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gyuswhore · 7 months ago

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Never Shall We Die (1)

«« Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line. »»

PAIRING: kwon soonyoung x reader

PLAYLIST: right here!

pirate lingo glossary (pls refer!)

SYNOPSIS: Deadliest pirate on the high seas or a damn fool? The stupid King and his men have snatched Hoshi's precious pirate ship with their too clean, too soft hands; grounds to question his own vices. Except, when he and his crew land in the quarters of a navy ship, revenge on their roster, they stumble across a princess in its gallows. Hoshi wonders if he's just struck gold, or if you'd become the final tread to his downfall.

GENRES: pirate!au, enemies to lovers, slowburn, angst, fluff, smut [minor dni], some pirates of the carribean vibes but ? idk

WORD COUNT [full fic]: 48.1k

Part 1: 17.07k | Part 2: 15.2k | Part 3 [final]: 15.8k

@highvern's out of context comment box: new fear unlocked: hoshi with explosives, victorian ankle moment, HATE HIM (need him carnally), hoshi covered in soapy water would distract me enough, strip for me pirate mingyu [hes litrally taking off his jacket], your honor hes a bitch, freaks!, mingyu crushes hoshi's head like a grape, WONWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO, massive dick, the way i literally gasped like an old scandalized woman

masterlist

WARNINGS: slowburn, plot heavy, happy ending bc no angsty endings in this household, being taken hostage, knives, bombs, and guns, mentions of blood, mentions of SA (does not happen and it is not explicitly mentioned), alcohol, mentions of death (patricide), hoshi is ✨selectively moral✨but kind of moral nonetheless, side character death, [pls lmk if im missing something its alot] smut tagin following parts

[AN]: thank you so much to @highvern for betaing for me and helping out with the plot so much, this fic would not exist if it weren't for her!!!! and thank you reader!!! for clicking on this and reading it, this one's been about 7 months in the works and I would love to hear what your thoughts are when you're done, plsplspls leave a rb or a reply with your brainrot lol <3 happy reading

HOSHI’S BOOT IS STUCK in the ground.

No, that’s a branch.

Or is it a plank?

He doesn’t try to find out as he yanks his foot out of whatever stopped him from moving. A tree root, he finds as he kicks the remnants of jungle rubbish from the surface of the shrouded root. He kicks it to satisfy himself.

His crew resides on the beach; where he can see them attempt to build a fire before sundown, the mound of discombobulated twigs making up most of the sad pile of wood. Hoshi trudges up to it and drops another handful of puny branches into the mix.

Exhaling loudly as Mingyu calls for him, he falls to his bottom and sits cross legged on the sand. Mingyu trudges up next to him to inspect his pile, sighing when he realised this was all he had to work with. He picks up two hefty looking stones and begins to strike them together, putting his faith in the primitive fire.

Hoshi stares into the horizon, watching the died down waves drift onto the shore, moving closer by the minute.

Hoshi thinks, which he can’t say is something that he does very often. Perhaps that’s why he was sat on this nature-overrun island as a shipless captain of his shipless crew. He chews on his tongue as he thinks of his Tigress, his beloved hunk of wood and metal; the beloved hunk of wood and metal that he could not see on the shoreline, because she was taken by the royal navy.

He wonders if Tigress would ever forgive him for letting that happen to her, for letting those clean, soft handed soldiers rip her away from his grasp.

Hoshi needs to start thinking more often.

Mingyu is frantic over the small flame that erupts in the middle of his leaves, dropping his rocks to blow into the fire, encouraging it to grow.

“Captain, it’s done! We can rustle up those fish we caught, have supper sorted.”

“Hm.”

The bustle of the entire crew lasts until night has fallen and they’ve gotten food in their stomachs. Hoshi hasn’t moved from his spot for hours, something the others noticed very quickly, but decided not to mention for fear of waking something dangerous. They understood he was suffering from a broken heart.

It isn’t until the first of the crew had begun to doze off that Hoshi speaks. Chan is propped up against a tree while Seungkwan laughs at the dangerously low coconut that hangs above his head. Mingyu readjusts his trousers after a full meal. Minghao stretches onto the sand, feet facing the water.

His voice isn’t loud, nor is it commanding, nor does it have his usual edge of jest—in fact, it sounds nothing like Hoshi at all.

Or does it?

“Who wants to steal a ship?”

YOU'RE AWOKEN BY THE sound of yelling. Which is never a good sign in any case, but especially not when it’s pitch black outside and you’re on a ship in the middle of the ocean.

The grogginess is quick to fade as you try to understand what’s going on outside your quarters. Your room isn’t a mess, all the trinkets and royal seals remaining in their places on the walls and shelves. Nor is the ship lurching or moving in odd angles to indicate an unexpected spat from the skies. A quick peek outside the window shows you clear, calm water amidst the mostly dark expanse of ocean.

There is only one other answer in your head that would cause this much commotion—especially on a boat where the admiral resides (and a princess).

Slipping out of the covers, your feet hit the cool hardwood floors of your quarters, a small shiver going through your spine from the cold, with nothing to cover you but your thin nightgown. You’re in the middle of tying your robe to see what the ruckus was about outside when a particularly loud thud hits outside of your door. You immediately freeze.

Staring at the doorknob, you attempt to move backwards in the space, heart beating faster as you watch the knob move slightly. The back of your knees hit the bedside table with a thud, the sound has you gasp out loud. Whoever it was outside your door jiggles the knob harder, the force exerted having you scan the room for something you could use as a weapon.

Spotting the letter opener on your desk, you lurch across the room to grab it, holding it in front of you as you back away from the door. The knob continues to bang against the wood as you refuse to take eyes off of it. There’s sounds of men outside, loud and rambunctious, momentarily halting the grievances.

Until the knob moves again, slower this time, a light click that could be heard as it unlocks itself, opening into the low light of your quarters.

You recognise the frazzled looking soldier at your door.

“Lieutenant,” you voice in recognition. “What’s going on?”

He eyes the letter opener that you hold defiantly in front of you from across the room, and it has you retracting your force slightly.

“Pirates, your Highness,” he breathes out. “We must get you to lower deck—”

“Where is the Admiral? The Captain?” you ask as you take a couple steps forward.

“They’re handling the situation, your High–”

An arm has come up behind the soldier that pulls him into a headlock, a swift pull to have him dragged away from your vision. You would’ve gasped if your voice hadn’t been caught in your throat, refusing to make itself known as fear brews in the pit of your stomach. Your hold on your makeshift weapon is tighter than ever before, yet you doubt how it’s going to help you as the culprit finally steps over something to appear in your doorframe.

His clothes are in a disarray; slashed, torn and covered in grime. There’s a deadly looking machete in one hand, the blood that coats it has you eyeing the trail that drips onto his hand and on the floor. His forearms are perched up on the doorframe as he inspects you, tongue to cheek as he stares.

Threatened as you feel, there was less hunger in his gaze as you had expected, more like he was trying to figure out who you were. He eyes your tiny letter opener you hold like a knife and lets out a little exhale you think might be a laugh. It has you gripping the handle impossibly tighter. The man moves his face into the hallway, to where you know the staircase to the main deck is.

“Hoshi!” he yells loudly. “How’s this for bait?”

Your back is pressed inexplicably against the wall, wanting to sink into the wooden boards as you attempt to gain your bearings amongst the nauseous bouts of mortification that surge through you. Your only exit is blocked.

No. You have one more option.

The sound of more men bounding down the hall has you praying there were more soldiers here, but the calm regard the man has for the approaching people has your heart sink to the depths of this very ocean itself.

More faces peer into the room, men with the same haphazard, grimey clothing complete with equally sinister weapons in their grasps. One of the men breaks out into the biggest grin as he lays his eyes on you. You nearly throw up.

For the first time in your life, you wish you’d listened to your father.

“Jun, you savvy motherfucker,” the grinning man explodes, slapping the man who found you on the back.

Another voice speaks from behind him, “Ships cleared, captain.”

“Perfect. Bring a spring upon ‘er. Get as far away from those cleans as you can, let them fend for themselves in a tiny boat for once.”

Captain. The grinning, stupid looking one is their captain.

He regards the rest of his crew as he finally steps through the threshold, waving them away as he enters your quarters.

It was taking everything out of you to not buckle your knees as you stood, every step he takes is turning your strength into dust. He keeps his eyes on you, eyes on your sorry excuse of a weapon. He registers the mix of fear and determination in your eyes.

He stops a few feet away from you, looking directly at you past the makeshift knife you hold.

He says nothing as he drops the knife in his own hand to the ground with a loud clang. He removes a pistol, a couple more knives, a grenade and a sword. Weapons drop to the floor one after the other, emerging from all over his body and clothes. All in a pile on the wooden floors. He puts his hands in the air.

“No weapons on me. I merely wish to talk.”

The look on his face is not ordinary, some strange combination of mock innocence and jest. You don’t answer him.

He continues, “You can keep your… scalpel… if you so wish.”

“What did you do to the soldiers?” you finally rasp out.

“They’re not dead, if that's what you’re asking.”

“Yet?” you ask with a slight tremble to your voice.

“They’ve been shoved into a boat with a map and a compass to fend for themselves. I’m not entirely ruthless,” he adds with raised brows and a hint of a smile. “Admiral, were they calling him? You must be his wife.”

“W-what?”

“Oh, guess not. Daughter? Captain’s wife, Captain’s daughter?”

Your previously stagnant brain is now running a derby with all the thoughts galloping across your mind. He doesn’t know who you are. Yet, anyway.

He’s scanning the room now, nodding at the trinkets and trophies scattered across the place. “Can’t imagine giving a lieutenant’s anybody quarters like this.” He circles back on you, eyes sharp. “Who are you, darling?”

You don’t think you have anything that should give you away, but the way he starts pacing the room has your anxiety going through the wooden roof.

He has his back turned to you. You’re not sure if he’s confident or careless considering you could drive your weapon into his back and make a run for it. But then what? By the looks of it there’s an entire crew of pirates pacing the deck. Perhaps the soldiers haven’t gotten that far; they know you’re still on board, they know it’s their heads on a pike if they leave you here.

He’s reached your desk during your thinking, inspecting your stationary, picking at the bejewelled quills and paper weights as he mutters nonsense to himself.

“Oh!” he announces, a little too enthusiastic. “What’s this?”

He brandishes the loose leaf of paper, and you recognise the print on the back immediately. It was a letter from your father, the King.

“How on Earth did you read this, the writing is illegible.” He flips the paper over, double taking when he sees the royal seal on the back. He looks into the letter closer now.

You wait with baited breath.

“The kingdom needs their princess…your father…ah.”

Should you plunge the knife into him anyway? You almost do it, but stop when he begins to turn around to face you again. His eyebrows are raised, a slight hint of exasperation on his face when he begins to laugh a loud, loud cackle.

It’s mortifying, especially when you don’t understand what on earth was so funny to elicit a reaction like that. The man is downright hysterical. He wipes a lone tear from the corner of his eye as he drops the letter back onto the desk.

“W-what’s so funny?” you try to sound brave.

“It seems, miss princess, that we’ve gotten more than we bargained for,” he says, looking straight at you as he sobers up. “You’re the King’s daughter, now, are you? What are the odds the first ship I hop onto with a royal seal slapped on it, held the crown jewel of the kingdom in its gallows.”

And then he starts walking, towards you, for that matter. Imperative because you know for sure that this is how it all ends.

You know you still have your one last option, the option that is now pressed against your back as you shimmy to it with miniscule movements. The window is cool on your hand that rests on the glass, you know the lamp will be enough to break it, enough for you to push through and fall into the abyss of the dark, dark sea. He knows who you are now, and you’d rather drown than die at the hands of a pirate—or go through whatever it was that’s curling the minds of all the men on this ship.

He takes another step forward, hands on his hips. “He’s not going to like this, is he? His dear daughter in the hands of the Kingdom’s favourite degenerate captain.”

What?

He then adds in a whisper to himself mostly, “Or least favourite with all the wanted posters off the churches and brothels.”

Hoshi. Hoshi. Hoshi.

The man who had found you had called him Hoshi. Hoshi the pirate. Hoshi the pirate that’s been giving the Kingdom and its court absolute hell for as long as you can remember.

The man that you are now trapped alone with on a ship is the most feared pirate the Kingdom has ever seen.

You don’t doubt your face has gone grey, feeling your breathing turn near erratic. “Oh God.”

He smiles wryly as the life is sucked out of your very soul.

This was bad. Very bad.

“Now, fear not, you will soon be returned to daddy dearest,” he places a mildly dramatic hand over his heart. “Pirate’s honour.”

He paces back to pluck the letter off the table, pocketing it. “All you need to do is relax and tell me a few things so we can part ways as soon—”

“No.” The word blurts out of your mouth before you can stop it, horrified at the thought of giving information to any pirate, let alone this one.

“No?” Hoshi looks genuinely shocked, his eyes wide, eyebrows raised. He laughs a little incredulously, “Oh, I see, can’t tell all the delicate details to a scary ol’ pirate.”

He smiles a little bit, “Worry not, miss princess, we shall only need a few minor details. Just enough to have your father sprinting to get you out of here. We all win.”

He stares at you almost expectantly, and you wonder if you look as confused as you feel.

“Well, I’ll be bidding you goodnight now, I’m sure we’ve interrupted your beauty sleep enough. Rest assured we won’t be bothering you for the rest of the morning.”

Hoshi begins to make his way to the door, picking up his pile of weapons off the floor before wrenching the door open. He’s calm as ever, but your mind is in a disarray.

A ransom, but whatever for? Gold could’ve been retrieved by raiding any ship, and it sounded like he’d chosen to hop on a ship belonging to the navy. Come to think of it, as much of a nuisance this man has proved himself, you don’t remember a case where he’s directly meddled with the Kingdom. All of this can’t just be for gold.

Steeling yourself, you bet your odds against your voice and asked him, “What do you want from my father?”

You watch as he halts in his tracks, halfway through the door as he finally looks over his shoulder. The look on his face has you wanting to break open the window immediately and let the water flood in, once and for all as you take these bastards down with you.

“Your father has something of mine. And I intend to take it back,” he says, before finally slamming the door shut. You hear a shuffle and a thud, and you do not doubt that he’s locked you in.

Your knees give out almost immediately, dropping to the ground as you breathe in quick, shallow breaths. Trying to look past the dizziness, you try not to think about the last thing he’d said before he left, moreso the look on his face as he did.

The first rays of morning sun are beginning to shine through the windows, casting the beginnings of a glow in your quarters. You think of the supposed assurance he had given you, that they wouldn’t hurt you, that they intended to return you.

The thought leads to a faraway memory, yet one that’s tucked itself into a front corner of your mind, you can almost hear your father's voice as he says it; never trust a pirate.

You remain on the floor, and you remain wide awake.

THE SUN IS HIGH in the sky by the time you put your limbs to work.

The first hours after the pirate locked you in your quarters were spent trying to reign yourself to earth. You can’t be entirely sure your soul has come back to your body, but whatever little of it that has landed is whispering some very dangerous things.

The lamp remains, the ornate jewels glinting almost enticingly in the afternoon light. The flame inside it has long died, but you itch to give it another purpose. You don’t note the trembling of your hand as you reach for it, pushing yourself to your feet as you get a feel for the heavy hunk of glass and metal in your hands.

If there was a level of regard before, it disappears when you set eyes on the bright window and the creases of crystal blue water. With all your strength, you don’t think twice when the lamp makes hard contact, a loud thud erupting as a result, but no damage when you pull away.

You go again, harder this time, and only vaguely register the glass of the lamp that shatters into your hands. Gripping the metal bit tighter, you swing for the third time, pulling back for the strongest blow yet.

A hand wraps around your elbow and you’re yanked backwards, landing on the floor. There’s a kick at your hand that’s flown into the air, the one that holds the bludgeoned lamp. It goes flying across the room as you retract your hand into yourself.

You don’t register a thing as you’re suddenly being pulled back up to your feet. Face to face with the pirate captain, your soul finally clicking back into place.

“Didn’t think I scared you this bad.” He’s made a joke, but all you can see is his face that’s a mask of rage.

The initial instinct is to move away, pulling your elbow out of his grasp in an attempt to flee. You fail as he tightens his grip to a painful degree, hauling you towards the ajar door of the quarters.

It’s only then that you realise that there’s more people in the room.You note another big, burly man next to the window you just assaulted, inspecting it with another shorter man. You don’t get to note more as you’re pulled into the narrow hallway, begging the saints he doesn’t take the turn towards the lower decks. Instead you find he leads you upstairs to where the main deck is.

Walk the plank? Did navy ships have planks to walk on? Not that you’d mind too much, you were trying to drown yourself and this ship in any case. But then there’s a settle of dread in the pit of your stomach, realising death may be the most merciful thing this man could give you.

The pirate captain pushes you against a mast, one of his other minions rushing in with coils of rope on his shoulder. The sun beats down on the deck, not a gust of reprieve from the wind.

“Keep the ropes tight, she’s got less wit than I’d thought,” the pirate captain says with a grunt, huffing as he lets go of you. He takes a few steps away, hands at his hips, the image of vexation.

The person who ties the cords around your hands whispers slowly, “Stop moving.”

But you can’t, not when the panic is near the lip, not when all the possibilities are flashing gore filled images into your vision. It's scary to blink.

“Why won’t you let me die?” you ask to the back that’s turned.

He turns around, not even bothering hiding the exasperation that paints his face, mouth opening furiously before closing again. “Why won’t—Because you were trying to take us all with you!”

“Kill me!” you all but scream. “They won’t know till you’ve gotten what you want, I’d rather be dead than let you try whatever’s brewing in all your sick heads!”

He’s silent for a moment, noting your defiant gaze, your pull against the ropes, the heaving of your chest. Taking a few steps forward, Hoshi seems to be attempting to bring the boil in his blood to a low simmer, “Listen, princess. We’re pirates alright, but me and my crew, we keep to ourselves. If your daddy the king hadn’t decided to meddle and steal my fucking ship, you would’ve been home in your pretty palace, asleep in your bed of gold by now.”

The pirate captain’s face is closer than you’d ever be comfortable with, seething in a way that has you pressing further into the mast. “We may be degenerates but we keep our own morals, as twisted as your people heed them to be.”

When he finally pulls away, you take a breath and thank the air that simply exists, eyes downcast as you attempt to look braver than you feel.

“I’m not pushing you overboard. I’ve duped your people once, they’ll be more prepared next time. We need you alive while you’re in our hands.”

“How are you going to summon a ransom? You sent away your only messengers,” you ask, a sad attempt at a mock, but also because you wanted to know what his plan was.

“Your useless Admiral’s taken up that job.”

“By lifeboat? You’ve left them all for dead, how do you expect this genius plan to work?”

“They could’ve swam to shore if it came to it, we were close enough.”

“How are you so sure?” you spit.

“Do I need to gag you too?” he gives you one last irritated look before stalking off towards the lower deck. You’re left alone in the cooling afternoon heat, the sound of the sea keeping your ears company along with your own slowing breaths.

Everything he said has a good enough chance to be a complete and utter lie. Never trust a pirate. No weapon to cut yourself out of your impossibly tight binds, nothing to protect you or give you reassurance besides a pirate’s word—the worst pirate’s word.

Your battered thinking leads you straight through the setting of the sun, the orange glow of the sky shrouding the ship in the dreamiest backdrop while you live what you can only sum as a nightmare. Perhaps not, for you doubt your mind could ever conjure up a terror like this.

This was life, the most terrifying nightmare of all.

Having managed to wiggle your tied hands downwards, you had seated yourself with your head against the wood of the mast, staring into the translucent skies. So much freedom that taunts you in its illusion of proximity, yet so far still.

There’s murmurs below deck, the only semblance of life you’ve heard in the past few hours after the stupid pirate captain stormed off. It seems to be on the stairs, a heated argument.

“Obviously this wasn’t part of the plan, the chances were supposed to be zero to absolutely none. We landed with that scumbag’s successor, that’s just our piss luck and nothing more.”

“You wanted a woman for bait, this should work the same.”

“Hao, I wanted a woman for bait to trigger a lukewarm reaction, this princess could either doom us all or make our job a fat punch easier, and I’m not betting on the latter.”

There’s a pause.

“If only she’d cut it with the random hysterics and creepy-staring-at-the-sky we could actually get something useful out of her.”

“Pray that window holds up or any chance of a miracle is gone to the wind.”

It’s like you’ve woken up with the way the stupid idea begins to form in your head. You think of your father, the kind of man he is, the kind of ruler he is. All the ‘if’s are guiding you to a conclusion. One that gives you a fighting chance, one that may go beyond this massive navy ship and clear into the rest of your life—if you make it that far anyway.

Your father and his men would come, give this unhinged pirate what he desires so dearly, you know that for sure. But you also know it wouldn’t be for you, but for the crown that’s destined to fall upon your cursed head.

If it’s his ship that he wants…

The next time you see one of the pirate captain’s goons on the deck, you ask for an audience.

“DID YOUR STUPID FATHER drop you on your head as a baby?”

Hoshi stands before you under the light of the midnight moon, an incredulous expression on his face. You try to keep the scowl off your own but it proves difficult when his voice pierces your skull.

You ignore him from your position on the floor, “I know my father, and I know he loathes you enough to finally want you and your incompetent crew gone for good.”

He scratches his chin, “Can’t be that incompetent if he hates us so much.”

“I can help you.”

“You were ready to die than to be on the same ship as us a few hours ago. What’s changed?”

“Perspective,” you shrug in an attempt to remain nonchalant.

“Are you gonna go back to wailing in the morning then?”

God, this was going to be the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do.

“You want your ship back and you were hoping for someone less important to exchange it for. But you’re stuck with me and you know it’s not going to end well for you. You need my help.”

“Why so merciful, miss princess? Are you not on your father’s side?”

You gulp as discreetly as possible.

“I want something in exchange.”

He raises his eyebrows, staring at you to continue.

“I want you to kill my father.”

If his eyebrows were raised before, they’ve broken for the skies now. He leans his head back, eyes closing for a moment before reopening, reigning back to you before asking very gracefully, “What?”

“I want you to kill my father.”

“No, I got that bit,” he snaps. “Your father as in, the King?”

“Yes, as you’ve pointed out far more times than anyone ever has.” You can’t help but roll your eyes despite the weight of the situation and the hammering in your chest.

He stares at you in an expression you can’t quite read, and it unsettles you deeply. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve gravely miscalculated, watching as he moves around the mast you’re tied to. Out of the corner of your eye you see the metal glint of a dagger, and you nearly short circuit.

Is he about to cut your hands off?

You feel a distinct tug at your wrists, the sound of slicing, and the voice in your head asking why it didn’t hurt.

Suddenly your hands are free, intact and free as you achingly bring them in front of you, wincing audibly at the pain of moving them after so long.

“You can jump into the water if you’d like, I won’t stop you.” He walks back over, sitting cross legged opposite you, at eye level.

“What?”

“You’ve clearly gone mad, I’ll find another way to get my ship back.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Of course, and I utterly enjoy having a kingdom’s worth of blood on my hands. Shall I take the entirety of the court down while we’re at it? Carry out a fucking waltz with Jack Ketch?”

“Why are you acting like you’re above murder? Another part of your strange moral code?”

“No, no, not above it at all. But I like my head and rather not have it guillotined. They might skim over the death of some too-nosy soldier but I doubt they’d leave me be after I put a bullet between the King’s eyes.”

“I’ll protect you.”

He looks at you for a moment, “Quite reassuring.”

You sit up straighter, licking your lips as you prepare yourself. “My father isn’t a good man.”

The pirate captain snorts, “Oh, I’m well aware.”

You try not to stare too hard at the still unsheathed dagger that he digs into the floorboards, knifing out splinters in disregard.

“My father doesn’t want me home, he wants the crown home. He wants me to be a carbon copy of himself, he wants to be in control long after he’s gone.” You try not to grind your teeth too hard but it’s difficult when your father’s face burns behind your eyelids. “I want control over the throne, full control.”

“And your conclusion is to eliminate him.”

“I don’t have another choice.”

“Then what? You’ll pardon me and my crew after we get our hands dirty for you?” he asks, eyes wide in mock hope.

“Yes. You can do whatever it is that you sail about doing and no one will be of bother. I might ask you for sparing favours. For a wage of course. But other than that, you can live as lawlessly as you wish.”

“You’re asking me to become your personal lackey?”

“Having a queen’s favour is no small feat I hope you’re aware. Besides, it's a leap better than the hoops you’ve been jumping through during my father’s reign.”

You realised his face had been shrouded by the dark between your negotiating and the clouds that had veiled the moon. Every moment that was supposed to strengthen your understanding of the man that sat across from you only brought you more confusion.

“You want your ship and freedom of land and sea,” you continue when it’s silent for a beat too long. “I only ask for a small favour in return.”

“I’d argue the miniscule nature of what you’re asking from me,” he scoffs.

“Nothing is too outlandish when it’s a life of liberty on the line.”

There crawls in the silence once again, the same one that seems to grab you by the throat for every moment that ticks past undisturbed.

“We’ll have to see to that,” he says, huffing as he gets back on his boot clad feet. You follow him with your eyes as he walks towards the creaky stairs that lead to the lower deck, utterly confused.

“Where are you going?” you ask, bewildered at his strange behaviour.

Turning around, just as he had a mere day ago in your quarters and you feel yourself suppressing a shudder. “I have a crew to consult.”

So he was considering it.

“But you’re the captain.”

“And?”

THE SKY IS A lighter sheen of blue, leaning towards the premature hours of the morning. He’d left you untied, and as you gaze into the duned waters in the minimal light, the urge to jump in and create a ripple that goes beyond just the water is less tempting than you’d thought. The prospect of having a dead father, and a dead king, was enough to snap you out of your hysteria despite it being a plot of your own devising.

You’ve been alone for a while, little indication that there was other life on this ship at all with the lack of human activity. There wasn’t much that you knew of sailing or ship handling, but leaving the deck unmanned for this long gave you the vague impression that you were on a vessel with poor practising pirates. If they’d thought you’d be equipped to handle any hiccups, they’d either find out the hard way, or whenever it was that you could find the wit to bring it up to the pirate captain and his strangely attached crew.

Something that sounds distinctly like boots are thudding gradually up to the main deck, the unmistakable blond of the pirate captain himself coming into view. You aren’t quite sure what it is, but the low thuds are sending your heart racing, panic overcoming your senses for a brief moment before you recalibrate. It’s only then that you realise it’s been more than 24 hours since the ship was hijacked. Somehow, you could have believed it was a lifetime.

He’s disturbingly nonchalant, hand at the sheathed hilt of the dagger at his hip, a casual glance around at the empty abyss of ocean and sky. When he reaches the far end of the deck, right above the prow, he stops.

“Are you going to push me off the rails?” you ask, half genuine, half trying to fill the silence as you face one another.

“No.” He said it plainly, the single word reply leaving you even more uncomfortable.

“Have you thought about what I said…with your crew?” you ask, hand coming up to grab the railing for support.

“I did.”

“Do I sense an objection?” you ask, swallowing the lump in your throat

“Not exactly,” he says. “We want to hear your master plan for this heist before we agree to anything.”

He’s asking for a plan, a plan that you do not have.

You aren’t sure how he figured it out, perhaps it was the slight darting of your eyes as you thought of a response, but he seemed to read you like a book. He snorts loudly, “You don’t have a clue, do you?”

“You’ve done this before, you’d know better.”

“And if I led you astray?”

You look at him, this time right into his dark eyes, “Then you lead me astray.”

“Your contentment with death is wildly unsettling.” There’s a ghost of a sneer at his lip.

“I’d rather be lounging in the bottom of the ocean than live with a prospective future with my father.”

“So I’ve heard.”

There’s a huff that leaves you as you steel your voice. “I’m not trying to set you up if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

“I doubt you’d have that capability,” he says as he leans his forearms over the railing. You briefly consider pushing him over but think better of it.

As much as you wanted to be a sneaky link, you simply didn’t have that trait. You blame all the dependency your father’s fostered into you, ensuring that you couldn’t rule without his influence.

“Are you willing to brew a plan or not? I need to time my dip in the ocean accordingly,” you say, sounding almost disgruntled.

He lets out a big sigh, “Follow me.”

He’s made himself familiar with the ship, you soon realise, as he leads you right downstairs to the lower deck towards the war room. When he opens the door, the room is lit with lamps, casting a golden glow on the reddish interior, warmer than the rest of the ship.

“Stay here, and don’t do anything stupid,” he tells you as he shuts the door behind him, leaving you alone in the cabin.

You only exhale in response as you turn away from the door, towards the large table in the centre. It’s slightly cluttered, studying the scrawled notes as you realise they’re all from the Admiral, his directions and plans of course littered across the table. Turning towards the map on the walls, you lift a finger to trace the lifted ridges of snow capped mountains, trailing towards the dipped shallows of the blue water.

It was an exact replica of the tactile map in the war room back home, and you’re suddenly hit with a pang of nostalgia. Not that you’d been away from home for too long, but the end result of what you're about to do, regardless of the outcome, would change your life forever.

You feel yourself breathing in the lingering scent of mildew, a strange comfort in the warm quarters.

There’s a creak at the door, and you quickly retract to find the pirate captain back at the door, walking in with a trail of men behind him. You recognise them by their faces, watching as they all take their places in the edges of the room. They look relaxed. You note the pirate captain taking his place behind the main drawing table.

“Your throne, miss princess.” He gestures exaggeratedly towards the lone cushioned chair across from him. You’re hyper aware of all the eyes that are trailed on you, and you feel almost embarrassed to take the only seat.

It only lasts for a moment. You walk up to the chair with what you hope exuded confidence and take your place across from the pirate captain. His men circle the edge of the room, and you count five other men.

He sighs, “I think introductions are in order.”

“Mingyu, Minghao,” he points to the two men that had inspected your window right after you tried breaking it open.

“Jun,” he gestures to the one who had found you in your quarters the night it all went wrong.

“Seungkwan and Chan,” you recognize the latter as the one who’d tied you to the mast at his captain’s command.

“They’ll be helping kill your dear father.”

It’s silent for a moment as you attempt to moisten your mouth. You’re reminded you haven’t eaten or drank for hours, not since one of them had come up with a tray of whatever they could find for you from the reserves.

“I know I may not be the most admissible person to trust, or vice versa—” You hear someone snort but choose to ignore it. “But I’m willing to make myself useful to you if it means you would help me too.”

“Would it not be easier to lock him up instead?” someone asks, and you turn to find Seungkwan asking the question from next to the tactile map.

“He has too many people indebted to him, too many that are too loyal for their own good. I cannot truly rule for as long as he’s alive and well.”

“And how do you expect his loyal court mongers to let you bid favour to the people who killed their king?” the pirate captain asks with a raised brow.

“Which is why it needs to look like an accident.”

“How do you reckon we go about that?”

“What message have you given the Admiral?”

“You don’t answer a question with another question—”

“We need to be transparent with each other if either of us wants to make it out relatively unscathed.”

He doesn’t look too happy but he answers anyway, “My ship and five hundred thousand for all our trouble. Two months from now at the Green Islands up north.”

The Green Islands were anything but green, the glaciers being near uninhabitable owed to the ruthless weather. It was smart enough, it’d be near impossible to bring as much violent power that far north, no matter how influential anyone is.

“Is five hundred thousand all I’m worth?” you feel the beginnings of a sneer rise up your mouth. You aren’t sure what prompted it but you don’t want to fight it either.

“Didn’t know I was bartering for a fucking princess’ case, did I?” he snaps. “Now tell us how you want us to commit the undetected homicide of a King.”

“We need to blow up his ship.” To your surprise (and maybe even a little horror), the pirate captain breaks into a slight grin. Neither do you miss other bits of his crew releasing a bit of a snicker.

There’s a flare of defiance within you, “Do you have any better ideas then?”

“No, no. Go on,” he says with his head hung. You’re surprised he has the character to shield his smile.

“He doesn’t frequent the seas but I’m almost sure he’d be present at the exchange.”

“Almost?” he questions.

You hesitate. The combined chance of needing the crown home and seeing to the downfall of his enemies would be enough warmth to send him to the greenlands himself. You were confident, but your father could also be unpredictable.

“He’ll be there. I’m sure of it.”

The pirate captain lifts his head, locking eyes with you. You try not to look as weak as you felt, as unsure as you felt, pooling all the remaining confidence into your face.

He swallows before looking away, addressing one of the crew members. “How big are we talking?”

Jun looks up like he’s only just begun to pay attention, fumbling over the revolver in his hands as it thuds to the ground like a theatrical mistake, “What?”

His captain sighs before replying, “Explosion. How big does it need to be to blow up a naval ship with a King on it?”

The man brings a hand up to the back of his head, scratching his nape. “If it’s anything like this one, we’re gonna need a lot of ammo.”

“Just enough to sink it,” you speak before you could decide not to. “Even better if they don’t realise it’s happening.”

He thinks for a moment. “We could plant it in the bilge somehow.”

“But how do we get on that ship? When they’re giving us a tour of the lower decks?” The man you recall as Seungkwan scoffs.

“Throw a grenade on board somehow?” you hear one of them suggest.

“Real subtle, Chan,” you hear another mock.

The war room is in shambles before you know it, loud voices talking over threats to slit throats and to shove people overboard. The room is humid and it feels as though the light from the oil lamps are fading. You close your eyes amidst the utter chaos, rubbing the heel of your palm on your temple in an attempt to soothe the throbbing vein.

“Enough!” The pirate captain has spoken and you have the urge to ask what took him so long.

Tranquility once again and you almost thank the man. Before anyone can say another word, nausea begins to build in your stomach.

It takes you a minute to realise the room was spinning and that you weren’t completely losing your mind. The ship begins to rock harder as the seconds tick by, everybody in the room seemingly still as they perceive the change.

“Batten down the hatches,” the pirate captain says to no one in particular.

Chan is the only one who moves to the door to leave before he’s interrupted.

“All of you. Those clouds weren’t looking too nice up there, we’ve got a storm on our hands.”

By everyone he surely did not mean you, because as the room rushes out and you hear the thuds of boots clamouring up to the main deck, you’re left alone with the captain. Yet again.

It’s becoming increasingly difficult to keep steady, and you wonder how he’s able to remain balanced while on his feet. It isn’t long before your chair begins to slide as well, the legs croning as they slip on the hardwood. You spring up on instinct, hands coming to the bolted down drawing table to stabilise yourself.

The pirate captain seems unphased, moving the curtains on the far end to try to get a glimpse at where the water breaks. He steps like he knows exactly where the evermoving floor would be, barely glancing below to gauge his footing.

“Shouldn’t you be up there?” There’s effort in your voice, your grip on the table as hard as ever as the ship banks to a hard left. He barely grabs the wall in support.

“Huh? They can figure it out themselves, they’re big boys,” he grunts.

“Your big boys were at each other’s throats a moment ago,” you grunt back, stumbling at a particularly forceful lurch.

“If you weren’t so ill prepared they wouldn’t need to use their brains, that’s always dangerous,” he shoots back. He’s on the other end of the room, pushing the unbolted cabinet back in its place

“I gave you a job and it's up to you to see it done, I’m not—ah— I’m not supposed to be planning at all!”

“Are you?” He’s turned to look at you know, mouth hitched in a snarl as his forehead reflects a light sheen. “Because trying to murder a—”

“Trying to murder a King isn’t a normal task,” you finish for him in a hiss. “Yes, as you’ve reiterated a million times.”

“Great, so you know!” Sarcasm is a deadly look on him, you realise as he walks over from the cabinet to where you were in the middle of the room. The waves have given in, the rocking becoming significantly slower. “Now do you mind telling us about a plan that actually has better odds?”

Your white knuckles have relented, the hands that gripped the table coming loose as you stare back at the pirate in defiance. “I should just hand you over.”

“It’s sweet you think you’re in charge here,” the grit in his voice is evident. “This isn’t your turf anymore, miss princess.”

“You don’t trust me, and you don’t give me reason to trust you—ugh.”

The waves seemed to have decided she hadn’t had enough just yet, this particular lurch sending you hurtling backwards into the wall, back hitting the hardwood as the stable pirate himself loses his footing. You could almost believe you’d landed sideways with the gravity that’s lost its way beneath your feet.

The chair you were once sitting on is hurtling towards you with a vengeance, gaining momentum as you simply watch it approach like a wooden bullet. A boot clad foot kicks it to the other end and you realise the pirate captain’s gotten hold of his bearings before you have.

“What happened to being transparent with one another?” he huffs, breathless and wide eyed as he attempts to pull himself to his feet.

There’s another lurch that sends you both skidding towards the table, just short of grabbing on before you’re hurtled into the cabinet that had moved again, and now slams back into the wall with the weight of the sea and two humans with a bang!

“Fine. You give me your ammo to blow up the bilge, let me on the ship with my dear father and one of you scoops in and saves me before I drown with him,” you yell over the sounds of clanging and banging of everything on this cursed ship, and the whooshing and thunders of the skies, winds and water. “And if I riddled the chances of you letting me drown with my father? Where does that leave me?”

“On the bottom of the seabed,” he deadpans. “But that also leaves me without my freedom.”

You find the opportunity to look at him for a moment, and he’s looking at you too. He looks away towards the door, already making moves to walk out and join his crew above deck. The conversation was over, and it was evident in your lack of reply.

Mother nature, however, sends another one in as a surprise and you're both sent flying to the other end of the ship, yet again.

There’s a cushion to your blow this time as you find yourself landing right into the pirate captain’s chest, hand above his heart in your instinct to save yourself any more bruises. Between your bickering and the staggering of the ship, his shirt had flown open nearly down to his navel.

Your eyes barely register the nasty scar across his left pec, instead moving upwards to lock eyes with him. It’s insanity, how you instinctively dart your eyes towards his half open mouth.

“If you wanted me that bad, miss princess, you could’ve just asked.”

Whatever airborne drug that’d been willy nillying in your noggin seems to spin into a rage as his words register a moment too late. Clenched jaw and a vice grip on his shirt, you spit back.

“I don’t ask for things. They come to me.”

There’s a crash above you and you realise the oil lamp that was suspended above has shattered, raining glass over your forms.

Expect you don’t feel it, because he’s ducked over you and suspended his arms in the air to catch the crystalline.

Before you can decide whether it was instinct or not, you hear a yell at the door.

“Captain! One of the—oh.”

A barely balancing Mingyu, is staring into the now dimly lit war room, his captain and their supposed prisoner pressed against one another in a dark corner of the room.

Your instinct forces you to take a slow step backwards.

“Get back up,” he snarls, already pushing past you to stalk towards the door. He actually makes it this time, shoving Mingyu into the hall towards the stairs.

Not as much as a glance back before he slams the door shut, leaving you in the tattered war room alone, shards of glass at your feet.

THE STORM SEEMS TO have done its damage as it calmed itself for the rest of the morning and well into the day.

One of them had come down and escorted you to your quarters, Chan telling you that you could keep it while the rest of them adjusted in the other cots and quarters aboard. Changing out of your ragged, days old clothes felt luxurious, the familiar scent of your quarters putting your tense shoulders at ease; or at least a semblance of such.

Neither you nor the captain have attempted to speak to each other after the incident in the war room. Having berated yourself for letting your guard down enough, you chalked it up to the lack of food and sleep and put the matter to rest in some deeply buried chest in your head.

For now you board up the door of your cabin (because you haven’t completely lost it), and burrow under the covers for some much needed shut eye.

You aren’t sure how long the universe lets you rest, because unless you’ve slept all the way to the Green Islands the banging on the door seems incessant enough to warrant an arrest of its own. The sleep is slow to leave, and it’s hard enough to push an entire drawer against a door, the bleariness paired with whoever the fuck was outside the door isn’t making it easier to push it away from the entrance either.

By the time you’ve wrenched the door open, you’re thoroughly annoyed, and met with a very alarmed Seungkwan.

“Oh thank goodness, I was about to try opening it,” he says, looking genuinely relieved. “I thought you might’ve….anyway.”

“You weren’t trying to break in before?” you ask.

He only thrusts a tray of rations and water towards you, “Captain said to give this to you.”

Accepting the tray, you try to balance it in one hand with furrowed brows, “Oh.”

“Um. That’s it, sorry for waking you up.” He makes a move like he’s about to turn around and leave but falters. “If…if you need anything a bunch of us are on the main deck.”

And then he’s gone.

You take it as your cue to shut the door, kicking one of the heftier pieces of furniture against it before moving back inside.

When you peer up your tiny window, it’s late afternoon and the beginnings of orange on the surface tell you the sun is beginning to set. You decide it was a good enough amount of sleep. Setting the tray down on the smaller than usual desk, you find that these pirates do not have a knack for subtlety. Many of your letters and papers are haphazardly stacked and shoved into one corner of the table, very obviously sifted through.

Not that you care too much, there was nothing awfully important that you wouldn't have told them yourself. Ripping off a piece of bread from the tray, you take pleasure in chewing as loudly and as open mouthed as you wished, plucking the parchment at the top of the pile to study.

It’s another one signed by your father, not a question of your wellbeing in sight as he scrawls ink on paper all the incorrect things you did in the Southerner’s banquet last month. If anything, you were glad the stupid Admiral was away from your presence, his incessant habit of reporting your every breath and turn to your father was becoming too much to handle.

This was one of his tamer letters, less insults attached to his criticisms but a pain to read anyway. You don’t brush away the crumbs that fall onto the parchment.

There is not a diplomatic bone in your body. Perhaps move on from drinks and dessert and into more important territories besides the Duke’s son. Our kingdom needs a ruler that’s strong, not one that forgets where she is after a sip of brandy!

If you squint hard enough, it almost reads as a parent scolding a child for a spill, like regardless of what you did, he might just love you the same.

You wonder how good of a mood he was in when he wrote this.

Sifting through the rest of the papers you take a mental note of every reason he’s given you to believe that you’d be a hopeless ruler, a few years ago you even questioned why he kept you around before realising his contradicting intentions. As you read, letter by letter, you think of reasons you know are going to make you a better ruler, better than him and better than his stupid court of old men.

These pirates are a blessing, you think, and you aren’t about to let this chance from the universe drown in these waters.

HOSHI ISN'T IN TROUBLE. No, he isn’t. On his butt on the sleek floorboards of the ship, his own golden dagger glinting in the sunlight as it's held in a threatening hold, except it isn’t in his hands.

It’s pointed right into his jugular vein, held by some grimy sailor who considers himself something akin to a pirate. Perhaps the stench this sorry excuse of a crew carries around may be their idea of a criteria, but as Hoshi remains inches away from death, all he can think about is the atrocious fingers around his dagger, and all the scrubbing he’s going to be doing after this is all over.

Mingyu had warned him, told him to take down the flag of the navy from the mast, the royal seal in the smack middle of the ginormous thing. He brushed it off. He wasn’t quite sure if he was tipsy, hungry or just plain exhausted when he made that decision, because he’d forgotten just how stupid some of these simpleton sailors could get.

They were taken by surprise, their only weapons mops and buckets of soapy water as they were ambushed by some overlooked wherry that had suddenly thrown hooks over their railing and climbed up like uninvited sewer rats.

In the initial confusion, interrupted mid-chorus of some pretty siren and her pirate prince, the first few intruders had simply crumpled over onto the slippery deck, a few slipping overboard completely from the suds and water on the wood. His crew, and Hoshi himself, could only stand and watch as the newcomers sabotaged themselves for a few incredulous moments before they gained their bearings.

Chan and Seungkwan swang their mops right into the necks of a couple, sending them into the ocean without waiting for a splash.

Hoshi slips out his dagger with practised ease, swinging the butt of the hilt over the head of another ambushing intruder, right on the head as he crumpled to the floor with a loud thud. He kicks him over for an indication of where he came from. No ink that shows an alliance, no brooch or jewels with a crest.

New guys, ones that were clearly still learning the ropes.

Hoshi’s crew had better senses than required for him to yell out orders, and it only took a few more disgruntled minutes to disable the remaining extra men aboard.

“Where the fuck did these guys come from?” he asks no one in particular, mostly just annoyed that they were disturbed.

Minghao, who’s peeking over the railing replies, “It’s a tiny thing. They either lost their actual boat or didn’t have one at all.”

He vaguely registers him making a jerking arm movement over the exterior before he hears a wail and a splash. “Disgusting.” Minghao holds his hands away from his body like he didn’t want it anymore.

Hoshi’s mistake was keeping his guard down, because before anyone could warn him, the dagger that he held loosely against his hip had slipped out his palm. The next thing he knows, his neck is in some grimy sleeve’s grip, and the point of his dagger is lodged into his own throat. He holds his breath, afraid he might pass out completely from the stench alone.

“Not a move.” He sounds like a boy more than anything, but his grip indicates a harsher life. “Everybody into that fishing boat. I’ll throw this one in when you’re done.”

He sounds unstable, but that only makes him more dangerous. Hoshi can’t try to wiggle his way out of this one, one wrong move and it’s the end. His crew can’t do anything as they stand with broken mops and empty buckets as their weapons.

It was stupid of him to even allow himself to be cornered like this, not when he’s weaselled his way out of more dangerous situations with more ease than this.

His crew looks at him, and he can only close his eyes in encouragement. He watches as Jun steps over one of the defeated bodies to reach the hooks that’ve lodged into the railing. His movements are slow, and he can tell he notices the unhinged nature of this boy that he doubts is barely over 17.

Chan follows, then Seungkwan as Jun double checks the integrity of the ropes. He’s stalling.

“Hurry!” It was supposed to come out as a threat, but it sounded more like a plea from the boy.

And then Jun stops completely, his eyes trained on Hoshi. His eyes are wide, his grip on the rope so tight he can see the whites of his knuckles from the other side of the ship.

No, he wasn’t looking at him, he was looking behind him. Before he can register, there’s a loud bang of a gunshot, and Hoshi feels the body of his captor slump against his back, his dagger dropping to the ground with an ominous clang. He falls with him, turning over to push the dead weight of the body off of him.

There’s smoke in the air when Hoshi looks back and it takes him a moment to realise who just basically saved his life.

You stand in your nightgown, shawl over your shoulders, and a revolver, Jun’s revolver, clenched tightly in both hands. It remains frozen in the air, hovering as he takes in your face. Eyes wide, mouth open slightly, the colour drained from your face.

Hoshi scrambles to get up as the rest of the crew swarm both him and you. He grabs his dagger before anything else, looking back to see a bullet lodged in the back of his captor’s skull, blood pooling the deck.

He looks back at you shoving the revolver back into Jun’s hands eagerly, like you didn’t want to feel the warmth of the metal any more than you wanted to make that shot.

He looks back at the cooling body, and then back at you, an undeniable warmth overcoming his chest.

You just saved his life.

“Are you alright?” he hears Chan ask you. You nod slowly, and then quickly.

“Where did you find this?” Jun asks.

“Uh, in one of the quarters. Downstairs. I went down because I thought it’d be safer, you were handling it and I didn’t want to get in the way. But then…all your weapons were there.”

Your voice sounds airy, like you were in a daze. Hoshi comes to the stark realisation that this may have been your first time with a weapon, and then even more horrifying, your first kill.

“I’m sorry, I just thought it was getting out of hand and—”

“It’s alright,” Seungkwan says. He watches as you let him lead you back down the stairs below decks.

It was like the shock turned you into a different person, complacent, less defiant. Seungkwan clearly had more of an emotional range, because it certainly took Hoshi too long to realise you might be on the edge of panic.

Hoshi doesn’t say a word as you disappear, the smell of gunpowder from the singular shot wafting through the deck. He doesn’t realise he’s staring into space until Mingyu interrupts.

“Should we—”

“Throw them overboard,” Hoshi says, voice flat.

“But, this one seems like he’ll come around. We could question him and drop him off wherever next—”

“He’s a shit seaman, if even a pirate, he’s got what came for him. Throw. Him. Overboard.” Hoshi is out of breath, yet grits the words out through clenched teeth. “All of them.”

Hoshi slips his dagger back into its sheath at his hip. All he can think about is your blown pupils and you in your nightgown. All he can think about is how they were almost bested by a child. All he can think about is how you had to make that final shot to save his ass, that he couldn’t do it himself.

Mingyu senses his mood and asks no more questions, simply pushing the remaining bodies out into the water. He vaguely registers Minghao sending the men a prayer into the sea. Mingyu’s already trying to get the stupid naval flag off the mast, stripping off his jacket and disposing of it at the base to start climbing.

Chan pushes a clean rag into his chest, and he looks down to receive it and notes a tinge of blood at his collar. Right, he was bleeding.

They go back to cleaning, except it’s a lot more silent.

Jun walks back up to help, but this time he has both of his clean, black revolvers strapped at his hip.

THERE WERE FEWER PEOPLE in the war room this time around, the captain sits beside Mingyu, Jun and Minghao as they attempt to sketch out a crude rendition of your discussion. The pirate captain does nothing but use his dagger to pick under his nails, barely speaking as he listens in on the conversation.

Not that you cared, you and the rest of his crew seemed to get along better than you did with the captain anyway. Saving the man’s life seemed to hold no weight to him, not that you expected it but a ‘thank you’ would have sufficed.

“Keep the grenade til the last minute if it makes you feel better, so you’ll know I’m not trying to sink the wrong ship,” you sigh as you clarify. Minghao doesn’t reply as he scribbles the details. Jun rolls his eyes at his meticulous nature.

“We need to port in the next couple days if I’m gonna finish this grenade in time,” he says, looking at his captain pointedly.

“We can stop at Port Ash,” Hoshi says.

Port Ash was no man’s land, which also meant it was every man’s land.

Being mostly occupied by pirates and other thieves and criminals it was considered dangerous territory for anyone who didn’t speak in lies, deceit and fists. This crew would fit right in, but you worry for yourself.

“That’s not gonna be till a week and a half,” Mingyu interjects.

Jun frowns as he looks at Mingyu and then back at his captain, “I can’t wait that long.”

“We’ll pick up what we can at Hasry when we stop for rations,” Hoshi replies.

“But—”

“Deal with it. There’s nothing we can do about it.”

Jun looks like he wants to say something, and Mingyu has the good sense to interject again to ask more questions about the plan.

“How much manpower do you think the king’ll have?” he asks.

You sigh, crossing your arms as you lean back in your chair. “I have no idea. Could be five, could be fifty.”

“Not even an inkling?”

“Considering how he wants the lot of you gone, it’s probably on the larger side. But…” you pause.

“But?”

“He’s smart. Always seemingly one step ahead. I wouldn’t be surprised if he catches us blind.”

“I know enough about that,” Hoshi snorts. There’s a glint in his eye that suggests something, but you don’t press.

“I was wondering…we should probably change course even if it takes us longer. My father might intercept—”

“Did that. Didn’t take the obvious alternative route either,” Mingyu replies, and you note that he looks proud of himself. “We can take our time too, the ransom note suggested we took the way past Scarsfield.”

“We should be careful of other boats anyway,” you say, gulping down a lump in your throat before continuing. “Those other sailors could’ve been my father’s men too, for all we know.”

“They were on a smaller boat too,” Hoshi adds, he looks like he’s making connections in his brain. “What’re the odds they were dropped farther back into a smaller boat?”

There’s a pause as you absorb what he’s implying. “Are you saying they’re on our tail?”

“I wouldn’t doubt it,” he says, exhaling heavily through his nose. “He’s done it before. It was a sorry attempt then and it was a sorry attempt now.”

“How did you shake him off last time?”

The panic in your chest is barely there, but as you register the possibility, you find yourself breathing increasingly heavy.

“Circling farther out before going the opposite way so we wouldn’t cross paths.” He shakes his head. “But we can’t do that now, not when we can’t afford detouring. The port stops are as late as I’m willing to go.”

“What if we skip Hasry? It’s our more obvious stop, we’ll just stop at Ash later,” Minghao suggests.

“We’ll starve, we’ve got no food,” Hoshi gruffs.

“Portwater?”

“Too far.”

It’s silent yet again as everyone racks their brains. You feel very useless all of a sudden, you didn’t know the names of harbours or ports this far out.

“We’ll just port at Hasry and be extra careful, there’s nothing we can do.” Hoshi sighs at his own ultimatum.

He gets up and walks around the table to the door, “I’ll update the others.”

You glance as he walks past you, his figure leaving a gust of wind in your face. He smelled nice, which was saying something considering the state some pirates are known to be in. As he brushes past, your gaze is met with the other side of the war room, an empty oil lamp bracket on the wall.

The memory of the storm floods your mind, and suddenly your cheeks are burning. Snapping your head back, you're thankful they’re all absorbed in the papers and plans on the table, oblivious to the memory that’s flashed before your eyes. Mingyu was the one who saw you in your compromising position, and you didn’t know him well enough to decide whether he’d do something as dumb as dish out his captain’s ‘affairs’.

You file out the room with them. They don’t escort you to your rooms, make sure you stay in one place, restrict your wandering anymore. Perhaps they’d realised you weren’t actively attempting to sink the ship anymore, or that if you jumped off the edge it didn’t matter to them that much, but you appreciated the space anyway.

Briefly catching Seungkwan filling Mingyu in on the past couple hours they’d been below deck, you turn over to catch his eye. He waves, and you wave back. You don’t realise what you did till it already happened, noting the smile on his face as he did it. You choose to move past it and find the captain.

There was something you wanted from him.

There’s no trace of him on the main deck, eyes scanning the area to no avail. A movement from above catches your peripheral attention, eyes squinting as you crane your neck up to look. Hoshi has leaned his back against the railing of the crow’s nest, arms crossed, visible hand occupied with a brass telescope that glints in the sunlight.

He isn’t using it though, merely gazing at the horizon with furrowed brows. As though he could see better without the device in his hand. In the few minutes that you’re looking at him, you notice the muraled, multicoloured shirt that blows with the wind, a kaleidoscope of beiges, greens and reds. The crop of his blonde hair blends in with the clear blue-white sky.

Briefly wondering how he’s managing the impossible heat, a hand coming over your own eyes as a visor, you simply look back down. Seungkwan is next to you. You aren’t quite sure how he got there, but he stands next to you, hands on his hips, a pleasant expression on his face.

“Is there anything you want when we dock? We’re trying to make a list,” he says. Somehow, the prospect of pirates making lists boggled you a little. It was a little jarring, not quite sure why he asked a captive anyway.

But then again, were you a captive anymore?

“I don’t think so, no,” you reply and then juggle whether you should push it with another measly formality. “Thank you for asking.”

“That was your first kill, wasn’t it?”

“What?” You knew what he was talking about, but you weren’t expecting him to bring it up in the moment when he’s asking you about restocking supplies. And especially not with a smile on his face.

“That day, when you used Jun’s revolver to shoot the lad.”

A kid. He was a child.

“I…yeah I’d never done it before.”

“What made you do it?” he asks, remaining as nonchalant as ever.

“I—I don’t know, it looked like there wasn’t another option,” you say, not quite sure of yourself either.

Why did you shoot him? You’d never laid hands on a gun before, your father forced you into the category of archery and crossbows, not that you were very good at them either but it was also because you simply wanted to spite your father by being plain bad. It worked, because it only took a year and a half and an arrow straight into his study window to retire from the sport entirely.

Even then, your targets had been apples, barrels and tree trunks. Never a person.

You’d heard of what people tended to do in pressuring situations, and with the way the aftermath unfolded, it didn’t seem like you made the wrong decision to pick up that revolver anyway.

But the feeling lingers, the same one that you saw as you gazed into the back of the boy that held the captain of this ship hostage. It felt wrong. Like watching the pirate captain cornered was a picture you couldn’t quite make sense of in your head.

So you pulled the trigger.

“In any case, we’re glad you made that decision. We all owe you for it.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you gulp, inhale and press your lips in a line. “That’s a lot for a pirate to say.”

“I know.”

BY THE TIME YOU manage to corner Hoshi it’s already the next day, and you’re only a couple hours away from docking at Hasry.

It’s an anxious ordeal, the crow’s nest constantly occupied by someone trying to catch sight of a possible tail. There was no sign, yet anyway.

“I want to learn to use a knife.”

He was piling coiled ropes when you’d said it, pushing the heap to the side, sweating through his clothes. There was a flash of confusion on his face as he registered you.

“Why? So you can slit all our throats in our sleep?” he grumbles as he pushes a barrel against the railing. He’s too aggressive, and the force has the splashback soaking his clothes in freshwater, tsk-ing audibly.

You ignore the way his previously loose shirt now sticks to him, ignore the way the droplets land on your boots when he shakes his sleeve.

“We’ve discussed what we might be up against, I don’t want to be useless when the time comes.”

“Seemed pretty alright with that revolver.”

“Anyone can shoot a gun,” you say, getting the sudden urge to fidget with the front of your shirt. You try to make your voice sound as declarative as possible. “I want to learn to fight. With a knife, with a sword, with my hands if I have to.”

He doesn’t say anything as you look down, fiddling with the tassels on your shirt. Your excuse was the sun and the way it was beating down on the deck this afternoon, getting tired of squinting to simply look straight. When the silence prolongs you look up to push further, juggling with bringing up the fact that you saved his life and that, as Seungkwan very graciously told you, he owes you.

The sound your throat makes is unhuman, because when you look up the captain's soaked shirt is now off his back.

The skin is near white from the glare of the sun, remnants of glazed water that’s somehow made its way to his back as well. The dip in his shoulder blade reflected a dark marking, one that you couldn’t make out.

He wrings it as you can only watch, mouth gaping like a fish. Hanging it over one of the suspended ropes to dry, he mutters as he walks to the lower decks.

“Fine,” he says nonchalantly. “We’ll get you a knife at Hasry.”

Hasry. Right.

The port is quiet, at least as quiet as a port can be. There’s not much to see but fishermen both returning and leaving for another week's worth of fish supply. Minghao manages to pay and convince the harbourmaster that they were merchants on their way back to the Kingdom, stopping for supplies. The naval make of the ship helped, and then the crew pulled lines and ropes secured from masts in ways you couldn’t quite decipher.

You assumed you would stay on board, yet when Chan knocked and brought you some roughspun clothes from the town, you were informed you’d be joining them.

Hoshi deemed it safer, keeping the rest of the crew on board while he, along with you and Seungkwan, ventured into the village to get what was needed and leave before the sun fully set. If they really were being followed, the ship was going to be the first thing they seized.

Pulling the grey shawl further up your head, you attempt to look as blended as you could, Chan pressing down your shoulders to force you into a slouch.

“Stop walking like you're important,” he had said.

“I’m a princess,” you snapped back, but he wasn’t listening, only jabbing at you to keep the haughtiness out of your tone before it caught somebody’s attention.

The town was a quaint little place, something out of what you were read from storybooks, reminiscent of the paintings that you’d run past on the walls of the palace. The streets cleaner than you’d expected, the faint scent of baked goods in the air mixed with, onion soup, was it? In any case you were glad you were past the fish market, the yelling and the stench nearly sending you to the pavement, gagging.

When Hoshi returns, you and Chan are looking at a jewellery stall that’s selling necklaces, bracelets and anklets that look like rosaries; colours of deep ocean blue and sunset pinks, beautifully vibrant against their grey canvas backdrop.

You can only observe from afar, instructed to not interact with anyone while he was gone. Hoshi was gone to get food supplies, but returned empty handed. Systems were in place, that the crates would be on their way to the “big naval ship” at the docks for the rest of the crew to receive.

“They said there was a blacksmith up this alley” Hoshi says, eyes also trained on the uncharacteristically colourful jewellery stall, but he does nothing to move towards it. “We can get your knife there.”

“Knife?” Chan asks, confused.

“Miss princess wants to learn to fight—”

“Don’t!” Chan hisses, eyeing the men in black uniform that patrol the market from the shadows.

“It’s fine, they’re too far,” Hoshi says. “Let’s get this over with.”

You do find a blacksmith, an older man with a greying beard and bloodshot eyes that presents Hoshi and Chan with an array of knives and daggers. Either they were able to give an excuse, or he gave no mind to the third woman that trailed behind, the blacksmith continued to deal with the two men as they haggle over prices.

There’s another seller a ways away, and she’s laid out her goods on the floor on what looks like old drapes. It’s a woman, not much older than you were, unravelling a long string of leather cord. She cuts it, strings a charm through and seals the frayed end with a candle flame that burns at her side.

The curtain she’s laid her accessories on is patterned with bright colours, and you realise you can’t make out any of it from where you stand.

Glancing behind you, the men are still occupied with their bartering, seemingly forgetting of your presence. Taking a step back, you pretend to skim through the neighbouring stalls, glancing breezily at woven baskets, layers of folded fabric and towers of painted ceramic cups.

You stop before the laid out array of more necklaces and earrings, scanning the ground. The vendor looks up and gives you a big, crooked toothed smile, urging you to come forward, to take a look at what she has to offer.

Something does catch your eye, and you immediately crouch down to see it better. Picking up the necklace from the charm, you let the gold and red rest on your fingers as you study the make.

“That one’s new,” the woman says. “Practical too.”

The small brass letter opener that’s looped through the cord looks like it could do its job just fine despite its miniscule size.

“It’s quite popular among the busy merchants,” the vendor speaks in a rough tone, almost like she had a perpetual sore throat. “Easier to use this instead of looking for those bulky ones in their neverending drawers and—and in their cabinets.”

She lets out a laugh, “Quite pretty too.”

You stare at it for a moment, “How much?”

“Ten coin.”

You sigh, setting the necklace back down onto the cloth. Standing straight, you turn to walk away before she yells again.

“I’ll do seven!”

You consider whether you should speak, but you also doubt you’d be recognized just by the sound of your voice.

"I don’t have coin,” you rasp.

“How about that pretty thing on your finger then?” she asks.

The ring on your middle finger is a simple band of silver, a coming of age present from your father’s court a few years ago. You stare at the band, worth boatloads more than what this woman in an alley was offering you.

But you find yourself moments later, middle finger empty, and pocket lined with the long leather necklace with the miniature letter opener charm.

By the time you return to the blacksmith’s shop front, Chan is handing the man his coin as Hoshi holds an object sheathed in fabric. They turn around just soon enough to make it seem like you never left.

“Why are you standing so far away?” Chan asks. “Come closer.”

You listen, moving closer to the both of them as they get ready to make the trek back to the docks where the ship waits.

“The crates have probably been loaded too,” Hoshi says, his hands suddenly empty. You assume he’s pocketed the knife somewhere. “Let’s hurry and leave before—”

“Princess?”

It was your mistake that you turned around to acknowledge the title, something you realise as soon as you register the man that spoke to you.

Henley was a stout man, dressed even now in the finest suit of a berry colour, hair white as a ghost. There was no reason for a merchant so rich he had ties with the royal family to be wandering in a harbour market, but he also had every reason to be here.

If it was the recognition in your eyes, or the fact that they were just being smart, you feel one of the pirates wrap their fingers around your upper arm and pull you to walk away from the alley.

“Princess!” Henley yells and you cringe at his volume. People are looking now, and you briefly wonder why you aren’t running yet.

Your heart is pounding against your chest so hard it’s deafening any other sound in your ears, you still don’t know which one has a hold of you, but you let them guide you into a speed walk as you exit the narrow alleys of the main market.

The shawl above your head is pushed further down, shielding your face in a shadow. There’s nothing in your mind other than Clarence Henley and his rich suit, his gold pocket watch, his trimmed, white hair. His face that you only ever saw within palace walls, always accompanied by your father.

There’s a good chance you’re shaking, because you can feel your body rejecting it with the pain in your palms that you can only consider to be your own nails pressing into your hand.

The stench of the fish market helps, bringing you back from your daze as you finally register the ground beneath your feet. It’s only a few more minutes till you reach the docks and you’re suddenly being pushed up the ramp that leads to the main deck of the ship.

It’s immediate comfort, the familiar brown of the floorboards, the scent of saltwater and warping sounds of the sails. You’re led to your quarters, where you finally let the makeshift hood and cape fall.

“Are you alright?”

Snapping your head up, you’re met with Seungkwan and his concerned gaze.

“Oh, erm.” Your voice sounds…not like your own.

“It’s okay, breathe.” It helps, because it really did feel like you’d forgotten to breathe.

“We’re leaving in just a few, everything’s been loaded. Nobody followed you on board, don’t worry.”

Right. You were on the ship, you were in your quarters with some of the most feared pirates on the seas.

The way Seungkwan is easing you through your gulps of water suggests legends in the mix, but you appreciate it regardless.

When you’ve come round, feeling more like yourself, the ship has already left Hasry Harbour, sailing into the deeper waters of the ocean.

“Captain said they couldn’t run because it just would’ve been more suspicious,” Seungkwan informs you as you nod. “Did you…did you recognise him? The man at the market.”

The thoughts come flooding back, the colour of his suit, the jarring nature of a man of such wealth standing in a rundown port market.

“He’s a merchant, one of the wealthiest. A friend of my father’s. If he even has any friends.”

You pause as you think about the near blackout you’d had, the way the panic more than boiled over, taking over your senses and your rationality.

“I think…” you trail off. “I think I just felt like it was the end. I finally had an opportunity to get rid of that tyrant and seeing something that was from home, felt…it felt like I was going to end up right back where I started.”

Seungkwan doesn’t say a word as you digest your own words, accepting your own fear that had rendered you useless in the time it probably mattered most.

“Do you feel better now?”

“A little,” you answer.

“Maybe a weapon can help.”

At the door stands Hoshi, a stern expression on his face as he looks directly at you on the bed. In his hands, the same fabric covered knife he acquired at the market.

You know that you asked for this, but the jolt in your stomach still makes itself known.

“He’s right,” Seungkwan says, lifting from his chair. “Blades have a way of calming you in any case.”

You note the glinting hilt of Seungkwan’s sword sheathed at his hip, remember Hoshi’s own daggers that he seems to be emotionally attached to.

Lifting your head back to Hoshi, you ask, “Can we start now?”

He smirks.

ALL NIGHT, THE STUPID pirate captain had you taking swings at the air.

“Your opponent’s baked a fruit cake by the time you were done with that swing,” he comments, continuously unhelpful. “Swing faster.”

It’s nighttime, nothing but a few oil lamps on the floor of the deck keeping you and Hoshi in the light. Your shoulder burns, your forearms are liquid, and your non-existent opponent remains forever stronger than you.

“I’m done,” you huff, thoroughly spent. Crumbling to the floor, you bring your non-dominant hand up to your aching shoulder in an attempt to massage it.

It’s been a while, the moon high up in the sky when you finally decide to quit it for the night. He lets you go without a fight, and you doubt you’d have the energy to if he decided to do it anyway.

The following day, he’s tweaked his regiment a little, and you find that you’re finally swinging at something tangible; him.

He leaves himself open, an invitation to strike wherever you want. You feign for his shoulder, but he sees you coming from a mile away, already deflecting your flattened blade that comes for his thigh.

“Don’t look where you want to strike, you’re giving yourself away.”

Furrowing your brows, you dislodge your knife from his own and back away again. He’s immediately cocking a brow, telling you to come at him again. You go for his middle, slashing your knife in an arc as he simply deflects.

“Come on, find a pace,” he grunts.

Coming down with your knife again, he blocks you but this time with his forearm, pushing you back by the wrists. It was a battle of strength, as he forces your wrists down. He was stronger than you, and there was no way you could push away, so you dispel your own force. He stumbles from the sudden forward force, and you pull away to take a swing from above.

He recovers faster than you thought he would, already coming up when you’re ready to swing. He raises a hand to deflect, half a moment too late as your blade slashes across the heel of his hand.

There’s a brief splash of red against the blue backdrop of the sky, and you gasp on instinct, immediately moving away.

There’s an apology ready on your lips, mouth gaping as you watch him inspect the wound. You don’t get to say anything because he beats you to it.

“Deep enough,” he comments, like he was inspecting a painting. “Keep this up and you might actually be good by the end of the week.”

Oh.

“Alright,” he says again, moving back into position.

“Are you gonna wrap that?” you ask, referring to the bloody hand.

“It’s fine, I’ve fought with worse,” he says.

You blink as you reluctantly get back into position, bracing yourself as you continue to look at his hand dripping blood onto the deck.

“You’re getting the hang of pacing, but you need to start considering your blade as an extension of yourself—JESUS!”

You’ve swung at him faster than you ever have, putting everything into that single tug of your knife. He wasn’t expecting it, still talking over your glances at his palm. He had his guard down, and you took the chance. He ducks on instinct, but it could’ve been another scar for him to remember if you’d made it.

You stumble as he circles you to the other end, flattening his blade on your back.

“Nice try,” he says. “Really nice try. But you never turn your back to your opponent.”

“I lost my footing,” you defend, but even you knew that wasn’t an excuse.

“And I just stabbed you in the back. And now I’ll have to present your corpse to your father and hope he’ll accept it and give me my ship. We all lose.”

The pressure of the blade leaves your back and you're suddenly left looking stupid despite doing something somewhat right.

“You’d just swindle another poor sailor off his boat and move on,” you say. “You’re a slippery thing.”

He has a smile on his face that borders a smirk yet is innocently mischievous enough. It’s a strange sight, bloody hand, relaxed face. There’s a clean-ish rag on a nearby closed barrel that he uses to wipe the excess blood off his hands.

“I keep going because I live without regret.”

You can only roll your eyes as a scoff leaves your mouth before you can stop it. You simply turn around, settling to the floor, going back to massaging your still aching shoulder. That last blow only made it worse.

“I don’t regret things, miss princess. Ask me why.”

You remain silent.

“Come on,” he urges, that silly smile remaining on his face. He’s washing the wound now with freshwater from the barrel.

Sighing, you ask him, “Why?”

“Because I don’t ever do things I’d regret.”

“That insinuates you think before you act.”

“Right-O,” he declares, wrapping another torn cloth on his cleaned wound.

“Funny,” you answer. “Because I dont think I’ve ever seen any hint of light behind your eyes.”

He turns around to you, sheathing his dagger at his hip, a dangerous look in his eye.

“You’ve looked into my eyes?”

The clench in your jaw must have been visible, or the look of disgust on your face might’ve been apparent just the same, because the pirate captain simply laughs out loud before retreating towards the stairs to go below deck.

“I’ll send Jun up, practise with him.”

You wanted to send your knife, point first, hurtling into his retreating form.

Never turn your back to your opponent, my ass.

But you don’t, mostly because he’d probably manage to deflect that too. So you resort to sitting cross legged on the deck, staring at your dagger while waiting for Jun to meet you upstairs.

Hoshi said he picked the knife based on a number of things you’d already forgotten, something about carbon steel and having a good grip. It’s quite pretty, you’ll have to admit. It’s plain silver, but the reflection it makes in the sun makes it difficult to look away. You’d gotten used to the handle and how it fit in your palm, Hoshi assured you that the more you used it, the more the hilt would mould into your grip.

Jun stomps onto the deck, revolver-less and instead equipped with an array of knives that he deposits on the deck.

“Should’ve picked a plain old gun,” he grumbles as he holds one of the longer blades in his hand. “Job’s done and you don’t need to get within ten feet.”

“Don’t have to reload a knife, do I?” you comment, taking the first swing.

Jun may have an affinity for guns and explosives, but his handling with a knife was still nothing below an expert level. He pushes your arm off before spending you into a ballroom spin, flatting his blade at your collarbone.

That could’ve been your throat.

“No, but by now I could’ve shot you, thrown you overboard, and been on my way to a nap,” he says in your ear, before releasing you as you get back into position again.

That could’ve been your throat.

THE FOLLOWING WEEK PASSES with your days and nights muddled into a strange mixture of swinging knives and taking breaks slumped against the deck of the ship, unmoving.

It’s a particularly hot day, the giant glowing orb beating down on the deck with no mercy. Not that it stops you, because the sun remains unwavering, high in the sky, and you remain unwavering in your wide legged stances as you lunge for Chan again.

Chan’s entire being glistens in the afternoon light, the beads of sweat that he wipes off his forehead only seem to reappear every couple minutes. His clothes cling to him like a second skin, taking long breaths through his teeth amidst the difficult, humid air.

You don’t doubt you look the same, one hand in your hair suggesting you just took a bath in your own sweat. But Chan seems accustomed to the heat, and while you weren’t, you couldn’t deny your growing comfortability with it all.

It’d been a while since your meal, hence your sluggish movements were slowly turning increasingly sharp, having cornered Chan multiple times in the duration. You’re determined to not be the one to call for a time out, so you find yourself pushing beyond what you’ve been doing for the past week or so.

There’s a particular punch of heat at your sides, and you can feel yourself slowing.

One deep breath, a slow exhale.

It’s all clangs and reflections of knives, tiny droplets of blood as evidence of both of your tiny, unintentional nicks and cuts. You’re succeeding, pushing the man further and further back.

“You’re getting sloppy, aim for the blade not my tendons,” Chan seethes through his teeth.

“I’m trying,” you grunt through the effort.

You’re set back for a couple minutes before you go back to pushing. Your lungs burn, your entire side is numb from exertion, but you give more than your body is made for, and you succeed—kind of.

Chan back is against the railing of the deck before he realises it, and perhaps it was momentum, or sheer exhaustion, because one minute you’ve got eyes on Chan’s hands and his blade, and the next he’s gone. There’s a loud splash, and you suddenly realise what you’ve done.

You just pushed Chan overboard.

You scream before you can help it, dropping your knife with a loud, resonating clang. Pushing against the rails, you peer down to find a giant ripple on the surface of the ocean, whipping your head around to the stairs leading below deck to find Mingyu and Hoshi bounding upstairs.

“What? Where’s Chan, he was supposed to be with you,” Hoshi asks, whipping his head around the deck.

Your wide eyed, horrified response from near the edge tells them all they need to know.

By the time Chan’s pulled himself on board, soaked and dripping like a wet poodle, you’ve sat yourself the furthest away from the railing to prevent any more trouble. He drops onto the floor, creating a human sized puddle.

With the way the two men had merely sighed and threw the ladder over the exterior of the ship, you concluded that this must happen enough for them to be beyond the point of concern. It only adds to it when you see Mingyu nudge Chan’s unmoving but heaving body with the toe of his boot, giggling at his expense.

You make your way over, crouching beside Chan sheepishly.

“Sorry about that, got carried away.”

He’s sitting up now, quickly pulling himself back to his feet and you spring back from your crouched position.

“It’s fine, happens.” He has a small smile on his face as he says it and you conclude that he may find the situation laughable as well.

“Now, Chan,” Hoshi says, not letting Chan move into the deck any further from the railing. “What’s the first thing you learn about brawling on a ship?”

Chan looks slightly embarrassed as he answers, “Be aware of your surrounding—ARGH.”

Hoshi pushed him into the water.

You jump as you run back to the rails, watching as Chan’s head re-emerges at the surface after his second dip in the ocean.

Just as you’re about to say something to Hoshi, he’s stuck his head over the railings as well, yelling at Chan in some singsong voice.

“One time was a mistake, twice is a problem!”

To your left, only adding to your horror, is Mingyu doubled over in his fit of laughter, heaving as he giggled uncontrollably. He’s also holding onto the railings for dear life, but clearly, for reasons completely different from yours.

The situation resolves itself as both you and Chan learn a few lessons of practicality. Deciding you’ve done enough damage to your body, you announce that you’d be retiring for the day.

“Thank goodness, I was about to confiscate that stupid knife, I’ve been hearing clanging in my sleep,” Mingyu mumbles as he pulls the rope ladder back up to the deck.

In any case, you have the urge to take a dip in the ocean yourself, feeling increasingly uncomfortable in your drying sweat.

Grabbing a clean washcloth, you fill a bucket of freshwater from one of the barrels on deck and lug it into your quarters. The soaked washcloth does wonders for your overheated body, feeling enormously better after a change of clothes.

Your scalp, however, remains itchy and burning, so you decide to go back up to the main deck, hoping to manoeuvre a hair wash situation without needing to mop the floors of your quarters.

Refilling the bucket of freshwater, you set it down before scanning the empty deck for another spare bucket. You try not to scoff at the unwavering determination of the pirate crew to keep the deck unoccupied for such long increments, that last altercation teaching them absolutely nothing. You wonder how they’ve managed to survive for so long like this.

Shaking the thought, you use the spare bucket as a way to deposit your waste water as you pour cups of clean water over your aching scalp. The feeling does wonders for you, letting the water wash away weeks worth of grime, sweat and stress.

You’re almost back home in your quarters when the whiff of your hair salts hits your nose, the ones you’d packed for yourself, closing your eyes for a moment as you rub them into your scalp. You don't expect the clench that seizes your chest, but you falter when it happens anyway.

It’s nostalgic, and you hate it.

It smells like the palace, like the incense your ladies in waiting always burned, the stench of citrus having made its way into your bones from the years of exposure to the scent. It’s too much as you blink back tears, owing them to the suds that have made their way into your eyes.

The sting helps bring you back, opening your eyes to an orange glow and the waft of seasalt hitting your nose. You’re more aggressive when you dunk your cup into the bucket this time, too aggressive as you feel the half full bucket tip over and spill water all over the deck as you cause yet another accident.

Cursing loudly, you try to blink away the suds from your eyes, soap still in your hair as you try to figure out how to get another bucket of water without ruining your fresh change of clothes, mentally kicking yourself at not thinking this through.

“You realise we have to make do with that freshwater till we make it to Ash?”

Wet hair still in your hands, you attempt to peer up at the voice, only to find Hoshi standing above you, arms crossed over his chest with a funny expression on his face. Huffing, you grumble out in response, “Can you just get me a fresh bucket?”

“Hm, I don’t know, can I?” He removes his gaze and begins to pretend looking over at the horizon and the setting sun.

Chiding yourself for even bothering to ask, you reach for the tipped bucket yourself, deciding you’d figure it out yourself if this dumb pirate was choosing to be of no help. But before you could latch your fingers on the handle, the bucket’s snatched away.

At first you think he’s being funny, taking the bucket away to watch you struggle even further. “You—”

Except you watch him as he dunks the bucket back into the barrel of freshwater, lugging it back to where you could reach. “Try not to paint the deck with it this time, I’ve already mopped twice.”

The thank you freezes on your tongue, and for some reason you can’t say it to him. So you make a scene of splashing into the bucket with vigour, sending spills over the rim and taking mild satisfaction in hearing him sigh at the sight of more mopping.

He’s already gotten hold of the worn mop by the time you’re done as you remerge with clean hair, wringing your own mop of hair to deposit the excess water. Straightening out your back, you take hold of the spare cloth you brought along with you, patting your hair with it.

The sun remains in its mission to cast its golden glow, but only illuminates Hoshi’s grumbling form as he mops up all the water you’ve spilled.

“You know, I should really be making you—” He halts as he makes eye contact with you, your hands still occupied with patting your hair dry, flicking the wet strands. You have a rebuttal already prepared, waiting for him to finish his jab.

“Make me what? you grind.

You can’t make out the look on his face, somewhere between constipated and on the edge of a yelp, he keeps staring at you. You note a slight trickle of water making its way down your neck and chest, bleeding into your shirt as yet another water stain.

“Nothing,” he says, to your surprise.

And with that uneventful climax, you trudge back down to your quarters, a strange brewing in your chest.

[AN]: congrats you made it to the end of part 1!!!!! reblog ur thots and opinions or send me an ask, id love to hear the turmoil in ur minds lol

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helloalycia · 1 month ago

Text

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐈𝐀𝐋 [𝐎𝐍𝐄] — 𝐒𝐊𝐘𝐄 𝐑𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐘

two / three / masterlist / wattpad

summary: when you become friends with Skye Riley and watch her grow into the pop star she is, that unfortunately means you get a front row seat into her demise.

warning/s: mentions of substance abuse, injury and death.

author's note: okay so this took forever and i’m very sorry for the wait! i started writing it but it just kept getting longer so now it's 3 parts 😂

a few things to note - the smile demon thing doesn't exist, it's just a story about her bc why not. Also her friend Gemma (?) also doesn't exist bc i couldn't think of a way to include her in the story lol

okay that's it, enjoy!!

The thing with Skye Riley was she was always so full of hope and passion and optimism for her craft. From the very first day we met, I knew she would become something special to so many people out there. I just never intended for her to become something special to me.

She was just starting out, some rising star doing a performance for a local TV station in the city. I didn't even know who she was, never having heard of nor seen her before. The reason I was at the station was because it was another one of my odd behind-the-scenes photography jobs I'd landed, fresh out of university at twenty-two years old.

I was messing with my camera near the snacks table when I felt a presence and looked up to see her grabbing some grapes from the fruit bowl. She didn't notice me at first, but I definitely did a double take, not knowing she was the talent at first, but thinking how pretty this girl was. She must have felt my gaze as she looked up and flashed me a picture-perfect smile, almost making me melt there and then.

"Hey," she greeted.

I blinked before smiling. "Hi! Sorry, I was just daydreaming."

She chuckled before nodding to my camera. "You work here?"

I glanced down at my camera. "Yeah. Well, kind of. It's only temporary. I'm doing some stills for their website. You?"

She hummed, intrigued. "Nice. I'm performing, so it might be me you're shooting. Do get my good side, please."

It was then that I realised she was Skye Riley, the talent booked for the day. "Shit, you're the guest."

She began to laugh, in a sweet, reserved kind of way. "I am, yeah. I'm Skye."

"My apologies, Skye," I said sheepishly. "It's nice to meet you. I'm Y/N."

"Y/N," she repeated, before smiling softly. "It's all good." She picked at another grape before continuing, "Between you and me, this is my first ever TV appearance and I'm scared shitless."

I realised she wasn't kidding when she didn't smile. Clearing my throat, I tried to reassure her. "I'm sure you'll be great. Clearly you're here for a reason. Just... try not to overthink it. Be yourself."

She glanced out at the stage. "I suppose you're right." Her gaze returned to mine with a half smile. "Thanks."

"At least if the interview goes south, you know you'll get some good photos from it," I joked, lifting my camera in the air playfully.

She laughed wholeheartedly, thankfully not offended. "Gee, thanks. Can't wait to see 'em."

I couldn't help but smile as I said, "I'm kidding. I'm sure you'll be great, Skye."

Before she could respond, someone called her name and she looked out to them before giving me a nervous smile. "I guess that's me. Was nice meeting you, Y/N. Maybe I'll see you around."

"You too," I responded. "And yeah, maybe. Break a leg out there."

She gave me a final smile before leaving to join her manager – who I eventually discovered was her mum – by the stage. I wasn't expecting to see her again, though I was definitely blown away by her talent when she performed that night. And as far as TV appearances went, she nailed it.

I suppose that being the same age in a world of adults and both starting out in our careers at the same time made it easy to talk to her. Especially when I was covering another last-minute paying photography gig at some flashy charity event that she just happened to be at.

It was her who spotted me this time, as I got some shots of the guests dancing around on the dance floor. I felt a tap on my shoulder and straightened up, wondering who it could be.

"Y/N?" her voice called as I turned around, certainly surprised to see her. When she saw me, her smile widened. "Yes, I knew I recognised you. It's me, Skye! Not sure if you remember me from the TV thing last month."

I was surprised to see her, but equally thrilled, returning her smile. "Skye, yes, of course I remember you. I didn't expect to see you again if I'm being honest, let alone so soon."

She chuckled. "At least you're honest. I'm glad though. I really enjoyed our chat last time." Her eyes looked me up and down. "You look good."

I felt my cheeks grow warm, knowing she didn't mean it like that but still unable to accept compliments from pretty girls. "Thanks, so do you."

And I wasn't lying. She looked amazing in her glitzy purple dress, long, curled dark hair and smokey eye makeup. In just the month since we'd last seen each other, her music was already blowing up more and more, and she was really starting to come into herself as a star.

"Thanks," she said with a grin. "So, are you working this event too? That's so cool for you!"

"Yeah, it's definitely a great opportunity," I replied, glancing around. "Just trying to get the best gigs I can, y'know? Get my name out there."

"Well, I personally loved the stills you took of me," she complimented sincerely, dark eyes glittering under the lights. "I think you're really talented."

"I think you might be biased," I said, unable to take the compliment, "but thank you."

She rolled her eyes playfully before nodding behind her. "Do you wanna get a drink and chat or are you not allowed? You're actually the only person I know here."

I was surprised she wanted to talk more, but also felt the same way. "Erm...," I paused, checking my watch and glancing around. "I should really work or I might get told off. But I finish in an hour, before the event ends. I don't know if you're still around then?"

"Oh, yeah, definitely," she said with a bright smile. "I'll be hanging around if you wanna find me? I'd love to know more about these photography gigs of yours."

I exhaled softly, nodding. "Sounds good. Only fair you tell me all about this becoming-a-celebrity gig of yours then." She laughed at this and it brought a smile to my lips. "I'll catch you later, Skye."

She nodded, satisfied. "See you in a bit."

And from there, it was safe to say we became friends. After getting to know each other better and exchanging numbers, it was easy enough to make a friend in the same boat as me, even if her boat was slightly different to mine. Of course, it was my mistake to be even mildly attracted to my new friend because that was not a good starting point for our friendship.

Because of how close we got, close enough for us to consider each other a best friend, she invited me to join her on tour as a documentary-style photographer. I was still building my experience and portfolio whilst she claimed she just really didn't want to be alone on her first ever international tour, so it was a win-win.

It was during the tour that I realised how much I actually liked her, in a dangerously non-platonic kind of way. And any little thing she did that was slightly touchy had me stumbling over my words – which was almost all the time because she was the touchiest friend I'd ever had.

It could be something as simple as braiding my hair for me and I'd forget how to breathe, or one time I was sat in her dressing room, listening to her mum talk about the show when she decided she wanted sit on my lap. Such casual friend things and yet I was malfunctioning every time.

Naturally, I forced myself to get over it.

—

Spending our 20s together meant I got a front row seat to her eventual decline into substance abuse. She was already an anxious person, though did well to disguise it, but her quick rise to fame and the constant pressures of her team did her no favours.

The first time I truly witnessed just how much she dealt with was about a year later, when she lost her voice in the midst of preparing for another tour. I was hanging around the side of the stage as they did a rehearsal a few nights prior to her first show, simply showing my support, when everybody noticed the croak in her throat as she attempted to sing a verse. After realising she couldn't, she was taken to a doctor.

"She's been under too much stress and her vocal cords are worn," the doctor explained to her mum in her dressing room, Skye sat opposite her. "She needs vocal rest."

Her mum seemed uncertain. "How long will that take?"

The doctor began to pack her things away as she spoke, "I'd advise a minimum of a few days, but she probably needs a week."

"She doesn't have a week," her mum snapped. "Her first show is in a couple of days. Thousands of fans are expecting to hear her sing."

I glanced at Skye, noticing the guilty expression she wore as she looked down to her hands. Her mum was always putting pressure on her like this and it was never nice to see her. I settled for resting my hand on hers, earning her attention, and squeezing it gently to let her know I was there for her.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Riley, but your daughter is in a lot of pain and if she keeps going like this, she won't even have a tour," the doctor said impatiently. "Give her the rest she needs and she'll be okay."

Her mum sighed. "Fine. Thank you, doctor."

The doctor nodded before giving Skye a reassuring smile and leaving the four of us alone – including Skye's mum's assistant.

"Sorry, mum," Skye muttered, and I nudged her gently in warning.

"You just heard the doctor," I reminded her. "No talking."

Her mum merely massaged the bridge of her nose with frustration, as if working out what to do next. It was harsh, insensitive even, but it wasn't my place to intervene.

"Okay, it's okay," she decided, before looking to her daughter. "You can still rehearse everything else. No vocals until the first show."

Skye nodded, standing up, but I quirked a brow as I looked to her mum.

"Shouldn't she rest?" I said, holding back my critique as much as I could. "If anything, it'll help her recover quicker. The doctor said she's already under stress."

"Dancing won't kill her," her mum said dismissively, before nodding to Skye. "I'll see you back out there, okay?"

Skye nodded as I raised my brows with disbelief, watching her mum and mum's assistant leave. Only when they were gone did I scoff and look to Skye.

"Are you serious? You need to rest, Skye," I told her. "You don't have to listen to her, you know."

Skye closed her eyes, frowning as she shook her head. I then realised my complaining wasn't helping and relaxed slightly.

"Sorry," I said quietly. "But it's not right. And if you were hurting, you should've said."

She swallowed thickly before opening her eyes and forcing a smile that didn't reach them.

"Skye...," I started, but didn't want to upset her anymore than she clearly already was. Instead, I gave her a hug, hoping it would mean something.

She wrapped her arms around me and didn't let go, not until I did, and I only did because we were hugging way too long and I didn't want to piss her mum off even more.

"Take it easy," I said to her when we pulled apart, searching her gaze. "Stop if it's too much, alright?"

She nodded, squeezing my hands gently, but I knew deep down that she was only saying what I wanted to hear, or rather doing what I wanted to see. She was too obedient to her mum and didn't want to let everyone down, even if it meant working herself to death.

It was all of these little things adding up that inevitably pushed her to seek out an escape where I just couldn't help her anymore.

The first time I realised it might be an issue was that same tour, about halfway through, when I was photographing some of the crew the day before a concert to eventually use in the tour documentary they were making of Skye. It was a fun day for me since I loved hanging out with the people who made the magic happen, and I was excited to show my photos to Skye back at the hotel like I always did. Only, this time, when she let me into her room, I realised she was drunk.

If it wasn't the acrid scent of alcohol that clung to her clothes that gave it away, or her giddy nature as she flopped on her bed, it was the countless mini bar bottles and cocktail glasses littered around her room.

"Did you... have a party with yourself or something?" I asked with confusion, sitting at the edge of her bed.

She laughed like I'd said the funniest thing ever smacking my hand gently as she stared at the ceiling. "Something like that."

I watched her, mildly concerned. "Are you gonna be okay for sound check tomorrow? Your mum might actually kill you if you show up with a hangover."

She waved a hand dismissively. "Oh, it's not that bad. It's a one-off, honest. I just wanted some fun."

Stupidly, I believed her. "Okay, well... maybe we should attempt to sober you up. C'mon."

She groaned, rolling over to stick her head under her pillow. "Later."

"Skye, please," I tried to reason. "Have you eaten anything?"

She ignored me and I took that as a no.

"I'll order some room service, yeah? Get some food in you," I said, talking to air as she continued to ignore me.

I had it easy enough that evening, looking after her. And even though she did wake up with a hangover the next morning, she promised she'd never act so irresponsibly again. I didn't care, I just didn't want her to struggle.

Of course, that was only the start. Whereas we'd usually hang out together after her shows, she began to leave to hang out with some of the crew and their friends. I wouldn't have minded since she was her own person, but it meant she'd come back absolutely hammered and it only worried me. It kept happening, to the point that it was a regular thing. Even after the tour ended, it was almost impossible to see her without a drink in her hand.

We fought about it at first, but I didn't want to push her away even more, especially into the arms of her shitty Hollywood friends. She was once open but now she'd hide things from me, making it difficult to know exactly what she was up to. I couldn't control her and I didn't want to, but she didn't seem to understand the severity of her actions.

It kept getting worse as the years went on, especially when she got a new boyfriend. They were awful for one another, terrible influences. Skye became more irritable to everyone around her, including me. It was like being friends with a completely new girl. Between the drinking and the partying and the drugs, I couldn't keep up. And as much as I cared about her, I wasn't important enough in her life for her to even consider listening to.

The final straw was when the paparazzi released some photos of her having a breakdown, screaming at some poor makeup artist for no reason at all. A joint was in her hand, she looked a mess, and it was enough to send her mum in a livid spiral. I wanted to stay out of it, but when her mum practically forced me to go to her and try to knock some sense into her, I had no choice.

When I knocked on the door of Skye's apartment, she saw it was me and rolled her eyes but let me in.

"She send you to fix me, did she?" she asked, walking to the kitchen.

I tried not to get offended as I stepped in and closed the door behind me. "It's bad, Skye. You look insane."

She faked a laugh. "Wow, way to fuckin' sugarcoat it."

I sighed, leaning on her kitchen island and looking over at her. "Are you gonna act childish with me right now or are we gonna have an actual conversation?"

She raised her brows, surprised and irritated. "Seriously?"

Maybe it was the years of putting up with her on-again off-again mood swings, or maybe it was just her complete disregard to listen to anyone who cared about her, but I'd had enough in that moment.

"Skye, you're embarrassing yourself," I said sternly, meeting her red-rimmed gaze. Of course she was high. "It's concerning and these pictures should be a wake up call."

She narrowed her eyes. "Good job I didn't ask your opinion."

I rubbed my face, fed up of her anger. "Skye, I'm not trying to argue."

"Then stay out of my fucking business, Y/N! You're always on my back about this shit and it's getting old."

Ignoring her tantrum, I said, "I'm worried about you."

Suddenly, she began to laugh slowly, quietly, mockingly. "I bet."

Confused, I watched her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

She tilted her head as she nodded at me, arms crossed over her chest condescendingly. "It's written all over your face. You're in love with me."

I couldn't really comprehend what she'd said, not at first, but then my face felt hot and I felt like I'd been caught out.

"God, you're so obvious!" she whined loudly, approaching me. "You've been obvious with it. All these fucking years."

How did she know? How could she?

"You- you don't even know what you're saying," I finally spoke, cursing inwardly when I stumbled. "You probably won't even remember this in the morning, you're that fucking high."

"Oh, I'll remember," she assured me with a smile so cruel that it looked nothing like my best friend. "Because it's written all over your face."

She poked me in the cheek and I swatted her finger away instinctively, ashamedly, making her laugh.

"You're terrible at hiding it," she continued, eyes flickering between mine. "It's laughable."

Every part of me was screaming to leave, to run away and never come back. My skin was crawling and I wanted the earth to swallow me up, hot with shame. Tears pricked my eyes, embarrassed and hurt by how cruel she was being, how careless she was with my feelings.

"Did you think there was a shot?" she asked with a raised eyebrow. "Is that why you stuck around all this time?"

I frowned, attempting to glare at her, but it was a foolish one. "I stuck around because I care. Because you're my friend."

"You're lying." She laughed again.

I swallowed the lump in my throat. "Forget it."

"It's forgotten."

I couldn't even look at her, turning around to leave. Never had she been so hurtful with her words.

"Oh, fine, fuck off like you want!" she shouted as I opened the front door.

I clenched my jaw as I glanced back at her. "You've become such a bitch."

She glared at me. "Better a bitch than a shitty admirer."

My heart crumbled, but I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction. "Fuck you."

And with that, I slammed the door and left. Though, not without breaking down on the lift down to the lobby.

—

She never called to apologise. She never texted to check in. And I wasn't going to crawl back to her, not out of worry or friendship or anything. She'd made a fool of me, hurt me so much that I felt like an idiot. Because I was. I was the idiot who had my love for her practically tattooed all over my face. How could I have been so foolish?

An almost ten-year friendship gone, just like that.

Months passed and it was admittedly strange not to have her in my life. Even though our relationship had drastically changed for the worst, she'd been a consistent part of my life. And now she was just... gone.

The anger and embarrassment easily turned into hurt, which turned into sadness, and I found myself missing her greatly. But she made no effort to get in touch, so I knew I needed to move on.

It was those few months later when her car accident was all over the news. That was how I'd found out. She'd been on a drive with her boyfriend who unfortunately died, and she was in hospital. Or, at least, that was all the press knew.

As frustrated as I was with her, none of it mattered when I found out what had happened. Every part of me was concerned, wanting to know if she was okay. I was so close to calling her mum and asking to visit Skye in hospital, but I was too cowardly to do it. I'd convinced myself that she wouldn't want me there. Still, I missed her greatly.

A year passed soon enough and the only connection that I had with Skye Riley was the same as all of her fans – through a TV screen. Her story was in the headlines for ages – her public breakdown, her accident, her rise back to stardom. Interviews, the announcement of her new album, her new tour... I avoided it where I could, but she was a superstar and it wasn't always easy.

I'd gotten over her. I had. I never expected to hear from her again and that was okay.

Until I got a call out of the blue and it just so happened to be her.

"Hello?" I answered the unknown number with confusion.

"Oh, sorry, I thought you might still...," the girl on the other side mumbled, before clearing her throat. "It's Skye. Erm, Skye Riley."

I stopped what I was doing, surprised to hear her voice. "Oh."

"Sorry, I know this is really random," she said quickly, nervous, "but, erm, I... I wanted to– I'd like to see you." She paused, then added, "If that's possible."

My brain was still playing catch up from the fact that she'd even called, let alone that she wanted to see me. I didn't know what to think.

"Why?" I finally asked, not trying to be hostile, but genuinely surprised.

She paused, and then spoke, "I miss you. A lot."

I furrowed my eyebrows, looking down. "Skye, it's been a year."

She chuckled nervously. "Well, I've been in rehab for half of it..." When I didn't laugh, she continued, "Sorry. I just– I want to apologise. To explain. Ideally in person."

It didn't make sense. Why now?

"Please," she said quietly, noticing my silence.

I sighed, closing my eyes. As easy (and satisfying) as it would've been to tell her no and hang up, a part of me still cared. And annoyingly enough, I'd never gotten closure which had haunted me for a while. Maybe this could be it.

"Okay," I breathed out.

"Really?" She was as surprised as I sounded when I'd answered.

"Yeah," I said before I could change my mind. "Maybe this–?"

"Tomorrow?" she cut me off without meaning to.

"Oh," I started, but she spoke again.

"Sorry, never mind," she said nervously. "When did you want to meet?"

"No, tomorrow should be fine," I agreed.

I heard her exhale with relief. "Great. Good. Is around three okay? Maybe we can get a coffee or something."

"Sure."

"Great, thanks," she said quietly. "I'll text you."

"I'll save your number," I said without thinking.

She laughed awkwardly, making me cringe at my own discomfort. "Yeah. Thanks. See you tomorrow."

After saying my goodbyes and ending on an awkward note, I took a moment to acknowledge what just happened. Getting a call from her was genuinely the last thing I'd expected, but I was willing to hear her out. If not for her sake, then for my own.

—

I couldn't stop spinning the ring on my finger, a nervous habit of mine, as I walked into the bistro downstairs to Skye's dance studio. We'd agreed to meet there after her rehearsals since it was usually only staff that frequented it so it wouldn't draw attention from her fans.

When I walked in, I glanced around, seeing it was empty for the most part, save for one or two patrons. And then I finally spotted her sat at a booth on the side, looking a lot different to how I'd last seen her, though still very similar to the girl I once knew.

When she saw me, she perked up, looking as nervous as I felt, and I had no choice but to walk over to her. She stood up, blinking, unsure whether to speak first.

"Hi," I said, when she didn't, meeting her flittering eyes.

"Hi," she responded, before swallowing thickly and glancing at the table and then me again. "Erm..." She leaned in to give me a hug, which I had no choice but to return, but it was awkward on both sides. When we pulled apart, she smiled uncomfortably. "I– sorry, I–"

"It's fine," I said quickly, before nodding awkwardly.

She slid into her side of the booth so I did the same, hoping she couldn't hear my irregular heartbeat. I looked over at her, noticing her new look. She'd cut off the long, dark hair she'd had as long as I knew her, donning a pixie cut that was now dyed blonde. I'd seen it in the press, but it still took some getting used to. Suited her though. Annoyingly, she was still as beautiful as she was the day I'd met her.

"The new look is nice," I spoke, breaking the silence and nodding to her.

A nervous smile crept on her lips. "Thanks." A pause and then: "You look good, Y/N."

"Thanks," I mumbled, smiling just as nervously.

She pushed an iced coffee towards me, saying, "I ordered for you, but I'm now realising your favourite order could've changed since we last... yeah. I can get you something different if you want."

I looked at the drink, reading the label, surprised she'd even remembered. "No, no, this is still my favourite. Thanks, Skye. You didn't have to."

"It's the least I could do," she replied with a shrug, playing with the lid of her own coffee. "I... thanks for meeting with me."

I glanced up at her. "I thought I'd never hear from you again to be honest."

She frowned, looking down. "I know. I debated calling sooner. I... I owe you a huge apology." Her eyes met mine with the utmost sincerity. "I'm sorry. For all of it. For the way I took advantage of your kindness, your friendship. The way I ignored your warnings and support. And–"

She stopped, eyes flickering to her drink guiltily, and she didn't even need to say it for me to know what she was remembering next. Everything she'd said to me before I left for good. How horrible it was, how embarrassing it was. Even now, I couldn't look at her, my face growing warm. After all this time, it was still so humiliating.

"It was awful, I know," she said quietly.

I didn't know what else to say other than, "It was."

At this, she sighed. "I know it's unforgivable and that this isn't an excuse, but I wasn't in the right head space then. I just– I miss you. After the accident..."

When she was quiet for a second longer than usual, I looked up at her, seeing a faraway look in her expression.

"Skye?" I prompted, a hint of concern in my voice.

She shook her head, glancing at the table before meeting my gaze. "Sorry. I just– I miss you and I wanted to see you."

"You keep saying that you miss me, but you had a phone," I pointed out gently, not trying to argue but unsure how to believe her. "You could've called. Especially after the accident."

I wanted you to call, I so badly wanted to add, but it was embarrassing to admit.

"I tried to," she said with a frown. "I didn't think you'd want to see me again after what I said."

I searched her gaze, saddened to hear that. "You thought I wouldn't have wanted to make sure you were okay? Just because of one argument? That I wouldn't have put all of that bullshit aside to make sure you were actually alive?"

She didn't meet my eyes, but she shook her head weakly, and I realised I was a being a little unfair despite it all.

Sighing, I leaned back in my seat, drawing shapes in the condensation of my cup mindlessly. "It's not fair of me to say you should've called. It was a lot, I can imagine. And I had a phone too, I know. I just... I didn't think you cared anymore. After everything, I thought the last person you'd want to see in hospital was me."

"I don't blame you for thinking that," she muttered, picking at her coffee cup lid again. "It's far from the truth though."

A quiet fell between us as neither of knew what to say nor where to go. It was a lot to digest, knowing she regretted how things had ended up. Selfishly, it was all I'd wanted all this time – an apology and some closure.

"I want to make things right," she said, eyes flickering up to mine.

I met her halfway, exhaling gently. "I forgive you, Skye. I appreciate your apology."

The tension in her shoulders seemed to relax, as did her expression, and she nodded slightly. "I'd like to try again. If you would."

"I figured that's where this was going," I admitted, before nodding slowly. "I'd like that too."

She breathed out with relief, containing it behind a simple nod, and it meant a lot to me that this meant a lot to her, more than I thought it would.

"I really missed you," I said, feeling like a weight had been lifted.

Her eyes were glassy as she gave me a small smile. "I really missed you too, Y/N."

I stood up, as did she, and hugged her properly. It was unlike the previous one and she returned it with just as much relief, the two of us clinging tightly to one another like it was the last.

It was still a mystery to me as to whether rebuilding a friendship with Skye would be for the better, but my heart was saying to do it and I couldn't help myself. She was so easy to give into, so easy to fall back into place with.

#smile 2 #skye riley imagine #skye riley x reader #naomi scott #smile 2 imagine #skye riley x you #skye riley

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bakugoushotwife · 1 year ago

Text

kinktober day four: voyeurism kink

>>> guys can you tell i have a choso fantasy or do i need to write another five thousand word fic to prove it i'm sobbing and actually in love with him fr. it took me days to write this bc i was just too feral.

>>> starring: choso kamo x curvy!fem!reader >>> cw: roommate choso, hung like a horse choso, virgin choso, voyeurism clearly, petnames, masturbation, cowgirl, implied multiple rounds, choso whimpers you're so welcome, choso smokes a blunt grow up >>> wc: 4.8k >>> event masterlist

this whole roommate ordeal seemed easy enough. you had a spare room in your condo, yuji had a spare brother that needed a place to stay after graduation. it worked out perfectly, as you weren’t too keen on having a rando move in. though the half-curse was little more than that, really. you had only come in contact with choso briefly, seeing him move through the halls of jujutsu tech in search of the very brother that recommended him to you. he was intimidating, tall and broad with a look of disinterest across his face every time you ran into him. yuji had told you that he wasn’t necessarily unfriendly, just unsure, so you were weary to approach him once he moved into the spare room. you didn’t want to overdo it, you would hate to make him uncomfortable with all these changes he was getting accustomed to. so for the first three months or so, you two would only exchange pleasantries and nod respectfully, two strangers sharing an address and lingering curious stares. then, one morning you offered to make him breakfast, and you two settled into a comfortable friendship after that.

Nowadays, nearly a year later, the living area was actually used and shared. you watched recommended shows together, introduced each other to your favorite movies, and oftentimes just sat in each other’s presence on the couch; on your phones, playing nintendo switch games, or passing choso’s best attempt at a blunt between you while shit talking your neighbors with your legs in his lap. you even encouraged him to invest in a real gaming setup, where he plays a host of different games for hours while you sit contently in the bean bag chair stationed nearby in his room, reading or crafting or just watching from time to time. the more comfortable he became, the more fun he was to be around. he was no longer shy to ask you to sit with him while he plays or to inquire about your latest book and his smiles and conversations flowed more freely.

he enjoys your presence. it’s easy to be around you. he wonders why. even with all the progress he had made with you, he was still terribly awkward around new people and his social battery was limited. he never got tired of hanging out with you though, in fact, he craves it always. yuji says that it’s because you’re pretty, which choso can’t disagree with, though his brother’s statement irritates him for no good reason.

he finds himself wondering if his brother knows you the way he does, silly things about you like which animal crossing character you would reincarnate as or the fact you hate grape flavored anything—it all tastes like cough syrup!--he can hear you say. no, he gets to see the real you, the one you reserve just for him. so yuji can think you’re pretty all he wants, but he’s the one who gets to see your breathtaking smiles in reaction to something he said.

“bro?! still there–or are you too busy being jealous?” yuji snickers, relishing in the match he made. he knew choso would wake up with a babe like you walking around.

“you’re a child. and a dick.” he huffs, aggravated by his spacey sibling’s acute sense of his feelings. “goodbye.” he taps to end their weekly gaming marathon facetime two hours short out of annoyance, confronted with the silence of his bedroom and his questioning thoughts about you. jealous? as much as he hated to admit it, maybe he was. he couldn't even picture the thought of you being with someone else, try as he might. did that mean he wanted to be that person? your person? he’s so confused, but he knows even if he’s embarrassed he can talk to you about it. you could help him work through his feelings and come to a solution. even if the feelings were about you, he knows you would always be honest with him. he sighs, deciding to make his way to your room down the hall.

you two didn’t spend a lot of time apart now that the bond had been created, and you were more than alright with that routine, because on fridays, choso holed up in his room for five straight hours to facetime yuji and play video games giving you some much needed time to yourself. you always started with a long and intricate shower, doing all your different exfoliants and masks. then you’d touch up your nails and give yourself a total spa treatment, finishing up by putting on your cutest little panties and releasing some of the pent up sexual frustration for your roommate that you keep under lock and key for the same reasons you were hesitant to cross into friendship territory all those months ago: you don’t want to scare him away.

so you settle for your own small hands cupping your chest and pinching at your nipples, trying to picture him. It’s choso’s large and veiny hands that run down your sides and spread your legs instead of your own toying with your underwear. you can smell the versace eros cologne he wears wafting through your nose, almost able to hear his gravelly voice in your ear praising you for doing so good. it’s almost embarrassing how easy it is to conjure the image of him sinking between your thighs, lust pooling in his violet eyes. you’re soaked already, feeling the fabric of your panties sticking to your cunt just at your active imagination. you peel them off, hissing as cold air blows across your middle, but your fingers quickly find the heat of your hole, gathering that natural lube to flick your clit with. your eyes are closed—whining helplessly already at the sensation you bring yourself with him in mind. it’s nowhere near the real deal, but the bliss is good enough to lull pants of his name from your mouth, body light as air.

choso doesn’t think anything of your closed door. you told him you keep it closed to let him have his space, not wanting him to feel like you’re watching or eavesdropping on him while he’s on the phone. especially as he got close enough to reach for your door handle, hearing you call his name. you sounded…strained? in all honesty he was worried. so he doesn’t hesitate to push the door open a bit, peeking to check. his heart drops into his stomach at the sight of you naked on your bed. you’re stunning. he’s seen pictures of other women—and yuji showed him a few websites—but your body was second to none. his hand flew to cover his immediate hard on, shocked you hadn’t noticed him yet. fuck, you are gorgeous, one hand squeezing at your breast, the other playing around in that squelching noise he hears between your legs. he fights the urge to moan aloud or announce his presence, and he’s ashamed of himself. he feels like he’s betraying your trust, but his dick keeps growing in his pants at the chants of his name spilling out of your lips. he watches as your legs jerk and your head falls back against your pillow, making him think you were almost done. he had to get out before you saw him or felt his unique energy so close to you. he’s panting as he shuts the door quietly, turning the knob just so it wouldn’t alert you.

his dick hurts as he makes it just one room down—the bathroom. perfect. he turns the shower on immediately, stripping his clothes off like they were on fire. he had set out to talk to you, to be completely honest about the thoughts he had been having, but seeing you like that did things to him words could not. he’s been horny before, of course, and dealt with that the way single human men do. but this—the desire coursing through his veins—this was different. so different. everything was clear now, he needed you. he stands with his back under the water, whimpering as his dick throbs to the mental image of your glistening pussy and blissed out face. he can’t help but close his fist around the his wide shaft, stuttering out a sigh in relief. he strokes himself to the same rhythm you moved your fingers, imagining how that pace would feel with your wet and warm cunt hugging him in instead of the rough surface of his hand. his other hand keeps him braced on the shower wall, steadying him through the searing heat the promises of your touch seem to be; to think that you were calling for him, thinking of him in the way he thinks of you now felt like a dream. he had to be hearing things, that’s the only excuse the man can summon. water beads down his biceps and chest, and it just makes his dirty deed all that much more so, fucking into his fist until his load is running down the side of the tub, the pearly beads getting swept away in the water and carried down the drain. he tosses his head back in the shower stream, his long black strands sticking to his face and neck as he tries to rinse away his shame.

that night, choso doesn’t come out of his room to watch a movie with you before bed. you pout, but try not to linger on it too long. maybe yuji took a lot out of him today, or they didn’t have a successful time on and he was moody. either way, you weren’t going to bother him. you hang out on the couch like usual with the hopes that he would emerge soon, but as your bedtime nears and everything remains still, you slink off to your room with a sour mood to end an otherwise normal day.

as the days pass, choso’s behavior gets weirder and weirder. it’s almost as if he’s completely reverted inside his shell he made when he moved in, only emerging to get food when he had hoped you weren’t around. the times in which he did inevitably run into you were dealt in nervous laughter and denials that anything was wrong with him. it didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was lying, hiding something from you even. you were slightly hurt that he didn’t trust you enough to talk to you, instead of going backwards and shutting you out. you wanted to wait it out, but as the days turned into a full week, you feared losing him altogether.

you stewed over the situation the entire time you were at work. you couldn’t even get anything accomplished because you were too preoccupied wondering what you had done to wound your connection. spending your days alone was maddening. a little over a year ago, you would have relished in the peace and quiet, but now it was unwelcome. you only wanted quiet if it was filled with the subtle sounds of pages turning or the buttons of a controller smashing or shared breathing during the climax of a show. this was haunting, and you knew you had to do something. you left work early, faking a stomach ache in order to get home and corner choso into relenting. no more miss nice roommate. you were tired of letting him be all weird and distant. so you walked in unceremoniously, not necessarily out to scare him. you shake your sandals off by the door and walk towards his room, noting that his door was actually open for once.

that was only because you weren’t supposed to be home for three and a half more hours, giving choso plenty of time to relive his dirty fantasies of you with the least amount of guilt possible, though he could barely look you in the eye these days. if you weren’t home, he could at least not worry about you catching him in his perverted acts, only dealing with the shame that flows in after he’s came for the millionth time to the image of your legs quivering and mouth parting in pleasure. he didn’t hear you sneak in–didn’t hear you shuffle down the hall to poke your head around the doorframe. he was dead to the outside world, his hips stuttering into his hand, thumb swiping the pre-cum that beaded there around his slit, stroking himself with whimpers of your name tumbling out, his eyes scrunched tight in concentration.

your jaw was on the floor, never in a million years imagining that he even knew how to touch himself like that, not to mention the prayers of your name on his tongue, mirroring the ones you make for him on fridays. he was massive, it had you covering your mouth in shock. even with his huge hand, it seemed like pumping himself was a tall task. you couldn’t imagine trying to do it yourself, you’re not even sure two hands would do the trick— you must have gasped aloud or something, because suddenly his head snaps toward where you stand in the doorway.

“y/n–you’re–” his dark eyes are wide, his lips parted in realization that you had really caught him jerking off and mewling your name like a helpless perv. as the guilt starts to creep in, the haze of need and desire clouds his mind. he never lets go of himself, all too aware of your lip between your teeth and your hardened nipples poking through your top—no, you shouldn’t be seeing this, you shouldn’t even be home yet! not to mention how ashamed you should be of your own roommate rutting into his hand.

“...i’m home.” you whisper back, a slight smirk creeping onto your face. despite the red blush spreading across his cheeks, he keeps fucking up into his hand. it’s salacious, and you can feel your body responding to the sight, unsurprisingly. you’ve been picturing him naked for months, and not even your lewd imagination gave him justice. every plane on his body was sculpted and defined, thick veins running down his arms and thighs and cock. he left his hair down, some of the strands tucked behind his ear, some of them hung over his brows and cheekbones. he gulped when he noticed your stare, your eyes locked on the thick cock in his hand, curved with an angry and needy tip.

“y/n, i’m so so sorr–” he scrambles to sit up, the heavy reality finally sinking in. he was awful, sick in the head, you were going to have him pack his shit immediately, and he’d have to tell all his friends why you had gotten rid of him.

“need some help?” you spit out, unable to tolerate the pounding in your chest and pussy. his eyes grow impossibly wider, blood rushing in his ears. did he understand you right? he couldn’t possibly.

“wh-what?” he sputtered, sitting up slightly to try and hide himself from view a bit, as if you hadn’t seen every bit of him already.

“i asked if you wanted my help. you were saying my name, weren’t you?” you tease gently, stepping further into his room, your hands innocently folded behind your back. now that you know your desire is shared, you felt confident enough to push your relationship further yet again. he nods hesitantly, watching you stalk over to the bed like a lioness about to pounce.

“i–yes, it’s not what you think. i know it looks–”

“like you were jacking off and thinking about me? is that not…what you were doing?” you hum, pausing by the foot of his bed. you look so cute, he has to believe you know what you’re doing, folding your arms under your voluptuous chest just to taunt him a bit more. you have him backed into a corner, and he either had to admit the truth or come up with a very clever lie. and he is not a gifted liar.

“i–yeah…” he looks away, feeling the shame weighing down on him now that you had confronted him with the undeniable truth.

you chuckle warmly. “i do the same thing, ‘cept I’m thinking of you.” you shrug, the smirk growing on your face as realization seeps into his. he didn’t misunderstand you that day or even earlier in this conversation. you want him too. he swallows thickly again, remembering the day that started all of this.

“i–i know, i saw you, last week.” he chokes out as you take your top off, revealing yourself to him. He’d noticed your lack of bra earlier, but didn’t expect to be blessed with the sight of your body again, especially as you bend at the hips to wiggle out of your pants. Your laughter surprises him again, like he had intentionally made a joke. but it was only because he had solved the mystery that led you to his room in the first place, and that would potentially resolve any secrets you had been keeping from one another.

“so that’s why you’ve been avoiding me?” you scrunch your nose at him adorably as you crawl onto the bed, his eyes glued to the body that had him locked in his bedroom day and night. “oh choso, i wish you would have interrupted me…i surely woulda let you help me.” you purr, so close to him that he could reach out and touch you now, and he definitely thinks about just grabbing your hips and pulling you down on him, finally feeling that glistening pussy for himself—to hell with his imagination, but your voice interrupts his thoughts again.

“so, do you want me to help you, baby?” you glance from the hard length in his hands to his deep purple eyes, swirling with something you recognize very well to be deep desire.

“please–” he whimpered and let his hand fall away from his pelvis, looking to you like a pathetic boy getting his teenage dreams fulfilled. Your grin grows wide, and you lean closer to brush your hand across his toned abdomen. he lets out a pleased little grunt and his cock jumps at the simple touch

“you’ve never been with anyone, have you?” you asked, faces so close he can see every freckle and dimple and scar on your skin. he shakes his head. you peck the tip of his nose. he’s already shivering, the feeling of your body leaning over his was exhilarating. your kiss was so simple and sweet, but it stopped all the thoughts in his brain. he was just malleable now, ready to let you make him feel good, finally shifting from imagination to reality. “need you to talk to me, so i can know where you’re at, cho.”

“no, no..never.” he shakes his head again, eying you with excitement and nerves all at once. he wants to touch you, and you’ve already stripped naked and kissed him, so surely there was no going back now, so he reaches up and places his hands on your hips—so light like he was afraid to hurt you.

you grin at both his answer and his courageous touch, nodding your encouragement, “that’s fine, i’ll help you…just do what feels natural–you can go as hard as you want., and tell me if you want to stop.” your eyes blink at him sweet he realizes he would trust you with his life if you asked.

“okay.” he lets your words wash over him, nodding as he grips your hips a little tighter. he’s more than embraced his fate, his mouth watering a bit at the idea that you were in his bed and offering to make all his fantasies come true. you were expecting him to keep that deer in a headlights look, but when you rake your fingernails across his chest, you watch his eyes darken a bit more. “kiss me?”

choso looks so cute, you couldn’t deny him if you wanted to. his eyebrow raised with innocence, but his eyes shrouded in arousal. you giggle softly and lean up, sliding your hands over his pecs and shoulders and into those dark locks calling your name. you tug, and he gasps softly. you take that opportunity to cover his parted lips with your own, his head falling back to accommodate you as you fully crawl into his lap. he melts, you feel and taste so impossibly good he’s concerned he may bust over the kiss. your tongue moves so expertly against his, twirling around and sucking on the muscle in a way he didn’t know people employed. then you’re sitting on his abs, and he can feel so much at once. his eyes blow wide in the kiss, and he has to pull away to gasp again and see what you’re doing to him.

you’re simply sitting, your pretty shining pussy rubbing against his core and his dick teasing the crack of your ass. that must be what’s driving him insane, the warmth and softness providing some but not enough friction. you wiggle your ass a bit to tease him, and he whimpers. the sound is so sweet and low you know you can’t handle playing with the shy little virgin much longer.

“i–is th–that sup’posed to f-feel that go–ngh, good?” he stammers, the hold on your hips bordering bruising. he doesn’t even realize, and you certainly don’t mind, so you only smile and nod down at him, reaching for his chin with your fingers. he makes you look so small without even trying, the broad expanse of his body, wide jaw and thick legs—not to mention the monstrous cock rocking against your behind, your own need soaking his happy trail to the skin beneath. you move his gaze from your sensual movements back to your sultry gaze. yuji was wrong. pretty was such a mild way to describe the woman on his lap. you were more a kin to a goddess, something not fully human like him.

“i was hoping to give you the full treatment, but i don’t think you’ll mind if i skip to the main event?” you bite your lip, your other hand scraping at his scalp a little bit. no, of course he didn’t mind. sometimes you were so silly. he nods fervently, remembering that he needed to find his voice, to not seem like such a coward when he wanted this so badly.

“no—please,” he whimpers again, feeling the drip of your liquid on him. it dawns on him then that you’re just as needy, and you still wanted him even though you’d have to teach him what to do. you didn’t seem worried, maybe it was easier than he thought. but all he knows is that his balls are starting to hurt and he had never felt more buzzed in his entire life, sensitive to every move you make. “i need you so bad, oh sh–”

you scoot back, lifting yourself up a little to align him with your entrance. his whimpers and begs were so fucking amazing, you wish you had it in you to milk it. you make the mental note to keep him begging when you show him what it feels like to have his dick sucked or whimpering when he eats your cunt for the first time. he’s so heavy in your hand, and you can’t even close your fist around him. it makes you shudder, knowing that you’re going to make him fit inside you no matter the stretch. his tip was so red and irritated, oozing pre. you swiped it over his head, humming in amusement as he jerks and whines at the feeling.

“you’re massive, d’you know that?” you pout, sinking down a few inches. he moans at first, feeling like his cock was fit into a perfect sleeve. it’s unreal, the heat he feels in his gut as you rock further down on him, whining at how huge he was. he watches the pained faces you make halfway down, the concern clear on his face. he didn’t know he was that big—he hadn’t really been comparing, but if it was hurting you, he wondered what he could do. he remembers watching you play with that sensitive spot at the apex of your thighs, using your own slick to glide around. he thinks he could replicate that, so he sticks his fingers in his mouth, spitting a bit to make sure they were just as wet as you were. you take more of him, almost to his base all while panting and bracing yourself on his chest with your eyes screwed shut. he reaches toward you, swiping his fingers around the place he watched you toy with. you gasp out and sit all the way down, the noises you make as he touches you make his eyes widen again.

“god—i’m so full, baby.” you nod, your hips moving forward automatically, searching for more of that searing feeling he brings to your clit. he surprises you, moving his digits in slow circles as you get accustomed to his size. he chokes slightly when you squeeze him, his eyes zeroed in on your face.

“are you alright?” he asks softly, feeling your nails dig into his chest as your hips move faster now, any other words he had wanted to say sucked from his brain like he had no thoughts at all, nothing other than that vice-grip of a pussy you have locked around him, bouncing softly and leaving little half-moons in his skin.

“mhm, just had to stretch a bit t’fit you, are you alright?” you grin as you ask, knowing he would struggle to respond—in the best way possible. he nods eagerly, eyes flickering from where you swallow him up to your soft face of bliss.

“are you kidding? i’m—” you rock on him a bit faster, the feeling of wet and choking walls rubbing every possible spot had him sputtering, unable to speak. he’s only able to watch you run a hand through your mane, keeping it out of your face and away from your bouncing tits. he’s in heaven. being with a woman, no, being with you, was as all the eternal bliss he cared to know.

his hips start to move, the hold he has on your hips trailing up to the curves of your waist to better hold you down. he didn’t realize how much more intense he would make this feel for the both of you, grunts and whines spilling from his lips as you begin to cry out and yell. it’s heavenly, the way you let him drive into you, leaning forward with one hand on the headboard and the other tugging his head towards your chest. he contains his pathetic pants by sucking your nipple in his mouth, laving his tongue over it, mind so drunk and hazy he can only be driven by his primal instincts, flat footed on the bed to plow into you from below.

it’s so perfect. you scream his name way better than he ever imagined, and he doesn’t mind to bear the scratch marks of your passion. you keep squeezing around him, and it drives him crazy.

“i–i love when you do that—clenching down on me like that, fuck.” He grunts, slowly getting his knees under him while you sloppily keep the pace. he uses the leverage to ease you to your back, though you don’t have the luxury of pillows or a headboard, only the mattress beneath you as choso realizes this positioning lets him piston his hips without you having to do any work at all. you’re wailing, nodding to keep him from worrying about you as you continuously claw at his back and shoulders.

“choso baby—” you whine in such a way, he knows he’s going to bust in seconds. “you’re gonna make me cum, please–doin’ so good, ngh—ack!” you cry, legs tightening around his waist as he feels a significant increase of your fluids. feeling and watching you cum by his doing was the nail in the coffin—the way your face screwed up in pure pleasure brought him his own, his pelvis stilling against the mounds of your backside, cock twitching against your womb before your vision is blurry, and all you feel is warmth seeping out of you. his load leaked out around him inside you, his cock still pulsating with no signs of dying down.

he smiles at you a little shyly, his cheeks rosy and eyes hazy with the aftershocks of such a gripping orgasm. he watches your chest heave as you calm down, your eyes fluttering open and a smile spreading across your face as you look up at him.

“what do i do now? to take care of you?” he asks, absentmindedly stroking the creases where your thighs meet your hips. you giggle and shake your head, knowing it would take multiple rounds for his erection to die down.

“i show you the full treatment now, baby.” you grin, wiggling your eyebrows.

choso found himself immersed in exploring himself and your body, discovering several new kinks to enjoy with his sweet little roommate turned lover.

#kyleewritesjjk #kylee's kinktober event #kinktober 2023 #kinktober #choso x reader #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #choso smut #choso x voyeurism #jjk choso #choso kamo #choso

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caelivir · 2 years ago

Text

rayne ames relationship hcs (part ii)

— WARNING: creepy behavior from a guy but that’s it

— author’s note. i feel like the author’s note from when i posted this doesn’t apply anymore, but anyway, this is part two but isn’t actually because i lost the first part when i accidentally deleted my account… again im so sorry. ALSO!! the writing is a little different bc i’m cringing rereading my old stuff. (how did u guys let that slide)

— HUGE HUGE HUGE THANK YOU TO @mikadzukis FOR SAVING MY OLD HCS I AM INDEBTED TO U!!!!

rayne ames loves dates with you. he loves them.

but he especially loves picnic dates

you introduced him to the idea on one of his days off

you promised it wasn’t going to be draining because you knew being a visionary is a taxing job

so he agreed

and he loved it

spread across the red and white checkered picnic blanket are plates of grapes, cheese, and sandwiches. two goblets of iced tea rest on top of a wooden board so they can remain balanced.

rayne’s large hands support his weight as he leans back onto the blanket. the half-blonde cranes his neck to stare up at the leaves. rays of sunlight peek through slivers of space between them. a butterfly flutters its wings above him.

“rayne!” you call for his attention.

your lover hums as a reply before directing his eyes toward you, offering his full attention.

“i made something for you.” you speak, grabbing for another basket on the blanket. you lift up the cover, reaching carefully inside it. you pull out a cake platter and set aside the lid that protected the dessert residing on it.

“it’s a cake!” you continue with a smile. “this is the first time you’ve been off in a while so i thought i could make a cake to celebrate! i even decorated it with some bunnies!”

a small grin grows on the visionary’s face. he pushes himself up. rayne takes the platter out of your hand and gently places it on a free board on the blanket. you’re caught in surprise as his arms wrap themselves around your waist. his head finds warmth in the crook of your neck.

“thank you.” he whispers.

rayne’s protective of you

he knows you’re capable of fighting your own battles, but there are certain situations where he just had to take care of it

if someone’s saying things about you or harassing you, he isn’t going to tolerate that

the entirety of easton knows not to mess with you, because messing with you means messing with rayne, and no one wants to put themselves through that

he’s already scary enough as is so all it takes is a couple of threats for the person to leave cowering in fear

you wait outside of the café as rayne uses the restroom. people of all ages each other as they navigate their ways theough marchétte street. one of them approaches you, but it’s not rayne.

“so what’s a fine thing like you doing alone here in the street.” a guy smirks, trailing his eyes up and down your body. you shift uncomfortably. he’s definitely a few years older than you and inches taller than rayne. a single line cuts through his right cheek, indicating his level of magic.

you swallow down an anxious gulp before speaking. “i’m with my boyfriend.”

“tell me gorgeous,” the man’s hand travels down the path of your jaw. you’re disgusted by his touch. “does your boyfriend like to share?”

“i really think you should go.” you respond firmly, shoving the grimy hand away from your face.

the guy chuckles, raising his hands in defense. “no need to get aggressive, sweetheart! i just want to know!”

“and who the hell are you?” a familiar deep voice says from behind you. you turn around to discover rayne, and your eyes light up at his appearance. you’re well acquainted with the detachment and chilling coldness of rayne’s gaze, but now, there’s a fire behind them.

rage.

he’s pissed.

recognition becomes evident in the man’s face, and it dawns on him that he just messed with a divine visionary’s lover, but before he can retreat, rayne steps in front of you. he yanks your harasser down to your level. you don’t know what the half-blonde says, but it’s clear that it sparks fear into the features of the other man. once rayne’s finishes with him, he apologizes profusely before running away in the opposite direction.

the anger behind rayne’s eyes fade; they soften when he finds your gaze. “are you okay.”

you grin. “yeah, now that you’re here.”

rayne lets you wear his robes

whenever you hang out in his dorm, your first instinct is to go through his closet and take them

when you first did it, he was going to protest

but you looked so cute i. them that he decided to let it slide

you especially like wearing them when you nap

though you wearing his robes does pose some problems for him from time to time

“you’re late,” orter points out from his seat at the table. his fingers slide the frame of his glasses up his nose. “and where’s your visionary robe?”

rayne strolls past the desert came, not bothering to answer for his actions. he didn’t want to admit—especially to orter of all people—the reason behind his missing robe.

this morning, just as he was almost ready to leave for the divine visionary meeting, rayne realized that he was missing his robe. the half-blonde searched ever crevice of his dorm but to no avail. rayne sighed, reaching the conclusion that you accidentally took it.

yesterday, he had to run a quick errand while you were napping. upon his return, rayne discovered that you had left. you scribbled a message on a notepad, explaining that you didn’t want to keep intruding. you were probably too tired to realize that you had his war robe in your possession.

rayne could waste any more time making a trip to your dorm. it was a bit of a distance from his. the best decision at the moment was to let you have it and attend the meeting without it.

that is how he ended up in this situation, late and stuck sitting next to ryoh.

“y/n has your robe, don’t they?” ryoh teases in a whisper. for some reason, ryoh had discovered rayne’s relationship with you. whenever the two visionaries crossed paths, his senior never fails to mention you.

the sword cane doesn’t respond. “that’s a yes, isn’t it?” ryoh continues with a shit-eating grin. he pokes the arm of the boy next to him

rayne inhales. gods, he was not going to hear the end of this.

whenever you and rayne are apart due to his job as divine visionary, you communicate through letters sent by owls

he talks about the places he’s at and shit talks the people he doesn’t like

you tell him about you classes and how things are back at the academy, especially things going on within the adler dorm

and you occasionally give him updates on finn because you know deep down rayne cares about him

an owl lands on the sill of the open window of rayne’s temporary room. the animal clamps down on an browned envelope placed in its beak. rayne approaches the bird, and it drops the letter into his hands before flying off.

the mattress of the bend sinks under rayne’s weight when he sits on it. he unfolds the piece of parchment in his hands unsealing the envelope. his eyes scan down the letter that reads:

dear rayne,

how’s your trip? i hope nothing’s gone bad. things back at easton have been the same as usual, but it’s not that fun without you here.

classes are boring, but that’s nothing new. i might rip my brain out. i’ve been baking to try and cope. by the way, when you get back, you have to try this cheese tart i made. i had your brother and a friend of his try them. they seemed to like it a lot. i don’t know the name of the kid yet, but he wants me to make cream puffs next time. he says they’re a lot better than cheese tarts so you’ll have to try those too.

speaking of finn, he’s doing extremely well. he’s making lots of friends which is really nice to see. he always seems nervous to talk to me though. am i intimidating or something. i don’t think i am. unless you’ve been saying some things about me then i think we’re gonna have a problem…

gods, i miss you so much. come back soon. i’ll be waiting for you always. take care of yourself and don’t stress too much. i love you.

- y/n

p.s. please get me a souvenir. thank you! i love you, again.

rayne stands up, finding a sheet of paper and a quill. he pulls out a chair by a table. a slight smile flashes on the visionary’s face as he writes back to you—his home.

#anime #manga #mashle #mashle magic and muscles #mashle x reader #rayne ames #rayne ames x reader #rayne x reader #⭑ — fics ⭑.ᐟ♡#♡ — mashle #♡ — rayne

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yeahspider · 1 year ago

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I have a request if they're open! Can you please write something with Han or Felix based of the song Matilda by Harry Styles? I relate to that song more than I want to 😭

THIS IS SUCH A CUTE REQUEST !!!! tysm for stopping by my inbox i love this song it means alot to me so this is gonna be based off of my personal experience a little bit and i hope that's okay. also its a lil short im sorry . this is only semi proofread but just know that it was written passionately. abrupt ending as always and to all readers this is sfw but allusions to triggering topics such as parental abuse and neglect . enjoy and feel free to stop by again ! <3

(also i have something to confess …. this was originally written with lee know in mind bc i’m dumb and read your request wrong ….so i altered it i hope you still like it i’m sorry 😭😭)

Grape juice 🫀

"Do you think I'm a terrible person for leaving?" you asked felix as you both sat in silence on the hood of his car. The night was warm despite the cold thoughts making their way into your head. It's been six months since left your home and three since you met him. In that time you've never felt more free. Your home life was never that good. Your stepfather was mean and your mother was blinded in love She did her best and you know that, but you were suffocating. Never enough money to go around and even less love. Your childhood was cold and ended all too soon. your family was struggling and you wanted out. As soon as you came of age you left. Starting a life of your own a world away. A life that was significantly better than the previous one you led. Every so often though, those thoughts would creep back up.

you abandoned them

you're being selfish

ungrateful

a coward

but felix was always there to chase them away. he didn't know every sad detail of your life but he knew enough to know that your home life was slowly killing you. Taking your hand he rubbed his finger over your palm, tracing the lines and curves.

"Your mother called again?" you nodded as you mulled over what details of the conversation you had with your mother earlier that evening. Calling it a conversation is a kindness you apply for her sake. In reality, it was thirty minutes of your mother berating you for leaving. From the sound of her slurred words, you could tell she was drunk, not a new thing for her. On most days you can ignore her hurtful words but today for some reason unknown to you, they stuck around in your heart.

"Just more of the usual stuff. She wants me to come home. Says Im a terrible person for leaving, that I abandoned my family. you know the usual stuff." you tell him as you pick at a peeling piece of paint on the hood. you could feel the tears welling up in your eyes and it made you feel so pathetic. How could someone miles away hurt your feelings? Crying felt stupid and pointless, you weren't taught to cry.

"You can cry you know? I'm not going to judge you." felix said as he wiped an escaped tear on your cheek. Something about those words made you so confused. Why wasn't he telling you to stop? To suck it up and be an adult? That you weren't a child anymore so it's not okay to cry when someone hurts your pathetic little feelings. An anger surged through you as you jumped out of the car and turned to him.

"Why are you so nice to me? I mean we barely know each other yet here you are comforting me on my mommy issues. What do you want from me?" you shouted at him as he just blinked at you, taking in your frenzied state. You weren't mad at felix and he knew that. This is just how you were taught to respond to kindness. Vulnerability was punished growing up, that lesson was still deeply embedded in your consciousness. He waited until your words washed over you and with the water came a calmness. He's seen plenty of your outbursts at this point in your friendship, although infrequent he handed them with grace every time. It surprised you never gave up on yourself like everyone else. Your brain wanted to be suspicious, your heart felt otherwise. felix waited until you released a breath and sat back down on the hood, muttering an apology as you went.

"You owe them nothing. All your life they've done nothing but tear you down as soon as you try and build a life for yourself. Your family robbed you of a childhood don't let them do the same to your adulthood. You deserve to live for yourself. That doesn't make you selfish or a coward. I won't let them ruin all the progress you've made. You're a good person. No one should make you feel any less." He finished his speech with a pat on your thigh, signaling you to get up and into the car.

"where are we going?" you asked as felix reached over and buckled your seatbelt for you. a habit he never seemed to forget.

"Somewhere, anywhere, everywhere. As far as we need to go for you toshake off those feelings. I'm gonna remind you how fun life can be. "

#stray kids x reader #stray kids fanfic #stray kids imagines #yeahspideranswers #stray kids reactions #stray kids smut #stray kids scenarios #stray kids headcanons #stray kids fluff #yeahspider #lee felix fic #lee felix x you #lee felix angst #lee felix fanfic #lee felix smut #lee felix fluff #lee felix imagines #lee felix x reader #felix x reader

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t-mblr-begone · 4 months ago

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HI I JUST FINISHED TNG AND AM AUTISTIC I NEED TO TALK (warning long ass post, ramblings)

Q in his stupid fucking judge outfit???? Oh my god i love him so much?? And like?? I dont even think he wanted to put picard on trial at the end he says it was the continuums orders so did he even want to do that too him? Who knows!! We do know hes gay as shit though oh my god. I love him.

The past, the Encounter At Farpoint, picard yelling for Q on the bridge and everyone probably thinking hes insane. Picard not telling any of them whats going on, even though it doesnt affect the other timelines. Tasha Yar???? Hi Tasha!!!!!! Worf with his old sash, the old uniforms, the shitty dress deanna wore in the first episode (it slayed), data being. So autistic. Liek actually hold on can i talk about tha

This episode, with all its converging timelines, really shows how data grows- not just as a character just in general, as the years go by on the ship, he starts understanding idioms, somewhat. He. He gets more human. He really does. His movements more fluid, hes smarter. He really does grow, something about his neural net constantly evolving or something. Oh my god.

The shitty future?? Worf liking Deanna Romantically Cannon??? Riker was still holding on to the relationship this whole time?? (I never noticed really. Im. Autistic.) PICARD AND CRUSHER GOT MARRIED. And then divorced BUT STILL. Picard back on earth?? Tending to what i can only assume to be grape plants or something, like his brother. Data teaches at Cambridge. He has grey hair, thinks it makes him more distinguished. Geordi has eyes! Like in two different timelines he has eyes.

Thats another thing actually, like i could have sworn at least in the earlier seasons, he didnt want. Eyes? I thought?? But like. It seems like a minor Thing, cause it showed up in that one Riker Gets Kidnapped By A Child Alien Because Its Lonely episode. And again here, and probably other places i can't remember because ive consumed all of tng in 2 months.

The present. I dont have shit to say about that actually. It sure is season 7.

OH MY GOD THE BEGINNING OF THW EPISODE BEFORE Q REAVEALS HIMSELF?? How we dont know if he Is travelling through time or if hes Going Senile. The cuts?? I mean the cuts through the whole episode is so good the cinematography in general!!!! Oh my god. The close ups, the panning, THE ACTING?? TASHA YAR??? EARLY WORF? OLD WORF? I like worf. GEORDI? DATA???? love brett spiner.

And i mean who remembers the judge scene from the first episode at this point? The foreshadowing with the jury(?)/audience(?) i didnt even. Realize until they put Picard on the stand again.

DEANNA BEING FUCKING DEAD IN THE FUTURE HELLO?????????????

Oh my god but the end scene. The end shot of the poker game? Imagine seeing the future, all your friends, drifted apart, tense at each other with worf and riker. Seeing that. And then coming back to reality, to Your Time. And seeing your friends as they are right then. Why didnt picard join them for poker?

No like actually. Did. Did he have a reason for that? Some like, weird captain thing? Or like. Some weird barrier wall thing? Thing where he feels like he should isolate himself.

But the point is, he joins his friends for some poker, i dont think he had probably played poker in years. Its just. Amazing.

You know. I think this is one of the first times ive seen her again and not cried, which is progress because every other time it was. Not great.

But now that tngs over

Hey does tumblr have a word limit? We're about to find out.

But now that tngs over, theres still a lot i have to ask. Like why the fuck did they do that to wesley? Do we see wesley again? Is still dont know who b-4 is. Whats Ro doing now? Is she good? Do we see her again? Does she know kira? Do ro and kira meet? Probably not actually. Itd probably be cool though. Do worf and deanna get married? Please. I ne- oh wait no they cant bc worf has a thing with jadzia at some point. What the fuck is up with worf and jadzia? And also where is alexander now? When does worf join ds9? Probably season 3 idk. Or Barclay? Cheif o'brien? Cause the show ran concurrently for a bit. WHY DONR WORF AND DEANNA GET MARRIED THEYRE LIKE PERFECT???? What the fuck is that guy with the ears damar? Gamar? I think its damar? Idk. Why he look like that? IS RO GOING TO DIE??

Oh hey i get to meet sisko, hes cool. He gets like visions or some shit. Q doesnt like him i think "picard never hit me ):" "im not picard."

Q and Quark. Odo and Q. Do we get to see the cunty judge outfit again? Why does he have a mustache when hes boxing sisko or whatever?

OH I GET TO SEE FUCK ASS DUKAT THEOW DARTS AT HIM EVIL. Fun.

Okay yeah im done

#does anyone want to read this?#ramblings #eh ill tag it just incase #star trek #star trek tng #star trek the next generation #q star trek #star trek ds9 #data #data tng

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cherrsnut · 11 months ago

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Hostage - Chapter 5

Finnick Odair x Healer!Reader

Summary: Up until now, your life has been a solitary one. Being the sole owner of an herbal shop, and apothecary to many fishermen who have been injured. Just when your life seemed to follow the routine you were so used to, your life turns a 360 when you’re suddenly taken away for the 67th Annual Hunger Games. This turn of events forces you to accept the idea the Grim Reaper is stalking close behind you, faster than you had hoped for.

Tags: Extremely Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Angst, Typical THG Violence, Forced Prostitution, Forced Lab Rat, Injury, Mental Health Deterioration, Psychological/Physical Torture, Death, Alcohol/Drug Consumption, Medical Malpractice, Fluff (bc they deserve it).

Word Count: 15.4 k

Previous // Next

Chapter 5

You tried to ignore the buzzing pain of your head, but it was close to impossible, and you were far from being able to leave behind the awful feeling. Each buzz was burning another nerve cell into calcination, and each time without fail, earned you a stinging flinch. It was exactly the same as the typical insects under the scorching summer weather back home, in District 4. Those little biting monsters were truly the epitome of persistent, and it made them extra worse when they seemed to follow you around until you satiated their hunger at your expense, which consisted of those itchy neverending biting marks along your skin.

You rushed through the sensory doors, and looked around the salon in need of urgent explanations.

Everyone you had seen the day before were there, all in their usual forms. Vito and Finnick were wearing clothes from a fabric that screamed the expensive taste of the Capitol’s citizens. Scarlett was the one who was flauting her clothing style more though. The two men were simply one colored shirts, green and white, with the natural material of sheep’s wool that was tinted black, with the few details for the botton’s up that Vito was wearing.

Scarlett on the other hand was wearing a garnet long sleeved top, and just like the very same day you met her, her shoulders were on display. The only way the shirt could hold itself, you speculated, was from its thigh hold it had on the voluptuous skin from her breasts and abdomen. The line of the red textile run along the lower part of her shoulder, to the beginning of where her breasts started, only to finalize its race to the other shoulder in parallel height with the with one.

She accompanied that with a pale-like yellowish colour long skirt of cotton. And with the brief encounter you had with her, you were surprised to having found her wearing a much simpler outfit. Her makeup followed her simplicity, red dark lipstick and a pair of eyeshadows that was only eye catching because of the colour, that exactly matched with her tinted lips.

Everyone was sitting down by the large table, the Avox girl standing with a metallic tray weighing down of her hands. She was serving breakfast, fried eggs with a side of some sausages and hot baked beans.The girl all in red had stopped in her tracks slightly to the incoming guest, but after finding you she deemed you not important enough to stop her from performing her task.

Your sight came in contact with the view of the table, with many vases with drinks from water to many types of juice mixes, like strawberry with banana, and grape with apple. And of course, Scarlett’s absolute favourite had to be there, English tea and neatly placed next to it was another cup with many sugarcubes.

“Finally, you’re awake! I was about to send someone to come pick you up!” Scarlett said, and it oddly felt like she was reprimanding you for waking up later than she’d be pleased with. In that very moment though, you couldn’t even think of the words that came out of her mouth. The pain from the side of your head, only seemed to grow thicker and stronger by the minute, and you felt yourself not paying attention to anything until that was resolved.

“Can someone tell me just what happened to my face?” you demanded a valid explanation of your new bruised area. Your voice was strong. The pain had been the one to rise you from your sleep, and it instantly woke you from your fuzzy mind with a boost of pained energy.

Your plea sounded more like frustrating anger had crept its way out of your tongue. You squinted your eyes and flinched again. The bursting pain from the side of your head was not holding back, and in fact doubled it burning effect.

The way you woke up was everything but proudful. Your eyes had suddenly woken up at the burning sensation that covered your whole face. You had expected it from to be the huge hangover from participating in the drinking match of the night before, and your suspicions following a valid lead when you found yourself not remembering much from your encounter with Finnick. So when you went back to the nostalgic bathroom to clean your features up, because you knew you weren’t going to be looking your best, a huge purple bruise appeared at the side of your forehead, and that's when you decided to come running to the salon car.

At the sound of your voice, Vito’s heart rushed in culpability. The night before, he stayed in his room awake for a few more hours, still in his empty trance while his blood run cold. Every living second was a plea he was making to whoever to grant him the wish of letting him come out alive, and soon return to his family. He understood your words, and the inner voice of his mind kept repeating him that you were right, that he needed to come back for the sake of his sisters, and to stop his father from encouraging his much younger siblings into believing the Hunger Games was some sort of competition of proud victors between Districts.

He would lie if he said he didn’t want to live, in fact he was terrified at the idea of dying. He didn’t want to die under the harsh arena, and that thought came crumbling back to you. Because if it meant he lived, you were going to die, and there was no compromise he could do change that outcome.

He meant those words from last night; you were definitely more important. There weren’t many doctors back in District 4, at least not as manny as there should.

And that hurt more, having to choose between his own selfish desire or the good of the injured men by the port. The logic in his brain told him the answer, but the idealistic side of him pretended to come up with excuses to take away your life, and make your death less detestable for his soul. But he knew that was simple a fantasy. And he solemnly was accepting the idea of letting go of his own life, so yours could be properly used into helping others.

His eyes crossed to the disturbing colour from your bruise, and flinched just as he could feel the pain by just having seen it. Scarlett gasped in horror at the piece of art of your face, very much loudly and with her exaggerated undertone, that could lead anyone to believe she had for the very first time seen an art canvas filled with the very real representation of war, and finding out for the first time about the big tragedy that carried that short word.

She didn’t give you much time to think though, because she came running down to inspect your skin decoloration. Her careful gloved fingers caressed your jaw and tilted it up, so her tall figure could inspect it further with the professional eyes of Capitol’s refined delicate perception..

“Oh. My. God. What happened?” she demanded the very same answer, you wanted to satiate your dismayed pure confusion running along the veins of your brain. Still astonished as to how this could have happened in the first place.

The tip of her nail slightly brushed past the outside of your bruised head, which earned you gurgled grunt from the explosive pain, that pulsated like the vibrations of an early volcano eruption.

You looked at her, your murderous glare turned your pupil icy red as a warning of your pure hostility. If you could, although it would’ve definitely been looked down upon, you would have put into use your aggressive energy to break her fingers in that very instant, so she would never have the unpleasentry of having to disturb anyone’s bruises again.

“OW! Don’t touch it!” you groaned in the fiery fury from the pure idiocy of your escort. Your hand came in crashing to your head, almost as if protecting it from the unexpected attack. You weren’t surpsried the bruise had become scalding hot in that very instant.

Finnick face contorted in pain just like Vito had done earlier. It was no stranger to him the sight and pain from those nasty bruises he constantly got while working with his family and training to become a fighter. So when he centred his eyes on the pained area, he got the full view of the severity of the visible lump that was forming on the side of your head. It was only purple on the outside, like those outer ripples from a disturbed still lake. But the inside was the true main character of your agony. It was in a mix of both pale green and yellow, and it didn’t convince him in the slightest if someone was trying to persuade him into thinking you were alright, especially not when those colours reminded him of dried off cod fish, its putrid smell indicating him it was far past its edible stage.

But he also felt somewhat guilty in being slightly amused by seeing your situation plan out. Afterall, he was present from last night’s affair. One where he was the sole witness of the unecesarry assault that the bathroom tiles had done to you. Although, if he thought about it carefully, it was your charging body collapsing to the floor that made the tiles rightfully defend themselves in the form of a nasty blow to your head.

A frustrating sigh escaped between you teeth, although it very much sounded like a little whine when you exhaled your breath. You closed your eyes and moved away from Scarlett, unable to give her a second chance to redeem herself from her unforgivable action.

Your feet made quick work with your desperate mind. And soon, you found yourself by the kitchen counters, wondering where the hell where the medical supplies. The hundreds of cupboards stacked were already confusing your mind that was slowly recuperating itself. You coudn’t help but think just how you were in this very situation when you made that very bad decision-making from last night, when your where hunting down after that white wine bottle.

You turned to the Avox who was simply standing two feet away from you, her head hunged low with her usual somber expression. You needn’t think twice about your biggest desire in that moment.

“Get me a medical kit” another grunt escaped your very mouth. You squinted your eyes in pain, before fully closing them altogether as a failed attempt to wash off even just if was the slightest amount of pain.

Since Scarlett decision on touching the sensitive area of your skin, a move that could only be considered as genius, the pulsating waves spread throughout your body, the ripples of pain got further and further away, and danced in the same rhythm as your heart beating organ. It was a horrible migraine, which only worsened your hungover. You bet the heat radiation from your forhead would be equal to that of a life threatening fever. Just my luck.

Scarlett on the other hand was having some sort of existential crisis in the background. You already felt personally annoyed by her, so you coudn’t blame your mistreated brain from wanting to unconsciously turn to look at her, to have many more reasons as to why you were irked by her very presence. But you denied that passing thought. Because you knew the moment you’d deviate your attention to her tantrum, all stemming from her fear of the judgy stares from the public of the Capitol. An emotional outburst over your displayed physical beauty, and not from the deaths that was going transpire soon; you knew you’d have an additional migraine on top of all the head aches you were suffering. And you weren’t the type to indulge yourself in masochism.

You flinched your already closed lashes further down, so much so the corner of your eyes made wrinkles from the excess of muscle use, still hoping this would help in some way or another in slowing the burning away. Every single curse floated in the inner depths of you mind, making sure to bite your bottom lip as to not let any of the words slip away in the breeze and into the ears of everyone present. But it was made difficult when you had an angering comment just on the tip of your tongue, to reprimand the Avox from her extremely slow pace, so much so, it seemed she was doing it on purpose.

Vito appeared in your eyesight, just as you were blessing the Sea Gods when the girl in red uniform finally placed the medical kit next to you on the kitchen counter. She then disappeared somewhere in the room, as to not let herself known and disturb the lively train ride that was occurring in that very moment.

Vito’s tanned hands, one that were full of scars, that anyone with a deep understanding in open wounds, such as yourself, could tell were from working with very sharp blades. He opened up the box, which contents you considered as your life saviours.

His charcoal eyes moved to you for a second, before going back to rummaging through the white box until he found what he was looking for. He knew just which remedies to use for this type of bruises, like he had gone through the same type of injuries many times before. You guessed it came from the depressing context from his family teachings and disturbing perception of the Hunger Games.

“Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it” he reassured you. His tone was consoling, and you obeyed the hidden meaning of just staying put, and let him help with with your headache.

You could feel your soul scream in a cheering manner as his paled scarred fingers wrapped around the yellow cream you had been so desperately waiting to find. The distressing pain almost bolted, the soon realization you’d fight back against its merciless tirany, with clear determination to stop further physical hurt from happening in that moment.

The contents where nothing but a splurg of white, very thick and sticky against his poinyy finger, creating a big circuled blob against it.

Vito looked at you momentarily, his eyes concentrated in carrying out his task. He repeated most of Scarlett’s previous actions, afterall he was smart enough not to make the silly mistake to touch the injury point blank, only doing it with the gently applied cream of his finger for the burning that was forming a lump on the side of your forehead.

His dried fingers brushed past, walking against the bone of your jaw, to hold it by the sharp corner near your ear of your jawline. It was so lightly, but its presence was still aching for your attention to notice his slender fingers. He tilted your head up, earning him better access to the big bruised area he surprised himself, finding it much bigger what what he had anticipated earlier. His transparent body gave away what his soul was thinking, and by the look Vito was making, you knew it would take up days for the bruise to fully heal.

His close inspecting eyes were too focused on the task he had placed on his own shoulders. However in that moment, your head could only spin at the high temperatures it was reaching. It surpassed and defied the limit if your body heat, and you had to, for the very first time, question Edna’s nursing book she had given you barely two weeks after you had been placed under her wing.

You closed your eyes. His features where very much close to yours. The proximity made you rather uncomfortable for your liking. He was probably used to this type of closeness growing up three younger sisters. But all the years alone made you withdrawn from this type of human contact. Afterall, its not like you had anyone to practice this tense claustrophobia-like feeling. Which only worsened when your realized, his arm had unknowingly made its way onto the counter to lean his weight against, and find stability to get proper reach of his taget, all for the sake of your bruise. Which only worsened your claustrophobia anxiety as it felt exactly like you were being trapped in a confined space.

That only distracted you a little from the pain. You realized, because as soon as that thought entered the cage of your mind, the heat of the innerworks of the churning volcano, in full crusty magma energy, ready to burst out at any moment hurt your brain again. Its core from the purple nasty coloured bruise.

You ignored the warm breath of Vito that was tickling your nose, when the bruising cream made contact with your sensitive pained area. The freezing cream explored all the way of the ice, having the volcano-like feeling, and you amused yourself further with the thought of the cold overtaking the radiant magma. The silent cold spoke bigger words with its actions, as it rapidly wiped out and froze every fury rage from your lump, into a never ending winter season. Its daily forecast seemed to have a threatening snowstorm, and you were finally glad your full bruise’s violent kingdom had come to an end. That amazing feeling run on every vein and cell, its refreshing sweet frozen rush swam across your body like a vase of pure cold slush.

Your features relaxed every muscles in delight, and Vito smiled up at your relieved face.

“Feels nice, huh?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. His tone had become a tone lower from the closeness from the two of you. Your mind was still feeling that cold rush sedating feeling, from pain’s punctuating reach. The relaxed irises of your form opened and moved to meet his, and to his question your responded with a weak smile hanging from your features. It was evident to anyone in the room, that Vito was the person whom you had bigger affinity over.

“Thanks” you said in the same husky tone as his. He grinned wider at your confirmation.

There was a moment of silence. Vito's creeping thoughts was slowly coming back to haunt him. He’d mean to come and help you as an excuse to talk to you again. He still had a sour taste in his mouth from the way he screamed at you last night, something it nailed his brain in self agony as the train traveled through the stillness of the night.

“Hey, about yesturday…” he started, picking up your quick attention to him. You weren’t mad, not after everything that had transpired before you went to sleep. Your argument with Vito would have been long forgotten if he hadn’t mentioned it.

The inside of your skull had a million puzzle pieces missing, and now that your burning was cooling down at the nice friction from the cream, you were desperately trying to find the void gaps of your memory puzzle from last night.

“I’ve been thinking what you said to me” his voice had become weaker. You were glad at the very least you remembered the dispute well enough to understand the point he wanted to make.

“Yeah… ?” you dragged the word out, the intonation very much asking the question as to finding out whether he had changed his mind or not. It seemed unlikely though, not even a day having passed to properly process your argumentative point. And it seemed hard to think he had enough time to break it down and to analyze the pieces behind your reasoning, and to fully comprehend them. But then again, its not like you had willingly done it for him either, and thus your doubt about his possible mind change.

The words got stuck in his throat. He admired you then, just how freely you could say those sacrificing words without a hint of poison gurgling up at the back of your tongue. He thought then, that maybe you had that pessimistic thought for a while know, the idea and acceptance of your own death in the cruelest way possible. But what he had failed to realize is that you still haven't accepted it fully. Your body and soul still lingered onto that thread of hope for you to come out alive, it still put your hair straight on end at the idea from the many ways you could die. And you were sure it would defenitely be more painful than the headache you were feeling, which seemed silly if you compared the two together.

And yet his voice retreated back into the pit of his stomach. He just coudn’t say the words without a hard struck feeling that squeezed his neck, as if it rejected and plead to overthink over that self-destructing idea. The mind worked very similarly to everyone’s head, it’s purpose to self-protect one-self was the last thing to linger before you had successfully torn your soul apart, and Vito found it increasingly difficult to say the words of his own sacrifice. But you were looking at him, expectant as to what he wanted to say.

“I still haven’t changed my mind” he opted. And it helped him in his emotional turmoil. He internally sighed, and was grateful he could voice the stubborn decision with a change of a few words.

You looked up at him. You knew he wasn’t going to agree with you so soon, but somehow his very stone hard deciding words, the one spoken from a tone that let you know there was nothing that you could do to change his mind, left you with a dumbfounded look in your eyes. With one of your eyebrows slightly trembling, perplexed at his decided thoughts that left no room from a second opinion, aka, your opinion.

“Vito I swear to Go-” you started, the voice very evident on your annoyed stance. But you remained limited on that level of frustration, you didn’t want it to surpass it like last nights’ after-dinner event. Still, you gave him an unpleasant look.

But he cut you off before you could go on and repeat the same words from before, because Vito had already heard you loud and clear. He simply just didn’t fully agree with them, not when he stubbornly thought your extended existence would be of greater benefit.

“Know, that I accept that part of protecting you, though.” His voice got lounder in self confidence, and you could swear there was an amusing tone hidden behind those white teeth of his. You looked at him, your mouth still open ajar before he could let you finish.

Your eyes announced his betrayal by not letting you speak your mind, so you recomposed your body, getting on a more straightened pose. Your features formed into an evident silent scowl. Maybe five seconds had passed from your unpleasant glare, resting your eyelids so your eyes looked smaller, but the pupil were charged with incessant energy.

And suddenly, your suspicions got confirmed. Vito let out a chuckle that felt very much a mock at your persona. His eyes got back to yours after he had cheekily escaped the grasp of your gaze, and he had the audacity to plaster a victorious small smile on his lips, a smirk. Fucking bastard.

You opened your mouth to retort something back, but the man well known as the Capitol’s Darling interrupted both of your banter. You looked at your right, and found Finnick leaning over the beige paper wall, too simple for the Capitol’s luxury you thought, but you weren’t the type to get easily judgemental over physical things like that, so you let that slide.

His bronze hair shined along the sun’s light that transmitted across the window. He was looking at the both of you after having called both of your names. He made a quick gesture, pointing at what laid beyond the moving picture of the transparent crystal. His crossed arms unwrapped themselves as his eyes returned at the two of you again. And with an amused small smile he spoke. “Looks like we’ve arrived at the Capitol”.

The way you had been welcomed to the Capitol was… interesting to say the least. You didn’t see much of the Hunger Games, especially since Edna was one of the few people of District 4 that hadn’t made you believe it was some sort of proud rivalry between Districts , but rather a death game that tried to disguise itself as a sport competition. Although, it definitely resembled that of Hunting Competitions, this version though, the weak players were the hunted trophy of the Careers, and you were sure you’d be categorised as their prey once they had seen your skills, or better said lackoff.

However, you were surprised when they had led you into a completely painted milky walls, everything was void of any colour, which already felt out of order from the Capitol’s hyper fixation with “bringing life” to their purchased items. And before you knew it, you were carried to your Prep Team station.

You shoudn’t have been surpsried in the slightest. You considered your brain to be level headed and sane, something you coudn’t help but wonder just how have the people in the Capitol been so rewired into believing the Hunger Games were “fun”. So your little brain coudn’t grasp their further audacity. It wasn’t enough they were essentially forcing you to die out at the arena with other adolescents, many of them being children that could have had a fulfilling life. So you knew your appalled features were justified. But in addition, they had to beautify you, all in Capital standards of course. You had seen some of the clothing styles of past Tribute Parades, and they had been questionable, to say the least. Many were simple outrageous costumes, a silly representation, and not the deserved recognition of hard work we put in to fuel their food, clothes and luxurious lifestyles. We were like a freak show to them, to smile and laugh at our expense. Which only worsened your nauseating feeling of your hungover.

But nothing could beat your experience with your assigned Prep Team. They had properly washed your every corner, stripped away of any black heads that was stuck in the pores of your nose, had applied moisturizing cream that could’ve easily have been originated from the slime of the snails, waxing every part that deemed “too much hair” to be ladylike, and of course, brushing off the wild split ends of your hair you hadn’t bothered to care enough to deal with for some months now.

You shoudn’t have been surprised at all, that and their snobby attitude towards you. Of course you would be deemed dirty from the get go, looking down at you as they coudn’t comprehend as to why you woudn’t take care of your appearance, ignorant of the simple fact that you were coming from a working District, of course you wouldn't prioritize boosting your physical attractiveness over keeping yourself alive.

Still, you hoped the good relationship with District 4 would give you some sort of better treatment, considering it came from a Career District. Unfortunately, you were dully disappointed. Your Prep Team coudn’t help but give you a snide eye occasionally, like you smelled like dead fish that had been dried by the shore from disgusting muddy water. Totally unaware of the fact, that the very delicate three star michelin dishes ingredients, mostly come from the sea surrounding District 4. I wonder if they know where their fish and seafood comes from…

Although you assigned stylist was nice nice enough. She was very young and petite, coming across, at least five years younger than her actual age. She was squealing constantly at the sight of your presence, once her eyes had roamed and anylysed your body whole. A playful smile decorated her lips just as she was repeating her excited words to be working with a Tribute of District 4.

Apparently her brother was a Peacekeeper stationed in your homeland, always sending her many sea shells, of all sorts of sizes and colours. But what she absolutely loved the most was the thick fragrance of the ocean that never left them.

“I had to do some last minute changes” Athena said. “Scarlett let me know you were a Healer, and couldn't help myself but change some of the decorum for you, and only you” she later added.

You coudn’t slip in any words into the conversation. Her lively and energetic persona made her social engine be filled with a never ending fuel, which for her downside, would be in the need to cough from time to time, to fill up her air ways with oxygen.

You found her endearingly adorable, she was a nice break from the hard hitting reality. She was definitely the type of person you could spend talking, or not, for many hours. Giving you a chance to restore your sanity back into its usual normal. A drop of melancholy splattered to the pit of your belly, you would’ve liked to have met her in different circumstances, although you weren’t sure if that could even happen, being apart by many kilometers of territory, and in between Districts. She was those type of people you’d end up surprising yourself in getting along. And you’d later wonder in those three a.m hours, just how many more people you would have ended up, unexpectedly building up a friendship with, but can’t due to the fact you both are so far away from each other.

It was time to meet back with the Prep Team, and you weren’t prepared for the second most isolating and tense situation you had been in, the first one being the Reaping by far. The Prep Team of Hell, you had titled them, and that was being generous.

The very first thing they did once you had sat down, was comment about the bruise in your forehead. To be fair, they had already mentioned it earlier when they were exfoliating your skin, asking you as to how it happened in the first place, and many disappointed sighs running after your made up a quick convincing enough excuse.

The moment their focus was on your face, to turn you into a beautiful swan, or how Athena had put it, they were running their mouth at an uncontrollable speed, and there was no sign they seemed to want to hit their brakes.

“Distusting thing” was their recurring comment. And soon enough it had become a term to refer to your purpuled bruise; like it was a completely separate entity from yourself, like it wasn’t attached to you in that very moment. It wasn’t a great feeling, having someone make not so passive, but very much aggressive remarks about your physical appearance. It made you feel worse because it didn’t come from a personal choice, but it was rather from an accident. Something that was out of your own control, only for them to keep their judgement louder.

“God, its so dark. Its gonna take ages the get rid off it” the one with especially thick long eyelashes said, while her makeup brush pigmented your face. You looked at yourself in the mirror. Two were on either side of you, taking care of your face to bright it up with vibrant colours, while the other was brushing her fingers through the scalp of your head, readying herself to make the hairstyle she had been ordered to do.

You were in awe at the sheer magnitude of the so many little vases of skin colours, an even wider range of colours you had to guess were for painting your lips, and, if that was even possible, even more colours in the form of light flowing powder stacked inside transparent thin boxes.

“I better get a recommendation card to a film studio after this. Cuz, I refuse to put hard extra work into nothing” said the man with curled dark blue hair, his words coming stomping on your face as he was curling up your lashes with black tint.

The ginger with a bob cut, the hairstylist that was finishing up the hair strands that fell onto your shoulders, sneered and made a passing comment. “If one day I woke up with that thing, I’d just stay at home, honestly. No need to embarrass myself like that”

However in the end everything turned alright, you supposed. It definitely topped your list of most awkward experiences you’d been in so far. It was always tough being in that sort of situation. Having to walk into a room timidly, scared and confused of what’s going to happen to you, only to have three pricks to have something negative to say about you. Even when they didn’t know your on a personal level, they were still against you for whatever reason.

Once you finally left, you shook your shoulders in an attempt to brush off every single passive aggressive comment, along with their judgmental eyes and sneers that had nothing else smart to contribute further, but to agree with them and their saliva-poison to fill and infest the insecurities you hadn’t thought of to be a problem to begin with.

Maybe it was lowering yourself to their ugly mindset. But the moment the pained hurt from embarrassment made its way to form little prickly tears in your eyes, you reminded yourself that the citizens of the Capitol were nothing but vacant lots, void of any deep emotion. In desperate need to fill their empty hearts with superficial things. Their atacking words may work here, but back in District 4, you knew they would be the laughing stock for having such a mediocre way of thinking while the rest were simply trying to survive.

However they made you feel was soon going to going to be lost anyway. Trying to catch up to you through the breeze, in desperate anguish as its pointy nails tried to reach back to your mind, just as it started realizing they weren’t going to have a prominent role within the depth of your memories.

Your fingers were slightly holding onto the chariot. Now, you were more confident of letting it slightly go, having positioned your feet and body weight to adapt to the power of the white horses pulling you.

As soon as it had pulled onto the platform, your feet made a clumsy movement and almost feel out of the nicely decorated white charriot. It was your quick receptive hand that quickly took a hold onto the smooth surface of the cockpit to stabilize yourself, before you would been rather aggressively be flown out a few feet away behind you. Leaving you behind as the show went on accordingly, and they woudn’t have stopped only for your miscalculated thinking. You also thanked Vito for being at your side, his hand wrapped around the back of you waist and took a hold of it. Applying so much force so you would have fallen off, and in the off chance you could’ve hurt yourself… again.

Your retina reflected back the explosion of colours that engulfed you whole. There were hundreds, no, thousands of expectators of the high society of Panem, properly welcoming you into their home of the Capitol. They were screaming and cheering at the sight of all the Tributes, throwing paper shaped symbols of each District into senseless air currents bursting in different directions. It slowly came back down to your peripheral vision, floating and dancing through the air currents that each carriage made. So small it carried out its second task dutifully, as a means to congratulate this worthy of a celebration day, and to throw away their money on merchandising for this very event in the form of confetti.

You could have been revolted at this very sight. People with born privilege, so far up their ass to even care about the harm their were causing on other human beings. And its not like you were on a different continents either, so you coudn’t understand as to why the close proximity of the territories coudn’t at the very least fill them up with some sort of empathy.

But in that very moment, all that putrid feeling disappeared. The gnawing of your heart could only look further at your own surroundings, your scanning eyes curiously looked every single Capitol citizen your passing view could get a hold to. Oddly, there was something so fulfilling about the way they were welcoming you, something that left you stunned and almnost petrified. You were like a little kid, going to its annual town fair for the very first time, curiously wanting to see everything they had to offer, from rollercoaster attractions to winning prize stands. You were simply an awe, every frequenting solemn thought disappeared in that moment, and you internalized that moment of pretty colours around you. At the very least, you weren’t in your depressed form, and you wanted to distract yourself further, even if it was for a little bit. You wanted to remember this scene, even if they were going to only be bite sized memories.

Vito squeezed your hand suddenly to gain your attention. He moved his head, a gesture to point at the several screens, that laid hanging at the high ceiling. They were were in paralleled pairs, and some rows behind them that followed that exact pattern, each one for a Districts Tribute and their partner. You saw Vito through the monitor, him looking down at you. And the screen beside it was you, or a version you coudn’t recognize of yourself.

You could only see the portrait of you, but that was sufficient to note on the magnificent work the Prep Team of Hell had done to you. Even when you didn’t want to admit it after their unlikeble attitude, you understood why they had been picked to style you for this grand event.

They had successfully gotten rid of the purple bruise without leavin traces behind it, impossible to see that you might have had it to begin with. They placed longer lashes on your eyes, however it wasn't exaggerated like the Capitol’s beauty standards. It made the the corner of your eyes seem similar of the wings of a dove. Your lips had been painted white, with a slight tint of blue powder mixed with one of a golden sun.

The hairstylist hadn’t failed either. The many strands of hair were all wrapped up in beautiful knotted updo, leaving you with a clear face everyone was able to see. In addition, to give you a more pure outlook, many hand made chrysanthemum flowers pierced through your strands like hair pins. There were many flowers stems there, so much so it was like a bouquet a the purest white of the chrysanthemum, that was neatly placed by the nape of your head. Some of the petals were flying away into the wind from the force, but it created an interesting look on you, like a girl who was wearing the wings of freedom, like a girl who tamed the oceanic winds of District 4.

You looked back at Vito. He gave you a small reassuring smile, before speaking some words you weren’t able to hear by the loud of the immense optimistic crowd. He repeated again, coming closer to you. You took that moment to see his moving lips, trying to read off what he wanted to say to you. You managed in one word, and you only needed that to understand the plan he wanted to share with you. “Sponsors”

You gave a determined pointed look. Tangling further your fingers into his, finding a comfortable pose before you showed your hands for the world to see. A demonstration of both of your corageous hearts, a witten meaning that the both of you woudn’t back down without a fight. The sneaky smile appeared on both and your faces through the big monitors, earning you the desired outcome of the cheers that had become joyful screams of praise and encouragement.

This year, District 4 woudn’t miss the triumphal proud looks of the fighters, the recurring yearly message that you’d gladly participate in the hard stones of the arena without a hint of fear in your eyes. This was for display of course, but you woudn’t feel guilty about lying your true crumbling emotions. You were still trying to figure out if they really believed anything that you’d give them; but it didn’t matter, in the end all they wanted to see was your performance, and to make them forget about their empty souls. And you heard their silent plea, the show must go on.

Vito tilted his head to look up at the screen that was live streaming across each forgotten corner of Panem. He knew his dad would be looking at him through the television of the plaza. He gave a smirk at him, not from playfulness, with a much pessimistic context and background roaming on his head.

“Is this what you wanted?” was the thought that came across his mind. He wished he could see his father, he hoped at the very least he’d be smiling at him proudly. After many years of his usual scowl directly at him, for Vito’s expressed disinterest for the Games. He at the very least hoped his dad would be looking at him proudly. Because this was all that he could provide in return for their familial pride.

You on the other hand, hadn’t taken notice of his sour mood. You looked at the screen again, instead of the closeup pictures of both of your faces, they were displaying the heart-warming act of delighted ilusion that the both showed with proud perception.

An idea popped in your head, if they wanted this you supposed a little flirty action coudn’t hurt. You looked up ahead, just where President Snow’s figure was increasingly becoming bigger and more clearer.

With a shy smile, you placed the tip of your cold fingers by the base of your lips. With a swift movement you gave a small peck, and through your hand, you gave the Capitol the little present of your actions. The corners of your lips increased cheekily hearing the roar of the crowd, the blowing of you kiss curated their hyper consumistic heart, filling them up with another type of love that superficial wants coudn’t satiate. Even if it didn’t come from a place of genuine love, they still felt satisfactory with nothing else other than playful desire.

Both of your’s and Vitos attire matched each other, even when the two had distinct changes between them. It made sense, what the stylists were looking for, at least the ones assigned for your District. Your gown was that of the colours that reminded you of your home. A corset-like top squeezed your lungs tightly, leaving the lines of your breast more squashed and with that lovely round form, the rest of your chest was exposed, showing off the attractive images of your free neck and arms. Although your arms weren’t totally naked, they had a piece of clothing attached to your tricep, in a golden bracelet. The long solitary pieces of cloth waved down in a zigzag pattern, the length running down to meet at the distance of your shoes, that laid hidden away from your skirt. It was laced and finished with a golden thread, giving it a more luxurious outlook.

Your skirt was the eye catching essence of your dress. Upon many light layers of clothing, it smartly casted darker shadows of blue by the bottom of the dress. The top, where the beginning of the skirt hugged the bottom arch of your waist, was more of a shiny sky blue. Like the visual representation of the sea levels, from the shiniest to the darkest of the sea bed.

The uneven layers were light, so much so it flied with the wind that caused the carriage, moving and floating through the air, almost like signalling the upcoming waves of an incoming tempest.

Your form was trapped within, like some sort of sea ententy that had resurcaed from the unforgiving sea lands, all coverend in specks of blue like dripping water was what that engulfed your form.

An added item that coudn’t come uncouted for was the little transparent wings stuck out from both you and Vito’s back. Making a direct representation, not only for the fishing industry that Disctrit 4 exhaled at, but also for it exotic fishes that came through the summer. The wings were exactly the same as the exocetids, or better known at the flying fish of the sea.

Just like the hair decorum, your dress was filled with that of chrysanthemum flowers, the flowing petals were being carried away by the currents, and the festive confetti. The smell resulted so familiar as you thought Athena’s earlier words, “last minute changes”. You smiled at the memory, chrysanthemum were known to have many healing properties, so much so it seemed your clients had grown dependent of Edna’s recipe. It was used to fight back many daily pains, such as dizziness and headaches; fever and colds for the fishermen who stayed until late at night under the starry sea night sky. It was even used to treat the beginning of complex diseases such as chest pains from angina, high blood pressure that was starting to become chronic, as well as Type 2 Diabetes. She had hit the jackpot.

Vito’s suit was similar in colour coordination. A button up shirt from a light blue, to his trousers that had gradually become darker as navy blue. Although he experienced other differences, by his neck hanged a rope that hanged down to attach itself to the white corset holding onto his waist. The rope was that of a thin brown colour, wrapping itself in braids of knots the experienced fishermen of District 4 would not struggled to accomplish.

That was your separating factor. Athena along Vito’s stylist decided to make a more unique overall look from the other Tributes, because their designes weren’t just the representation of your homeland, but also a brief display at both of your roles in town. That change of philosophy is what made you two rise into a more higher position along the likeability of the sponsors. Because you weren’t just Tributes from District 4, you both were more than that, not just annual sacrifices, but rather normal people with emotions, hopes and fears. And that simple change made the higherups feel closer to you on a personal level.

You were baring your teeth out into the biggest smile you could muster, the one you had trained yourself to seem friendly for the clientele of the apothecary shop. One that you had perfected it so it would be convincing enough within the barrier of stranger to stranger relationship.

And soon enough, you were glad both of your focus had disappeared. And for a moment a drizzle prickled down cold drops to your heart, but you quickly took care of it, and ignored it altogether.

You were only left greedy because you never had that much attention to begin with. So before you went out to seek for it, you’d shut it down as a simple momentary want, and not an important necessity.

“Welcome” started President Snow at the altar, his pragmatic way of speaking, very much trained to voice at any given moment. You coudn’t quite see him, being so far up, and you found yourself not being able to see clearly his features, and especially not the pin of the white rose that was stuck to his chest, like it was some sort of national emblem of Panem.

“Tributes, we welcome you”

“We salute your courage and your sacrifice” he followed his speech. And just as if he just proclaimed his sudden change of the current systematic oppression, like he had just announced he’d donate and free Panem from hunger and thirst, as well as unchain the District's handcuffs to the Capitol. The crowd of many coloured important guest, shouted in joyful fun at the devastating words you had to obligate yourself but slowly reconcile with them within the short time span of your Reaping.

You looked at Vito, and he slowly moved his gaze to meet yours. You silently agreed with each other. Maybe the two of you should have shared that nauseating thought, disgusted from the their putrid smell that came from their rotten mind. The both of you were slowly getting used to that though. But rather, his irises spoke the poem of a standing family waiting for their little soldier to come back home from war, and yours sang a ballad of a goner that still held onto that thread of hope, even when she had lost everything.

“And we wish you-” Snow’s words echoed through the Parade's hallway in the absence of silence, that the Capitol seemed to quiet down once their leader wanted add a few more words in.

Coryolanus Snow smiled at his audience, that awaited patiently at his next words. He looked at at the Tributes, and you swore he lingered his eye contact on your eyes for far longer than he should’ve.

“Happy hunger Games” the burst of his voice resonated the way a bigger smile quirked the corners of his mouth, not from delight, but finding great pleasure of his unnerving malicious intent from the creation of the Hunger Games. Resentment was only a piece of the puzzle of the great painting behind his reasoning of the death scheme. He wouldn’t compromise with anyone who pointed his way of thinking as simple bitterness or indignation, he was never the type to act when his emotions were still burning bright in its aggressive nature. But rather internally boasted himself in the way he had a more cold calculated view of his plans, like the forming icicles inside the deep maze-like subterranean icy caves. Or more accurately, like the slow snowflakes within the stilled night of a neverending forest. Frosting even the most savages of wild animal that lurked around the shadows in an attempt to hunt down their next prey.

“And may the odds be ever in your favor”

“In two weeks, twenty three of you will be dead.” spoke your trainer. All the chosen Tributes were lined up and facing her, paying close attention to the words of Linnen. Well, that’s encouraging…

It still made you rather uncomfortable, seeing the big sized differences between each Tribute, especially at the sight of a little brunette with messy waves tied in paired braids. Her face had nothing else but the knowledge that her sweet innocence would soon be taken away in the most horrifying way. She coudn’t have been more than twelve, and you supposed she had been unfortunate enough to being picked in her first Reaping.

“One of you will be alive.” You listened further to her, trying to take in as much information to may be of use in the Arena, for when Vito would need it. You didn’t have much skills to be of use out there, so you might as well try and help with anything you could.

The clear black skin of Linnen shone with the artificial lights hanging loosely above the all of you, like the shimmering stars against the beautiful starry night sky.

“Who that is, depends on how well you pay attention over the next four days, particularly with what I’m about to say.” Her monotone voice gave away the practiced lines of the repeated times she had said the same words, and you wondered just how many years has she been the teacher of the Training grounds. That thought followed another, just how many people had she known and possibly witnessed, that now are already dead from past Hunger Games? Her dull stare gave you a good enough anwer. It seemed she had conditioned herself, so the deaths woudn’t eat away her soul. She had seen many undeserving people die there, even more so she had seen a large quantity of children succumbing to their wounds from a feral Career Tribute. “Too many” is what the unignited fires of her charcoal eyes said.

“First, no fighting with the other Tributes” Linnen further explained the rules, whilst she stalked each one of your eyes. Like an intimidation tactic to give her subordinates the careful respect she was rightfully owed from all of you. Seemed easy enough.

“You’ll have plenty of time for that in the Arena” your amused thought was cut short after that threatening comment. You gulped down thick saliva, just as one of the many avalanches pressured your mind, the noises of crumbling rocks hitting each other too loud in your ears, but completely silet to the rest of the people surrounding you. You had to calm yourself before you’d slowly become insane from the fictional sounds your brain binded you to hear. They weren’t real, and still, since the train ride to the Capitol, it seemed that was everything you were hearing.

“There are four compulsory exercises. The rest will be individual training” Vito’s hand snaked to grab your writhing wrist, already feeling the overwhelmed electrifying vibe that you were expulsing through your tiny pores. His hand was warm, and with that, the affectionate drawing of circles from his ticklish fingers by the lines of your veins comforted you slightly. He was in a way, trying to pay you back from what you had done to him two days ago. To be the strong stilling pillar and grab your form, holding onto you so you’d be able to stand on your own two feet without falling over, and driving yourself further away from your sanity.

You let him reassure you, as some invading thoughts swam across your mind. Maybe this wasn’t so bad, you’d started understanding the phycology of a human’s touch, and although a part of you still recoiled at the closeness, you let him be. It was time you changed your bad habits, especially now when you were going to die soon anyway, might as well make it easier for the rest that had to endure you.

“My advice is, don’t ignore the survival skills” Linnen walked over closer to you, looking at every single Tribute one on one, crashing her eyes on Vito’s before she noticed your timid irises. She stayed for a moment before leaving, and just then, it was like an emotion that wasn’t scripted flashed her eyes. Like she felt bad about you. The very same emotion she had for many other Tributes that fell under the Grim Reaper’s grasp.

“Everybody wants to grab a sword, but most of you will die from natural causes.” She rolled her eyes away from you, before she’d hurt herself again, once you’d die by the hands of an unmerciful vitcor. Her eyes followed back to the rest of the line, with her monotone eyes appearing again, trained to be void of any sympathy.

You noticed the stare of someone else on you, a boy, but from his physique you should be referring him as a man due to his much bigger body, than many of the other Tributes.

He looked very much like Philip, Emi’s older brother back in the Reaping. He was a blonde, dark brown eyes just like the wood of immense oak trees, planted powerfully in the middle of a valley, just near a mesmerazing lake.

You thought he had to be the male Tribute of District 2, if you remembered correctly. Just like how you found Emi’s endearing freckles to be the cutest trait of her face, you though the same for the man’s creeping eyes face sparkles. And that was it. Because the way his very eyes you complimmented on your mind, were locked on yours like a predator, even after giving you a knowing squint after you had demonstrated you had noticed his perforating stare on you. The blonde was taking in your presence, scanning you whole trying to find your weaks points. Which by the way his stare had a drops of cockiness swriling around his irises, you knew he was thinking of the many way to attack you, that you were an easy target to kill.

He was wearing a scowl, but his sight screamed in animalistic determination that threatened your livelihood among many other menacing warnings. You knew you were doomed, and you had to wonder just how did you end up becoming the target before the training even commenced. You justified the fear you had the day before, because he had properly marked you as his prey, and you’d be wary of your hunter.

“10% from infection, 20% from dehydration,” Linnen brought out the statistics, and you obligated yourself to look at her, whilst trying to ignore his tormenting stare.

You found yourself dismayed at the high mortality rate of the natural causes, which your quick mind went on and think this new piece of information over.

Considering the Arena was out there to kill you, you could come up with significant ways the participants of this death game would go through and make many wrong mistakes over the coarse of the days trapped inside. Mortal-like mistakes. So following by what Linnen had said, that could also mean the were chances of injuring yourself by weathering factors, like perhaps that of aggressive thunder storms, or territorial fires. You woudn’t be surprised if they somehow managed to submerge the Arena underwater just to create a nice show.

“Exposure can kill as easily as a knife.” Her passing comment stuck to you like a needle. Maybe you should use that to your advantage, maybe your could protect Vito that way. You didn’t have many skills, but you still had interesting cards under your sleeve that could come in handy if the right situation presented itself.

But for now it was best to stay low, to let the blonde and whoever else whose arrogance clouded their eyes to see you as weak and fragile as a porcelain doll, which frankly you were. But you could play a sneaky card in outsmarting them. That was your best bet now anyway.

The first day was uneventful, aside from the stare off of the blonde, that you’d later on you found his name to be Birch. The remainder of the day he had been trying his intimidation tactic on you, but his brilliant plan after many hours being of confined in the same breathing space, was starting to fail its initial effects it had on you. You simply grew used to it, and soon enough, it left you with an annoyed feeling from his creeping eyes. It was due to the fact that he coudn’t exercise his inner desires now, that the presence of the Peacekeeperes was present at all times, to keep Tributes from starting fights with each other.

Just like a lost puppy, you followed whatever you thought that could take care of you, and that was Vito’s broad muscular body silhouette. The both of you were standing by an exposed wall, full of thinly sharpened weapons that could easily sever you finger away if you weren’t careful enough while toying with them.

Vito didn’t wait, and quickly chose his prefered choice of weaponry. It was among the many axes and long swords, choices that were only provocative to a murderous arrogant’s perspective. Vito, against his big built, wilded the handle of two hunting knives. Its design quickly gave away as to which animal it was targeted to, with a bear pawprint at the base of the newly sharpened small weapon in comparison. .

“Knives?” you voiced. Vito didn’t seem to mind your clinging company on him, in fact he preferred having you stick my his side. He didn’t want you making yourself the target of many more Tributes unnatural thirst of violence that they so longly craved. He’d seen just how Birch was looking at you, and that only grew his protectiveness over you. He made a promise to you, and that simple act weighed him down with the context behind your deal, and he refused to break that bond that had created from your mutual agreement.

But he also felt at ease being in your presence, everyone else was a total stranger to him. So having the kindness your heart beside him was enough to calm his unnerving nervousness, even if it was just slightly.

“Yes, my dad drilled my head that this would be my best bet when out in the wild” he spoke to you. The heaviness from the knives would have been noticeable on untrained hands, such as yourself, but for Vito it was as light as a feathers ticklish touch.

“They’re small, light and easy to handle” he informed you with so much ease, with so much knowledge that was so unknown to you. Your eyes roamed to the drawing design of it. It was long, and thicker in width than normal kitchen knives. They were from shiny drak greys that could be also considered as the black tones from the void. It had a sharp line that run along the first three quarters of the dangerous cutting edge, finishing its race with little scooped oddly round shapes, and you supposed it was to make cutting up pieces of meat easier, as revolting as that sounded.

“Huh… Could you teach me?” you had asked of him, but you already knew his answer. He smiled softly at you, his tanned skin from the hard labour he had unfairly been subjected to, only to be later picked in the Reaping, was made beautiful under the dull artificial lights. “Gladly” he chuckled.

Day three, and you were just starting to get used to the garnet room placed just above the training grounds. It was always filled with many people, old men were the ones in the great majority. Their suit spoke their importance of the Capitol, with an uniformal-like attire that the only thing that was made similar between them, was the repeated pattern of the same boysenberry colour.

The different elegant cocktail vases, from the ones with conelike shapes, as well as some having a taller design that recreated the form of a lifting tower; was a hint on itself of the many riches that were tucked under their first class shirts.

Purple was the colour of royalty, especially ones that reached darker tones. Bringing all the pieces together, you thought you had enough circumstantial evidence to point a finger at them, and proclaim them as your possible sponsors. Probably on the look for the Tribute they wanted to place their bet on, in the form of bottles of water or candy bars ou in the Arena.

You had left Vito’s side for a moment. Making your way to approach another Tribute, trying to come up in a friendly manner. You hadn’t thought this through, it was as if your mind had turned into a spider and altered you of your surroundings, and before you knew it, you were quietly stalking to meet a total stranger, a towel and an axe in your hands. Just then you bitterly appreciated the weight of the doubles blades that Vito was teaching you to maneuver. You thought they were weighty from their solid and dense material, but you soon realized the weight came from the heavy burden you’d have to place on your self if you were in the need to use it to puncture someone’s lungs with it.

The fall was maybe eight feet from the unhelpful loops. Somehow he was able to gather up on his own, and dragged himself away into a solitary chair. The doctor in you made a quick calculation and got everything you needed to do to patch him up. You fully worked from the deep of your subconscious self, by the looks of it, all your healing expertise was in an eternal switched on conductor, making your movements more automatic, and without worrying that you might forget the knowledge of the books you had read oh so many times.

He looked at you, indecisive of your actions, with reasonable doubt across his features, you supposed. He made a quick question with his gaze, starting off with Who the hell were you? And What do you want?

His agitated gaze stopped you slightly. Bringing your usual self out, one with many fears and doubts clouding your mind. That was enough to paint all your actions with insecurity, and it made you feel that maybe what you were doing was inadequate in these types of situations.

You gaze rolled to the floor, where his leg stood. And that was enough to bring your robotic self back functioning. By his feet laid a picture you had encountered so many times you had stopped counting at the large quantity, which meant you had a lot of experience in dealing with these injuries. You hissed at the view of the forming swollen feet, getting increasingly bigger and redder. A sign that something bad was definitely going on.

“Looks like your ankle is sprained. You should rest it for a while” You comment on his current physical restraint. He rose his eyebrow at you, as if you had just mocked him. Which later it would be revealed that you were right after he scoffed at what you had said.

“I’m fi-” His good leg was the pillar that helped him up, putting much more force, and overexerting it with his muscles. The bold escape he tried to do had failed by your presence and doctoral disapproval. You cut him off.

“I said. You should rest it.” You repeated in pure annoyance from the oh so many experiences of having to deal with men’s irritable stubborness when it came to physical injuries. It was still a mystery to as to why they coudn’t just let you heal them, afterall you were a doctor, its not like you’ll make it worse. And you were dismayed at countless times injured fishermen came running with truly untolarable pain; pain that could have been easily avoided if they had just listened to you to begin with.

It wasn’t the best remedy, but it was the best you could do for now. The axe your hand held was frosten cold to the touch, since the metallic material was a especially good conductor of cold. All the weapons that were hunged in the exhibitor, one with advanced technology it expelled freezing air, as cold as freezing point achieved.

You wrapped the towel around the cold weapon as not to cause harm to the boy, from chilling arched sharp edge.

You managed the makeshift icepack, at least whatever your attempt in doing one was, and handed it to him, so he could apply it however comfortably he wanted, to stop or at the very least, slow down the swelling from the inflammed area.

A look of disbelief, one with a drop of distrust was swimming across his grey irises. Your hand was starting to get heavy, with the axe hanging from it. Because he still didn’t give the hint he was going to grab the item.

Your knees felt the surface of the smooth floor, momentarily resentful he made you crawl down so you had to be his caregiver for the next few minutes. You sighed in annoyenace, but the irritation that was pinned by the pit of your stomach wasn’t enough for you to stop your actions, and in fact you proceed further.

The nice cold left the male with a hitched breath from the electric spark that began from the initial contact. Like an odd fire was placed on his inflamed ankle. You had taken note of the way his breathing calmed down after the nice relieving feeling kicked in, so cold it sedated his pained body from further damage.

The boy whose number was printed on his back was that of District 7, looked up at you again. Embarrassment and a feeling you knew very well, he was also a victim of isolation, like the both of you were trapped in an isle of flightless birds; it left him voiceless. You didn’t mind him though, already sympathetic over him.

“Leave it like that for half an hour, you should be fine after that.” You advised him, and you only hoped he would listen to you, unlike the many fishermen that came crawling back with an amused smile at seeing your scowled expression.

His fingers walked to his ankle, and he took the newly homemade shabby icepack, if you could even call that.

“Why?” He asked, looking up at you, genuinely wondering where did that merciful act originate from.

“Becasue I’m a doctor. That’s what doctors do, right? Heal people” You returned his gaze, a small smile decorating your lips in reassurance. His doubts about your true intentions clouded his mind, and only left him with a closed tight lipped line.

The untrusting pupils of his, filled you with nervous awkwardness, washing your mind blank, unable to say anything. When your next words came out, you cursed at yourself from the robotic way it sounded.

“My name is Y/N. What’s yours?”

“I’m Carter” His monotone voice only rewired your brain more. The cells of your brain were desperately trying to know where your social cable connected to, and you were left standing there as you mind coudn’t grasp at the simple concept of human communication, all because of the awkwardness you accidentally obligated your brain to experience.

“Nice to meet you.” You said with a weird smile appearing on your face. One with tense edges that created a tight feeling at the corner of your mouth, from your nervousness.

“I’ll see you around then…” You continued, trying to end this conversation and go back to the only familiar thing in the training ground, Vito’s presence and protective body.

However, you jolted up at a yet another sudden thought, and you hoped the comment hadn’t come across in bad taste. All the while, your thought process run miles, screaming at you to leave this despairing situation in that very instant.

“But, hopefully not in the Arena. Lets not see each other in the Arena” Carter quirked up his eyebrow, amused by that random comment. The corners of his mouth slightly twisted up, only so slightly if you hadn’t been scanning his face you wound’t have noticed.

And then, silence. Eternal disturbing silence filled every gap and hole of your body. Right then you understood the meaning behind phobias. You hand an irrational fear of being trapped in this types of situation, and you wanted to leave inmediately.

“Gotta go now. Bye then!” you practically escaped the scene the best you could. Walking over to Vito who was trying not to let his laughter be known to you, however his contorting expression was betraying him.

That only filled your body whole with flustered embarrassment, so you went on and bark back words for him to shut up. Making yet another mental note to never be in this types of situations again. Because you weren’t sure if you’d be able to survive it next time.

You were in the sight of the meticulous buildings, all in many shapes and sizes, and although it came across as odd to you, not quite what you’ve been used to from the trapped years in your town, you could still find the charm behind them. From spheres to tall pointy towers that scraped the clouds, even with your dislike for the Capitol, you had to admit that was sight worth remembering.

You huffed air out. It seemed that the most important buildings here were the highest ones, standing gloriously and looking down at the rest, an on point reflection from the human behaviour throughout Panem. The Capitol being the highest ones, deciding play the big almighty entity, and you were merely an ant sized building for them.

The luxurious spacious complex you were staying at, spoke in bold letters about its high-ranking prestige. Its sole marketing brand was directed at the citizens from the Capitol, often boasting about thie yearly contract they had with the trownhall. To use their residential services for the Tributes of the Hunger Games; and of course, in this capitalistic society, they doubled the prizes for the rooms that the victors had stayed in, and tripled for those who were well-liked among the city, such as your mentor Finnick Odair.

It was chilly outside, as cold as it should be when you were far up into the sky. There were many colours visible from the buildings, but the purple and magenta of a certain smaller structure was what caught your eye. You supposed it was some sort of promotion for this young and upcoming singer. The lines of her skin were that of a pinkish purple of a neon effect. Her hair was noticeably just been under the influence of her personal Prep Team, as her luscious short electric blue hair had just been straightened, into a nice and smooth cut. They had given her dark purple contact lenses, something that contrasted the edited purplish lines of her skin.

She was dancing, swinging her hips from side to side with a flirty wink among her features. Just by the way of the costume design had prepared for her musical promotion, you knew who her target audience was from get go. A light pink dress hugged her body tightly, so short you were able to see her underwear, from the few scenes when the film director thought it would enhance popularity with that of the tilted camera angle from a lower perspective. It didn’t come from an improvised thought process from a sudden new creative view for the video, but rather it had been planned all along. You knew that, when you saw her underwear with the very same celestial electric blue, the same colour as her eye catching hair, to aesthetically match each other.

In the background played an upbeat song, and the short verses she was was willing to show upfront revealed her cute voice. It increasingly disturbed you further, the way her playful child-like attitude in front of the camera.

With a young appearance, you could guess she could be eighteen. That specific age, because you refused to believe she was a minor and her marketing team thought it would be best for sales for her to expose herself like this to the world; with a personality the very much of the oversexualized idea that creeps had imagined that of young, playful and lively girls. Makes me want to vomit.

You looked away, the uncomfortable feeling crawling up your back, creeping its every steps on

every bone of your vertebral column. Little tiny pest insects running around, and hinding in the gaps of your joints. You shook your shoulders, trying to get rid of the feeling just as the hair of your back got pointy alerted you of any incoming threat.

The trembling pupils of your eyes roamed through the city. The isolation had stubbornly taken over your mind, the same feelings of emptiness forming bigger gaps of void in the pit of your stomach.

At least the noises of the night ambience filled that pit, it seemed like a long well, shrouded in darkness and creaking monsters. The moving cars, only to disappear soon after, was made peaceful in your soul, their drifting sounds very much smooth an quiet, something that you absolutely needed.

Again, her memory came running back to you. This past days, she was everything you could think of, your dead teacher, the owner of the Herbal Shop, the one you had considered as your grandmother. Edna filled your mind ever since her death one year ago, and her passing only left you lonelier.

Edna was terrified of the idea you'd be picked in the Reaping, you were at least glad she didn’t have to experience that level of distress anymore. She already had a long sorrowful life, and it seemed fate had different path for the both of us. They wanted her last remaining years to be alive and well, and you coudn’t escape the written decision of your early death. You supposed then that’s why they had taken her last breath that early, so you could carry out your last living task.

“Cruel and cold” The huff of your breath left the words to be just above a weak whisper. The memory of Edna always followed back to your childhood, the little shards of memories inside the depth of your mind.

You had been adopted by Edna, and she never failed to remind you the day you had been found by at the beach, screaming and crying like a crazy banshee, she always said. You coudn’t bring that piece of nostalgia back to your head, and especially not the memories from further back of your first family, and what might have happened to them. The first room of your house of memories started with Edna, just as if she was part from your biological family, like she was the family that was meant to be yours.

“Like the winds of the sea” It seemed like the city liked the song you started to play. The noises slowly quieted down into nothing but low whistles of the cold breeze surrounded the prison tower you were staying in. It seemed the Capitol liked the lullaby of District 4.

“Will you ever return to me?” You huskily sang, and it definitely seemed like a murmur.

You may be a good doctor, all thanks to Edna, but you weren’t given the doting lovely skill of having a beautiful voice, and especially not to sing in front of a crowd. But it was enough for yourself, as a way to reassure your mental stability back in check.

This is was what your boss sang to you to calm away your senses, and to let your mind drift away from the thought of the imaginary monsters that didn’t lurked in the shadows. That you were safe under her very care, and nothing bad would ever happen to you.

“Hear my voice, sing with the tides; My love will never die. Ten long years, I've waited to go by; My love will never die. Come my love, be one with the sea. Stay with me for all eternity. Play the song, you’ve sang all those years ago; and wherever, the storm may blow, you will find the key to my heart. We’ll never be apart. In your sealed fate, my love will never end.”

The lullaby follows the story of the lovesick siren. It starts when a woman who awaits for her lover, after he embarks on a journey and bring back a treasure so they could enjoy the delicious riches until the end of their lives.

Everyday, the woman waits for him to come back by the shoreline. She slowly goes closer to the ocean, until her legs have been covered with nothing but the saty water the sea. And for the next ten years, she sings a song for her lover to come back home safe.

The story follows when the oceans heart breaks apart after listening to the woman’s sorrowful broken voice, and takes pity on her prolonged pain. The sea foam turned her legs into a siren tail, granting her wish for her to embarc on her journey to find her true love.

That’s how it ends, with an open good enough ending for the children's telltale imagination. A fable to teach the younglings the importance of loving devotion and eternal patience.

But of course, Edna wasn’t like the doting parent from the many families of your District.

Edna was convinced that the siren did eventually find her lover. He was floating through the oceanic currents, drowned and in his skeletal shape from the many years he had been submerged underwater. She always insisted it was a ballad of losing the one you love, a lesson what the sudden loss of someone can do to one’s psychology, to always be prepared to never see your loved one again. Because if you don’t, you’ll make process of your mind’s deterioration.

The memory woke something in your thought process. It was like Edna was trying to give you a heads up from the very beginning of your mother and daughter relationship. Like she knew this could happen to you, and she was trying to implant in an invisible seed in the soil of your mind, about her eventual death.

“My mother used to sing that me when I was a child” The incoming voice of a male jolted your muscles. You were so deep in your head, his sudden presence earned you a quick jump from the little heart attack he had given you.

You looked at him, the man in his full glorious persona, Finnick Odair had made himself aware in your presence.

All his features were darkened by the night sky, creating sharp shadows on his cheeks and eyes. The look on your face said the words you didn’t dare to say to him, because they originated form of a curse. It wasn’t something personal, although it was starting be. You just coudn’t understand as to how something like hard shadows, things that make your face not be as delightful to see, still made him be in usual Thunderous God form. You truly just coudn’t comprehend how much God or whatever entity liked him so much, they made him to always stay this beautiful in every passing second. It was like he repelled all the attacks that targeted his beauty, like he been given a shady an anti-unattractive potion and somehow it worked. You made a mental note, to ask him just where did he find that antidote, because you definitely wanted it.

You didn’t say anything, biting your tongue so you inner thoughts wouldn’t spill out accidentally. He got beside you, and formed the same corporal position as you. His elbows tapped against the railing, and his eyes looked at the neon light show that the night city provided the two of you. He was showing you his profile, the view of his sharp jaw, with the shape of his curled blonde hair was truly as sight to behold. Without mentioning the bubble of his Adam’s Apple sticking out, which made you feel certain things you could only but hide from the world, and you would definitely not tell him the things his physical appearance was making you feel.

“Although, it wasn’t exactly the same” He continued. You were glad he hadn’t bothered to see your face, because it definitely was a piece of art that would amuse him and further and grow his cockiness. You weren’t sure when you were just taking in his features, but his ethereal face had a lot of information you simply needed to take a moment and appreciate. And soon, your mouth opened agape, an expression that only showed true disbelief from the work sculpture, you knew the artist filled inspiration stemmed from nothing else other than great desire.

You recomposed yourself, looking away from him. He had noticed your stare on him, and to that he brought a smug smile to his lips. He had gotten used to it, the very gaze on incredulity many people had given him, asking the very same question you were thinking.

“There’s like, a million versions of this songs. Seems fitting we wouldn't have listened the same one” You responded. You considered his welcoming tactic as a blinding attack, a sneaky move to leave you vulnerable and lost. You needed to focus again. It was incredible just how this man was able to change your gloomy state, only to make a three sixty, and almost make your heart jolt out of your chest. Get. Your. Shit. Together.

“Yeah… This one’s not exactly child appropriate” He mused, the raspiness of his voice increasingly getting stronger and thicker at the base of your ear drums. It was increasingly harder just having to act nonchalant when the man was a powerful weapon against you.

“Edna was never exactly ‘Child Aproppiate’ to begin with” You went on. The bone of your back started to make little-not-rights, the last warning that it was going to start hurting soon. You straightened up, stretching your back as much as you could, only to later lean against the railing.

“Especially when it came to raising me. She didn’t want me to have a wrong perception of reality” You guessed, already done from the countless times you had tried to come up with an answer, as to why Edna had chosen such a particular way of parenting.

“Sounds lovely” Finnick added sarcastically, which earned you a breathless giggle. There was silence again. The brezee flied through the hair of the both of you. Swirling over his curls only to whisk through yours. The breeze hit your shoulder, and you internally whined for not bringing a jacket with you under the nightly weather.

Finnick simply looked out on the whereabout of the city, but he didn’t take in the scenery, too opreoccupied to make up the thoughts that swirled his mind. The words he had convinced himself to come and tell you personally.

“Heard you helped the boy from Tribute 7” He started after a long pause neither of your wanted to break away, that was until Finnick’s mind wrapped itself up. He looked up at you. The breeze affected his nose, as it slowly started to turn red, giving him a more endearing look, if that was even possible.

“You’re a good person for that” He added.

“I’m not a good person” You debated. The tone of your voice as cold as the tight lipped scowl that was forming in your face. You didn’t look back at the man that created explosive emotions inside you, especially after you could barely remember bits and pieces of him carrying to your room while wasted. Memories that were hard to forget.

“No. You definitely are” He counter argued. Which only left you to slowly blink your eyes in annoyance. You coudn’t see the spark of determination that electrified his green eyes, and he knew it would take a lot more than that to convince him otherwise.

“And why is that? If you don’t mind me asking” You asked, recomposing you shoulders once again. Your eyes slowly found his, and the fiery want to be right was cutting away shards of your energy. You internally sighed again. Men…

“By this point, most Tributes are wary of each other. So when someone gets injured before the Games start, its gives everyone else an advantage” His sweet voice filled with the sugar of the fruits and honey, dancing around in the air as if trying to mock you, from the delicious and addicting contents you knew if you took the bait, you would fall under its spell and grow dependant on it.

You quirked an eyebrow upwards, in pure dumbfoundedness.

“That just means I’m dumb” You plainly said, the tone of your voice like and that of an ice stone.

“Maybe. But I think its because you’re a good person” He gave you an fake innocent look. He really was just going to go on about this, and you were too exhausted to entertain his banter further. He was really going to get under your skin.

You sighed in the absence of noise between the two of you. He was still looking a you, a smirk slowly coming up his features as a triumphal look sat across his eyes. Your silence indicated to him that you were waving that white flag in surrender, which meant he’d won.

“Has anyone told you just how annoying you can be?” You filled in the air the both of you breathed in. The energy of your frustration very present in Finnick’s ears.

“Only when I’ve made my mind up” He winked. That flirty comment from the context behind his persistence. Not only did it not work, but it left you with a stoned expression.

“Whatever you say, King” You sighed.

You chuckled through the air, in the end you coudn’t help but find the situation light hearted. Finnick felt the pureness of the feathers surrounding you from, your genuine laughter. Nothing stained that, cleaned from any trace of dread or agitation you’d been feeling the past few days. His eyes locked on your closed ones, taking you in and drawing a pretty portrait of youserlf in the back of his mind. His gaze turned fondly at the look oof your tender expression, it was hard for him not to think of you as anything but amusing.

Upon noticing his stare down, you returned the sentimental look you were receiving. A bright smile revealing your baring white teeth. Another husky breeze flowed around you, unable to consider the both of you as challenges on the road; and with the icy breeze, your noise left to join in its adventurous journey.

And soon you spoke again, your eyes fixated on a skyscraper with golden lights.

“Who could’ve thought the Capitol’s Darling could be so painfully persistent…” You talked to yourself, a small smile lingering under the little city lights. That from Finnick’s perspective, found you to be like an untouchable illusion.

“Who could’ve thought District 4’s Doc could’ve had such a pretty smile” He made the flirtatious remark, and he surprised himself when you moved your head and displayed a playful smile, whilst giving him a knowing look. He hadn’t realized he had said it out loud, and he looked away from you. A shy smile forming after a huffed breath. The lines of his refreshing smile, you thought, was one the things you were surprised, but welcomed the feeling of longing and want, for you to be able to see it again.

“Okay-” you snorted, still in your chuckled trance. You opened your mouth again, to retort back something sarcastic about his flirty personality. But another voice interrupted the both of your livelihood. Vito had called your names, shouting something about dinner.

Your hand reached to tap his shoulder. The touch very much welcomed with the warmth of his skin. Your pumping heart received that homely information, and sent away the blood leaving you in the warmth that Finnick had provided you. Melting the ice of the cells that had been frozen for the chilling attack of the breeze.

“Seems dinner’s ready. You should come inside, Mr. Prince Charming” You said, your voice sounding so sweet and soft in his ears, like the calming waves of the preferred beach he liked to visit in the early hours of the morning, where everything was quiet and peaceful. Your fingers brushed away, just as it left its touch on him, and he coudn’t help but yearn for your suave fingers on him again.

Your body walked away, into the residence the two of you would be sharing for the remainder of the days before the Hunger Games started.

The cells scattered across your body, thanked Vito for having called you, finally coming inside with the warmth the heater radiated without a problem. But even in the external heat, your heart wasn’t fully satisfied, and it longed for that fire that could only be found from inside of you, and it seemed Finnick was the only one that could set its blaze alight.

On the other hand, the victor from two years ago, was looking straight to where you pupils had rested earlier. It was a pretty sight, but he found himself only wanting to visualize your presence. In his silly mood, he didn’t want to think of anyone else but you in that moment, to be able to prolong it as much as he could. But to his disappointed, the weather didn’t listen to his pleas, and soon, the warmth of your body washed away any trace that you had been with him that night.

He hadn’t realized it then. The way you were creeping up on him like a tame spider to keep him a lovely company; how he saw your laugh to be ownerless because it belonged from another planet, as sweet and pure as the tastefilling sugarcubes he’d learn to slowly love.

OH MY GOD, IT DONE!!!!! FINALLY!!

Also, I'm not so fond of the Tribute Parade scenes, idk I just find them quite boring. So I thought I'd add more scenes of the Training, some with Vito, and of course, with my little cookie pookie Finnick. Hope you liked it ;)

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#finnick odair x reader #finnick x you #finnick #finnick odair #finnick odair x you #finnick x reader #the hunger games #thg finnick #thg x reader #thg

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