioned you a few times. I feel like I practically know you already.”

Feyre sucked on the inside of her cheek. “Ah.” Tamlin had never mentioned his gorgeous receptionist Ianthe. And yet he had been talking to Ianthe about Feyre so much that Ianthe already felt like she knew her?

Feyre reminded herself that jealousy was not a productive emotion. Especially when her boyfriend was in all likelihood a white collar criminal.

As Ianthe asked her about law school, Feyre wondered whether the receptionist knew about what went on behind the scenes at Spring Solutions. If there was indeed a “behind-the-scenes” to be spoken of.

Feyre answered Ianthe's questions with the shortest answers possible. But after the basic What practice areas are you considering pursuing? What led you to law school? What did you study in undergrad? questions, Ianthe launched into a monologue about how hard she had worked to decorate the atrium of Tamlin’s business.

Which was even more boring than the Administrative Law class Feyre had taken during her second semester of 2L.

To Feyre’s relief, the elevator to the left of Ianthe’s desk emitted a faint but elegant ding, and Tamlin emerged in his usual crisp, dark suit, his blonde hair perfectly arranged. Feyre pasted a smile onto her face, words sour in her mouth. “Hi, babe.”

Game time, Feyre thought. No matter how hard this would be, perhaps finding evidence of Tamlin's illegal activity would give her a stronger reason to break things off with him.

But hadn’t Rhysand said that Tamlin’s illegal activity would make it even more difficult for Feyre to leave him? Even dangerous?

Feyre shook her head, giving Ianthe a wave over her shoulder as Tamlin guided her into the elevator, a possessive hand on her lower back. Feyre turned to face him in the elevator, casually stepping out of his grip and leaning against the mirrored wall.

“How’s your day?” She asked. “Stressful?”

Tamlin stepped closer, one hand caressing her neck. “Much better now that you’re here.”

Feyre tried not to flinch away.

Gods, one second she was letting him pull her into bed and the next she couldn’t stand the feeling of his touch against her skin.

If she was honest with herself, discovering that he really was a criminal mastermind would probably make her life much less confusing.

Unfortunately, Feyre had to put up with Tamlin’s hands all over her as he toured her around the four floors of the high-rise that his company occupied. She met several accountants, a myriad of consultants, a plethora of assistants. Lucien joined them about halfway through the tour. He greeted Feyre as usual, but kept close behind her as they walked. Feyre couldn’t tell if his green eyes were tracking her every move or if she was just being paranoid.

At last, they reached the top floor—where both Tamlin and Lucien had their offices, and where the in-house legal department resided. Tamlin guided her into a large conference room, where several attorneys were gathered on one side of a long table, a lunchtime feast of sandwiches, chips, and coffee spread before them. It looked like a lunch break in all aspects except one: each attorney had a laptop propped in front of him or her, not even speaking to each other.

So this was what Feyre had to look forward to—work above all things. A twenty-minute lunch break to get to know one’s coworkers? Forget about it.

She knew in-house was different than big law, but if anything, big law firms like Hybern & Night were much more notorious for their bill or die mentality. These in-house attorneys were either unprecedented workhorses, or they were working on something important.

Feyre wondered if it was something illicit.

Feyre shook the three attorneys’ hands, smiling as they introduced themselves. Tamlin, Lucien, and Feyre joined them at the table, and Tamlin plated Feyre a ham-and-cheese sandwich, forgetting once again that she much preferred turkey.

But she smiled, ever the gracious and perfect girlfriend, launching into a stream of pre-prepared questions as the attorneys gave her their full attention. About halfway through the discussion, a secretary of some sort stuck her head into the conference room, telling Tamlin that he had an important phone call on line one. Tamlin excused himself, gesturing for Lucien to accompany him. Feyre waved them off, listening intently to one of the male attorneys—Hart—as he explained the benefits of taking “Tax Accounting for Lawyers” in law school. This rivaled Ianthe’s interior design diatribe in terms of how well it piqued Feyre's interest.

Feyre made herself wait two minutes before she excused herself to use the restroom.

As soon as she was clear of the conference room windows, she had to resist the urge to run. There must be cameras all around, and if she looked like she had a purpose, rather than lost on the way to the bathroom, this whole thing would be over before it began.

So, instead of rushing through the halls, she meandered, looking around herself, eyebrows scrunched together. She really should have pursued acting, rather than law.

At last, she passed what looked like an empty office. She shut herself inside, and almost giggled in nervous relief when she saw a phone on the desk. She picked it up, knowing the chances of it connecting to Tamlin’s line were close to zero—but—

She dialed one.

Tamlin’s voice erupted through the speaker the second her finger hit the button:

“What do you mean they’re not ready?” Tamlin growled.

Feyre almost gasped at the anger, the vitriol, in her boyfriend’s voice.

A muffled voice responded, so quietly Feyre almost missed it in her surprise at the harshness of her partner's tone. “They need another week.”

“We don’t have a week.” That was Lucien. Quieter, but just as tense as Tamlin.

“There’s no way they’ll be ready for you in time.”

“I don’t give two shits whether they’re ready. We’ll be there on the established date, and they better be ready to implement the recommendations we have already provided.”

The muffled voice didn’t respond.

“Brannagh?” Lucien’s voice cut through the silence.

“We’ll see you in a week.”

“Good.”

The receiver clicked. Feyre bit her lip.

This didn’t mean anything. It proved nothing.

But if it didn’t matter, why was Tamlin so angry? And what did “we’ll be there mean? He hadn’t mentioned going out of town again. . . Was this a local job?

Feyre bit her lip, carefully hanging up the phone before easing back out into the hallway, replaying the conversation she had just heard in her head. What did it mean? Was it innocuous or incriminating? Was it enough to bring to Rhysand?

Feyre wandered down the hallway, now truly on the lookout for the restroom. She had just spotted the signs when a man emerged from a conference room down the hall and to her left, clad in a much less expensive looking suit than the one Tamlin had worn, earbuds firmly fixed in his ears.

Feyre froze, but it was too late. He had seen her.

“What the hell are you doing down here?” The man demanded, striding purposefully toward Feyre.

Feyre swallowed, giving a little shrug and a sheepish smile before she turned down another hall, hopeful the man would conclude that she was the lost girlfriend of one of the many men who occupied the Spring Solutions Tower. Because that was at least one thing Feyre had learned about her partner’s business: very few women were employed there, and if they were, they were secretaries or Ianthe.

Unfortunately, Feyre heard the thundering of heavy footsteps behind her as she rushed down the hallway. Shit.

Feyre ducked into another hallway and threw open the first door she saw, breathing a sigh of relief when the sight of a dim janitorial closet greeted her, complete with mop bucket, broom, and shelves full of various cleaning products. Feyre slipped inside, standing where the door would hide her from view if opened, trying not to remember the few times she had convinced her older sisters to play hide-and-seek with her when they were kids.

Nesta rarely agreed, but Elain had played with her on several occasions, humoring her years-younger sister out of the goodness of her heart.

Feyre shook her head, clutching the hem of her suit jacket as heavy footsteps thudded by.

“Where the hell is she, Belfort?” A voice—this one different from the man with the earbuds—sounded from somewhere to her left.

“Do I look like I know?” The earbud man's voice responded.

Feyre swallowed, grateful when the footsteps faded away. Were these men unfamiliar with the layout of the building? Perhaps they were new . . . Or perhaps they didn’t usually work here. Because if Feyre were searching for a potential intruder, the broom closet would be the first place she checked.

She slid out into the hall, relief coursing through her at the sight of the empty hallway. She rushed back the way she came, looking over her shoulder as she turned back into the hallway where she had met the in-house attorneys—

Her chest collided with a wall of muscle, sweaty hands wrapping themselves around her upper arms in a grip that was just a little too tight.

Feyre turned to face her captor, catching a glimpse of hard dark eyes and a tight jaw, downturned lips and a forehead creased with anger, before a voice from behind the man had him straightening up and releasing Feyre.

“Is there a reason you’re manhandling my girlfriend, Belfort?”

Feyre stumbled backward, craning her neck to catch a glimpse of Tamlin, followed by Lucien and several members of what appeared to be the security team.

“Your girlfriend, sir?” Belfort asked, glaring at Feyre one last time before he turned to face Tamlin. “But—”

Feyre cut him off, striding toward Tamlin and setting a hand on his shoulder. “I got lost on my way to the bathroom. I think they must have thought I was an intruder or something,” she said with a laugh, leaning into her boyfriend’s side.

“Belfort?”

Feyre stared at Belfort and hoped his desire to avoid a disagreement with his boss would win the day.

Evidently it did, because Belfort held up his hands. “My mistake, sir. Please, return to your lunch.”

Tamlin nodded, turning so quickly that he missed the look Feyre caught on Belfort’s face—

It was a look that said, I’m watching you.

------

Feyre stopped at a coffee shop on her way home from Spring Solutions, even allowing herself the time to sit in a booth at the window to drink it. She pulled out her current read—Foster, by Claire Keegan—but the book sat abandoned on the table in front of her as she stared out the wide windows at the streets of Prythian, mulling over the events of the morning.

Tamlin’s anger during his phone call. The man on the other line—Brannagh’s—response. Belfort stalking her through the shiny bright hallways of Spring Solutions just because she had walked down the wrong hallway.

To a court of law, none of this had any meaning.

But that feeling in the pit of Feyre’s stomach, the flash of fear she had felt when Belfort had caught her, the small bruises already forming on her biceps from his grip. . .

Feyre’s instincts told her something was wrong, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to rest until she discovered exactly why.

She took a sip of her coffee, sighing through her nose, resolving to give herself ten minutes to collect her thoughts before she walked the rest of the way home to resume studying.

But any chance to calm herself flew out the window when a man slid into the booth across from her.

Feyre jumped a mile high before she registered the hazel eyes, the classically beautiful features, and the scarred hands.

“Agent Lapis,” she breathed.

The SA held up a hand, his lips pursed. “Please, call me Azriel.”

Feyre glanced around her, as if she hoped to catch a glance of Cassian—or Rhysand—hovering somewhere nearby. But the rest of the cafe was occupied by innocuous coffee drinkers and several students with books and laptops spread across the tables in front of them.

“Azriel,” Feyre said, forcing herself to take another drink from her coffee.

“I’m here for your answer,” he said, eyes scanning the room even as he spoke to her.

When Feyre didn’t respond, his gaze snapped to hers. Whatever he saw there put a frown on his face.

“Are you alright?”

Feyre shifted in her seat, and couldn’t resist the reflexive look she gave the bruises on her biceps.

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his hand tightening on the mug of coffee on the table between them. “What happened,” he breathed, his voice soft, but so lethal it sent goosebumps erupting over the back of Feyre’s neck.

“I got into Spring Solutions today,” Feyre started, but Azriel was already shaking his head.

“We know. What happened inside?” He asked, giving her upper left arm a pointed glance.

Feyre quickly and succinctly relayed the events of her time in Spring Solutions to Azriel, whose stoic expression didn’t waver as he listened.

“None of it means anything,” Feyre finished, running her hands through her hair. “But—I can’t explain it. Something just felt . . . wrong.”

Azriel shook his head. “It might not seem important or groundbreaking to you now, Feyre. But Rome wasn’t built in a day. Any detail learned now could always be useful later. And while none of what you told me today is enough for an indictment. . . It certainly could be if we learned more information.”

Feyre nodded, staying quiet. It was clear Azriel had more to say.

“You did a good thing, today, getting inside Spring Solutions. But if you agree to work with us, we’ll have to establish some ground rules. For your safety, and the good of the investigation.”

“My safety?”

Azriel nodded. “Rhys almost marched into that high-rise after you as soon as we sent him word you had gone there to meet Tamlin.”

Feyre blinked. “Rhys—Rhys knows I got inside?”

Azriel lifted a brow. “He’s the one leading this investigation. We keep him apprised of all notable updates.”

“Ah,” Feyre said, ignoring the cascade of confusing emotions that had unfurled inside her chest and stomach as soon as Azriel had said the words Rhys almost marched in after you.

“But the protocols will come later. What I came here to ask you today was whether you had decided.”

Feyre didn’t ask for further explanation. She knew what the SA meant.

She also knew her answer.

“Yes,” she said, her eyes meeting Azriel’s. “I’ll do it.”

-----

Author's Note: More Rhys is coming, I swear :)

Taglist:

@rhysiedarling @shedoessoshedoes @popjunkie42 @adreamof-spring @that-little-red-head @witch-and-her-witcher @cinnamonmelody @azrielover @1islessthan3books @jenahid @toporecall @martzja @marinated-fish @muaddib-iswriting @queenofdivas

#acotar #feysand #sarah j maas #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #rhysand #feyre archeron #a court of mist and fury #fanfiction #feyre x rhysand #feysand modern au

[cherrsnut]

Hostage - Chapter 6

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for. 

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 11.7k

Previous // Next

Chapter 6

It was day nine on the training facility. Which only meant it was three days to go until your feet stood on the harsh grounds of the Arena. Every passing day was another needle piercing your lungs, as you noticed the countdown coming closer to its end, you realized it was made harder for you to breathe. It wasn’t the muscle memory your brain was taught, it was as if suddenly you had forgotten the simple act of breathing, and all you could think about was controlling the air currents that sucked in and out of your mouth. 

It was like your lungs were holding hostage the innocent air particles that were only out there to help you, and you felt like you coudn’t breathe now that the timer was close to its set. 

This past few days you’d started to lose faith in God. It’s not like you blindly believed in him to begin with, but with the pained breaths you were expulsing, you slowly felt any sort of belief from a greater force be spilled out along with it.

Whether it was God, destiny or whatever, you soon struggled to be able to believe in any of that, because right now your position was different. You weren’t in that privileged stance; then, you had a home, work, food and water, you had whatever you needed to live, and it was easier to believe in that then, because you didn’t think about your own survival.

But it was different now, all of that was over. And after the Reaping it was a hard reality check that, the world indeed didn’t owe you a cent. And so, your Deist idea slowly faded into nothing, you simply lost faith in any entity, and at this point even yourself. 

You didn’t know what you believed in, and it wasn’t like it mattered anyway. Whatever religion or personal truth was soon going to be vanished along your scattered body on the grounds of the Arena, and it felt very much like you were being executed for a crime you hadn’t committed. Punished for the wrongdoings of another person, and the wrong deeds of their fault had your life shorten, while the true perpetrator was out there enjoying their prolonged one, and they better understood their guilty freedom was in exchange of yours.

Yeah, you didn’t know what to believe in anymore, and it didn’t matter anyway. That’s why you abstained yourself from believing in anything, and if that meant you stopped looking at God’s metaphors in life, then so be it. Or to make it or poetic, you followed what Nietzsche once said “God is dead”. 

By day nine it was obvious the Career group was formed. From District 1, we had Ezra and Ava, both loving siblings to each other, but definitely with lethal intentions to the rest of the Tributes, possibly even to their team members when the chance arose. 

For District 2 we had the memorable Birch, and Nyla. You had found her curious for her preferred weapon choice to be a fishing spear, since it seemed it was expressly placed for the participants of District 4. But you wouldn’t judge her skills on her weapon, especially when you saw her expertise on handling that piece of weaponry, earning her the fitting title of hunter and it only  seemed natural she was welcomed by the Careers.

Then came District 4, with none other than Vito and his double blades. It seemed Birch along Ezra had been interested in him not only through the way he handled the blades. Finnick’s games were still influential, since it only had been two years ago since he came out victorious, and they found his rapid net making to be the deciding factor for their admiration for him. 

And lastly, were both Tributes of District 7, known for their lumberjack industry. It only took a quick look to realize as to why they were picked. Carter and Steph both had a muscular build, and they definitely exhuded strength and a feared determination of not backing down without a real fight. 

You sighed looking at the formed group. It was disheartening the very knowledge that the strongest were in a group to fight off the weaker ones, and it felt bitterly unfair and personally against against you. Even more when Vito was along them and not you, meaning they saw you just as weak and useless as the rest, deserving to be killed right off the bat. Because for them, you had no use, comparing you with dead weed of the Arena, and they still found more ways to  exploit the dry grass than yourself.  

Your eyes met the grey tones of the slightly pigmented green of his irises, maintaining contact and understanding of each other’s presence. Carter’s eyebrow ticked up in acknowledgement. The ghost of your eyes haunted his, as he could feel the hoplessness that you body emanated, even when being many feet apart from each other.

You saw his lips curl up into a small smile. He hoped your grasped his gesture, to let it embrace you in a warm hug, all so he wouldn't have to see your present frown and to envelop yourself into his reassurance. 

It wasn’t hard to comprehend the meaning behind his expression, he was just trying to make you feel better. But it seemed rather complicated to feel at ease when he already belonged to a deadly group, one of which had a participant that was a psycho and determined on pointing at you with the red dot of his invisible assault rifle. 

But you still understood he wanted express his sympathetic side to you. You could imagine, and hoped, his secret hobby or lingering daydream didn’t involve the exciting thought of killing other people, unlike the Tributes of District 1 and 2. But rather, he was like you and Vito, here against their will, and obligated you all to be in the survival game by the choice of an mere outsider. And tho whomever created the Hunger Games to begin with, you didn’t have the prettiest words or thoughts about that person. And of course, you would never say them outloud. By the way Scarlett had reacted each time you cursed, it was like an unforgiving blasphemy to even proclaim your deepest negative thoughts about the Games. 

You returned him the smile, unknown to him that your teeth greeted through your anxiety, to calm your scraping words of wanting to hide yourself to the world so no one could find you and, somehow be able to sneak your way out of having to be in the battling grounds. But that scenario was close to impossible, so you stopped yourself from thinking too much about it before you’d consider it.

”I get it, I’d smash. Although Finnick is more of my type though. But let’s get back to training, shall we?” The whispering words brushed past the side of your face, tickling lightly the crown of your ear with his warm breath. 

And you stopped, before looking up at him. Your mind blank as it tried to grab onto any reason that was slowly flying away out from your ears. But your brain seemed to be damaged from the from broken wires by Vito’s words, and the sparking of the electricity was dancing around your mind, a sign of the overworked brain from a rush of confusing curiosity over what he meant by those words, which you quickly understood un thus the short time span electrocution that jumbled your brain around.

You mind run miles, and yet you weren’t unable to utter the words. 

“With what I’ve seen so far, believe me, girlie. You’ll need it” he snickered at you. Your lips kept on closing and opening slightly, his extra piece of information meant to confuse you further, you knew that, and you still gave into his mind games. 

Vito coudn’t help but hung a playful smirk up his mouth, amused by the rush of thoughts flashing behind your eyes. He felt victorious of course, he had his desired outcome so you would come out of that concerned trance he noticed you were having on a regular basis at training. But he didn’t expect you to have come out in such a funnily manner, that he coudn’t help the light giggles. Even more so at the creased brows you formed as you tried to compute further his words.

You managed to say something. “I didn’t know?” you said clumsily with a joking smile. You huffed a smile out at the situation. He lifted his hand up to his lips and chuckled further at your comment. Your expression was priceless in his eyes, and he coudn’t help himself from leaving you stunned like that. Oh, how much he loved doing that to you.

Caesar Flickerman had just called your name, his infamous smile, known to the whole of Panem sat across his well-known face. The many cheers that rang through the stage, from clapping sounds to the impatient voices of the citizens of the Capitol, were awaiting your shining entrance.

A few hours ago, the examination went… not so great. Vito had done his best in teaching you the refined arts of the knives, and you could grasp the basic concept of attcak, slice, and stab… that was it. Two weeks to learn everything about hunting down an vicioius animal one on one seemed like a challenging feat, not say practically impossible. So when you were standing below your future sponsors, it felt very much silly of you to try and use that weapon to show off your non-existent high levels skills, especially considering Vito was next in line. You cringed at that  thought for the thousandth time today. It was embarrassing, you could say that much. So much so you didn’t even try to look up at them unless necessary. So when you did, you were met with the bored looks of the experienced viewers that had seen decades worth of fighters, and you wouldn’t be catalonged as one no matter how much you tried to disguise yourself as one. 

But it’s not like you could do anything else. If they had even bothered bringing in some herbs or chemicals, you could’ve shown your more scientific knowledge. You knew a hundred ways to elaborate toxic poisons, and a millions ways to create antidotes for each and every one of them, that would’ve definitely earned you a more prideful look on your end. But then again, you were sure the Sponsors weren’t quite interested for you to elaborate remedies for basically anything. Afterall, they only wanted to see people killing each other; they just wanted to see violent and gruesome deaths, they wanted to hear their screams of horror as a familiar face was draining the life away from them, like a vampire sucking every ounce of blood to ensure your dried death. And being a doctor kind of went directly against what they preached. You weren’t like a hidden gem to them, more like a pain in the ass if you were able to heal someone back to life. And in the circle of betting games, the randomized traps scattered across the Arena, had the same element of uncernaty as the Sponsors had now that your card was placed on the table. Because now it meant you could take care of the Tributes. Your extensive knowledge was like a direct threat aganst the chosen Tributes they laid their money on. It wasn't just who would be more likely to come out victorious from a logical perspective, because you were brought into the mix. It wasn’t just strength, ability, and speed what they had to analyze, but also an element of luck. And unfortunately for them, that was something that coudn’t be measured in a logical way. 

You sighed. The interview was your last chance to make people like you. If your skills wouldn't make them on your side, you hoped that maybe they would try to connect with you more personally. Perhaps if they felt bad about your death, you could win over their hearts. You needed to convince them you dying would only affect them negtively in the end.

You let another shaky breath, and stepped forward. The cling clang the heel needle resonated on the smooth and shining surface you were standing on, only to become completely soundless as you walked over, to none other than the famous blue haired waiting for you. You made sure your thighs turned to hard muscle, careful as to not be clumsy and fall infront of what seemed about five hundred people. Their eyes scanned you whole, so you coudn’t risk doing a mistake in front of all of them. You returned your gaze, shy and nervous as you wondered around the gigantic audience ahead of you. 

It looked like a painting from the Impressionist era. Your first description of what was reflecting back your eyes was “A lot of colour”. Many dots of vibrant shapes and colors, raging from the warm tones of yellow and orange, to cooler ones like purple and tale blue; all painted above a black canvas. 

The shining lights were flashing your eyes, needing a moment to readjust them to make better off the people of the Capitol. They were wearing odd and eccentric hats, an that was what you had previously confused to be expert brush strokes of an creative artist, was simply just the fashion designs of the Capitol.

Their eyes roamed over your every inch, awaiting what sort of good time you would give them. Whereas for you, they were on a dark canvas, they in turn they saw you against a white one, where your background scenery was filled with many sparkling glitter surrounded your promotional poster, with your face hanging there confidently. 

Mr. Flickerman led you to sit opposite him, sitting on a home-like modernized version of an armchair. With the same colour as your dress, the designer was right to add the pillow below you. It was big, for anyone to regain themselves in whichever position they wanted and still be comfortable at the cute armchair. It reminded you of the warm and cozy cafeteria down the street of the Herbal Shop. And if you werte to recommend it to someone, you’d sincerely tell them it was best served under the winter weather with a hot chocolate protecting you from viruses that threatened to infect everyone.

“So Ms. Doctor from Distrcit 4, I’ve heard of something peculiar the other day” he started looking at you intensely. The pause, of course, for dramatic effect. Now you understood where Scarlett was coming from with the way she expressed her emotions. “I heard-”

Another pause. This was starting to feel gut wrenching. The large amount of people weren’t helping either, and you’ve been stuck in a cycle of insecurity of wanting to come across as likeable to them, and you weren’t sure how you could accomplish that. The first impression was was the deciding factor for the initial building blocks of a friendship, and that level of anxiety of the what ifs had your insides flip five times. 

“You healed, none other than the Victor of the 65th Hunger Games, our Finnick Odair” his voice all of a sudden strengthened in volume, coming out in thrilled particles that drugged everyone replicating his mood, one of jovial enthisiasm. There were slight gasps in surprise, but definitely a lot of murmuring between themselves. Your eyes opened in shock, you had completely forgotten all about that. 

Still astounded, you scanned over the room perfectly, the singular emotion that traveled in the air everyone breathed between each other, was that of simple curiosity. They wanted to hear your next words, they wanted to know what you brought to the table, they wanted to who you were. 

This was the great start you needed. Even if it hurt your soul admitting it, you had to appreciate Scarlett's input for spreading this piece of information, so diligently it even reached the ears of the biggest TV host of the Capitol. Not only for your own sake, but as well for hers, you had to make the fullest of this little advantage. 

Scarlett understood the public perception and opinion like no other; and when it came to Finnick’s name being brought up, it was your best bet to grow interest for yourself by using him.

You smiled brightly at what he had said. Making sure the shining of the lights reflected on your teeth just the same as the way your eyes sparkled in hopeful optimism. If you needed to sway public opinion to be on your side, this was your best bet to touch their hearts, and who knows? Maybe tickle them a bit to make their insides flutter happily.

You let a giggle escape through the microphone. “Yes” the tone of your voice thrilled with the taste on candied apple, to feed them the explosion of sweet delight down their throats.

“At the time, his fishing team came rushing in my Herbal Shop one day. You know, after they had injured themselves like they usually did” you started widening your grin at what you just came up with. It felt like throwing Finnick overboard, which was only more unfair on his end, now that he wasn’t with you to defend himself from the words that came out of your mouth. 

But with these people, it was better the more you spoke, rather than staying idly still and quiet, in hopes the ordeal would pass by to detense the anxiety building up a tight knot from inside your throat. Even better? When your words sounded like a caramelized drink to their ears.

“You know, Finnick can be a little clumsy at times” you admitted. The microphone caught the way your tone dropped a few octaves as if mimicking you were in a vulnerable crowded place, giving away uncommunicated information that would make any Finnick fans squeal from joy. You placed a finger up your lips. 

“But shhh, ‘kay? Don’t tell anyone I said that” you opened your mouth, showing your baring teeth to the audience. They laughed at your playful and cheeky personality that you gleefully showed them. 

It worked, somehow it worked. But this wasn’t the time to get comfortable, the show was still going, and you’d give them the best version of yourself. You needed to leave your astounded expression for later, when you weren’t in front of televised cameras that were ready to pick apart the little of what you had shown them. Later, you would try to come up with reasons as to why it was so easy to captivate them, with whatever you had said to them.

Your very words that spoke enchantingly brushed the thin line between the truth and the uncertain lie, and to be honest with yourself, you didn’t know if they were either truthful or not. Because that wasn’t what was important right now, you just needed their attention to you. 

A sudden realization hit you. They didn’t care about the Tributes, at least not nearly enough as the sponsors did, and that was only because they had a stack of money they were risking losing, a large amount that would make a significant difference in their wallets.  

The public just wanted to see a show, and so you’d give them a show. They loved the gossip between the people they cataloged as untouchable, and that was evident with what you had told them about Finnick. If that’s what they wanted, you’d show them your secret facade that seems openly visible for them, as tasty as the sweetest honey they had never been able to come across before. One no matter the riches of the Capitol, they could never recreate that something that felt so pure, yet came from the inner depth of deception. You’d make them feel that a reincarnation of a Tribute like you will never happen again in near the history. 

The blue haired chuckled at your words. You’d show them a different kind of spark, to make them feel you were the only one that could cure them from their embarrassing problems of the high society, an escape from their hard reality.

They had the nerve to complain about societal standards when the rest of the Dictricts were dirtying their backs with sweat and earth, whilst they washed themselves in the cash at the expense of your hard unpaid overwork.

Even with those staining feelings in your soul about them, you'd give them what they wanted. In the end you were still a slave of the Capitol, no matter how much you hated it. You shone under the lights of the stage, an eight-pointed golden star in replacement of your dull pupils. 

If the wanted this, the show must go on then. 

“You are a lovely girl” he started. “But unfortunately I wouldn't place my bet you” he lamented, caressing his eyebrows jokingly. Your heart dropped, and somehow you felt like he could see through your intentions. No, they’re not that smart to realize that. All they wanted was a big fun fest, and desired a good time, that’s why they had come here to begin with. 

You gasped, learning from the best, none other than the unbeatable Scareltt. She was probably looking at you right now, Vito, Finnick and Mags beside her, expectant as to what actions you would carry out. You could sense her eyes, a look of determination, and hopeful you wouldn't miss this chance to change your game. 

“Mr. Flickerman, you hurt me with those words” you placed a hand directly at your heart, theatrically trying to protect his confession from piercing your heart lika a dagger. You pouted very much staged, and of course in a joking manner. 

“I’ll let you know, if you were a Tribute, I would not hesitate in rooting for you” you winked at him cheekily, a sly playful smirk coming up to your face. He only chuckled further at your words, earning you the clapping audience followed with warm laughter.

You could feel it, the way the citizens wanted to have a closer relationship with you. And to accomplish that you would need to captivate them further. Make them feel like there was a close friendship with them, make them feel important by sharing your masking secrets with them, make them believe they were present in your life. 

Your lashes opened further at the realization. You just decoded how to make them like you, and you practically could hear your mind sing sang the little tunes of confidence that exhaled your body. This was a different kind of game, one the most cunning with the trickiest mind games would surely win over their hearts. And you had to be the best, so much so none of the other Tributes would beat you in this little game of yours, and you just needed to ace this. Especially when you were the creator of the rules to begin with.

“Tell us a little about yourself” Mr. Flickerman said between chuckles.

“Well, you know I’m a Doctor…” you thought further. “But do you know I’m that of a poison maniac” you admitted out loud. Everyone turned silent, and you could read the question as to what you meant by those yours. Your smile widened at the stunned look of the Host. They weren’t expecting that. 

Bingo!

“Do tell us more about it” desired the important Host. “I’m sure everyone here wants to know as well” he directed his attention to his audience, earning the high tones of approval he was seeking. He tilted his face to his side, concentrating his look on your moving lips, impatient to know what you were about to reveal. 

You let a dry snicker escape your mouth, one that ringed at the back of your tongue. You eyed him, with another convincing smile. “Being an medic, it’s only natural I give but the best quality medicine out there. And for that, I would poison myself to find the best remedies” you informed. You bit your lip down expectant as to what the reaction of the public would be.

“Wow. What an unexpected turn of events” he finally roared, his voice echoing in every corner of the set. The audience though, stayed quiet, and you could feel them staring in awe at what you had let out.

“Yup. From strange looking fruits, to snake bites. I have tried them all. An of course, that means I’m tolerant to most poisons” you turned to the audience, giving them a cheeky look. You just thought of the best response for this. 

“I believe there's a saying that goes by ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’. Next time don’t underestimate me, I have a few cards up my sleeve, Mr.” you giggled through the microphone. Mr. Flickerman simply smiled in amusement. The audience ruptured in an applause, with some people whistling which cut though the noise, at the revelation that you had kept hidden. You only chuckled more in flattery of their recognition of your talent. Your eyes readied on the blue haired, him giving you that of a laughing smile. Maybe it was a bit adventurous of you, but you winked at him jovially, earning him another round of chuckles. 

When the noisy ambience died down, the blue haired Host turned serious again. And of course returned his unbearable pause. He knew what he was doing, creating intrigue among everyone that saw his show tonight, making everyone more focused with what he wanted to say. He opened his mouth to finally speak. 

“We would love to keep talking to you,” he informed regretful at the sounds of disappointed guests among the public. “but I’m afraid time’s up”

“Aww, Mr Flickerman, you’re totally breaking my heart” you pouted in with a pitiful voice, all part of a playing joke. 

“Don’t try to gulttrip me like that” he added, along with the laughs of the public. 

You stood up, but before you left, there was something you needed to do to make sure you were the spotlight of the likeability between the Capitol.

“Love you all, and thank you for tonight” your hand placed on your lips, only to swiftly fly off to your captivating audience, blowing out loving kisses to them. And with that, you left the stage. And that you blissful mask was thrown away into the trash once you heard the roaring cheers for the next person behind you. 

You never realized just how empty this kind of lively show would give you once the lights turned their focus on someone else. Your heart had turned like an empty void, and you came across something you hadn’t thought about during the show. The joy and elation you were showing was was never there to begin with, and it honestly left you exhausted having to overwork you body to achieve to emotions you wanted to convey. 

“Love you all” the words you spoke earlier bouncing around your mind like a broken record, like it was trying to tell you something that you coudn’t quite grasp the concept of. Loving someone, you didn’t know what that even meant.  Although you had never been loved by anyone, nor you have loved anyone before; unless motherly kind of love you supposed. But even with Edna, you weren’t quite sure if that was the case. And for the next five minutes you wondered around with that topic of interest, “What’s it like to love someone?” you muttered as you walked down the hallway to meet the rest of your team, already noticing they’re exciting movement towards you.  

That question though, would quickly fade into the abyss of amnesia inside your mind, throwing away pieces of information that your brain deemed unnecessary worth remembering. Scarlett practically ran to you to give to the biggest, most suffocating hug you’ve the pleasure to experience, and for a moment you thought she was about to kill you right then and there from the sheer force, before the Hunger Games even commenced. She had really toned muscles, you thought.

You found yourself again at the balcony. It had been your comforting place in a way. When everything felt too real and suffocating, you simply came out to feel the seasonal wind against your face. No matter how high quality aircons are in the Capitol, nothing could beat the fresh air of the still night. Even the incoming noises of the busy city, coudn’t reach the high tower you were standing on. So high up you bet you could brush the texture of the soft clouds, only to find the disappointing reality, and to contrary to what you had hoped for. In return, your offering hand was covered in tiny cold droplets neatly placed on the surface of your skin from the forming rain that was happening inside the spongy clouds. 

The cold humidity that exhuded a crashing reality to your silly thought. So it was evident you also felt the freezing particles of the night over your body, and with that, the winds that hide themselves during daytime, travelled further away into their destination under the beautiful moon shine.

You almost expected it to be Finnick, having met him last time in the exact same place, at the very same hour. But what gave away that it was indeed not your mentor’s presence was funnily the smell, it was warm and refreshing. It reminded you of what Athena had said to you days go, the smell of the sea never seemed to leave the sea shells when they touched each other , it was daring and in a beautifully wrapped up overpowered odor. 

Vito smelled similar to Finnick, but your Tribute Partner’s was more capturing. It was a nice smell that anyone would willingly drown themselves into a sea of flower petals, and no one opposed to turn themselves under his very submission. 

Finnick on the other hand, reminded you of the wild dandelions that grew a top of the mountains. Back home, when you needed provisions for medicine, you liked trekking up to the crown of a mountain about an hour away from your town. It was a wonderland of medicinal herbs, like God himself had planted them all for you. And without fail, you blew air out of those loving blooming dandelions, speaking away your impossible wishes and secrets. Fragile and soft to the touch, as light as the wind blew them through the air into the hidden places over the ocean, that’s how Finnick smelled like. 

You looked up Vito. His brown skin glowed with the neon colors of the Capitol, but the real party was the reflection of said colors on his sclera, even more so the void of his black eyes showing that similar of an underground night club where everyone was welcomed, no matter how different they were labeled as by the unfair standards of society. 

“Hey” he spoke quietly so as to not interrupt the peaceful stillness of the night. He wasn’t looking at you, and yet you still understood the serious undertone of his voice, already knowing the reasoning he wanted to talk to you. You didn’t need to be a genious to figure that one out. “Hey”

There was a moment of silence. The heaviness placed around both of your shoulders, the grief swirling your very essence into replicating those sorrowful eyes of yours. You huffed out air. It was exactly the same situation like having to see one of your family member's succumb to a lethal disease, fully knowing they weren’t going to make it, and you were left with the slow acceptance that you would never see them again. Never touch them, never feel them, like you somehow had to ignore the footprint they marked on your core memory, and having to live your days as  the circle of life took away their presence, and you still too burdened by their ghostly unreal fingers walking along your skin. 

It was unfair, because neither you or Vito deserved this, and you both knew this very fact. Why did you have to be punished by the crimes people you never met had atoned for? You have been even able to distract away your anger before, but now it was impossible for your unresolved gut feeling. Your throat squeezed at the feeling of that unfiltered emotion. But there was nothing you could do, because you were merely an ant in the way of a human shoe, the riched and powerful men couldn’t form an ounce of sympathy for you. And why would they? Your merely an insect living in their hunting society; you were invisible to them, so why would they care about what you had to say?

The crashing of your teeth were pressing against each other rather strong, and aggressively. A tight pain from your gums was a reflection that if you kept going, with what felt like an unlimited force, you’d end up breaking each tooth into merely tiny pieces, so small it could could fly away as powder. 

A burning tear screamed its way down to you jaw, like a hurt soldier in the name of scalding revenge for taking his loved one away from him.. 

Vito let a breath out from the agony of the situation he got himself in. He looked at you, finding himself reflected in the same emotion of that female rage that was circling around in a rushed manner through the ducts of your veins.

“Tomorrow’s the day” he just said. And you hated the way he sounded so indifferent about it, like he gave up in that instant, like he had finally come to terms to the situation. But you hated yourself more, because you knew you should feel that way as well, you needed to accept tomorrow would be your grave. But it was one of those hard things in life you coudn’t quite grasp the concept of, it was one of those hard lessons were it only left you more confused every passing second. Because your death would be for absolutely nothing worth sacrificing yourself over for. 

Another tear rolled down, this time taking the path to follow down the silhouette of your nose, only to sink down your lips like a damaged ship from a recent pirate fight, leaving you with the saltiness of the sourness you felt at the tip of your tongue. 

 “I’ll come back to get you. Don’t linger around the Cornucopia unless you want to die from the get go” he murmured the warning. But you were glad he still wanted to follow through the plan, a plan that only happened after the obvious acknowledgement that you were surely going to die if you didn’t have a willing participant to protect you. You were more than glad Vito was by your side. 

Yet, you had another thought in mind. One very much different to the words he was speaking, and if he hadn’t felt the very same rage circling around his soul, Vito would have had trouble in trying to understanding what you were referring to. 

”I hate them, Vito” you told him. “I hate them so much I could kill every single one of them” 

He knew who you were referencing to, the stuck up people of the rich society of the Capitol. Even more so the sponsors whose empathy are as empty as a vacant lot, and he couldn't forgive President Snow for celebrating the Hunger Games for another year straight. To make a whole show about the death of another twenty three children and adolescents, to be nothing but a promotional cultural activity, like a national sport competition that needed to happen for the sake of Panem political affairs.

He tensed the corners of his lips into a frown. The built up tears that he promised himself he wouldn't let spill was threatening just behind his lashes to pour down his cheek. He bit his tongue unable to say anything, complicit of the confessing words that could lead you to your punishment. One that involved scissors, your tongue, no anesthesia and a lot of pain you weren’t ready to face. 

Vito blamed you for making him tear up like that. He was trying to hold it, because it didn’t come from a place of sadness but rather the feeling of unfairness anger, that turned in an eternal resentment to seek out justice for the Capitol’s wrongdoings. Your words had hit straight to his chest, the cruel and cold words he welcomed in with open arms, because he had the same sentiment. Unlike you, it seemed easier to hide away that feeling into an old rusty box under a key he threw away into the ocean, so how did you open his chest to reveal his innermost gruesome desires?

The pure of your emotion was shared with him, and both of you cried through the fiery rage of the obligation you two had to complete. Both of you wished for the other to survive, while also drowning in self pity and a silent wish it was them who would come out victorious. 

He clasped a hand behind your head and buried your face in his chest, letting you make an emotional mess all over his shirt. So after his invitation to ruining yourself on his clothes, you grabbed a hold of the rich textile behind his back, making sharp and hard wrinkles around were your fingers that were creating a fist, a burning sensation on your fingers from the slight rash at the stong grip.

And there the both of you stayed, venting away the crucial and clouding desires to take down this Roman Empire to build another one, based directly by your conjoined ideals. Ones you were sure the people from the future would look down upon your current systematic one,  to preach your imaginary one.

A whimper escaped your lips, your cries becoming louder in that pit of uncontrollable fire. You were coming back from the wings of fantasy, and crashing down your unprotected landing to earth’s reality. A dry sob from the realization he would be separated from you so painfully soon. 

“But the hardest part is leaving you” was what you wanted to say to him. He’d become your only friend, a bond built upon the same unfortunate situation, but still a friend nonetheless. You didn’t want to separate yourself from him. You didn’t want to die, you didn’t want him to die, you just wanted to be with him like this until the end of times, until Earth had become nothing but crust. For someone to find your fossilized rock, and coming across that of an emotive stone of two hugging skeletons, in each other embrace to face the chaotic disaster together. 

But you didn’t want to die, you wanted to spend more time with him. You wanted the both of you to lose yourselves on the dry mountains of District 4; to swim and perhaps and eat fish he had gathered from the endless sea, and tell old pirate tell tales. 

You didn’t want to die, and you didn’t want him to die. But that wish was simply unrealistic, in which fate didn’t have that wishful plan for the two of you. And fate had already spoken, and that meant you two wouldn't come out of this alive together. 

“Fifteen” the countdown was halfway through. Your feet were stoned to the platform, as your veins run cold coursing through your body. You sucked in air, trying to stop the scraping thoughts of death from cutting around your soul. 

“Thirteen” you gulped down hard, as a way to stop the gurgling feeling from your stomach to rise to your eyes, and start crying right there and then. The anticipated Hunger Games was close to commence, and for the first time a voice whispered in approval to something you had said earlier, you weren’t ready for this.

“Ten” by then you sucked in many more breaths, the anxiety overgrowing through your every artery, infecting your lungs into a garden of poisonous wild vegetation. Your chest heaved rapidly, trying to stabilize your tumultuous mind. Everything was hazy, and your eyes roamed every corner it could, trying to desperately find and hold onto anything that would put you into the guarding hands of safety. But this was the Hunger Games, you knew better than to blindly trust something or someone. And when it came to the Gamemakers, when you turned your back, their betrayal was exactly like a Judas kiss.

“Where’s Vito?” your voice got lost in the immense silence that surrounded you. He wasn’t next to you, and in his stead came the features of the terrified girl from District 5. Her brunette hair braided into twined low tails, giving her the absolute most innocent look on her. 

Ice touched your wrists, hurting the passing blood that was blocking your veins at the sight, already grimly visualizing her end. 

Your eyes started to water, “Where is he?” your chest was rising and lowering in uncontrollable rhythmic fast paces. Your eyes moved fast trying to reach the boy you could trust most in this secluded place. Your jaw trembled a chill, it seemed from the very moment you entered the tube, every shiver that run made incomprehensible shapes on your back like it was foretelling you about something, and it felt exactly like a warning by the way your hairs straightened in electric agony. It didin’t matter how much your body screamed at you to turn around, to not enter the place that was surely going to end up being the graveyard of all the participants. The alert were justified. You were going to die soon, and that what scared you into the shaking fear that echoed in your bones, cliterring against each other.

“Nine” you found him. Vito was looking back at you, the irises of his eyes like the sea before a storm, calm and peaceful, and slowly getting more disturbed by the cruel ripples drawing hungry circles on the water. They were dark, like the clouds that started to cover the sky of the ocean, and soon the electrical particles would float around in the air, welcoming the thunders and lightnings that had been anticipating to come out, to free their violence through the sea. 

He gestured his head behind him, away from the Cornucopia that stayed in the centre of the circled Tributes. He was calm and collected, he was ready to face this, something your weren’t. He wanted you to run away and hide somewhere, just like he said the day before, “I’ll come back to get you”. 

You followed his lead, and found yourself overlooking the structure of this place, of the Arena that the Gamemakers had expressly done for the twenty four of you. 

Walls, that’s all you could see, worn out walls with wild vegetation escaping the stony cracks of it, that hinted this place had been abandoned for many years. They were as tall as twenty versions of you lined up vertically, and you supposed it was to make any possibility for a Tribute’s escape to be as the thin line of impossibility. 

Your fingers curled weirdly at your side, from the tension of your joints. You huffed another air out, your eyes zigzaged around you, scanning the place whole under your heavy gaze. There were a total of six gaps on the walls that surrounded you, so much so it looked like tall hallways, it’s seductive sight whispering to you to cross over them and find out about what forbidden fruit laid at the end of the passageway. It was calling for you.

“Five” ten seconds had already passed. And with that thought,  the beat of your heart was drilling in your ears. So much noise, yet everything remained quiet. The wind brushed the cold stones and caressed  past your boots. With that you felt the faint finger touches of the breeze, cold and disheartening as it cried out nature’s remorse from having been involuntarily used as massacre artilletry for yet another year.

“Three” your heart beat drums were confusing your already hazy mind, feeling it heavier than what you were used to, and you detested it. You opened your eyes, leaving you with half lidded eyeballs, that were already suffering from blurred nausea. You needed to get out of your hopeless trance, that was whispering and placing bets on another, just how you would die. It was difficult ignoring those voices that screamed louder than messageman through the loud speaker, you needed to cool down your head before the countdown set to zero.

You wished you could've done that. But among the scraping noises from your inner depths, the low murmuring sound of “One” signaled you of something crucial had just started. The monotone voice annuciated the beginning of the Hunger Games. With that, a tear rolled down your stuffed face, its high speed symbolizing the heavy burden that carried the weight of its yearly resolution. The cries and screams of false whisfullness, one that not only happened inside the Arena, but it carried away with the very same distressing message to infect Panem with heartbreak.  

And just like that. Bang! Everything started, the televised deaths from countless victims. Most of you were vulnerable sheep, waiting another day to pass and hope the big hungry wolves wouldn't choose you for their next meal, all stuck inside a unfair corral that gave them the advantage, and that meant you wouldn't be able to escape unharmed. 

You stepped back, one foot out the pedestal. And before you could run away, another hit of nausea smashed you senses. 

Everything was going too fast. 

Next thing you saw was Ezra with a machete in hand, on top of a girl from District 12, blood covering whatever was left from her face. A splatter of crimson red across his dilated face, a sly small smile tensing his right corner into a sadistic smirk.

Nyla just got herself a long weapon, something similar of a spear, and was already looking at every individual that laid at her sight, including your petrified form suffering from the fogginess that numbed your brain into submission. 

You shouted yourself to run, but you legs could only do that in forms of tiny steps back. You remembered the words that Finnick had told you at dinner, “it’s a bloodbath”. Sufficient to cover everydrop up to the fullest limit. All before the next victim, a fourteen year old boy from District 9’s head, almost split into two when Ava smashed an axe on him. It was like the faucet had been stuck and turned on, the bloody water overspilling to the white tiled floors, and staining everything. An innocent red that by the context behind was suddenly turned into an unforgiving shade of anguish.

You witnessed him tripping over a rooted plant, stubborn on staying strongly still, and cruelly be the deciding factor of his deadly prophecy. He tried to get up, and Ava’s much taller body caged him to the ground. With one swing move she stuck the sharp of the axe between his head, so hard when she tried to pull it out she struggled to do so, with traces of raw meat and the inner designs of his brain flying out, and making themselves present in the swirling thoughts around your memory for your further misery. It naturally splattered across her face from the sheer brutality and gruesomeness of the sin she had just committed. But its not like she cared anyway. 

And with that blow, that boy was gone. His vitality thick liquid rowing down his head, and making itself noticed with lines drawing a disturbing picture in his face. The red of the blood had lost its colour, and you destested just how it had become a duller shade of crimson, like it was already in its process to rot away, starting off with the blood under the sunlight.

Ava didn’t need to keep going, but she did. She was an unstoppable force that was ready to take down anyone that she considered inferior to her that walked passed her vision, like a vicious lion with blood running down her chin. 

That was it, he was gone from this planet, and away from his homeland, away from his comfort place to battle without choice even when he didn’t want to. He was to never come back to his family’s reassuring embrace. He was gone. Forever gone and to never come back again.

Another two steps back. His lifeless head turned unhumanly to you, his eyes were red as if he had cried many hours before coming to his deathbed. The drops of blood drawing lines from the ears down his cheek and nose. His eyes abnormally placed on yours, void of any terror and pain, just nothing. No happiness not sadness, no anger and not an ounce of fright. Nothing was there, just an empty shell, void of any shining pearl. Just nothing. He was gone. 

His limp body was turned to you when you finally woke up from your trance, hyperventilating from the confusing and rapid forms and shapes that curled up and fused with each other, to be mixed and shaken up into colourful fragments that screamed threatening lines into your ears. Nothing made sense. 

You trembled your jaw, and another tear followed down to your dry mouth. You opened your mouth, almost instinctively to scream away the distress you had built up over the days. Edna always told you there was no use in keeping yourself troubled by your emotions, and if you needed to release them, to scream away so much you could feel your soul screaming along with your body, let it vibrate in waves through your skin to alleviate it as well. Except this was not the timing to be doing that. 

Your hand smacked to your mouth, blocking any sound that would give away your terrified presence. Another swarm of tears threatened to run down your face, this time in pouring rain. You gulped down, and with that you managed to drown back your scream. 

Then you came across the picture of another girl. A  beautiful redhead. Unreal with lightbrown eyes and pointy features. A beautiful red goddess, ruler of all the invading flames, tamer all any fire dragon she quickly claimed. She was like a blooming poppy when you had seen her in training, even more so in the breathtaking dress she had worn in the interview. A slender and shy girl, that what she portrayed herself as, as an innocent and vulnerable flower. 

So why was she looking at you like that?

She was coming closer, a weird deranged expression across her lit charcoal features. She looked beautiful then, because now her animalistic eyes had turned yellow and her irises red in the purest form of insaned rage.

She was coming to you, a long knife in her hand pointed downwards, giving you the full view and the future glimpse of your deadly fate that was going to occur in the next minute or two, giving you an advantage of two seconds to understand the situation you were in. Your survival incticts quicked in, and you were glad your breathing corpse was as terrified as your mind at the oidea of the shapr item in you, in her hand to tear away the protective layers and pierce through your loved organs, circling around into a muchy smelly mess, or on the other hand, the greatest meal for those big and hungry vultures had encountered. 

She twitched, and that was enough indication for you to run away, to hopefully be able to see the next twelve hours play out, still alive and well, no matter how lucky or ambitious that may be.

She screamed, more like she roared in pleasured challenge. Everything she ppotrayed herself as; from her shyness, her kindred soul, her peaceful nature, she had none of those adoring qualities anymore. On the contrary, she embraced a new side of her that eat away all the remaining good left of her. It was like she forgot the sympathetic teachings that grown ups had instilled in her. She wasn’t human anymore.

You were running for your life. Being someone with great knowledge about corpses taught just how fragile it was to begin with, more prominent injured become somewhat life altering. From broken tendons that hurt after long working hours, to crystal fragments stuck ti your knee could also be form geometrical pain from the scarring after being sat for a few hours. 

And you were sure as Hell you didn’t want to find out, even in the small chance you lived long enough to find out. 

You looked behind, wanting to see just how far she was. And to your regret the wild girl was just tailing behind you, a hand pushin forward against the air resistance to grab your forearm. You ducked away and turned to your right abruptly, hoping that would be enough for her to lose sight of you. A destructive shriek was all you heard, you were only frustrating her further, and a loud battling yell came out as a ball of fire that burned away her delicate features

You recognized her to be Linette from Dsitrict 8. You were surprised to say the least, you always had thought of that District to be more tame and peaceful, being in civilised cities and not knowing much about the outside world. They were in many instances at a great disadvantage because of this very fact. They dealed with the beloved Capitol’s textiles, and you cursed at yourself from letting that stereotypical thought question her eagerness and ability to come crashing down on you to kill you.

This girl had gone completely rouge, like another one of the traps that the Gammakers had created to kill you all. She didn’t feel human anymore, but rather another one of the puppets for the Hunger Games its exclusive usage to create as much chaos as it could through the Arena, and you wouldn't wait to find out the lengths she was willing to go as her first victim. 

There was yet another sound, and even though your were hyperventilating, it oddly sounded like something good had happened, like you weren’t being chased anymore. You noticed your only pair of legs running, and that stalking demon presence gone you stopped. The air came in an out in ragged and heavy breathes, your stomach churned in pain, and you wanted to puke then. You gulped down that disgusting taste away in hoipes it wound’t later come up.

You looked back and scanned where the threat laid ahead of you, only to find yourhopes to become reality, even if they had made you guilty to have think that way about someone. Tears were swelling your eyes red, the pure of the salt irritating and hurting your scelera like your first attempt at diving underwater and trying to enoucter all sorts of beautiful sea creatures, but instead now, it was due to having a racing mtch with a monster that seeked blood and death. 

A sob escaped your lips. Your eyes looked back at the returned concentrated stare of the black eyes you longed to see. His irises that were just below a a black tone, and more so a o dark greyish shade looked over your body in making sure you were in one piece, away from danger and hurt.

You were finally near the person you whole heartedly yearned among the chaotic violence. It dawned on you of the smart move you had done on the tran ride to the Capitol, he could protect you. He’d protect you, so you could later look after him.It ist wasn’t for that, you would most likely be dead in this very instant.

You slumped your shoulders down. And you cried, you cried out so much you felt everything else disappear. You breathed in sharp breaths earning the infamous hissing sounds coming from your throat. You moaned as well, because you were scared of everything at this point, and Vito was your only salvation at this moment.

You just wanted to be back in District 4 and be in Edna’s arms. To squeeze yourself in her body no matter how she retorted back many comments, coming at you in defense for her own personal space, that you were stubbornly invading, not caring that she didn’t want you so close to her.

But you coudn’t that, noy one or the other. This started to feel like a personal vendetta against you. 

You should’ve have noticed it then, the way his irises clouded reason. He was away, far away from what was surrounding him; the corpse of the girl he was holding, the screams of pained anguish not so far away from the two of you, the cold stale air brushing his skin. He was simply out and switched off. That should have been a warning, because even though you hadn’t spent that much time together, Vito wasn’t the Vito you had grown accustomed to. 

His expression was blank, a single drop of blood coming down his cheek, and yet he didn’t seem to care at all. His hand was queezing the girl’s arm, so much the beginning of the purple of a choking bruise was appearing in her forearm. The red head, though, didn’t try to wriggle her way out of him, instead her fingers wrapped themselves on her throat. Vito had given her life threatening injures, and you knew she was breaths away from death. Linnette gurgled as she looked you, the striking eyes of shock directed at you. She, as well as you and Vito knew she was going to die, and that only turned her bloody mess in a tortural refusal she was going to die so soon after the horn rang. 

It seemed she wanted to say something, and you and Vito let the silence preserve for her, but she coudn’t say anything. Her last breath was taken away from her, and now she could only fall to the ground in that. She sat on a fetal position, blood scurring off her fingers that still lay squeezing her throat, trying to somehow stop the bleeding of her punctured vocal chords.

Every word she wanted to say would never be heard, being choked down by the meaty blood. She remained there, her body trembling and you hoped her light twitches weren’t from body spasms in trying to wake her from her slumber. 

Another choke. Her veiny red eyes founds yours. Linnette opened her mouth to say the words she so desperately wanted to say. Her teeth were covered in brown red, and as she choke again she spit the red liquid that was accumulating in her mouth, overspilling in to the earthy ground. And along with her cut throat, the large quantity of lost blood made a river down the path you had just taken, going back to the Cornucopia to announce her death to the rest of the Careers. 

The iron taste in her mouth was overpowering her senses, and soon, that was all she could think off. Her veins were cold as if someone or something had sucked her dry, and she for the first time appreciated the warmth that blood had provided her in the freezing winter season. 

She breathed for air. Tiny gasps but still despairing nonetheless. Of course, the red haird had grown tired, and she lamented that all the air she sucked was to be escaped by the gap that Vito had done to her. There was no use in fighting anymore, she had lost. Tears formed in her eyes only to never be shown to the world. They simply got stuck in her lashes as she felt herself dream to another realm. 

But you managed to understand one word she said in all the gurgling and choking mess. Her pink lips were pigmented with that of crimson, and as she spat another line of sticky and thick blood, she revealed the thought she had before she had gone completely limp. “Theo” she said in her final hiss. 

Sprawled over the grassy ground and accommodated by a bed of her own blood. Her eyes were wide awake looking away from the two of you, wanting her final moments to be from her own introspective, thinking back to her homeland and family. And as the cold she had never felt filled her to her senses, she wanted her last thought to be of Theodore, her boyfriend from back home. 

She had hoped you could relay her final words to him, which only filled her death with so much more unforgiving tragedy. Linette hated herself for not being able to say how much she loved him, she wanted to let him know she would never forget him. Even when they would be separated, she would remember him under the sunlight, while she could only fantasize about him from the moon afar.

Her trembling fingers were the last body partsc for her to completely cease from reality, and she hoped you and Vito could hear her unheard unspoken words. “I’m sorry” and she regretted that plead for forgiveness was turned into her final gurgle. 

Linnette was sorry for her survival outrage. She wished for you to understand her reasoning behind why she did it to begin with. It was like a theatrical loving tragedy, making the main character of the novel kill in order to be back for the confort of her partner.

But something you didn’t know was that this story was just like that, a love story filled with the elements of melancholy and despair, all in the name to be close to your partners loving heart. 

Before she left for the Capitol and into the death game, Theodore had come to her to lament with her. Theo proposed an idea, something that was on the back of him mind for a while, and he needed to expulse that though to her. He pleaded her to come back to him, that he was nothing but a heavy rock without her. He said “Come back, and let’s get married” that’s all he said, and that was sufficient for Linette to risk everything for him, and for a future life withing the warm embrace of each other. 

She apologized to you, but if you looked close enough in the rampage of her mind, behind her heavy circumstances laid the final words for not being able to keep her promise to a loved one. She was sorry becasyue she coudn’t do the task that was placed on her, to come back alive in the security of his sweet kiss. She already missed him, and Theodore could only take on the idea of dying to be near his Darling. He was more than convinced to got through Death’s realm to find her, and come back with her and fullfill their lives together away from anyone, just the two of them. 

Vito looked at you, somber caressed his expression by having to see her death, but it was especially haunting the knowledge he was the perpertrator of her murder. His finger dropped the stained weapon, that was swam droplets into the dry leaves of the trees towering you two.

His ragged breathings hinted you he was close behind when the chase occurred, a hunter hunting down a carnivore animal that was close behind your form, as it decided your were the her next meal. You hated thinking that, but you had to accept it. In this secluded place where no one would come to help you, you were at the very bottom of the food chain. 

The dilation of his pupils spiraling around at the sudden adrenaline charge that sparked every sense in one singular thought,  you. He was worried, and that fear was another loud and harder step to protect you, and with that primal surge of energy he completely ignored the voices of his principles and came running behind until he reached to get Linette.

And he had reached you on time. 

You looked back at him, calling out his name in a weak and broken down tone, as a fragile as a ceramic vase being hit to the harsh cold floor. His face said something you coudn’t read, he was completely paralyzed and stoic. His eyes were faded into the high of the clouds. The storm you saw before, merely minutes ago was completely gone now, only left with the smoky clouds after the rain, calm but with a clear hint that a devastating disaster had just occurred.

“Vito?” Another cry left your lips. He looked as dead as the girl by his feet. Cold, unmoving, and hollow behind his eyes. But he was fine, he had to be. Vito was standing in front of you, you were seeing his breaths quickening through the movement of his chest. He was alive and well, only he felt dead inside as all the dead corpses lying around the Cornucopia when he had left it behind. 

His irises were nothing you had seen before, none of his lively playfulness, nor the broken pieces of crystals that were crying out in pain. He was away from reality, and definitely far away from the life he learned with his family, a journey with not return ticket from his usual life.

It like his soul had left him. 

His hands trembled by his side, the blade just beside his feet not only was stained with Linnette’s blood, but also his concious guilt of self disgust. The very faded eyes were stationed on yours, irises still and yet his pupil shaking like a chemical reaction was happening behind his brain. He was so eerily still it out you on edge, and a clear whisper told your to run away from him, readying your legs for another round of running. 

But, why were you scared of Vito? 

And yet in that emotional turmoil you wanted to answer, his gaze was still directed at you, with nothing. Your Tribute Partner was looking at a picture of his own guilt, one were an invisible pencil drew him with Linnette’s dead body beside him. But it didn’t stop there, no, the pencil was growing bold and recreated the many more murdered corpses it was predicting Vito would commit. 

The blurred drawing of red lines, like that of a a spiderweb of blood decorated in the insides of his brain, showing his admission of a guilty killer. There was no coming back now, he stepped away from the stable line of human morality, and into the the abyss of murderous insanity. He was a murderer, and no matter your denying words he knew you would say to reassure him, it could not erase that simple, yet cutting fact. 

“Vito?” you called out to him again, a tint of shakiness painted the wall of your throat, making the cried tone of yours break his heart even more. You huffed air expectantly, he was finally looking at you, the real you and not what his imagination tried to trick him with. He turned his fingers into a fist, obligating himself to feel the prickling pain from the stabbing fingernail on his palm, in a way he was trying to indulge himself in some sort of self punishment, especially after seeing your terrified form and dilated pupils. 

And as cruel as it maybe, Vito didn’t mind the signing tunes of gratitude your heart whole heartedly sang to him. Deep in his soul, he knew you weren’t happy to have Linnette killed, but rather for saving you on your assured death scene. His eyes softened after seeing yours, scanning your colourful tones from your broken eyes, at least at ease him you were still alive, even against all odds you were still here. And that’s all he needed to know to feel like he could lift the deadly weight off of him. 

Vito called your name. His eyes were still void, and the charcoal irises only made him look like empty black holes, powerful enough to suck you in and grab a hold on you, not matter how much your tried to scurry away from him. 

“Run” he said. The new facade of Vito was showing up on the Arena. You half expected it was going to occur sooner or later, but you didn’t want to believe that would come in the form of that stoic expression he was doing. But the words he spoke, those were the hard hitting truth of the fantasy you tried to convince yourself was just that, and unreal expectation that only lived in your optimistic fantasy. The voice that you had gotten used to, was stranger to your ears. It was the sound of a thin thread of frost, creating little drawing of asphyxiating ice by your ear drums. 

He didn’t repeat himself, looking down at you with nothing but that disturbed face of his. Following your every move as you cried some more, pleading him to stay with you. But it didn’t work, he was still and convinced of the meaning behind those cold words. And after some low sobs you gathered yourself to leave your friend behind, your only friend, the one you would give your life up in order for him to come back to his family. 

His voice was echoing the singular words he said, leaving traces of tears down your cheeks and dampening your whole gear from the neck down. You wanted to scream at him, for ignoring your contractual agreement the two of you promised each other to carry, yet you still obeyed him. Even when his very actions were exactly like sending you to your horrible death. 

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