#like i try to set something up and they're like today won't work or i don't like this thing or whatever and it's just not gonna happen

[good-night-space-kid]

Hello again, thanks for replying to my ask (soon to be college freshman), it was super helpful!!! I am still quite worried about making friends in college and dealing with people rejecting me for a lot of reasons :-( Are there a lot of rude people or people who would reject my friendship? Should I just wait for people to reach out to me? Thanks 😸

i totally understand where you're coming from! college is just like any other facet of the world, so there will be people who don't want to be friends with you but there's also a bunch of people who do!

one of the true perks of being a college freshman is that every other freshman is also new to college and looking to make friends. my way into friendships has typically been by meeting people in class and inviting them to eat a meal at the dining center (especially works as a freshman since most people have a meal plan) or to join me to do something else (study, get boba, go to walmart, etc.)

if you have a car or don't have a car, going on group runs to walmart (is that too boring midwestern town?) is a great way to bond with people outside of class.

my go to is if somebody is in one of my classes and i think they're cool, i'll just ask if they want to study for an exam together or work on a project. in my upper levels i'm often spending 6+ hours cranking out a project and having a homework buddy makes life a lot better when it's midnight and you really need to finish making a map

i know everybody says this, but the easiest way to make friends really is just to join a club and go every week. it's a good way to get to know people outside of the classroom and makes it a lot easier to find activities other than school to do.

i'll be honest though, my freshman year i had a roommate (which i do recommend tbh) and she made friends for me lmao. she was in marching band and met a bunch of cool people and now we're all friends, so shoutout to her for that.

basically what ties all of these together though is just saying yes to opportunities and invitations when they're presented. if somebody invites you to study/eat a meal/go to the store/go to a club meeting, they're asking you because they want you to say yes

overall i'd just say to remember that everybody likes having friends, and most freshman are also actively trying to make friends so even if things don't work out long term they're probably not going to be rude about it. but also don't be afraid to find new friends if you don't like the group you're in because college is a really good time to meet a lot of people and you don't have to be around people that make you unhappy

#i've had friendships that just don't really work out but that's life you know #like i try to set something up and they're like today won't work or i don't like this thing or whatever and it's just not gonna happen #but it's fine #i'm a very busy person with an often kind of terrible schedule (see me being in class/working/leading club from 9am to 9pm tuesdays) #but just find something that works #i'm going to an estate sale with a girl next weekend because she said she wanted to go to one and i go to all of them lol #and i'm also going to say that one of my close friends freshman year and i no longer talk at all for a lot of reasons #but that's fine! #i've made a lot of friends that i really like and who don't make me unhappy and stressed all of the time #and a controversial opinion of mine is that i actually hated the welcome week activities #and i made all of my friends after that #there's no strict timeline you know #but finding someone to eat meals with if you don't have a roommate is a good tactic #i would always eat lunch with a guy from my calc class on fridays and we're still friends

[familyvideostevie]

steel drum weight of me

joel miller x fem!reader, 18+ mdni

summary: joel comes back from his wall shift with hands in need of some serious tlc. but why stop there? | 3.2k

warnings: fem!reader, fluff turned to smut, a tender blowjob, p in v sex, unprotected sex, riding, creampie

a/n: this could be in the same universe as come care about me and watching you with wonder but who knows. what matters is it's a post-part i jackson au and all is well. this is my first fic in a while and i hammered it out today so hopefully it's coherent. <3 series masterlist here.

__

Jackson looks its best in the winter.

You've always thought so with its endless skies gone white, blending in with the grey clouds carrying the constant threat of snow. The peaks you never tire of, such ethereal beauty in a world otherwise gone to shit, looming over town with a steadfastness that you can fool yourself into thinking means protection, means safety. In reality, they're just something nice to look at when you have a free moment.

It's also fucking cold.

But you can deal with that. You've spent more winters in the last twenty years than you'd like to remember mostly outside, freezing your ass off, fingers so numb you could barely pull the trigger. But when it counted, you did.

Winter now means a town full of children laughing and having snowball fights. It means big pots of stew and your pick of hats, scarves, and a good pair of boots. It means a warm house to go back to every night, a bed to crawl into, and a man you love to hold you.

Things could be worse.

You're home first today. Joel and Ellie are on the wall and have been since mid-morning. The light is already going, the sun dipping behind the Tetons, sky that winter mix of purple and pink that makes the breath catch in your throat no matter how many times you see it. There's a flu going around and taking people out for a few days at most but it means fewer bodies free for the wall and for patrol. You're pulling a double tomorrow and you're already looking forward to the hot bath you'll take after.

Today, though, you change from your work clothes to something softer, a sweater that travels between your drawer and Joel's, thick socks Dina gave you for your birthday last year. It's hard to heat houses like yours the way you used to but it works well enough to fight the chill so long as you layer. That's the name of the game these days: adapting.

You set the kettle to boil and forgo thinking about dinner for a few hours. Joel won't drink tea with you but if Ellie stops by she'll have some. Maybe you can convince her to watch the movie you pulled from the library this week. You love him, but Joel just doesn't appreciate comedies.

The front door creaks, the bell you have hanging from the doorknob jingling.

"S'me," Joel calls into the house. "You home?"

"Making tea." The kettle isn't steaming yet so you lean against the counter and wait.

The sounds of his return are familiar even though you can't see him. He locks the door with a click, shrugs his jacket off with a sigh. He sits down on the bench you put in the entryway so he can take his boots off. The thunk of one and then the other. He'll tuck them next to yours under the coat rack. When the weather is bad you try to come in the back door so not as to track snow through the house but you don't want his back to get any worse so a bench in front makes sense.

The kettle screams. You pull it off quick and pour the water into your mug -- a chipped green one with a dinosaur holding a cookie that you find endlessly amusing -- and leave it to steep. The floor creaks under your socked feet as you make your way into the hall. Joel still sits on the bench digging into the meat of one palm with his thumb like he's working the feeling back into them.

He looks up and his jaw softens a little. His cheeks are rosy from the cold and his hair a mess from the wind. "Evenin," he says.

"How was the wall?"

"Fine." He stops messing with his hands and rolls his shoulders back with a grunt. "Ellie swears she saw a moose on her last patrol. Said to tell you. I think she's fuckin' with me. How was your shift?"

"Fine," you echo. "Is she coming for dinner?"

He shakes his head. "Game night at Jesse's."

You cross the remaining distance between you and he parts his legs automatically so you can stand between his knees. You run a hand through his hair, pushing the greying fringe back from his eyes. He looks up at you and finally smiles, just a little. You drag your hand down the side of his face and enjoy the feel of his beard on your skin.

"Maybe she did see a moose." He rolls his eyes and brings a hand up to cover yours. You lean down to kiss him but something catches your eye and you pull back, tugging your hand from beneath his to circle his wrist.

"Jesus, Joel." He makes a surprised sound.

"Hey now, what --"

You pull his other hand from his knee and hold them both close to your face, turning them over in the light of the entryway. "You didn't wear gloves, did you?"

He just shrugs. That means someone else on the wall -- probably Ellie -- forgot theirs and he handed his own over.

The skin of his knuckles is dry and cracked, the rest of his palm dry and cold to the touch. You've seen them bloody, broken and bruised, and compared to that, this is tame. Welcome, almost. But you know he won't do a damn thing about it, let himself bleed rather than take a second to make things better.

And you've never minded this part. Taking care of him, making him slow down and rest for even just a little bit. You both know you'd get your hands dirty or worse for him and he for you, but this is the part he has trouble with. So you take the reigns.

It's part of how you fit together -- part of how you look after each other.

"We've got something for this." Joel looks unamused. You press a light kiss to one of his knuckles and his nostrils flare. "Go sit on the couch," you say.

"I'm fine --"

"Joel, they'll bleed if you don't let me --"

"I said I'm --"

"Hey," you say. He hears the finality of your tone and lets you have it, sighing your name in one long breath.

"Alright," he says. "Move, then."

You press a quick kiss to his lips and release his hands to step back. He stands with his usual grunt and you have to stop yourself from leaning into the width of him, from wrapping your arms around him and slotting your nose in his neck and never letting go.

"It's that salve Dina brought over last week," you tell him. "The new one for the winter. Smells nice. Good for this kind of stuff."

Joel makes his way to the couch and you fetch the tin from the kitchen.

"What's it made of?"

"Uh -- oil? And some flowers, I think? Wax, maybe."

He's settled into the cushions when you return, smirking. "It's okay to say you don't fuckin' know."

You sit next to him and unscrew the top, folding your legs so you're facing him. "Well then, I don't fuckin' know." You're sure to imitate his drawl.

"Cute."

"Gimme those hands, big guy."

The salve smells faintly of lavender and it's cold on your fingertips. Joel extends his right hand and you work it into his skin slowly, extra careful around where it's cracked and split. You feel his eyes on you but you let him look.

"Feels good, huh?" He hums. "If you'd wear your gloves then --"

"What was I gonna do, let her freeze?" So it was Ellie, then. You flick your gaze up and find his brow furrowed. If you have a free hand you'd smooth the crease with your thumb.

"No," you say. "Guess it's a damn good thing you have me here, then."

He chuckles, a throaty, rusty sound. "Guess so."

You finish the first hand and motion for his second. He gives it to you and you dig your thumbs into the meat of his palm. Joel lets you touch him whenever you like, for the most part. Pressing into his side when you walk down the street in town, trailing your lips down his neck until he whines just a little in your bedroom. You've worked knots out of his shoulders and cleaned blood from surface wounds. You can never get enough of him, of his warmth, the expanse of his tanned skin all yours for the taking.

And, boy, he touches you back.

So you take your time. You rub the salve between his fingers, over the ridges of knuckles split so many times you don't even know about. His hands are rough even when they're not dry and cracking, callused from years of hard work. From years of violence and playing guitar, shooting a gun and holding the people he loves. Dotted with scars and nicks, hands that have touched every part of you.

Joel's slightly slimy finger taps your chin. "You okay?" You've been stroking the same bit of his hand for who knows how long.

"Yeah," you say and mean it. You rub your own hands together to soak in some of the salve before putting the lid back on the tin and standing. "Need to let it soak in."

"Feels soaked in already," he grumbles.

"Stay there." He purses his lips. "I mean it, Joel."

"Bossy today," he says. "There's wood that needs choppin'." You ignore him since he's just being annoying. The salve goes back in the kitchen and his voice trails after you. "And I told Tommy I'd --"

You turn on the tap. "You gotta let that soak in," you say again from the sink.

"What? Can't hear over the water."

You turn off the tap and dry your hands. Joel is still on the couch when you return. "Sorry," you say. You run your hand through his hair again and settle back down next to him. "I said be patient."

"Don't think that's what you said."

"It's what I meant."

And he looks at you in that way that always makes your face feel hot. Like he's seeing right to the bone of you, like he's laying you bare on the floor in his mind. Like he never wants to stop looking at you, next to him on the couch, leg pressed to yours. Like he loves you.

"Alright," he says.

You get an idea, the flames licking at your belly and your hands itching to touch him again, to touch him differently than before. That idea has you grabbing a pillow and tossing it to the floor, has you getting up and drawing the curtains before you sink to your knees before him.

Joel only looks mildly surprised, eyebrows raised, mouth tugging up at the corner. "Now, I ain't gonna complain but --"

"Then don't," you say. You tug his shirt from his waistband and start working on his belt. "Gotta pass the time somehow. And I don't know what we're doing for dinner yet, so maybe I'm just stalling."

"Hell of a way to stall." He reaches for you to touch your face, maybe, or help you with his belt, when you click your tongue. "We can just go to the community hall--"

"Don't touch," you remind him. "You have to let it--"

"Soak, Jesus, yeah, yeah." Joel tips his head back along the sofa and takes one deep breath. If he really wanted to he could ignore you and you'd let him get away with it, but if there's one thing you and Joel have solidified, it's trust. He trusts you to take care of him, to handle him with hands that love him.

So you do. He lifts his hips just a little so you can tug his jeans down, zipper undone and button popped. You pull out his cock, already half-hard at the promise of what's to come. You spit into your palm and stroke him once root to tip and he hisses. More blood flows and he stiffens in your hand.

"You just gonna look at it?"

You give him a squeeze for being a shit. He laughs but it sounds punched out, on the edge. Frankly it's an effort not to take him in your mouth right away. You've always loved this -- the exchange of power, the trust. You're the one on your knees but you're calling the shots. And he's mouthwatering. The way his cock curves a little, the vein that runs along the underside. The mushroom head a little pinker than the rest, the wiry hair at his base. The hefty weight of his balls in your hand, on your tongue. You know how to make it good for him and it's good for you, too.

Joel opens his mouth to no doubt say something else annoying so you finally drag your tongue along the vein, swirling a little at the top before taking just the tip of him in your mouth. His precome is salty. You work your hand along the rest of him as you start to suck in earnest, hollowing your cheeks and taking a little more each time.

"Look so pretty, baby," Joel says. His voice is gravely, broken in his throat. You manage to take almost all of him and you swallow, just once. Your reward is your name spilling from his mouth in a groan.

It's messy. Spit beads at the corner of your mouth and drips a little as you work him, breathing through your nose when you take him all the way. So good, takin' all of me, keep goin'.

Joel has clearly forgotten your directive as he winds one hand in your hair and pulls just a little, just enough to make you moan around him. You don't scold him for it, instead keeping your eyes on his face. His head is tipped back just a little, lips parted at he gazes down at you. His other arm is stretched along the length of the couch, his fingers digging into the fabric as you bob on his cock.

You know he's close. You can feel how he's trying hard to keep his hips down, trying not to fuck your throat cause usually he asks first. So it's only a little surprising when he pulls you off him, eyes a little glazed and some color high on his cheeks.

He wipes spit from the corner of your mouth with the pad of his thumb. "Why don't you c'mere?" he says. "Let me fill you up."

"Joel." This was supposed to be about making him feel good. You know even if he comes in your mouth he'll ask you let him touch you, so frankly you don't mind if he fucks you or not.

He smirks, presses his fingers into the side of your neck a little. You swallow so he can feel it. "We both know you can take it," he drawls, eyes dark. "Always gets you goin', my cock in your mouth."

You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal pooling in your gut. He's right but he's also an asshole. "You're annoying," you tell him.

"So is that a no?"

You drag the flat of your tongue up his shaft one last time as punishment before standing, using his knees as leverage to get off your own. He shucks off his jeans the rest of the way as you drag down your pants, letting them pool with your underwear at your feet before stepping out. Joel holds out a hand for you to balance on and you take it, putting your other on his shoulder.

"Feels softer already," you mutter. Joel snickers and you straddle him. He uses one hand to drag his fingers through your cunt and you fail to swallow a gasp.

"Well, look at that," he says. "I was right." He pushes two fingers into you and they go easily, your hips jerking as he pumps them in and out once, twice, and then you're empty again.

"Smug bastard," you manage. He brings his hand to his mouth and takes a long lick before surging forward to kiss you. You can taste yourself on his tongue and it makes you even wetter.

Joel licks into your mouth and you kiss him back sloppily, desperately, in the way you know he likes. You're so busy with that hands on his face, his beard scratching your skin deliciously, that you don't notice what else he's doing. His hand presses into the bare skin of your back under your shirt and you lift up a little on instinct and then --

The head of his cock nudges at your entrance and his hand presses again and you meet the movement of his hips with your own and he fills you with just one stroke.

You moan in unison, Joel's arm wrapping around your back as you curl yours around his neck, mouths not so much pressed together as hovering as you pant, as you adjust. Even with how wet you are Joel is a stretch, a welcome one, but a stretch regardless. You shift your hips, roll them back and forth a little.

"Go on, then," you tell him. "Fuck me."

He laughs.

His lips leave yours and trail down your chin, sucking spots onto your neck and on that spot that makes you keen as he does what you ask. He goes slow at first, letting you meet him thrust for thrust. One hand snakes up your shirt, thumbs at your nipple when he finds no bra in the way. You wing your fingers in his hair and tug, tug until he picks up the pace, until all you can hear is the smack of his flesh against yours.

"Joel -- Joel -- right there --"

"M'not gonna -- I -- fuck --"

"Said you were gonna fill me up, didn't you?" you pant, managing to find a bit of cheek in the haze of your fucking. "C'mon, Miller. Don't keep a lady wait--"

His hips pick up the pace, his hands pressing into you hard enough to bruise. You give up trying to tease him and hang on for dear life, managing to snake a hand between your legs to rub at your clit as he pounds into you. The only thing you can say is his name over and over as you feel the hook pull taught, feel the head of his cock brush against and then pound that spot that makes your vision blur.

Joel comes just before you do, his thrusts stuttering and his name on your lips. You feel it, the heat inside you and it's enough to send you over the edge, your cunt squeezing him as he empties inside you.

You press your forehead to his and catch your breath. He palms your neck, your jaw, slides his thumb lazily under your eye and kisses the corner of your mouth.

"Hell of a salve," he manages.

You slot your lips over his. "Wear your damn gloves." Joel laughs and it shifts him inside you. Even softening it makes you both hiss a little. "Just gimme a second."

His hand drags up and down your back, pressing into your spine. "Take your time," he says. "M'clearly not goin' anywhere."

"You never stop, do you?"

Joel kisses you again. "'fraid not."

You laugh into his neck. "Good."

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

#joel miller x reader #joel miller smut #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #the last of us fanfiction #joel miller fanfiction

[woso-dreamzzz]

Lego

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Jessie Fleming x Hardersson!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: There's Lego in your practice bag

You don't know who packed your Lego in your practice bag but you're very grateful.

Morsa doesn't let you take the Lego out of the house, let alone play with it while she and Momma are busy.

Training is pretty boring today and, after shadowing Zećira for a while, you return to your spot on the side of the pitch and dig through your bag.

That's where you found your Legos - squished between your girl-swan and girl-moose. Usually, you would play with your stuffed animals but the lure of your out-of-place Legos give you pause.

They're in a loose plastic baggy after Momma threw away the actual box they came in. There's all different types of bricks that you aimlessly click into place as the Not-Wolfsburg team practice in the distance.

You reach into your bag again to grab your snack and guzzle down your juice.

You click a brown piece into place on top of a green brick.

You pick up a yellowish brick. It's almost the same colour as your goldfish crackers and you take a moment to study it.

Momma and Morsa always tell you not to stick strange things into your mouth but your Lego isn't strange and you'll only have it in your mouth for a moment - just to find out what it tastes like.

Only you don't have it in your mouth for a little while.

You have it in your mouth for a long time and, when you hurriedly suck in a breath, it doesn't come back out again.

For a moment, you're confused and then panic sets in.

Your Lego won't come out and you can't breath properly.

You try to cough it out, tears blurring your vision, but the only sound that comes out of your mouth is an odd high-pitched whistling. It scares you a lot and you grasp at your throat.

You wish you had listened to Momma and Morsa.

●～●～●～●～

Jessie's running sprints by herself, trying to get herself in the right mindset for shooting practice when she spots you.

You're lying face first in your pile of Lego (which is frankly odd because you are neither the kind of kid to nap so early in the day nor one to play with Lego unsurprised) twitching slightly.

Your little outstretched fingers are flexing ever so slightly and the rise and fall of your chest is shallow, almost like you're in some panicked state of sleep.

Usually, Jessie would leave you be - Pernille was complaining just a moment ago that you got up three times last night - but something about the way you're laying (with Lego bricks digging into your cheeks) doesn't sit right with her.

As she gets closer, she starts to move faster, suddenly aware of the wheezing sounds your little body is making and how each rise of your chest is shaky and stilted.

Jessie grasps a hold of your shoulders and rolls you over onto your back.

Your eyes are barely open, almost slumped completely closed as tears leak from them. Your lips are a horrid purple-blue colour and it doesn't take long for Jessie to work out what's wrong.

"Hey!" She yells, effectively getting the attention of everybody on the pitch," I need medics over here! Now!"

She flips you easily over again, balancing your limp little body on her forearm and your chin rests in the gap between her thumb and first finger, keeping your mouth wide open.

"Quickly!" Jessie yells over her shoulder, noticing the way that Magda and Pernille have begun to sprint over.

She delivers five harsh smacks to the spot between your shoulder blades.

The first four do nothing but the last one causes a saliva-covered Lego brick to tumble out of your mouth and onto the floor.

You suck in a ragged breath, your airway finally free from obstruction, and promptly burst into tears.

Jessie flips you upright again, settling you against her body as you sob, your shaking fingers latching tightly onto her training top.

Magda and Pernille arrive moments later with the medics, who hurriedly place an oxygen mask over your face when your lips remain a soft tinge of blue.

"Oh, princesse," Pernille cries, gently taking you from Jessie as you sob and cry," That was so scary. Was that scary?"

"What happened?" Magda looks wildly between you and Jessie, eyes wide in panic.

"Lego," Jessie replies," She was choking on one. I got it out but...She was already halfway to passing out. Sorry I didn't get there quicker."

"Shut up." Magda pulls Jessie in for a tight hug, squeezing her. "You've probably just saved her life. I can't thank you enough, Jessie. She could have died and you just saved her."

Jessie doesn't want to think about that - about the way that you could have easily died on the side of the pitch without anybody realising, starved of oxygen.

You're still crying, albeit more softly than before, when Magda pulls away, clapping Jessie on the shoulder before moving closer to you.

You're still wearing the oxygen mark but you're regaining colour in your face and your lips are slowly going back to normal.

"Hi, princesse," She says softly, stroking at your cheek," You really scared us earlier. Where'd you get all that Lego?"

"In-In my bag," You wheeze," Was in my bag. Sorry."

"In your bag?" Pernille asks," You don't have to be sorry, princesse. Now you know not to put them in your mouth."

"Scary," You croak out.

"Yeah, I'm sure it was," Magda says as another medic checks your breathing again, giving her a firm nod and removing the mask," Super, duper scary, huh?"

You nod, flexing your fingers against Pernille's top. "Scary," You repeat again. You're pointedly not looking at the baggy of Legos that Jessie is slowly packing up and slipping into your backpack.

"I know," Pernille whispers to you, resting her chin on the top of your head and holding you close," I know, princesse, but it's okay. We're gonna have a little talk with Emma and we'll go home. We're going to get all nice and cosy in our pyjamas and just relax for the rest of the day, alright?"

You nod against her as Morsa hurries off to talk to Coach Emma.

Jessie takes her place, sitting in front of you. She's holding girl-swan and girl-moose, offering them to you.

"Thank you."

She smiles at you. "No problem. I hope you feel better soon."

#woso x reader #hardersson x reader #pernille harder x reader #pernille harder #magdalena eriksson x reader #magdalena eriksson #woso community #jessie fleming x reader #jessie fleming #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #The Big Adventures Universe

[leohamatoblog]

What They Text You: Applies to any...cause they're all a bunch of dorky teens and i dont care what anyone says.

Leo:

• look at my new plant

• would you like to have tea tomorrow?

• you look so pretty 😍 leo you cant see me and? i bet you do

• am i really an old man???? 😭😭😭

• be honest, do you think raph can beat me in an arm wrestle? if you dont answer in 5 minutes, i will assume it's yes and i will prove you wrong.

• good morning honey. have a wonderful day today! ❤️

• are you still mad at me...? LEO YOU SET MY MICROWAVE ON FIRE. so is that a yes?

• have you eaten yet? you need to eat...and drink something other than (your favorite drink)

• i got benched because i can't stop throwing up. i'm fine! leo...you threw up blood literally 10 minutes ago. it was only a little 🙄

• i'm in desperate need of a kiss right now.

• check out my new katanas

• remember that i love you 🥰🥰❤️

• for the last time, i wont download tik tok. you know how bad i hyperfixate 😠

• stop playing candy crush and pay attention to me

• keep it up and you won't get the knots worked out of your shoulders.

• mikey just called me a boomer...i feel like i should be offended. you are a boomer. I DONT KNOW WHAT THAT MEANS.

• y/n, i love you, but for the love of god, PLEASE PICK UP YOUR SOCKS.

• *drunk* im in a relationship why do i have your name as my love cause my girl/boyfriend/partner will definitely not like that and i dont know who you are but they will kick your ass and i dont even feel sorry cause you arent love leo...you're drunk. NO IM TAKEN

• call me cause i would like to hear about your day and i miss you

• i love you my love ❤️

Raph:

• come watch me bench im bored

• can you please come get mikey before i hit him?

• wear that giant sweatshirt to our date. ya look adorable in it

• why did you ask donnie to help you with your homework?? um...cause it's about neurons and receptors in the brain. i could've helped with google! 😒

• YOU NEED TO COME KILL THIS COCKROACH RIGHT NOW.

• hey babe. how was your day? ❤️

• have i ever told you how beautiful you are? what did you do. nothing...? i just think you're beautiful. raphael. fine..i broke casey's nose. AGAIN!?!

• i'm so tired...wanna come nap with me?

• facetime me so i can show you this cool trick spike can do

• remember how i said i was going to be more level headed? well donnie's new robot almost broke my arm and it's no more. you lasted 1 day more than the last time.

• *you sent a selfie* yeahhhh that's my baby 😍😍

• eat or im fighting you.

• jokes on you ive always been completely unhinged and it's bold of you to think i cant be worse.

• im sick. can you bring me some soup? 😣

• i miss you like a lot and i hate when you're gone

• i love you a whole lot 😘

• im just gonna start carrying you everywhere if you dont stop tripping over NOTHING. im just gonna trip harder. Y/N NO.

• mikey said we're his parents just an fyi. he's always been my son

• i made waffles. you better come eat some

• damn babe you're fine 🤤

Donnie:

• no i wont do your homework for you

• tell shelldon to stop talking back to me before i ground him for eternity

• im in a house of IDIOTS. technically it's a lair. not now y/n.

• you look like a pile of swans in that sweater 🥰

• i can't sleep. wanna play online scrabble?

• sweetie you need to eat more than a bag of gummy worms and a bag of doritos

• you need to come sit with me while i work because i need an extra set of eyes. you just miss me 😏 don't start.

• don't call a plumber! i know how to fix the sink. i got this 😎 donnie the pipe exploded the last time you "had" this.

• *you sent a selfie* you look nice

• im gonna blow up. a person, a thing, a place, all of the above? yes.

• you need to drink straight broth, it'll help soothe your stomach ache

• im dying. you have a cold.

• i love you but please stop trying to assemble ikea furniture on your own.

• good luck on your exams/work project! 😘

• TELL RAPH TO STOP PICKING ME UP TO MOVE ME.

• leo just called me an asparagus. i didn't know how to respond so his phone will self destuct in 5 minutes. DONNIE.

• you're so pretty 🥺

• i made you something and you have to come get it right now. im literally about to have my wisdom teeth out. reschedule it

• listen to the playlist i made you or else im disabling your pirated tv show service

• thanks for listening to me 💜

Mikey:

• babe come snuggle with me

• i made you brownies so come eat them with me while we watch crognard

• i haven't seen you in so long 😭 you saw me this morning. BUT THAT WAS HOURS AGO

• angelcakessssss i love you

• look at this cat video i found

• FACETIME ME THERES A PUPPY

• are you awake? mikey it's 3 am. good, so would you still love me if i was a worm? go to sleep.

• i bet you look like a cuddly bear today 🥰

• im so hungry. can you bring me ice cream?

• raph wont stop being mean to me. can you beat him up? cause a (your height) tall human can beat a 6ft turtle's ass 😑 i believe in you.

• im coming over with my new call of duty game and we're having a game a thon!

• i found a cat. mikey no. his name is gerald. MIKEY WE ALREADY HAVE 10 OF THEM. HALF ARE NAMED GERALD.

• i made you a mixtape i cant wait for you to hear it

• how mad would you be if i crashed the shell razor in a derby and broke my arm? very. then i did not do that.

• im sick. come help me feel better 😭

• call me cause april just told me something about casey that's wild

• i found this cool rock that i think you'll like

• it's so cool i can date you. you're for real the coolest. you broke my coffee table again didn't you? no...maybe.

• im bringing you lunch cause my baby needs to eat!

• this song reminds me of you 💕

#rise of the tmnt #tmnt 2012 #tmnt ask blog #tmnt bayverse #tmnt donatello #tmnt leonardo #tmnt michelangelo #tmnt raphael #ask blog #tmnt 2003 #tmnt headcanons

[feelbokkie]

Things SKZ does when you're pregnant

☀️Feelbokkie M.list☀️

genre: fluff

pov: 2nd person

description: just cute things skz would do while you are pregnant

pairing: bf!skz x reader with a uterus

warnings: swearing

word count: 1,021 (unedited)

©feelbokkie (2023) — all rights reserved. reposting/modification of any kind is not tolerated.

방 찬 (Bang Chan)

Plays Music for Your Bump

he bought one of those headphone sets that you can use to put on baby bumps the second he found out they existed

it's basically a Channie's room (rip Channie's room)

he's prescreening all the songs beforehand though

got to make sure they're baby appropriate

plays a few skz songs

red lights and drive are hard passes

plays a wide variety of music

he's trying to create a musical genius at this point

with his genes, it's very much possible that this might happen

takes the baby's suggestions every seriously

"The baby kicked," "They must really love this song," "Or they hate it," "...Hey, if you like the song, kick. If you hate the song, stay still!" "Chan, don't confuse the child." "Hey, maybe they're a dancer like their uncles."

이 민 호 (Lee Min-Ho)

Making All of the Food You're Craving

yes, even the bat shit insane ones like pickles and peanut butter

he knows that it's 50% his fault that you're hungry and want specific things and that you're doing 100% of the work so the least he could do was make you what you and the parasite baby want to eat

the first time he did it, you were talking to yourself about something you were craving, not thinking he was paying attention

you were debating if you should order it or go out and buy some and take it home

he immediately went into the kitchen and made it without a second thought once he realized that you were probably craving it because of the baby

he came back some time later and just placed the food in your lap

you legit cried

blame the hormones

one time you asked him directly make you something and he jokingly said no

you cried again and he felt so bad that he made it and got your favorite dessert

서 창 빈 (Seo Chang-Bin)

Lifts Your Bump

definitely feels guilty and responsible for you being in this situation

i mean he partly is to blame but you were there too

so he will constantly just come up behind you and lift up your bump to get your back a break

and he'll stay there for a while

and if you two go to the beach for whatever reason, the first thing he's doing is digging a bump shaped hole so you can lay on your stomach comfortably

buys that bump comfort tape and helps you tape your stomach to give you some relief throughout the day while he's out working

did research to make sure he was doing it safely of course, he doesn't want to hurt you or the baby

helps you do some exercises and stretches to ease your pain too

황 현 진 (Hwang Hyun-Jin)

Paints You and Your Bump

the second he found out that you were pregnant, he got several ideas of things to paint on your stomach

started earlier than he probably should have

but when you started getting bigger and more self-conscious, he decided to paint a portrait of you and your bump

and he makes you look like some sort of angel or divine being

you almost don't believe that he painted you

hangs it where he knows you'll see it often

greatly boosts your confidence

will also play on it constantly

"how are my muses doing today?"

also paints a mural in the baby's room in his free time because he can

한 지 성 (Han Ji-Sung)

Tells Your Bump Stories

more specifically, he's giving the baby a detailed play-by-play of whatever show he's currently watching

you bought one of those mics you can attach to your stomach so you could talk to the baby and it is almost always in his hands

"...and their dad is kind of an asshole--you don't have to worry about that, your dad is cool as fuck" "Jisung, language," "if we normalize swearing when they're young, we won't have to worry about them having the mouth of a sailor like Felix. I read it in a book" "...I don't think they mean while the baby is still in the womb,"

reads them them manga too

if he's watching tv and you're sitting next to him, he's pulling out the mic and narrating everything that's on the screen

will sing every once in a while, have to prepare the baby for the rest of their life now so they're not shocked once they're born

이 용 복 (Lee Felix Yong-Bok)

Massages and Foot Rubs

he massages you and gives you foot rubs anyway, especially if you ask for them

but when you told him you were pregnant, one of the first things he did was research how to safely massage you

secretly practiced on the boys so he wouldn't hurt you or the baby until he was confident enough to massage you

still was nervous to actually massage you

rubs your feet more often than the rest of you because it's safer

once you're towards the end of your pregnancy and increasingly uncomfortable from all the added weight you're carrying, he gets over his fears and massages you to give you some relief

Will cuddle you after too while resting his head on your bump

김 승 민 (Kim Seung-Min)

Talking and Singing to Your Bump

this man has been talking to his baby the second he learned that their ears are fully developed

and he's talking to them like a normal person, not baby talk

full conversations too

he'll come home for a long day of work and come tell both of you about his day

often comes and lays his head on your bump and sings to it

just little songs mostly

also sang songs in his JYP voice because why not

whenever you express discomfort, he is lecturing the poor unborn child

"Seungmin, they're not even born yet." "Y/n, please, I am having a private conversation." "Sorry, my bad."

양 정 인 (Yang Jeong-In)

Weekly Progress Shots with Your Bump

mostly, he's having fun taking pictures of how much you're growing each month

every week without fail he is pulling out the camera and harassing you to take the picture

will style you and get props so you can have fun with it

one of the more common props is whatever food item the baby is the same size as

makes a video with all of the pictures and finishes it with the last photo of you holding the baby where the bump was

he's already planning the baby's month photoshoots

—

Buy me a coffee?

—

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[kaynothanks]

Behind The Sun

Pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!Reader

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I don’t want to go alone."

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

"With flickering lights and all?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I volunteer as Tribute!"

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

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

Nothing was going to be okay.

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

Logan looked confused. "What?"

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

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

"No."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why?"

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

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

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

"But he said—"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He huffed annoyed. "What do you want?"

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you consider yourself a Career?"

The blonde snorted. "Does it matter?"

"Yes."

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

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

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

"And you do?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

---

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Why? Thought it would be low?"

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

"Did you?"

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

Your forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"

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

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

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

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

You huffed. "Yes."

"What did we talk about?"

"No swearing."

"And?"

"I really love the Capitol."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stared. "Of course."

"You would do anything for him?"

"Yes."

"Kill for him?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He frowned. "What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

"But what if… what if you don’t?"

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

"You told me not to trust him!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Another twig snapped.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But first, you had a Career to kill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[ddejavvu]

mv Monday!!!!

Do you think you could write a mall!au where reader works at like a women’s store (think Victoria’s Secret or aerie type) but mall employee!sirius/remus come in all the time to flirt with her? I don’t have a pref for either boy, whatever you feel like!!! 🫶🫶🫶

today is multiverse monday, send me any au you can think of! :)

this post is 18+, minors dni.

It's 1 PM on a Thursday, so you're not surprised that the only people in your store are Lupin and Black. They come more often than you do, you're fairly certain, and they don't work with you.

"Boys," You drawl, watching their pathetic attempt to seem casual wandering amongst, "If you're not here to buy something, you know I have to ask you to leave."

Both men turn, once more feigning coy. Remus reaches for a pair of panties beside him without looking, and Sirius brings up the rear as he approaches your counter.

"Just these," Sirius grins, and Remus sets the lacy underwear in front of you, price tag facing up and ready to be scanned.

You chew the inside of your cheek; you should challenge them. You should stop them in their tracks, refuse to sell them the underwear, because you know they're only buying it to stay in the store. They're relentless, and although their persistence pleases you, you're determined to get them to crack. They won't admit that they're pursuing you, but you're tired of the game they're playing; you want to win.

Unfortunately, you can't just deny them the sale. You don't have good reason, not reason enough for corporate, and their rules are that you're allowed to refuse service only on pre-approved grounds.

Horniness is not one of them, so you scan the panties with a tinny beep.

"$18.39." You wait for them to blanch, to back down because they hadn't expected to get this far, and $20 is more than they're willing to pay to flirt.

Instead, "Can we have that gift-wrapped, dove?"

You try to tamp down the burning of your cheeks at Remus's words, watching as he swipes his card when prompted. The payment goes through, and you snag tissue paper from under the counter, carefully folding the panties in on themselves until you can package them in a neat square. You set them gently into a pink striped bag, one that holds its stiff shape as you tug at the black strings, and pass it over the counter, letting Lupin take it from your outstretched fingers.

"Thanks." Sirius grins, and Remus pawns the bag off onto him. You wait for them to leave, to take their daily dose of teasing and head back to their record store, but instead Sirius reaches out, setting the bag back onto the counter.

"Gotta present for you, angel." Sirius grins, "Wanna try 'em on? Just to make sure they fit, and all."

Your stomach tries migrating to your feet. You're surprised by their bold moves, they're usually more lazily flirtatious. Now they're outright brazen, and you're at a loss for words.

Remus sees your brain malfunctioning, and he considers that it might be for the wrong reasons. He grabs hold of Sirius's elbow, "If you're uncomfortable-"

But you don't let him finish, quickly shaking off your momentary shock.

"Come on, you two," You hop the counter, landing tantalizingly close to them before they have the chance to stumble backwards. You take a hold of each of their hands, motioning for Sirius to grab the gift bag with a tilt of your chin towards the pink plastic.

"Dressing rooms are vacant. I can manage a fifteen minute break," You start towards the stalls on the opposite wall of the store, "That's seven minutes for each of you, and one for cleanup. Don't be loud." You round on them just before you reach the dressing rooms, narrowing your eyes at their pleasantly surprised expressions, "If you get me fired we can't ever do this again."

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfiction #remus lupin oneshot #remus lupin blurb #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x reader fanfiction #sirius black x reader #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfiction #sirius black oneshot #sirius black fluff #sirius black drabble #sirius black blurb #sirius black x reader fanfiction #wolfstar x reader #ddejavvu’s multiverse mondays #multiverse mondays

[2btheanswertothequestion]

(The final part of November Paramedic; part 6 is here and the AO3 version is here. If you want to avoid the smut, you should read on AO3.)

Eddie's apartment is full of song, but for probably the first time since he moved in it's not metal.

Max sings This Old Heart of Mine with gusto, her attention glued to her fingers as they move on the fretboard. She's in an awkward position, sitting slumped and with her leg propped onto five pillows on the coffee table. An elastic bandage is wrapped around her knee. Steve was right – she did exacerbate the injury by walking on it, and had to spend the next three days on bed rest. The knee already looks a lot better, less swollen but likely still tender, not that she's uttered a peep about it. Today is the first day she's been up and running, though not without support. Since crutches is the uncoolest kind of mobility aid Eddie took it upon himself to dig out a cane from his closet for her to use. When he asked if she liked it, she said it was great for thwacking people; he assumes that means 'yes'.

On the other end of the couch, Gareth taps along on a handheld drum. Max felt like she kept losing the rhythm and wanted extra help. Eddie is certain she was doing fine, but hey, if it calms her last-minute nerves, so be it.

The song ends, the last note lingering in the otherwise silent room. Max heaves a sigh, guitar slipping from her grip as she relaxes into her seat.

Gareth is beaming with pride; Eddie feels it too. Approximately two months of practice led to this. Just two months! He knows that she's been diligent, but still – it's impressive. Damn, he has the raddest little neighbor.

He rests his elbows on the couch's backrest and pokes Max's shoulder.

"It sounds great. You'll do amazing tomorrow."

She nods, lips tugging into a sweetly pleased smile.

"I'm ready," she says. Craning her neck, she locks their gazes. "Are you performing too?"

"No. The stage will be only yours. Although," he pats the acoustic in her lap, "I will of course be there and make sure you treat DragonSlayer with the respect she deserves."

Max's eyes crinkle with mischief.

"She won't react to you ever again after I show her what real talented fingers can do," she says, wiggling said fingers at him, and giggles when he gasps like a Victorian lady at the implied vulgarity. Turning to Gareth, she asks, "Are you gonna be there?"

Gareth's expression crumbles.

"I can't. Something is going around at work and we're short-staffed, so I'm no longer free," he says miserably. "I'll come next time. You'll do it again, right?"

She smiles wryly. "Unless I crash and burn."

Eddie pushes off the backrest and rounds the couch. He hates to spoil the mood any more, but…

"Before I forget," he says, piercing them with an unamused look. He also tries standing with his hands on his hips, but there's no way he can convey the same bitchy determination Steve can with the stance, so it feels hollow. He crosses his arms instead. "You two need to stop conspiring against me."

They blink at him, baffled.

"What?" Gareth says.

"You've been trying to set me up with Steve!"

"Well, yeah," Max says. "But not with him."

"Yeah, not with her."

It's Eddie's turn to blink. Releasing a breath that shudders with emotion, he closes his eyes and rubs circles on his temples.

"You're telling me you've worked independently of each other this entire time?"

"Seems like it!" Gareth laughs, though the mirth dims quickly. "But… who's done the best job?"

They whip toward each other. Their postures are tense, bow strings drawn and ready to shoot. Flames of competitiveness engulf them. Weirdos.

Gareth points at Max. "I made them go on a date!"

"I made them go on two dates!"

"I'm the reason they got to know each other!"

Max scoffs. "Oh, please. As if I wouldn't have eventually introduced them."

"Would you?"

"Sure. They're both older brother figures I can't get rid of who're hopelessly single and into men." She shrugs. "Why not?"

Eddie gasps again, this time more like a grandmother who's been presented with an incomprehensibly scribbled drawing from her toddler grandchild.

"I'm an older brother figure to you?" he asks, bending down to Max's level, his tone patronizingly light.

She sends him a withering look and reaches for her cane.

"Well, they almost kissed on my date!" Gareth shouts.

Max’s jaw drops. She loses her grip on the cane but gains a terrifying intensity in her eyes. A chill runs through Eddie, the tips of his appendages tingling. This is the closest he's ever gotten to catching frostbite.

"What," she says flatly.

Eddie scrambles away, metaphorically and physically, in case she decides to smack him anyway.

"N-no, we- It wasn't- Our faces just- But we didn't!"

"But it was so close," Gareth says, fingers pinched and with maybe the fraction of a fraction of an inch of air between his thumb and forefinger.

"Huh." Max continues staring Eddie down like she's plotting his murder for keeping secrets. He's about to point out that he can't be set up with Steve if he's dead when she swivels back to Gareth. "I'm making them go on a third date."

"Wait, what? When?"

"Open mic tomorrow night," she says, like he's an idiot. The scrunch of Gareth's mouth indicates that he agrees with her.

"Shit." He pats himself down, in search of something. "What time is it? Where's my phone? If I text him now I can schedule a spontaneous hang-out for tonight!"

Eddie's eyes double in size.

"Woah, woah, woah!" he exclaims, hands raised and palms facing out, as if he's warding off wild animals. "You have Steve's number?"

Gareth pauses his search to tilt his head at Eddie, like he's a puzzle he can't figure out how to solve. Or maybe just like he's a huge fucking moron. "You're telling me you don't?"

Eddie clamps his lips together; fights the urge to fidget beneath their judgmental stares. Max slowly shakes her head.

"Dumbass. You need us."

Eddie makes an ugly face at her. "Shut up."

She tuts. "So aggressive. That's a symptom of sexual frustration."

"I'm not-"

"Remember: thin walls."

"They're not that thin! I never hear you!"

"Because I know how to keep my business to myself. And you've heard me practicing the guitar, haven't you?"

He has. Shit. He buries his face in his hands.

"Shit."

"That's right," Max says snippily. "I hear everything. Every. Thing."

"Oh," Gareth says. He squeezes her good knee, oozing empathy from every pore. "Oh, you poor, innocent girl."

She soaks it up, lamenting, "It's been awful."

"Yeah… But, um. You realize that if they get together, then… "

Gareth trails off as Max nods miserably.

"Yeah, I know. I'm resigned to my fate."

Eddie pushes the heels of his hands into his eye sockets until he sees stars. He needs friends who are less invested in his sex life.

Max leaves soon after, cane clacking louder than necessary against the floor. (Eddie suspects he might not get it back once she's healed.) She stops in the doorway on her way out. While smiling in a manner that makes him break out in a cold sweat, she tells him not to take his car to the open mic and to dress nicely.

And then she's gone.

Gareth harrumphs.

"She's planning something for tomorrow. Damnit. This is unfair, you know. She's known him longer; she can talk to and influence both of you in ways I can't. I'm at a disadvantage here."

Eddie, without replying, twirls on the spot and faceplants on the couch.

Gareth groans above him. "Oh, what is it now?"

'Same as always' is what he'd like to say. Instead, he saves his breath by rolling onto his side, curling up his legs, and giving Gareth a look. It must convey how he feels, because Gareth's irritation melts off, replaced with something gentle. He squats by the couch and brushes a stray lock from Eddie's forehead. A bit like how Uncle Wayne would when he still lived at home.

"Eddie, man, you don't have to be nervous. He likes you."

"That makes it worse," Eddie says, voice raspy and thick, and fuck, he's not going to cry over this, is he? Bawl when a boy doesn't like him is normal, not when they do. "He likes me now, but if he finds out I'm his obsessive quasi-stalker? Then what?"

"I think you're blowing this out of proportion," Gareth says. He starts scratching at Eddie's scalp; it's good enough to dry his tears and slow his pulse. "Max knows about the calendar and she doesn't mind!"

Eddie snorts derisively. "Because she's nineteen and doesn't yet understand how some actions can have terrible consequences."

Gareth frowns at that with obvious disapproval. "She's still an adult. For that matter, so are you and Steve? Just talk to him about it." He sighs. "Look, I don't think he'll mind so much that he'll never get over it. And if he does… it sucks. But you'll live. There are dozens of hot guys out there, waiting to be swept off their hot… feet." He pauses to snicker.

"You're so bad at this," Eddie whispers; Gareth snickers even more.

"You know why I've stuck by you all these years?" he asks once done laughing. "Why I even started hanging with you in the first place?"

"You had stoner aspirations and I zero qualms selling weed to fourteen-year-olds?"

Gareth flicks his forehead. "Because you're cool. And likable. And you make people happy when you're around. So go out there tomorrow night and sweep those hot feet!"

Eddie snorts. Then again. His diaphragm tightens, air forces past his pursed lips, and then his body shakes with laughter. Gareth is grinning proudly, of himself and possibly Eddie as well. He snakes his arms around Eddie's waist and pulls him so close the mirth rattles through them both. It takes an eon, but at last, the laughter abates. Eddie’s lungs are sore and his eyes are wet with happiness, and he's still got an armful of best friend clinging to him.

"I'll call you the day after tomorrow." Gareth punctuates the promise with a squeeze, before pulling back. "Lunchtime. And I'll expect progress. Okay?"

Eddie nods. "Okay."

Gareth beams, ruffles Eddie's hair, and then he too leaves the apartment.

Eddie turns onto his back and stares at the ceiling. He doesn’t sigh as much as make noise while gravity pushes the air from his lungs. He could fall asleep here, on this uncomfortable couch. Turns out guitar lessons, worrying, and funny friends deplete your energy.

Before his eyelids slide shut for good he drags himself up to brush his teeth and go lie in his real bed. He needs a proper night's sleep if he'll survive tomorrow.

He wakes up on Saturday having dreamt of Steve. He eats his breakfast while thinking of Steve. He replaces brake pads, rotates tires, and talks to clients while thinking of Steve. He returns home and showers off the sweat and oil while really thinking of Steve.

He also spends a lot longer than usual contemplating how thoroughly he ought to wash himself. Fate dictates that if he cleans as if he might get laid, he won't be. However, if he's perfunctory about it, he's more likely to score. Ultimately, he does an extensive scrub. Rather be presumptuous and get nothing than be unhygienic and get lucky.

Then comes the worst part: picking an outfit.

Max told him to wear something 'nice'. Jesus. 'Wear something nice', what did that even mean? Dress less like himself? Dress more like himself? Something skimpy? Or snug? He has those leather pants that make his legs look divine, but they might be too much. He doesn't want to look like he's trying as hard as he is. Also, he's going to an open mic in a coffee shop at seven in the evening. There will be high schoolers, retirees, families with children, and others present who do not need to see his dick imprint. 'No' to the leather pants.

But maybe…

The hangers clatter and screech as he pushes them aside. Sticking his arm far into his wardrobe, he then pulls it out grasping his other battle vest.

The one in leather.

He hasn't worn it out yet. It's only recently finished, and almost ended up looking too nice, too pristine. It's not really him, not the way his frayed and trusty denim vest is. But it's still a thing of beauty: band logos immaculately painted onto the leather and spikes adorning the shoulders, collar, and lapels.

It's fucking badass. Him, though a little nicer.

He pairs the vest with his tightest Metallica tee – the one with the sleeves shorn off and the neckline cut into a v deep enough to show both tattoos – and distressed, black jeans, rips over the knees and a big hole along the inside of one thigh. The retirees will just have to fucking deal with some exposed skin.

A crowd is thronging inside Connie's when he arrives ten minutes to seven. They've built a makeshift stage on one short side, crammed between the cream'n'sugar station and a huge monstera. Microphones, stools, and a keyboard stand upon it. All the café's tables are pushed to one half of the floor, letting people mill between them and the stage. None of them seem to be his people, though.

Eddie weaves through the crowd, scanning it for short redheads and tall hunks. Nothing… nothing… not-

"Eddie!"

He turns, coming nose to nose, like tip to tip, with Steve, who's… wow. Call him the moon and Eddie a wolf, because he's about to start howling.

He's wearing pants, not jeans, that hug his hips without being obscenely tight and a fitted, teal dress shirt. The sleeves are rolled up and the top two buttons left undone, allowing yet another tantalizing peek of the sculpted pecs beneath. Nice but not too formal, if you ask anyone. Positively edible, if you ask Eddie. His mouth is actually watering a little, which is a sign he's been staring for too long.

Lifting his gaze from Steve's chest to his face, he realizes he could've taken his time because Steve is also staring. At Eddie.

Steve's breaths are slow but deep as he bites his lip hard enough to dent it, tongue flicking out to soothe the mark. Eyes glowing like embers, he trails them over Eddie's body, threatening to set him ablaze.

Eddie's jeans are too fucking tight for this.

"Starting to worry you wouldn't make it," Steve says, low and gravelly.

"No, I just, uh, running a bit late…" Eddie says, faltering as Steve drags a finger along the lapel of his vest.

"Haven't seen you in this before," he murmurs.

"It's new. First time wearing it."

"Where'd you get it?"

"I made it."

Steve's brows jump. "You made it?"

"Make like one-third of my clothes and heavily alter the rest. Metal's all about DIY, baby."

Chuckling, Steve grabs both ends of the attached leather belt and opens the vest for a better look at the Metallica shirt underneath. He doesn't ask any questions about the band, thank God, because Eddie's brain is too liquid to answer. If Steve opened the vest a bit more he'd be undressing him. Or if he tugged at the belt Eddie would stumble into him, he's so off balance.

But Steve does neither; he closes it and lets go.

"I left the others at the table. C'mon."

The rest of them also look nice, Robin in suspenders again, this time paired with shorts, and Lucas in a black sweater-red jacket combo that reminds Eddie of all the cool boys he pined over in high school. Both of them gush compliments at the sight of his vest; their childlike enthusiasm is a pretty effective boner killer, phew. The only one not mentioning his outfit is Max – she's silently staring at the tablecloth, hands in her lap and head bowed.

"Hey, Red," he says.

She looks at him, eyes like clear ponds and her freckles stark against her white skin. It might be his personal bias, but she's the prettiest of them all tonight. Canary yellow t-shirt dress and oversized jean jacket, one shoulder artfully slipping down. Loose, wavy locks cascading past her shoulders. Barely chipped nail polish and glossy lips, but no other makeup. She's radiant.

And she's shaking.

He slides into the chair next to her.

"You're still ready?"

Max nods.

"You know, I still feel like puking every time I perform."

"Yeah?" she breathes.

"Yup." His fingers encircle her wrist, squeezing. "You're gonna crush it."

She smiles tightly.

"Do you want us to film it?" Robin asks. "To show your mom?"

Max's first reaction is a frown, which evaporates at the mention of her mom; then she nods so hard she's indistinguishable from a bobblehead.

"Yes!" she says, and that's the last bit of conversation between them, for the next second the lights dim and Connie ascends the stage to announce the start of the open mic.

It's three hours long, with fifteen performers given ten minutes each, plus a few for getting on and off the stage. Max is number eight, which means she'll have about an hour and a half to sweat before it's her turn. And maybe she does manage to sweat it out and dry off, because when her time comes she strides up with the poise of a seasoned veteran.

A café worker helps her up and adjusts the mic for her. She hooks the cane on the stool and situates the guitar across her lap – one of the younger audience members shouts "Dragon!" to everyone's amusement. Once the laughter stops, she puts her mouth to the mic and emits one stuttering breath.

"Hi," she says. "My name is Max, and I'll be playing two covers and one song I wrote." She giggles as some onlookers whoop their approval. "All three are dedicated to one person here tonight. He knows who he is."

Then she plays. It's the best fucking thing Eddie has heard, not just tonight, but ever.

Her voice is strong, her rhythm is perfect. When she pauses for breath her expression defaults into a blinding smile. She breezes through The Isley Brothers and Stevie Wonder as the crowd claps along. Eddie manages to tear his eyes from her only once, to view the others' reactions. Robin tries to hold her phone steady as she sways in her seat, Steve is misty-eyed like a proud dad, and Lucas…

Lucas sits slumped forward, chin pillowed on his hands, pupils huge and dark. Lovestruck.

After You Are the Sunshine of My Life she takes a breather, sipping from her bottle of water. There's a shift in the air; the audience settles, mood sobering. When she resumes playing, the notes are softer, slower. A melancholy made bearable by her warm tones.

Max's song is about a happy then and an uncertain now. It's a song about guilt and regret. About apologizing and vowing to improve. About past loss and about future hope.

Above all, it's a promise.

It strikes like a blade through Eddie's chest. He shouldn't be hearing this. None but three, or maybe just one, of the people in here should. It's not for their ears, because they can't ever truly understand. It's too personal. Yet, she plays it for them. Tearing open her flesh and breaking her bones to show them. Listening to this is a privilege.

Her last note is a tattoo – covering up those before her, impossible to erase by those following her.

Max smiles and bows, again like a pro. As the café erupts into deafening applause, Lucas shoots from his seat. Appearing by the stage, he extends his arms to her. She hooks hers around his neck and lets him lift her down. Smiling at each other, they rest their foreheads together like they're the only ones in the room. Shit, perhaps they are.

They walk back to the table with Max's cane underneath Lucas' arm, she using him as her crutch. Arriving, the first thing she does is ask Eddie:

"How was it?"

He schools his expression.

"Red. I'm ditching my band. From now on, you and me – duo."

She boxes him in the shoulder, the shine of her smile rivaling a star.

The rest of the open mic is nice, even though the highlight is over. Still, live music is live music (and leaving in the middle would've been unacceptably rude), so they stay until Connie closes the night by thanking everyone present and encouraging them to come back next time.

Outside, they stretch their unused limbs until their joints pop, then walk a few blocks to Steve's car. It makes sense for Eddie not to have taken his van, he tells himself. The BMW is big enough for all five to sit comfortably, and he'll save on gas. Still, there's a disappointment pooling in his gut, because this means Steve will drop off Lucas, Max, and Eddie at their places before driving himself and Robin home. It's not a bad thing! He has yet to figure out how to breach the subject of the calendar. But… getting some more time to talk to Steve without amateur musicians drowning out the words would've been nice.

(This is what he gets for being so thorough in the shower.)

"Well," Robin says, hands clasped behind her head, as the BMW beeps unlocked. "I'll see you guys later."

"Where are you going?" Eddie asks.

"Steve and I live just past that building," she says, pointing. "So, I'll walk while he drives you guys."

Oh.

The disappointed pool freezes. Eddie swallows thickly. This is fine. It means nothing. Steve will drop everyone off and then go home, as planned.

He gets shotgun. Really, it's given to him because Max and Lucas commandeer the backseat, snuggling up on one-and-a-half seats while DragonSlayer claims the third. Eddie doesn't mind in the slightest – not when the kids are so close they're basically on top of each other, slotting together like a pair of puzzle pieces. Watching them separate when they arrive at the apartment complex will be devastating.

Except.

They do not go to the apartment complex. They go to a neighborhood Eddie's never been to before, parking outside a two-story house. So, they're dropping off Lucas first, then Eddie and Max, and then Steve will go home. Just as planned.

"I'm staying with Lucas tonight," Max says. "The DragonSlayer is all yours, Eddie."

She slams the door shut, the two of them walking up the shingled pathway hand in hand.

Steve hums pleasantly. "I think that did the trick – they're an item again. About time, don't you think?"

"Uh, yeah, yep, sure took them long enough, yeppers," Eddie's mouth says with negative input or permission from his brain.

Steve grins before pulling out, shirt straining against his arm as he turns the wheel and holy shit, Eddie is alone in a car with Steve!

Is everyone conspiring against him?!

Steve makes small talk during the drive, recounting which songs he recognized, sharing his favorite performances, asking for Eddie's more knowledgeable opinion. Eddie responds to the best of his abilities, which is to say 'poorly'.

When they stop by a red light and Steve absent-mindedly undoes the third button on his shirt, Eddie’s mouth dries up and he stops responding altogether, fearing his tongue will crumble to dust if he tries. If Steve is put out by Eddie's conversational skills reducing to various affirmative noises, he doesn't show it.

Finally reaching the complex, Eddie resolves to at least croak a 'thank you for the ride'. But when he turns to do just that, Steve is already looking earnestly at him with his large, honeyed eyes.

"It's really nice of you, teaching Max to play. Thank you."

"Oh, 'twas nothing." Eddie clears his throat. "She's a good student."

"I'm curious: is there a difference between acoustic and electric?"

"Not really. Electric is a little easier, 'cause they're smaller and the strings are lighter."

"Acoustic sounds better, though," Steve says and laughs at Eddie's answering grimace. "All right, maybe not to the metal master," (Eddie stifles a gigglesnort; what an adorable dork), "but to a common listener, such as myself, acoustic is nicer. You can try to change my mind if you want, though."

"By… playing both for you?"

"Yeah."

Eddie gulps audibly. "N-now?"

Steve's smile is almost too wide for his face. He cocks his head, a lock of hair falling into his eyes, who are gleaming like gold in the light of the nearby street lamp.

"I'm not busy."

Eddie leads them up the stairs to his fourth-floor apartment. Their steps echo in time with the drumming of Eddie's heart. His grip on the DragonSlayer is unyieldingly stiff, lest it slides from his clammy palm.

This is fine. Steve is going to listen to him play and then go home, just as planned.

Like the building, the locks are old; his key jams and needs to be rattled before the door opens. He lets Steve in first, then closes the door behind them. Steve waits patiently, back to the wall and chest inches from Eddie's. Has the hallway always been this cramped?

Eddie turns to fumble around for the light switch, breath hitching when Steve touches his shoulders. Grasping the vest's spiked lapels, he pulls it off Eddie's frame and hangs it on the coat rack. Next, he grabs the guitar – warm, dry skin brushing Eddie's – and props it by the doorpost. Last, he looks at Eddie, his eyes searching, searching, searching…

Disregarding his sensibilities, Eddie nods.

Steve kisses him.

The force of it sends them stumbling, Eddie's back slamming into the wall. Their mouths smush together and their noses bump; for a moment it's too hard, too much. But then Steve angles his head, their lips melding, and it's perfect. Like silk sheets and rose petals, like champagne and chocolate truffles, like summer nights and meteor showers.

Steve mumbles something about waiting, about wishing, about finally. He's touching Eddie everywhere, chest pinning him against the wall, hands running up and down his arms, thigh pushing between his legs. His hard cock pokes against Eddie's groin, and it feels so thick.

All of Eddie's nerve endings are lighting up, sending tingles to converge in his belly before shooting back out to his limbs. He has no regrets. Everything he's done or that's been done to him was worth it, because it led to the best fucking kiss of his life. Steve will have to keep him after this – exposing him to this kind of touch only once would be cruel.

It's gentle, is the thing, but with the passion of a thousand lovers. Steve cups his face, tipping it, thumb caressing his cheek and fingers rubbing circles in his hair. His lips, soft but determined, parts Eddie's for a quick taste that leaves him wanting.

Eddie tries chasing, but Steve withholds – fucking teases – and goes back to nipping and licking. Rolling his hips until Eddie gasps, then slipping in his tongue to stroke the roof of Eddie's mouth. Then he starts over again, repeating the cycle until Eddie is whining, his knees so weak he slumps onto Steve's thigh.

Grabbing hold of his ass, Steve hoists him up. Eddie squawks, legs automatically wrapping around Steve's waist. Steve grins, juuuust on the wrong side of smug, and steps away from the wall, carrying Eddie like it's nothing. It would be infuriating if Eddie wasn't too busy wondering if, and if so for how long, Steve could fuck him like this.

"Bedroom?" Steve asks.

"Yeah, it's, uh, through there," Eddie says, pointing in what might be the right direction.

Then he yanks Steve's head back by his pretty hair and swallows his moan. Because with Steve's hands occupied, it means Eddie can do whatever he wants. And what he wants is shove his tongue as far down Steve's throat as he can.

It takes them a while, but they reach the bedroom. Steve deposits them on the bed, bringing them from vertical to horizontal in a smooth slide without breaking the kiss.

Eddie wraps tighter around him, wanting to feel him everywhere and always. Alas, Steve disentangles them with a chuckle. He sits up so he's kneeling, legs spread, Eddie's thighs resting on top of his. A hungry glint in his eyes, he undoes one more of his buttons, then forgoes the rest by pulling the shirt off like a sweater and flinging it aside.

Eddie wastes no time touching him, groping the firm pecs and caressing the soft belly. The coarse hair tickles his palms.

"Fuck me, you're perfect," he murmurs.

Steve giggles, pink blooming on his face. Coaxing Eddie's hands off him, he arranges his limbs on the bed, and Eddie lets him – he can do anything as long as he does it shirtless. He smooths his hand over the Metallica logo, pretty much petting his chest, before rucking the shirt up to Eddie's chin. Steve's eyes are black, more pupil than iris; he thumbs at the tattoo on Eddie's ribs.

"I was hoping you'd have more," he says. His other hand slides across Eddie's leg, fingers ghosting the edge of the large hole before one slips inside, tucking between the denim and the skin of Eddie's thigh. Eddie gasps; Steve smiles. "How much do I need to take off to see all of them?"

"Why don't you find out, big boy?" Eddie says, breathless but grinning, scooting closer to rub his ass on Steve's dick.

Steve rips off Eddie's shirt, tosses it where he tossed his own, and crashes their lips together as he unbuckles Eddie's belt.

Eddie hums into the kiss. It's perfect. Steve is perfect. The whole thing is as if out of a dream. Jesus Christ, it is straight out of one of his fantasies. The only thing missing is… is…

The uniform.

Fuck. He can't do this. Not like this. Fuck.

Eddie breaks the kiss, gently pushing Steve away.

"Eddie?"

He shakes his head, eyes screwed shut. Looking at Steve right now is impossible – the shame will consume him. He shouldn't have let it go this far.

"Eddie? What's wrong?" Steve asks. "Please, I-"

"There's something you gotta know." Eddie forces his eyes open. The least Steve deserves is to be looked at while given the truth. Also, this is the first and possibly last time Eddie will see Steve on top of him. He should savor it. "I haven't been completely honest."

Steve's eyes dim. "You're married."

Eddie goggles. "What? No! Shit, I've never had a relationship go past the three-month mark. No, it's… Um…"

He sighs. Here comes the music; time to face it.

"You know that calendar you did? Gareth told you his mom had it?"

"Yes?"

"He lied. It's mine. I have the calendar." He inhales deeply, then lets it all out in one fast gust. "I recognized you the first time we met and I thought you were so hot and Gareth thought we should try finding you at the university and we did and then we hung out and now, uh, now we're here."

Steve blinks owlishly. "Oh."

"Yeah. I've jerked off to your picture for two and a half years and I thought you should know." Eddie rubs his eyes; they're burning, and his nose is clogging. Shit, not now… "So, um. If you want to stop, if you never want to see me again, I understand. I'm sorry."

"It's fine."

"It- Huh?"

Eddie's jaw slackens. He gawks up at Steve, who calmly meets his gaze. But it can't be this easy. It's never this easy, not for Eddie.

"S'fine." Steve shrugs. "Was that all?"

"Uh. Yeah."

"Good."

He dives back to resume the kiss, except this time it's hotter, dirtier, Steve licking behind his teeth and sucking on his tongue so Eddie's toes curl. He yanks Eddie's jeans and boxers down to his thighs, Eddie's cock springing out. Steve grips it, but doesn't stroke or squeeze – just holds. Eddie starts rocking into his fist and oh, oh, it's so good but not enough. He's so hard his head is spinning and he needs Steve's hands and his cock and he needs he needs he needs-

"Eddie," Steve says into Eddie's mouth. "What d'you want me to do? Tell me."

"Mmm, I want… Fuck, I needed you inside me two years ago."

Steve licks a wet stripe along his throat. "Whatever you want."

Then he sits up and flips Eddie over. Eddie grunts at the sudden movement, but his cock between his stomach and the mattress feels heavenly, and Steve parting his ass cheeks is even better, so he's not complaining.

He's especially not complaining when Steve leans down, rubbing his nose against Eddie's tailbone.

"You're okay with any part of me inside you?" he asks, breath warm on Eddie's skin.

Eddie groans. "Yes. Anything! Just touch me!"

Steve does, dragging the flat of his tongue from Eddie's taint up to his hole.

Eddie keens, burying it in the pillow due to those damn thin walls. It probably doesn't help, because he's being loud. He usually is, but not like this. Turns out Steve's tongue is amazing no matter where he puts it. He swirls it around the hole, laps heavily against the rim, slowly loosening Eddie up.

He writhes and moans, cock leaking precum on the sheets. Jerking forward, he humps the mattress for two sweet, relieving seconds before Steve grabs him by the hips and holds him in place. He would've griped about it if Steve hadn't immediately plunged his tongue into Eddie's hole. But Steve does, so Eddie screams instead.

Fuck the walls, he's having the time of his life.

He has been rimmed before, two or three times, but not this intensely. He hasn't been fucked by another man's tongue. Because that's what Steve's doing, lips on Eddie's ass and saliva dripping down his taint. He's as far in as it can go, tongue thrusting and stroking and… oh. Oh! Oh, fuck-

Eddie jolts, despite being held down, because Steve just flicked his tongue tip against someplace sensitive. He whines, begging Steve to do it again. Steve laughs, the sound reverberating through Eddie's ass, and does as told. And again. And again.

He flicks. Eddie screams.

He flicks. Screams.

Flicks. Screams.

And Eddie's on fire. His legs are shaking, his insides are thrumming, the pleasure courses and courses in electric waves and shit, did he just come?

"Holy shit, I think I just came," he says, fingers cramping where they've clutched the covers.

Steve pulls out with a slurp.

"Oh, cool," he pants. He crawls up the bed, his hard cock dragging a wet trail on Eddie's leg. "D'you wanna take a break or keep going?"

Eddie groans. What kind of a fucking question is that? His cock is still hard, and Steve's cock is hard, and Eddie is reeling from the best orgasm he's ever had, and does he want to keep going?

"Steve…" he says. "If you don't fuck me now, then I'll… I'll… " He trails off, slurring.

"Yes," Steve says, catching on anyway. "Okay. Yes."

He sounds wrecked. Glancing over his shoulder, Eddie is met by perfect hair in disarray, cheeks flushed and blotchy, a chin glistening with drool, and Steve's wild, ember eyes. Assured he's not the only one losing his mind, Eddie thumps his head back on the pillow. Bending his knees, he pushes his ass into the air and reaches back to spread his cheeks with his own fingers.

"Then hurry up, big boy," he croons, index finger circling the spitslick rim. "Before I do it myself."

Steve laughs, high-pitched like he's drunk. He fumbles for Eddie's lube and a condom he brought, thank fuck, because Eddie only has expired ones.

Lying on top of Eddie, Steve aligns their arms and interlocks their fingers, and pushes in. Eddie whimpers, because as loose and cock-starved as he is, Steve is huge, the tip alone wrecking his already sore ass. Steve shushes him gently, brushing away sweat-damp curls to plant a soft kiss at his nape. He rocks slowly, squeezing Eddie's hand and rubbing his hip, until the stretch gets better and the pain eases.

And then they fuck. Or maybe 'make love' is a more fitting term, because they hold hands during most of it. And sometimes, Steve will ease off, going so slow and sweet it borders on edging, drawing high-pitched noises from far down Eddie's chest. Then, once satisfied, he speeds up again, fucking harder while whispering compliments into Eddie's skin.

He makes Eddie come two more times, by fucking him and by jerking him off. At least, Eddie thinks that's what happened when he wakes up some hours later. He got a little delirious with pleasure at the end, though, so he's not a hundred percent sure.

He yawns and stretches. It's dark out, but the blinds are open and light pours in from the street lamp that for some reason had to be positioned right by his window.

"That light is the worst," Steve mumbles, burrowing into the pillow.

"Hmm, yeah. But I don't have to have my own lamp on. I save on electricity."

"Economical." Steve laughs, peeking up from the bedding. He's beautifully rumpled, bathed in shadows and light. "How d'you feel?"

"Awesome… did you clean me up?"

"Kinda had to – you passed out. I'm not letting you sleep with come crusting all over you," Steve says, nose scrunching.

"Not my fault. Blame your cock!"

They laugh again, together. It's nice. But it would've been nicer if there wasn't still one tiny thing nagging in the back of Eddie's head.

"Hey," he mumbles. "When you said… that the stuff with the calendar was fine, did you mean it? Or was your judgment clouded by horniness?"

Steve snorts. "'Course I meant it. I don't mind."

"Jesus."

"Do you want me to mind?"

"No. It's just that I've been putting off telling you about it because I was afraid you'd be upset. It's pretty creepy."

"Yeah, but…" Steve props his head onto his fist and shrugs one shoulder. "I guess it would be creepier if it were someone else. But it's you, and I like you, so… it's just flattering."

A grin stretches across Eddie's face. "You like me?"

"Uh, yeah." Steve rolls his eyes, but his face is also splitting in half. "Don't you like me?"

"I do."

Eddie winds his arms around Steve's waist, pulling him in for a kiss.

"I thought so," Steve says after their lips part. "I just didn't know how much – if you wanted to just fuck or if you wanted something more. Max was hinting you wanted more. And your friends seemed too invested for you not to want more. Then Robin told me 'he definitely wants more'. So I knew it was safe to go."

"Christ, dude, I like you so much I've given myself ulcers worrying you didn't like me back!"

"Sorry," Steve says unapologetically. "You can stop worrying."

They embrace, trading chaste kisses as they snuggle. Alternating between whispering nonsense and drawing patterns on each other and simply looking, unabashed and unhurried.

Then, Steve pulls away with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

He asks, "So where do you keep that calendar?"

Eddie's heart and stomach leap, trading places and knocking every other organ off course. He lunges at Steve, coiling around him like an octopus and trapping him to the bed.

"Nooooo!"

Steve guffaws. "I'm not gonna look for it! You'll have to tell me where it is."

He cocks his head at Eddie, sweet, innocent, evil. Eddie groans with the vigor of an annoyed pre-teen. Releasing Steve, he points at his desk.

"Top drawer."

Steve flies up, rummaging through the drawer before Eddie can blink. Whooping in triumph, he holds the calendar in front of himself and begins flipping through it. Eddie pulls the comforter up to his nose to hide his blush.

"April is missing?" Steve asks.

"The model was a cop."

"Ah."

Steve reclaims his spot on the bed. He's reached November and is scanning the photo with an approving smile.

Eddie grunts. "Are you admiring your own photo?"

"So? It's a good picture." Steve smirks at him. "I know you agree."

Grumbling, Eddie hides completely beneath the cover. This is what he gets for being honest. He's never telling the truth again.

"What do you say about me fucking you while wearing the uniform?" Steve asks.

Eddie throws off the comforter and catapults into sitting.

"We can do that?"

"Sure," Steve says easily, like he didn't just turn Eddie's world upside down. "Unless…" He leans in, lips hovering over Eddie's. "Unless you want to fuck me while I wear it?"

They don't fall back asleep until hours later.

(In fact, they sleep in until 11 am, when Eddie's alarm goes off. Gareth calls by lunchtime as promised, but Eddie misses it. He's too busy getting fucked against the shower wall.)

"You're not allowed to break up," Max says later that day, during their guitar lesson. The open mic might've passed, but she needs to learn more if they'll perform together. "It'll be awkward if you're exes. I won't be able to hang out with Steve if you're next door – I'll have to move."

Eddie smiles. He should point out they're not really together yet; that they've only barely started dating. Instead, he says:

"We won't."

And he can't explain how, but it's as if some higher power whispered all the answers to him while he slept in Steve's arms and he knows, he just knows, that he's telling the truth.

------------------------------

Thank you for reading. You're the best.

Oh, and I realize that I introduced things that excited a ton of people (such as Eddie meeting everyone else), so I might have to write a mini-sequel where that actually happens. Not now, though. Later.

Tag list: @rougenancy, @raisedbylibrarians, @yourebuckingkiddingme, @swimmingbirdrunningrock, @emma77645, @goodolefashionedloverboi, @eddielives1986, @stevesbipanic, @the-redthread, @fandemonium-takes-its-toll, @henderdads, @gay-little-bitch, @lenore1232, @zerokrox-blog, @eddiemunsonswife, @cherrycolas-things, @ediewentmissing, @princess-eddie, @atombombbibunny, @ajamlessbaby, @dogswithforks, @grimmfitzz, @cutiecusp, @cuips-not-cute, @manicallydepressedrobot, @messrs-weasley, @madaboutmunson, @mightbeasleep, @suikatto, @brassreign, @snapshotmaestro, @courtjestermunson, @csinnamon-fox, @spectrum-spectre, @spinmewriteround, @just-super-fucking-gay, @escapingthereality, @oneweirdcryptid, @deehellcat, @misticageri, @lovelyscot, @linkydinky06, @rynnytintin, @anything-thats-rock-and-roll, @theysherobinbuckley, @freddykicksasses, @winterbuckwild, @sideblogofthcentury, @subparbrainfunction, @pemsha

#eddie: max is only 19 she's too young to know stuff #gareth who is 1 measly year older than max: 👁️👄👁️ #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction #steddie #steddie fanfic #steddie fic: november paramedic #eddie munson #steve harrington #gareth stranger things #max mayfield #lumax #my writing

[smolbean12]

Dating Headcanons

Jujutsu Kaisen

Nobara and Maki's here

Itadori and Megumi's here

Sukuna and Naoya's here

☆ Gojo Satoru ☆

First of all, all the best. You really need it.

He's a menace.

Will wake you up at 3am and ask you stuff like "Do you think bugs will take over the world someday? They're tiny but I'm really scared of them."

"Satoru what the actual fu-?"

He would mostly only date someone if he was 100% sure that they could protect themselves or if he could be there for them.

But if he did start liking someone seriously, he would not cheat. He has found the one and there is no reason to drive them away.

He acts happy and carefree in front of others but in front of his lover he crumbles.

He's able to be weak for once and cry and cry and cry. please hug him, he deserves it.

Sometimes he gets really whiny and cuddly and won't let you go even if you both cuddled for the whole day.

"I got you some souvenirs from my mission!"

You take him to meet your parents and he manspreads the entire couch. So, your dad has to bring a chair from the dining table and sit on it. Asks your dad stupid questions to annoy him. "Why can't we just print more money?" everyone pretends not to notice the TV remote chucked at him

Flirts with your grandma. She loves him.

Eats the dessert your mom made and only the dessert. Your dad has to warn him about diabetes. i wonder if he has a lot of cavities

Your mom and grandma really love him but your dad hates his guts.

He's just a 6'3 tall babie who likes sweets and you :)

☆ Geto Suguru ☆

When I tell you this man is boyfriend, husband and baby daddy material.

He is THE man. The only man ever. gojo you lucky lucky man

Treats you SO WELL that you start thinking he's imaginary 'cause no way anybody is THIS perfect.

This is the Geto Suguru before defecting btw.

Never forgets any of the important dates like your birthday, your mom's birthday etc etc

"Hey, isn't it your second cousin's dog's birthday today?"

Lots of friendly banter. He looooves giving you silly little nicknames. He looks at you lovingly and goes, "My little tolerable monkey" jkjk

He's a human heater. Always warm no matter the weather. You wouldn't even need a blanket when you sleep next to him. He will put his arm and leg around you and snuggle his face in your hair.

You weren't scared at all to introduce him to your parents. He instantly becomes your family's favorite and they forget about you and keep Geto forever :(

Helps your mom in cooking dinner, setting the table and washing the dishes. Helps your dad to fix the light bulb and engages him in deep conversations.

Helps you wash your hair when you're feeling too tired. Will also cook you your favorite food and try to cheer you up.

Sometimes he gets really angry during arguments but he always makes sure to think things over and apologize if he said something hurtful to you. He makes sure the issue is solved and that the both of you are happy.

The best boyfriend to ever boyfriend. except he became evil and died

reblogs are appreciated :)

Work by: @smolbean12

#jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen headcanons #jjk manga #gojo angst #gojou satoru x reader #gojou satoru x y/n #gojou satoru x you #jjk x reader #brewed by: ann #fluff brew #getou suguru #geto x you #geto x y/n #getou suguru x reader #stsg #satosugu #gojo satoru

[luveline]

Hello!! For the zombie au, I would love to see something (no pressure at all tho - I love you and any of your writing regardless ❤️❤️) where the reader gets overwhelmed at the camp and goes off on her own for a bit, causing Steve to go absolutely insane with worry in the meantime. Totally up to you whether something dangerous actually happens or not. Thanks a ton either way!!

thank you for your request! i didn’t make him as worried as I could’ve potentially so please request again if this isn’t quite what you meant! zombie au steve x fem!reader

There are three different children having tantrums at breakfast. You wince at the sound, hands at your knees and squeezing, looking for relief. You have a headache the size of Mount Everest, in the midst of recovery from a cold that had you weak with fever and aching, and this isn't what you'd pictured when you crawled out of your tent this morning. 

Steve had been snoring, and Robin's newly adopted cat had been restless, climbing up and down your bodies like you were nothing more than lumpy pillows, and combined with your headache it had been a little too much to bear. Rather than wake either of them to amend their problems, you saw no harm in getting up for a walk and a moment's respite in the small communal area of camp near the fire pit. 

The fire hasn't been lit. For a while you'd all operated on nocturnal time, worried your smoke trail would attract the unkind, but it hasn't been a feasible plan to stay that way with so many young children living in the commune. These days you make very small fires when you need to warm food or boil water, and you try to stick to dry wood to minimise the amount of smoke. 

You're not sure what's causing the tantrums, perhaps they're setting each other off, but things are starting to get too much for a second time. Without a friend at your side, it's easy to fall into despair. You're sick without medicine, you've been sleeping on the floor outdoors for weeks and it's making you incredibly sore. The children are here and alone and most of them are orphans now because the unspeakable happened and it keeps on happening. Your life is a tragedy novel, the situation is dismal, and you're not sure life is ever going to get better. 

You stand up and walk for the river. The sound of rushing water will cover everything else, at the least, and there's a tree you can climb with minimal effort, a branch you can perch on that's high enough that nothing can reach you while you're overstimulated and distracted.

Today could be a good day. You need to clear your head first, is all. 

—

Steve frowns at the empty blankets beside him. He'd prefer you didn't leave without waking him, 'cos he won't be able to breathe properly until he knows you're okay. He wishes he lived in a world —that you all did— where you could go wherever you liked without telling him and he wouldn't need to worry. He hates that he needs to know where you are. 

He wiggles his toes in his shoes, trying to wake them up as he stands from the tent and casts his gaze over the camp. There's a little boy crying near the single fold out table they have. A man scoops him up and starts to rub his back, shushing him. A gaggle of girls laugh beside a small fire, camping pans and cans of soup in tongs held over the flames. Dustin and Will are already up, coming back from the river with a bucket between them. 

"Hey," Steve says, jogging up to them. He looks around. "Seen Y/N?" 

"She wasn't by the river," Will says.

"But we caught you guys a fish," Dustin says. 

Steve looks down into the bucket, where a few smaller carp lie dead. "Oh, nice going. You didn't stab them, right?" 

"We're humane," Dustin says. "You have to debone your own. We're not doing all the work." 

Steve pats his shoulder. "Hey, thanks. Just as soon as I find Y/N." 

He doesn't find you soon. You aren't at the campfire. You aren't in the general area surrounding it. You aren't in someone else's tent, and he's sure they all think he's a control freak for checking. 

He tries to calm down. Chances are you needed the bathroom and wanted privacy. He isn't freaking out, he isn't freaking out, really, he's just– he's thinking logistically, because nothing good happens where he can't see you. 

Steve turns in a frantic circle, eyes everywhere, searching for your hair, your big coat. 

He's about to admit defeat and start shouting your name when you chirp up from behind him. "Hey, handsome. Fancy seeing you here."

He turns, sees you all in one piece in your big warm coat, your clean face shimmering with damp. 

"Oh," he says, feeling like he's been punched, "those losers lied to me. You were by the river?" 

You trudge over long grass to nudge him. "Just for a bit. My head was hurting. I saw them catching fish for a while, they're pretty good, but don't blame them, I don't think they knew I was there." 

"Idiots," he says, not meaning it. His head is pounding. "Why, where were you?" 

"Sitting on the 'dangerous' tree branch." 

He takes your shoulders into his hands. He can see you preparing for a kiss, your eyes closing slowly, your chin lifting just a little. Newsflash! You made him worry and now you're climbing up trees. He shakes you gently, and when it doesn't upset you, he shakes you more. You laugh infectiously and let your head loll back and forth. You don't ask him to stop, but he feels bad, and he hugs you rather than scramble your brains any further. 

"You have a conniption?" you ask into his neck. 

"Maybe." 

"Sorry, honey," you say, which is funny and sweet, because it's the name he always gives you. 

He rubs your back. "Hmm. I should give you a speech on not wandering off along and unnecessary risks." 

"Don't do that." 

"No, I'm going to, actually." 

He sits you by the fire and makes breakfast. The speech isn't a speech, really, just an excuse to talk at you, thankful that he still can. You give him all the meatballs from the weird canned spaghetti and he starts to forgive you for the heart attack. You wipe a dab of spaghetti sauce off of his lip with your thumb before giving him a peck, and he forgets what he was talking about in the first place.

#steve zombie!au #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington #steve harrington fic #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington drabble #stranger things x reader #stranger things fic #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #stranger things #stranger things 4

[stevethehairington]

Eddie has learned how to read Steve's moods, to pick up on his tells. To know if today is going to be a good day or a bad day, and what flavor of insecurity will be flaring up the worst for him.

The days when Steve is feeling down about his scars and the permanent damage to his body, he doesn't like to be touched. And even though Eddie would love nothing more than to do exactly that, to brush his fingers softly over the mottled skin, to leave a gentle kiss over every single patch, to feel Steve living and breathing beneath his touch, he keeps his hands to himself and uses his words isntead.

Some days he has to be careful with those too — he'll remind Steve how beautiful he is. Tell him that he loves his scars because they mean that he survived. Wax poetry about how they match, how that must mean they're destined for one another. That they're a pair now, a matching set.

Other days he can get a little more creative with it —he'll swoon against the kitchen counter while Steve's pouring himself a glass of juice and fan his hand in front of himself and ask Steve, "Is it hot in here or is it just you?". Or he'll call Steve the most gorgeous man to grace the earth, scars and road rash and tail burn and all. Sometimes he'll ask Steve when his next action film is set to hit theaters, because he looks like the ruggedly handsome hunk that belongs front and center on the poster.

When the pendulum swings the other way and Steve gets too in his head about his personality flaws, he gets quieter. He'll try to isolate himself more, and if he does have to be around people, he won't add much to the conversation — out of fear of saying the wrong thing, fear of letting his bitchiness creep too far back into the Certified Asshole territory he's worked so hard to leave behind, fear of looking and sounding even stupider than he feels.

Those days Eddie eases back on the compliments towards Steve's looks and praises him for the less superficial things instead. Like when Steve does participate in conversations, Eddie always makes sure to be extra attentive to what he's saying and to acknowledge it too. He'll laugh at all of Steve's jokes and call him funny (even if the jokes aren't funny, but let's face it, they're all funny, because they're from Steve. And even if the jokes are technically bad, they're just so damn endearing coming from him, Eddie can't help but laugh anyways. Plus, like, Eddie does genuinely think Steve is a funny guy; he's got some good snarky comebacks and a whooole bunch of dorky dad jokes and they always hit, especially when Steve that cute, crooked grin curves onto his face after he delivers them, like he's just so damn pleased with himself for saying something so goofy).

Eddie will find ways to remind Steve of things he's done that showcase how smart he is, how thoughtful he is, how kind he is. Like he'll bring up how Steve has all of the kids' schedules memorized, doesn't even need to write it down or anything, and still manages to never miss an activity or a pick up. And he'll ask Steve if he's going to help Lucas practice before basketball tryouts again this year because he's got so much knowledge about the sport from when he played, and he's so good at it, and Lucas really looks up to him for that. Or Eddie will purposefully ask Steve questions that let him flex those muscles too, like, "Hey, Steve, what's Dustin's favorite color again? I'm painting this mini fig for his character and I wanna make the shield that color, but I can't remember if he likes red or blue more." That's wrong, the answer is actually green — Eddie knows this. But he also knows that Steve knows this. And he likes the way Steve perks up when he gets asked these kinds of things. Things he knows the answers for. Things he barely even has to think about, the answers just come so naturally to him. The hundreds of tiny, seemingly insignificant little details that are actually so ridiculously important because they highlight just how much Steve pays attention. Just how much he cares.

The compliments and the praise don't solve the problem completely; the insecurities are rooted deep. Eddie gets that, though. He has a lot of the same ones, and Steve is just as good at helping him when he gets in his head too. But they help. He knows from experience that they help. Because each time he starts to believe them a little more and his twisted brain a little less.

So he does what he can to help Steve believe them a little more too.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #ty liam for bringing the topic of steve and eddie and figuring out which compliments to give when up!!! #and to ria and rino for the fluff and the angst and the fluff that kicked all of this off so that it could end up here!!! #💕💕💕 #mack writes #macks ficlets

[l3viat8an]

HWAAAAHHH HEY ROOOOO ♡

A not so quick thought I've been dying to shareeeee ahhhhh

Omg- so yk how Mc has that long table in their room??? Imagine setting up a craft station each week for the boys to do a lil craft.

Beel, Asmo, Dia, Simeon and Luke are super excited for crafting. Barbie, Mamms and Levi are excited too even if they won't admit it. But Luci, Satan and Belphie need a little bit of convincing. They're not children! But after your first successful chaotic crafting session they start to like it.

𖥸 Luci is surprisingly artistic. Even if it seems silly, this little crafting session is very relaxing and it gives him time to bond with his brothers. He likes to follow the model closely first before experimenting a little bit with his technique and style

𖥸 Mamms + Levi are trying to 1 up each other the whole time. They will hate on each other's projects and will fight over supplies. Mammon will swipe the scissors from Levi mid-cut even though there are 5 other pairs currently not being used. Then Levi will try to get them back and a fight will break out. Mc has to use "stay" before Levi summons Lotan.

𖥸 Satan bbg I'm so sorry. He will make something beautiful that he's proud of but it will get ruined. He'll just be putting the finishing touches on his craft when Levi and Mammon's fight will cause something to ruin it. A paint cup got knocked over and now there's paint water soaking his hard work. Or the glitter got spilled and now there's sparkly bits clinging to the undried glue. Mc is gonna have to use "stay" again to keep him from wringing his older brothers' necks.

𖥸 Asmo's crafts can be described in one word. Shiny. He's using all the glitter, gold leaf and sequins available to him. He especially likes those gold and silver detailing pens. But don't mistake sparkly for tacky because even if his crafts are sparkly they are still tasteful.

𖥸 Beel + Belphie will make adorable little projects but Beel will try to eat the supplies duh. Please for the love of Dia get the nontoxic supplies. He can't help it though. That shade of pink looks just like a poison strawberry tart and the colors Simeon mixed look exactly like Madam Scream's Macarons! He just wants a little taste. Belphie will be busy trying to stop him from drinking paint. If he keeps a few extra snacks on hand then it will keep Beel at bay.

𖥸 Diavolo is just absolutely enamored by all the cool crafts. Like woah you made that little scarecrow!? And you made a pom pom pumpkin? He's so excited to try out all the crafts and is that one weirdo that is absolutely covered in 8 different colors of paint somehow even though he only used white.

𖥸 Barbatos will also create the most gorgeous crafts. Like excuse me sir, you're telling me you made that out of construction paper, pipe cleaners and popsicle sticks???? There ain't no way. 100% the chillest crafter at the table but he will snap Mammon and Levi's necks if any of the mishaps of their fight ruins his project.

𖥸 Simeon and Luke will probably work together on a craft. Like Asmo's projects, Simeon and Luke will add lots of pastel colors and shiny bits to their project mostly in the form of gold flakes or those metalic paint pens.

𖥸 Solomons crafts are similar to his cooking. They never end up being what was intended. Like today we're making kites and - Uhhh Solomon made an abstract Mona Lisa with construction paper shapes?? Alright then... You do you man

HIIII CHERRY!!! Omgg okay- this is all so cute <3 finally giving that silly table a good use too jsjsjsj besides homework 💀

Lucifer being good at everything doesn’t even surprise me anymore- but he’s genuinely very into it and it’s nice to see him try to relax and do something with his brother that’s just for fun!!!

Mammon + Levi- I wouldn’t expect anything else honestly- those two can’t stop for five minutes and they almost ruin it for everyone. (Until MC calms them down and fixes everything) also the fact Levi’s better at traditional drawing them Mammon is probably another reason they fight hskshsj

Poor Satan. Tho depending on how annoying Levi & Mams have been it might be fine to let Satan smack them up a bit- jkjk bad idea ik- MC needs to help him calm down and maybe start a new project together? (That’ll at least perk Satan up and piss off Levi ‘n Mammon which again will make Satan feel better :))

The first thing Asmo used was a pick glitter gel pen and his artwork is absolutely gorgeous~ (definitely something super shiny!!! but still gorgeous and he’s careful to stay at the other end of the table away from Levi and Mammon helpsjsj)

All the supplies have to be non-toxic and absolutely no one can try drawing or making anything resembling food- Also just imagine Belphie taking the paint water away from Beel and putting it by his drink….so a little later sleepyhead accidentally drink some instead lolol also anything Belphie actually makes looks like it’s out of a horror movie while Beel’s is just…abstract :)

Diavolo’s feels like a callout as the kid who was always covered in paint but he’s so happy with his little somewhat lumpy pompom and little painting!! Just look at his sweet smile!!!

Barbatos doesn’t even need to threaten Mammon or Levi- they take one look his way and see that smile and know they better knock it off and behave- also how??? Sir it’s gorgeous but how??? Hell he probably made a fully functioning little model of MC XD

Simeon and Luke are adorable as always!! It’s definitely something sweet, yet a little more simple, but still very cute! The shiny bits are perfect and they definitely made it with the intention of gifting it to MC when they’re done <3

Solomon……Solomon wtf why?….you could’ve drawn a stick man and it would’ve been better that…uhhh that- But he’s happy!! Also very, very proud of it and when you ask what it’s supposed to be he looks a little offended-

#awhwhwhw I loved this sm <3 #not a super crafty bitch myself but with these dummies it would be ✨fun✨ #obey me! #obey me #om! #obmswd #obey me fluff #om! fluff #obmswd fluff #obey me shall we date #obey me shenanigans #obey me headcanons #om! hcs #om! headcanons #obmswd hcs #obmswd headcanons #ro rambles #moot mail!

[misc-obeyme]

Tbh CC, I don't think MC is still in love with the brothers after everything that's happened,,, thinking about it, it feels more and more like MC is just putting up with the brothers and taking care of them rather than loving them

Imagine MC admitting their love for the brothers died a long time ago and now they're just here to keep things in check, what do you think would happen?

Oh hey Lucifer, bringing me the angst today I see! Ouchies!

I think it probably depends on the MC involved. Generic OM MC is highly tolerant, slightly crazy, and somehow insanely resilient. They've definitely been through a lot and I think it's interesting to note that they have never once had any kind of emotional breakdown. They've had little outbursts here and there, but that's about it.

I think part of this is due to the story format. We've got a situation where MC is a character that doesn't say or do much. They're very reactionary in general.

But if we consider how this same story might go if it was a specific MC, one who was a fully fleshed out character, things can change dramatically. And there is absolutely a chance that MC could fall out of love with the brothers or even not fall in love with them to begin with.

It's kinda funny because I have a preference for the side characters in general and I think it's because they don't need MC to take care of them. The brothers are all very demanding and don't like when MC isn't with them all the time. But the side characters have their own stuff going on and are independent. They're all still hopelessly in love with MC, but they don't rely on MC the same way the brothers do.

But let's consider the scenario where one day MC has reached their limit. They don't explode or anything, but they quietly admit that their love has died and they only stick around out of obligation.

The thing about this is that I think all the brothers would have picked up on it before this moment, but some of them wouldn't know what was happening and others would. For instance, I see Lucifer and Asmo just sorta being like yeah we expected this. Whereas Mammon and Levi would be like okay we knew something was up, but we didn't think it was this!

I think at that point, the brothers would do all they could to change things. They can all be idiots and they get carried away and often cause MC more stress than anything. But I think if they knew how MC felt, that they were feeling this way, they would try to change.

It might not work. These demons are old and old people are often set in their ways. It might be hard for them to change. Then again, they were also created to live as long as they do, so perhaps they're better at adapting than humans are. Maybe they would find it isn't so hard for them to make the changes they need to in order to have MC be more comfortable again.

The problem is that even if they succeed in changing their behaviors, that doesn't mean MC will love them again. No matter what the brothers do, MC won't be able to make themselves love again. It's not impossible, but it's not something that's predictable, either.

I think part of the solution would be MC spending time away from them. Whether that's staying in the Devildom, but living somewhere else such as the castle or Purgatory Hall or going back to the human world, I think it would require some time apart.

I think a lot of times people fall out of love because they change in different directions. So if MC has changed, but the brothers haven't, that could be the cause. It could be that MC and the brothers have both changed, but differently enough that they no longer have that same chemistry from before. And sometimes you just can't fix it.

MC would have to make their choice at that point. If they all spent some time apart, then the brothers actively tried to change, but MC still finds that they aren't in love with them anymore, then MC has to decide. They have to decide if it's worth spending the rest of their life taking care of a bunch of demons who have already managed to survive a long time without them and who will likely live on far after they're gone. If MC is still mortal, they may decide they don't have time for that. Maybe they'll permanently move in to the castle or Purgatory Hall. I think that has a lot of angst potential because they'd still see the brothers a lot, but it'd be like there go my seven exes lol.

Ahhh it's such a sad scenario! And there are a lot of ways it could go, depending on the MC involved. My MC is more likely to lose their shit way before it ever got to this point so I can't even imagine it with them lol. But a quieter MC who feels the responsibility of being everything the demons expect them to be might certainly stick around long enough.

Anyway, this is getting lengthy, but I think it'd be a difficult time for all if this happened. The brothers might try to fix things, but I think in the end everybody would want MC to make the right choice for themselves.

#it's hard not to complain about the story itself #because I think MC would absolutely have had some kind of break down by now #considering all the nonsense they've constantly had to go through #but it's always leave it to me! and let me do the nice thing! and only occasionally I'm gonna break this door down! #anyway #obey me #obey me nightbringer #obey me mc #avatar0fpr1de #cc mutuals #misc answers

[queer-overwatch]

Omg hi! We need more venture! And im having major brainrot of Venture and how they might be with kids! What if Reader and Sloane went to one of those itty bitty play dig sight activities and just see little kids brushing sand away from (fake) fossils! Like how will they react seeing a little kid learning about dinosaurs from Venture?

OR!

Reader having to babysit their niece or nephew and Venture is there along the way. And the just their niece/nephew just absolutely love listening to Sloane’s stories!

Im sorry if this is too much! You dont have to do this! Or you can just do whatever! I love your work and finally we can get more Venture love!

Venture with readers Niece!

It's not to much at all! I really like the idea of Venture being a parent personally- decided to do a one-shot for this one, hope u like it anon! -Frisk

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

"Heeey, Sloane-? Sooooo quick question, how do you feel about 5 year olds-?" You grin sheepishly, standing behind Venture who was at their desk, studying a rock from an ancient Roman burial sight they found.

"Oh I love kids! They're always so cute, even though they can be brats sometimes- why you askin?" They put down the rock as they talk, turning to look at you curiously.

"Well, my sibling asked me if I could babysit today, and I may have said yes without thinking of the fact that you'd have to deal with my niece too." You laugh nervously, really hoping they won't be upset. You knew they loved kids so you weren't too worried about it, but you also weren't sure if they'd planned to do something today.

"Aw really!? I've haven't gotten to meet your family before! That's so cool! Does your niece like history?! I really hope she does- I love telling people about my discoveries! Do you think she likes eating rocks too-?" Venture, just as enthusiastic as ever, bombards you with questions about your family. You let out a sigh of relief as you try your best to answer all of their many, many, many questions, trying your best to keep them contained as you wait for your sister to drop off your niece, "Venture you are not feeding my niece rocks."

"Aww, but these ones are so cool!"

"I will chip another one of your teeth if you convince her to eat a rock."

"GASP! Betrayal!"

══════ஜ▲ஜ══════

"Of course, see you later! Love you too!" You gently usher your niece inside as you part ways with your sibling, now stuck babysitting for the next five hours.

Venture stands just behind the door, a nervous feeling in the back of their head. Despite being slightly worried your niece wouldn't like them, they were still super excited! They really hoped she would like them so she would tell your sibling good things about them and your sibling would finally want to meet them! And, of course, they were also hoping your niece would like to hear the story's Venture had to share.

As soon as you're niece is five steps in the door, Venture makes themselves known, jumping in front of her with their hands on their hips, in a sort of superhero pose.

"Hey there, little miss! How'd you get in here, huh?" They kneel down, a light tone in their voice as they tease her. "Mi amor! I think we've got an intruder on our hands!"

You shut the front door as you laugh to yourself, moving to stand next to Venture and rest one hand on their shoulder, slightly leaning against them. "Yeah, I think we do! We've gotta send 'em to the interrogation room!"

You scoop up your niece, laughing as she squirm around in your arms, cleary enjoying all the attention.

You both bring her to Venture's work space, setting her down in their chair and trying your hardest to look serious as you "interrogate" her.

"Who might you be, hm? And why are you here?!" Venture starts, poking your niece's cheek as they question her.

Your niece, while giggling, manages to answer their questions pretty well in your opinion. "I'm Charlotte! I'm here 'cuz my momma wants me to be!" She huffs, hands on her hips with the most adorable, smug face you've ever seen.

Venture nods along as she answers, clearly taking this so, so very seriously. "Well then, I suppose you can stick around, as long as you like to learn about history!" They laugh, picking her up and tucking her under their arm, bringing them to a spare room where they keep a few of their favorite artifacts they've they've found to show off.

"This one is from Greece! I got to go there for a week last year! And this one if from a remote area in northern Canada! Found that during my first year with the Wayfinders!" They point out different rocks and other things you can't quite identify, easily answering any questions your niece throws their way.

You stand in the doorway, smiling to yourself and admiring just how sweet Venture can be, wondering how in the world you got lucky enough to be dating them.

Your mind wanders, wondering what Venture would be like if the two of you had a kid. It wasn't something you thought about too often, but seeing how sweet they were with your niece, you couldn't help but wonder if they'd ever want kids of their own.

Obviously it wouldn't be anytime soon, you were both far too busy for that, but one day, maybe.

"Amor! Come here! You gotta listen to this story too! This cool little coin is from the Renaissance Era!" Venture snaps you out of your thoughts, holding a little golden coin up for you to see.

You move to stand next to them, taking your niece out of their arms and holding her yourself, both of you listening intently to Ventures story. Clearly, you're niece and you had one thing in common, you both absolutely adored the wonderful nerd you were dating.

#venture #overwatch x reader #overwatch #venture overwatch #venture x reader #sloane cameron #Xornk

[mazeofyeni]

(🔴) ... [ NOW PLAYING ] [STAY-MADE] KAIA AND STRAYKIDS CUTE MOMENTS !

( intro. ) stray kids all being in love with kaia ❤️😝

➩ CLIP #1 PLAYING… 📼 !

chan being supportive as always ...

*kaia on the set of her drama* "it's my last day filming today , it's been fun , but it's time to return to stray kids." *she will always mention them😭* "I loved filming the drama , and it's been hard balancing both straykids and filming and i felt like i've neglected skz , so now it's time to return." *knock on her dressing room door* "huh?" *who could that be🤔* "come in" *door opens* *IT'S CHANN* "hello?" *look at her eyes light up🥹* "oppa!" "kaia!" "what are you doing here!" "i came to see you!" *he's matching her energy😭* "ah why?" "cause it's your last day of course." *hands her flowers* "thank you!" *look at him patting her head🤭* *fast forward until after filming ⏩* "and cut!" *everyone clapping* "thank you everyone for this opportunity." *chan comes out with a cake* "congratulations." "thank you." *blows out candles* *chan on the side taking a 1001 photos of her* "im so proud." *proud dad smile😭🥹* "our kaia is all grown up." *chan would be jailed if it was illegal to to praise kaia🤐*

➩ CLIP #2 PLAYING… 📼 !

lee know protecting her any way he can ...

1. ( offline ) *airport video of both lee know and kaia* *making sure kaia is in front so she won't be hurt if someone goes wrong* *you can hear him telling her it's okay , while keeping his arm in front of her* *fans screaming her name , trying to grab at her* *look at his glare😳* "keep your headphones on." *he held her shoulder until they got out*

2. ( online ) *lee know and kaia live* *kaia randomly talking about something while lee know looking at the comments* *see's the comments filling with hate* *you can see him visibly get upset* "let me see." *doesn't give her the phone.* *glares stares at staff* "it's not working, they're gonna fix it, just keep talking." *ends it right after* *lee know later on bbl* 'dont comment unnecessary things' 'tiger has feelings too'

➩ CLIP #3 PLAYING… 📼 !

changbin being protective ...

*flashback* *kaia being asked her ideal type by a interviewer* "yah, she's to young for that , don't ask her that." *everyone laughs* "oppa." *changbin gets louder.* "SHE'S ONLY A MINOR" ( flashforward to 2023 ⏩ ) *interviewer asking her once again* *you can see his eye twitch 😭* "this topic makes changbin kinda crazy" *hyunjin exposing changbin.* *changbin finally speaking* "oh no" *kaia please😭* "because why do we have to talk about this , shes so young , she doesn't really need a ideal type." *he's so into it😭* "oppa im 21." *disgusted dwaekki* "yah! and that's too young, you've barely graduated high school." *MIND YOU SHE GRADUATED ALREADY* *everyone is making fun of him* "this is why we don't have this conversation anymore"

➩ CLIP #4 PLAYING… 📼 !

kaijin jeju "date" ...

*kaialog ft. hyunjin 😁* "hi guys" *almost drops the camera* "please don't break the camera" "im not, have some faith in me." *passenger princess kaia is back* *flashback ⏪* *solo kaia live* "can i drive? yes. but do i drive? no, we have drivers and if not i cant be bothered to do such." *she's so real😭* *fast forward ⏩* "hyune is gonna drive today." *smiley 🥟* "we're in jeju" *casually dropping they're on a jeju date but okay😳* "it's our last day, so we're driving around and taking pictures." *driving⏩* "we've found a spot , and hyunjin bought his camera." "hand me your bag." *holding her bag😭😭* "be car getting out." *hyunjin looking around for a perfect spot.* "here, it's good lighting." *literally only takes pictures of her* "that's enough right" *hyunjin is not even listening* "ah all of these good , im gonna upload them all." *smiling ear to ear over her STAND UP ❗* "ah, so so pretty." *trying to whisper, we all heard you hyunjin*

➩ CLIP #5 PLAYING… 📼 !

jisung being flustered by kaia ...

*flashback* *han talking about kaia* "kai has really flirty eyes." *changbin is confused* "yah , explain that so stay won't think different." *changbin trying to stop a scandal😭😭* "oh wait no! i-its just that she has a really intense stare , and it's makes you really flustered and hard to concentrate." *that didn't help AT ALL 🤭* *okay fast forward ⏩* *kaisung live* "we've never did a live with just us , why is that?" *jisung is nervous* "i-i don't know." *why does he look like he's about to pass out." *another flashback ⏪* *solo kaia live* "jisung said my eyes are flirty?" *look at that smirk, GIRLY KNOWS!* "so he did, okay..." *you can see her planning* *now* "is it because my eyes are too flirty?" *look how his eyes widened 😭😭* "yah, stop that." *look at him turning red 🤭* "ah jisungie, look at you jisung." "so cute." *i see what he's talking about, those eyes would make me fold as well🫠*

➩ CLIP #6 PLAYING… 📼 !

lixie being the greenest flag ever ...

*kaia in milan on her first solo schedule for chanel* *our girl was so nervous* "im getting ready now , and im so nervous" *look at her shaking☹️💔* "you okay?" *even the staff was stressed out for her* "i never do these things without my members so it's hard." *poor girl☹️* "i'll go get you some water." *staff leaves* "im so nervous, is it gonna be okay?" *sees her phone ringing* "it's lix, he's facetiming her." *answers* "hello." "you okay?" *why is like he could sense😭* "im really nervous." "ah why, you'll do great." "it's a lot of people outside." "don't worry about that okay." *he's speaking so calm to her* "you look pretty." *felix is the guy everyone wants, kaia won at life🙏🏼* "don't be nervous, it's just stays out there okay?" *nods* "i'll call you right after, okay, go have fun." *I wan a felix😭* "love you kai, have fun." *waves, before hanging up* "you feel better now?" *shakes her head* "yeah." "he helped me , thank you lixie." *hearts* "he's such a light."

➩ CLIP #7 PLAYING… 📼 !

seungmin being cute for once ...

*seungmin talking to the camera , sitting on the couch* *wild tiger spotted in the background* *kaia see's the camera* "kaia is back there , she' was a mc today." *kaia takes this as a invitation* "minnie?" *seungmin sighs😭* "here she comes" *gets up and walks over to the couch* "what do you want?" *minnie trying to be serious , knowing he cant* "im tired." *lays down , putting her head on his lap." *seungmin pretending to be annoyed😭* "get up." *shakes head no* *literally never ask again* *5 minutes later and it cuts back to seungmin and kaia* "she fell asleep." *stoic stare* "she must've really been tired." *look down at her* "she stays up all night and wonders why she's so tired." *why does he look so worried* *this is such a cute scene though* *⏭️ another cut* "that's okay , get some sleep" *he gave her his jacket 😭😭😭* *moves her hair out her face* *that smile , she's whipped 🤭*

➩ CLIP #8 PLAYING… 📼 !

jeongin and kaia giving sibling energy ...

"we're here filming for lalalala concept photos , it's the unit photos and im with jeongin." *disgusted face* *aggi bang saw that* "yah, i seen that." *ready to fight* "what" *nawt her trying to play innocent* "both of you" "maknaes serving face 😵‍💫* *⏩ immediately cuts to them fighting again* "your big head is in the way" *offended tiger* "yang jeongin , don't talk about my head." *pouty kaia* "yah, don't be upset." *that cute fox smile* "im sorry, don't be upset." *jeongin actually tries to hug her 😨* "ah our pretty kaia" *smiley kaia* "your head is cute don't worry." *the longest i seen him hug someone , kaia really out here changing men ✊🏼*

( outro. ) kaia really out here doing what all girls want to do CITY GIRLS UP ❗

©️MAZEOFYENI

#kaia (content) #fictional idol addition #fictional idol community #fictional idol oc #fictional kpop community #fictional kpop oc #fictional kpop idol #kpop female oc #stray kids 9th member #kpop female member #kpop female reader #stray kids female addition #9th member of stray kids #stray kids female member #stray kids addition #stray kids female oc #9th member of skz #skz 9th member #skz female member #skz female addition #stray kids added member #kpop fictional character

[missycolorful]

Chayanne is, put in the simplest of terms, a lot like his father, q!Philza. And one of their shared traits, unfortunately, is that they struggle with processing their emotions. Chayanne has stated before that he's not great at talking about his feelings. Whereas Tallulah has no problem opening up about what she's going through.

Chayanne doesn't feel comfortable doing so. He hasn't openly talked about this sad, depressing feeling that losing q!Tubbo has caused. It's more so shown in the way he clings to q!Missa's bed (aka the father with quite a bit more emotional intelligence), the way he sat around a lot today, not really expressing much excitement. And he's also not being open about it because he's probably afraid to. Given all his family is going through--all the trauma, all the danger, everything--he doesn't want to pile more onto their plate. This line of thinking is wrong, of course, but he's a kid, he's not aware of that. So he keeps it all locked inside, because he doesn't know what to do with it otherwise.

And in turn, Phil isn't all that great at reading people's emotions, their body language, et cetra. It takes a direct approach to get him to realize something's wrong. He greatly benefits from Tallulah being so open with him. And when Chayanne and Tallulah had a big argument, which sparked after a long period of issues they were both going through internally, he stated that he had no idea what they were going through, and that he felt awful for not seeing it. Once he saw things clearly, he set out to do what he could to help mend things.

But that's only because he was able to see/hear the problem before his very eyes. If someone doesn't say what they're feeling to his face, Phil will likely have a hard time seeing it. Maybe he'll see signs, but it won't click for him just how serious it is. If Chayanne isn't comfortable with talking about feeling depressed over losing Tubbo, Phil is going to struggle with putting the pieces together in order to try and comfort his son. They won't be able to work things out, and come together during a rough time in their lives.

Given the way they both struggle to process emotions and feelings, with Chayanne who isn't good at talking about his feelings, and with Philza who isn't great at reading people's feelings unless they're direct about it, these issues clash significantly. It causes the conflict to prolong itself. It causes feelings to build up, to not to be let out.

But this doesn't mean this family doesn't care for and love one another. This doesn't Philza doesn't care. This doesn't mean he's a bad person. This doesn't mean either of them are bad or in the wrong or anything. This is just a family going through a lot, and having a difficult time coming together during it because there's this clash in how they handle their trauma/emotions.

It also literally just means communication is the key to resolving things. But these internal obstacles they endure get in the way of them coming to that solution with ease. Communication may only come if Phil finally catches onto one of the signs, or if Chayanne finally lets it all out, or maybe there's an outside force that brings it to light. But as I said, it has happened before, so it will happen again in time. Because this family loves each other so damn much, and they would do anything for each other. They'll get there :)

#qsmp #philza #chayanne #qsmp meta #missy rambles #writing this before i see posts about how 'durrr qphil doesn't care about his kids' like damn #imagine telling someone who struggles to understand people's emotions that they don't care couldn't be me