#I am going to draw bag head Peacemaker I do have to but did want to just draw his Design

[robocops-a-christ-allegory]

That Peacemaker anime is pretty good so far

[glescape]

𝐈𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐭-𝐓𝐰𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 (𝐜.𝐬)

Coriolanus Snow x district!fem!reader

Word count: 3,7k

Warnings: Power dynamic, stalking, threat, obsessive behaviour

summary: One apple a day keeps the doctor away, but not all troubles can vanish that way.

a/n: This is my first story! I hope I did good. Little warning I use ai to correct any grammar mistakes since english isn’t my first language. Let me know what y’all think! There’s always room for improvement.

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 l 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞

He walked his patrol like any other day as if nothing unusual had happened the day before. Even after it all unfolded, he remained confident. He knew a letter from the Capitol would come meaning he wouldn’t have to serve much longer. He has done his part, now they have to do theirs. As he patrolled, he paused, watching a young girl around his age talking to a market vendor. Nothing seemed off, except for her hand slipping down to take apples and stash them in her bag. She charmed the salesman with her gaze, pretending to listen to his rambling. Her movements were confident, as if she could do no wrong. How mistaken she was.

She smiled, ending the conversation and heading off in the opposite direction. He took a moment to study her. She wore a brown skirt layered alongside a short, tattered white dress, with a thin white cardigan on top. A green scarf held back her curls. He noted that her beauty could draw in any man, but that wasn’t why he’d paused. He was interested in her confidence as she stole in plain sight. Was she arrogant and reckless, or had she become so skilled she barely thought about it?

He glanced around and saw that no one else had noticed other than him. Spotting the green scarf in the crowd, he followed her. Once he got a hold of her he could bring her back to the market and let her endure the consequences of her actions. But it wouldn’t serve him in any way.

As he followed her through an alley, he noticed her walking faster after sensing his presence. He felt amusement but also annoyance for her. Did she really think she could escape him?

The moment she noticed him, it was almost by accident, a glimpse caught from the corner of her eye. She was weaving through the narrow, dimly lit streets, the weight of the day still clinging to her as she slipped between the sparse crowds.

“Wouldn’t want to be caught, would you?” His voice echoed through the alley once they were alone. It wasn’t a question, more of a statement that made her stop in her tracks. She looked back, pausing slightly at the sight of stark lines of his Peacekeeper's uniform, the blue fabric gleaming under the faint streetlights, contrasting sharply against the grit and grime of District 12. His piercing gaze held hers. What a shame. If she was in the Capitol, she could use her looks for far more than stealing. Such a waste of a pretty face he thought.

The jacket fit him with precise tailoring, each seam accentuating his tall, lean frame, giving him an imposing presence even in stillness. Its dark fabric clung to his shoulders, emphasizing his upright posture and adding to his air of controlled authority. His face was strikingly pale, almost ghostly in the dim light, making his features even more pronounced. His eyes, a piercing shade of blue, scanned his surroundings with a calm but relentless intensity, as if he missed nothing. The slight upward curve at the corners of his mouth hinted at a quiet confidence, even a trace of amusement, as if he enjoyed the silent power he held. His expression was unreadable cool, distant, yet utterly focused, leaving an impression that this was a man who expected to be obeyed without question.

“What are you going to do?” she asked, her voice uneasy as she realized the situation she found herself in. Alone in a dark alley with a peacemaker nonetheless.

“What am I going to do? Just decide how much trouble you’re worth.” His words sent a chill down her spine. Ignoring him, she tried to leave, only to halt again when his voice rang out.

“You don’t want to do that.”

Her heart pounded in her chest as she froze, the words hanging in the air. She didn’t dare turn around at first, but the subtle shift in the tension was impossible to ignore. The way Snow’s voice, calm and assured, sliced through the silence made her feel as if every movement was being watched, calculated.

She finally faced him, her breath shallow, eyes betraying the mixture of fear and defiance that churned within her. “What do you want from me?” Her voice barely rose above a whisper, the question escaping without her permission. She didn’t want to know, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking.

Snow took a slow step forward, his eyes narrowing slightly as he sized her up. There was a cold precision to his movements, as if everything he did had a purpose. He didn’t rush, he didn’t need to. He already had her where he wanted her, at least for now.

“What I want from you,” he began, his voice smooth, like a snake coiling around her. “A homecooked dinner would be nice once in a while”

The way he spoke those words made her stomach tighten. She could feel the weight of them, the danger lacing each syllable, as if they were an offer and a warning wrapped into one. It sounded too innocent for her to believe that it was the only intention he had with her.

Her mouth went dry. “And what do you offer in return?” She barely recognised her own voice, it was so laced with hesitation, but it was too late to take it back now.

Snow’s lips quirked into a smile, but it wasn’t kind, there was nothing warm about it. “What I offer in return,” he said, his gaze piercing, “is security. You won’t have to worry about having to steal again, and you’ll never have to fear being hungry again.”

The offer hung there, almost too good to be true, but her instincts screamed that it was a trap, one she was already caught in, whether she realised it or not.

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her composure. “And if I refuse?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt, trying to act like she had a say in this.

He stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off him. His gaze never left hers. “What matters now is whether you’ll take this chance, or let it slip through your fingers. Refusing wouldn’t be a smart choice.”

Her heart raced, each beat a thunderous echo in her ears. The alley seemed to close in around her, the walls inching closer with every passing second. Snow's words hung in the air, a poisonous mist that threatened to suffocate her.

She tried to steady her breathing, to summon the confidence that had always been her shield. But it slipped away like sand through her fingers, leaving her exposed and vulnerable. Snow's presence loomed over her, a shadow that seemed to dim the very light around them.

"I don’t-" The words stumbled from her lips, foreign and clumsy. She hated how small her voice sounded, how it betrayed her uncertainty. The usual fire in her eyes flickered, threatened by the icy calm of Snow's gaze.

He took another step closer, and she instinctively stepped back, her heel catching on an uneven cobblestone. She stumbled slightly, her composure cracking further. Snow's smile widened almost imperceptibly, like a predator sensing weakness in its prey.

"Time's ticking," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper but somehow filling the entire alley. "And with every second, your options... slim."

A chill ran down her spine, sharp and sudden like a blade of ice. She felt trapped, cornered not just by the physical walls of the alley but by the weight of Snow's words, the implications of his offer. The confidence that had carried her through countless thefts now seemed a distant memory, replaced by a gnawing fear that threatened to consume her.

Her options weren’t really great. If she said no she thought she would lose her life but saying yes felt like signing away her soul. Looking around she searched for something that might help her get out this goddam alley. The options weren’t great. Either try running away or try to take one of the pipes to protect herself. None of the options would end positive, she just knew.

The probability of her being fast enough to run away or to fight him off were almost nonexistent. His physique was far stronger than hers, his presence alone imposing as it filled the narrow space between them. Each step he took seemed to close the distance effortlessly. She could feel the weight of his gaze, unyielding and heavy, like a force she couldn’t escape. Her own body, feeling tense and fragile in comparison.

Her gut told her to get out somehow but she knew that wasn’t an option. All this just because she chose to steal some apples. Everything in her mind screamed that this wasn’t just about apples and some dinner. This felt more like a cat and mouse game.

The way he stared at her completely still, not moving his eyes away from her. The world went quiet for a moment as his piercing eyes seemed to hold her to the ground. Something was different about him than other men she met. Everything seemed violent about his presence but somehow he was so collected. There was no need to demand obedience, he expected it. And she hated that she’s given it to him already.

“What is the point in giving me a choice if I can’t choose?“ her voice was steady but also soft with a hint of suspicion. She didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of showing too much fear, but there was no mistaking the uncertainty in her eyes.

Snow paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her, almost amused by her attempt at control. His lips curled into a thin smile, and for a moment, there was a glimmer of something dark in his gaze.

He leaned in ever so slightly, closing the space between them with a subtle shift of his posture, making the moment feel even more intimate, as if he were confiding in her.

“It’s more an opportunity that I’m offering.“

Goosebumps arose on her skin as she felt his breath on the side of her face. It wasn’t just a opportunity. A fear arose in her chest, what would happen when she accepted? The silence stretched after his words but it didn’t seem to affect him at the slightest. Him not saying anything was just encouraging her to get this over with.

She held his gaze, her voice steady but carrying a hint of defiance. “You already know my answer.“

Her voice held a quiet determination that hinted she wasn’t as easily intimidated as he might have thought.

Snow tilted his head slightly, his expression sharpening as he absorbed her response. A shadow of a smirk played across his lips, a mixture of intrigue and amusement, as though her defiance had only deepened his interest. He studied her in silence, the intensity of his gaze making the air between them feel charged.

“Lead the way,” he murmured, each word deliberate, laced with a quiet authority that made it clear he wasn’t asking. “I’ll accompany you home.”

He gestured with a subtle wave of his hand, a show of politeness that was somehow more unsettling than reassuring. His eyes never left her as though he were both her escort and warden. His tone was low, controlled, making it clear that he would be by her side whether she wanted him there or not.

She looked at him, attempting a casual tone, though she knew it might fall flat under his piercing gaze.

„I have nothing at home to cook for you“ she said, hoping the simple statement would somehow deter him.

Snow raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth as though her words had only entertained him. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” he replied smoothly, his tone calm yet edged with something almost playful. “I’m sure I’ll find the visit worthwhile.” Her mind raced as she second guessed his words. What would happen when she was alone with him in an closed room. The alley was already too much for her but being with him alone under a roof? That would get even more intense.

She started walking, leading the way as he told her to. As she started leading the way he walked next to her adjusting to her pace. Matching her steps perfectly. This felt too normal. Walking around at night while the crickets chirped in the background. And it would’ve been if it wasn’t for him.

she took the three steps up to her front door as she struggled with the key‘s for a second, the darkness in the night wasn’t making it easier for her.His presence weighing on her as he stood behind her.

The key finally slid into the lock with a soft click. She hesitated for a moment before pushing the door open.Snow stood still behind her, his posture relaxed but undeniably attentive, as if waiting for her to make the next move. She pushed to door open and got in. While she turned around to him, he already had let himself in and brushed past her. She watched him and felt weird at the sight of him here. He seemed too big for her space. The uniform didn’t help with that.

“I didn’t invite you in,” she said, her voice quieter than she meant it to be.

A flicker of amusement crossed his features as he stepped closer, his shadow falling over her. Snow’s eyes moved slowly over her home, taking in every small detail, and finally settled back on her. “You live simply,” he observed, his voice carrying that familiar note of amusement. “It suits you.” He paused, his gaze sharpening. “Though I wonder how long you can keep it this way.” For a moment, she considered brushing it off, offering a sharp retort or forcing a casual laugh, but the weight of his gaze, his calm scrutiny, made her hesitate. His words were not just about her living conditions, they felt like a subtle threat, a reminder that whatever fragile peace she had built could crumble under the weight of his influence.

She felt a sudden tightness in her chest, his words striking like an uninvited invasion into the small space she had carved for herself. Her gaze briefly flickered around the room at the worn furniture, the cluttered counter, the untouched corners. His observation felt too intimate, as though he saw right through her carefully constructed life, exposing its fragility. There was no malice in his tone, but it didn’t matter. The implication was clear, and it sent a cold ripple of discomfort down her spine.

Snow’s gaze lingered for a moment longer on the surroundings before his eyes shifted back to her, his expression unreadable but piercing. “Do you live alone?��� he asked, the question almost casual, yet there was something underlying in his tone that made it feel like a probe, as if he were gathering pieces to a puzzle only he could see.

The question hung in the air, and she felt a wave of discomfort wash over her. There was no reason for him to ask. It wasn’t the kind of detail that should matter. Yet, his presence here, his ever watchful eyes, made it feel like everything about her life was suddenly under his scrutiny.

She hesitated for a moment, her pulse quickening. “Why do you want to know?” she asked, her voice betraying the caution she tried to mask. Her fingers tightened around the doorframe as she shifted her weight slightly, instinctively wanting to create some space between them, but she knew it wouldn’t matter.

Snow’s lips curled into a small, almost imperceptible smile, his eyes never leaving hers. “Just curious,” he said softly, his voice smooth, but there was a chill to it that made her wonder whether he already knew more than he was letting on. “It’s always… telling, isn’t it?” His eyes drifted around the room again, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that he was reading her in ways she didn’t want him to.

Snow’s gaze remained steady as he spoke, his voice smooth and casual, but there was an underlying edge that made her stomach tighten. “I’ll pick you up at work tomorrow,” he said, as if it were a simple, everyday arrangement.

Her breath caught, and she instinctively took a half step back, her eyes narrowing as she processed his words. “How do you know where I work?” she asked, the question slipping out before she could stop it. Her tone was sharp, suspicion threading through her words, as she tried to keep the unease from showing in her voice.

Snow didn’t flinch as if her surprise was exactly what he’d been expecting. “I know more about you than you think,” he replied, his tone still that of casual amusement, but with something colder lurking beneath. “Information has a way of finding its way to me.” She felt a chill race up her spine, but she didn’t give in to the fear bubbling inside. Instead, she met his eyes, trying to hold her ground. “And if I don’t want you to pick me up?” she asked, her voice steadier than she felt.

He shrugged nonchalantly, the smile never fading. “It’s not a request,” he said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll be there, whether you want me to be or not.”

Snow’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, as though weighing her, as if deciding whether to say something more, but ultimately, he turned his attention to the door. He stepped back, the movement smooth and deliberate, like a predator leaving its prey but always keeping an eye on it.

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he said, his voice low but certain, the words hanging between them like a promise or a threat. There was a finality to them, as though he were marking his place in her life whether she liked it or not.

He didn’t wait for a response, his figure retreating into the shadows of the street as he stepped out into the cool night air. His movements were measured, effortless, as though everything he did was part of a plan only he could see.

She watched him go, the silence settling in after the door closed behind him, and for a long moment, the weight of his presence lingered in the room, even though he was no longer there. The feeling of being watched, of being known, clung to her like a second skin.

The echo of his footsteps faded, but his words, his promises, stayed with her, haunting her long after he disappeared into the dark.

Even after Snow had left, she couldn’t shake the unsettling sensation that clung to the air, as if his presence had seeped into the very walls of her home. The quiet that followed felt thick and heavy, almost oppressive, as if the space itself had been altered by his visit.

She glanced around the room, her gaze drifting over the small, familiar things her worn couch, the half finished cup of tea on the counter. But nothing seemed the same now. His absence didn’t bring relief. It brought an eerie stillness, a reminder that he had been here, that he knew this space, even if only for a moment.

Before she went to bed, she checked the door three times, her fingers grazing over the lock, turning it back and forth to be sure. She pulled the curtains closed, then checked again, making certain there wasn't a sliver of space left for anyone to see in. The room fell into complete darkness, but she could still feel his presence lingering as though he hadn't really left. It was an eerie sensation, one that made her heart beat faster even as she lay beneath her covers, staring at the ceiling.

Every time she closed her eyes, his face flashed before her. That calm, calculating gaze that seemed to pierce straight through her, as though he knew things about her that even she didn't know. She tried to shake it off, to ignore the shiver of curiosity and dread twisting through her mind, but the questions began pressing down, unyielding and relentless.

How did he know her? She had seen him only once before today, barely long enough to catch a name, and yet he seemed to know things such as where she worked. The realisation made her stomach churn. Had he been watching her before tonight? Had she simply never noticed the shadow that lingered in the background, that invisible thread weaving itself into the corners of her life?

And what did he truly want from her?

His words played over and over in her mind, each one carrying a weight she couldn't quite decipher. His tone had been laced with something she couldn't name, something cold and almost intimate. He'd made her feel as though she were walking a fine line, one wrong move away from consequences she didn't want to imagine.

She shifted restlessly, pulling the blankets tighter, though they did nothing to keep out the feeling of exposure.

Alone in the darkness, she was acutely aware of how vulnerable she was, how easily he'd managed to unnerve her, twisting her own mind against her. And yet, despite her fear, she felt a strange pull toward him, a desire to understand, even as it terrified her. As the minutes passed, she lay in silence, her thoughts circling back to that piercing gaze, that unreadable face, and the unsettling truth that, somehow, her life no longer felt like her own.

[ravensimps]

Hughie’s Sister Chapter 3 (2/3)

"A rental? You cheap bastard" M.M is not impressed by Butcher's choice of vehicle "Who do you think I am? Some double O wanker? In case you hadn't noticed we ain't exactly rolling in it" He takes his jacket off making me blush again "And you don't think this is conspicuous?" I ask looking up at him from my seat on the floor, He smirks looking down at me "Conspicuous? No, I don't think it's conspicuous. I think a big black van with fucking flowers on the side is conspicuous. This is just another truck on the street" He chuckles slightly, I jump up and stand behind Butcher as a banging is heard on the back door of the van.

"Easy Love, Bang on time" He smirks and opens the door as I move back away from him "Hughie! Welcome back!" I smile as he goes over to M.M "Hi, Hughie" He puts his hand out for M.M to shake "Smelly motherfucker!" M.M jumps up and pushes Hughie out of the way as he pushes Frenchie into the wall of the van, Hughie and I immediately step back as they lunge for each other and Butcher has to be the peacemaker "Butcher who is this guy?!" Hughie yells as Frenchie waves a knife around "You'll give the game away!" Butcher yells holding them both back "Not until this frog gets what's coming" M.M glares, Frenchie's eyes go wide "Only thing that is coming is me on your mother's titties!" Frenchie yells and lunges at him more, M.M is livid "Let me through at him Bitch!" They both get a bit more aggressive so I pull Hughie back a bit "So how you been?" I smile and hug him "Good, Oh I got your stuff" He smiles patting his bag "Yay thank you" I let go of him as Butcher yells louder and a phone starts ringing.

M.M goes to the back of the van to take the call, I go over to Butcher "If I ask will you tell?" He looks at me his eyes slightly softer "Another time..." He smiles running a hand through his hair, Frenchie and Butcher start laughing as M.M makes a kissing noise into the phone...His laugh is like music to my ears "Fuck all of y'all ok?" M.M groans and I go over to Hughie bag to get my stuff from it.

"Uh, Butcher? Where am I supposed to change?" I blush holding up the new clothes, He turns and his eyes turn dark "Pick a corner Love" He smirks and my jaw drops "Y-Your kidding me?! Butcher!" I whine making him chuckle "Look fine if it makes you feel better we will all turn our backs ok?" He turns around as does everyone else "Fuc-Fudging perfect" I groan and quickly change my clothes.

"Ok I'm done" I smile as they start talking bugs and hacking into PopClaw's apartment.

XX

Hughie and M.M have just made their way inside undercover as Bryman audio visual employees well Hughie technically is one still.

"Everything ok?" I ask standing in front of Butcher as he leans on the wall, He tilts his head looking at me intently "Hm now who is giving who whiplash?" He smirks crossing his arms "I'm sorry..." I sigh looking up at him "What did M.M say to you?" He softly runs his thumb over my cheek, My breath hitches and I blush heavily "H-He told me not to try and get into anything with you, He said you're a cold son of a bitch who will break my heart" I gasp lightly as his thumb brushes over my lip, He leans into my ear "He's not fully wrong but I gotta admit I do have a sweet spot for you Love" He growls making my whole body shiver "Butcher he did it!" Frenchie yells making me jump back as they go and look at the cameras "This kid is full of surprises" Butcher smirks watching Hughie on the screen "He does good work" I giggle and wait for them to come back.

XX

"This is so awkward" I mumble sitting on the floor by Butcher as we watch the cameras, A-Train and PopClaw are having a heavy makeout session and we are all just having to sit and watch and it is just plain awkward "Would it be less awkward if it was you and I Love?" Butcher smirks down at me making me squeak, Hughie turns in the chair and glares at him "Dude that's my sister" He practically whines "Oh I know" Butcher continues to smirk making me roll my eyes, I look at the screen and gag as PopClaw sucks on A-Train's toes.

"What the hell is compound V?" Hughie asks still staring at the screen "Sounds like some kind of performance enhancer, Steriods for supes" M.M says standing off to the side "Yeah well whatever it was he was juiced on it when he murdered Robin" Hughie sniffles, I stand up and put my hand on his shoulder comfortingly "What are you grinning at?" M.M asks Butcher as he looks smug "Oh I dunno mate, Maybe cause The Seven might just be a squad of manky roid heads. Now this is exactly the kind of malfeasance that Langly is gonna eat up by the spoonful" Butcher smirks eyes sparkling "Maybe you should wait and see if it really does what we think it does" I look at Butcher and he slightly nods before looking at Frenchie "If we get a bit think you can work it out?" He asks Frenchie "Oh I can run some tests of course, but there's no way of knowing unless I try some myself" Frenchie smirks "Amazing idea" Hughie shakes his head "We'll cross that bridge when we burn it, First of all...We gotta get some" Butcher growls.

Butcher begins working on a plan for tomorrow, We all add little pieces here and there if needed.

XX

After a plan has been settled on I pull Butcher to the side "May we have a moment? Outside?" I ask quietly, He tilts his head and smirks "Of course Love" He smiles and opens the door "Hughie, I'll be back in a sec" I smile and go around the side of the truck with Butcher "What's on your mind Love?" He asks leaning against the side of the truck "You said you have a sweet spot for me and I just wanted you to know I already fully trust you..." I blush looking down, He softly tilts my chin up making me look at him "You trust me?" He asks softly, I nod quietly "Close your eyes for me Love" He smiles eyes soft so I slowly close my eyes. His hand moves from my chin to cup my cheek and within seconds his lips are on mine kissing me softly, I whine quietly into it kissing back and wrapping my arms around his neck. He growls as I play with his hair and lifts me up making me wrap my legs around him, The kiss continues to get heated as he nips my lip and squeezes my hips. I moan lightly into it my face bright red as he pulls back and looks into my eyes "Your first kiss?" He asks slightly growling "Y-Yes" I stutter making him hum and nuzzle my neck lightly "I really hope you know what you're getting into with us" He smirks looking back into my eyes "I'm here and I'm not leaving no matter how dicey it gets" I say firmly, He puts me down gently and presses his lips to mine softly for not even 5 seconds "We should get back inside before we draw attention" He smiles softly and leads me back inside.

End Of Part 2! Next part will be the final part! Butcher and Raven's first kiss~ How did I do? Please let me know if it seemed ok.

-Ray

[childrenofhypnos]

Chapter 16: Poisoned

“Bring her here. Keep her head elevated. What happened?”

“I don’t know. She was fine, and then she started stumbling and fell over—”

“Em? Can you hear me?”

Emery blinked. She thought she blinked. Whether she did or not, her vision still blurred. The night was dark and rain misted her hair.

“What happened to her finger?”

“She was bitten. There was a thing in a cage—it looked like a bat.”

Emery’s head hurt. Her stomach hurt. Her arms felt like they’d been stabbed so many times they’d turned to ribbons. The ground flipped and spun like a gyroscope beneath her. Her vision cleared long enough for her to make out warm orbs of light passing her by. One, two, three. Lampposts. Rain fell into her eyes, so she closed them.

“Almost there, Em.” The voice vibrated in her chest.

“Grandpa.” Her own voice sounded too loud.

She was screaming.

“I’m here. Wesley, get the door. Get the door!”

The noises blurred like her vision. The world became a turbulent sea, and the voices around her became the howling of the wind. If she was still in the Dream, this was the worst nightmare they’d been through yet. Up was down, her nose and throat were packed with cotton, and it was becoming harder and harder to breathe, as if a bag of sand sat on her chest.

The cold sterility of the Fenhallow clinic brought her back to her senses long enough for Emery to register Grandpa Al setting her down on one of the beds, the curtain being drawn around her, and one of the doctors shining a bright light in her eyes. They took her hand. Shoved something in her ear, then down her throat. There was a prick at the inside of her elbow.

Wes’s deep voice came from the other side of the curtain. His silhouette, the wave of his hair and the broad stretch of his shoulders, shifted against the white material.

“Wes,” Emery croaked.

Grandpa Al’s hand was on her shoulder, holding her down. “Wes is fine. Don’t move, Em.”

Wes had turned and the nurse had grabbed him. He was arguing with her now.

The doctor took Emery’s hand.

“This looks like a bite.”

“Poisonous.” Grandpa Al’s hand pressed flat on Emery’s forehead. She knew it from the wrinkles, the warmth, the solid weight of the wedding ring he still wore. “Where is Marcia Montgomery? We need her here, she might be able to—”

His words faded.

Emery was horribly aware of slipping away. She had the time and awareness to dig her fingers into reality, but the Dream was dragging her down, down, back into it, away from the waking world. Then she was there, all at once, without any idea where there was.

Standing before her was a man without a face. He approached her. She raised her gun and shot him in the head, and a small perfect round hole appeared, and the man fell and blood pooled around him.

When she started screaming, the man appeared again. Again, she raised her gun and shot him. The hole wasn’t there and then it was. The ground trembled when he fell. The blood made a soft rushing as it left his body.

The rushing grew louder and louder. The man appeared again. Emery shot him again. He fell again. She looked at her Peacemaker and it wasn’t a dreamform at all, but a real gun, a gun made for killing other people.

She screamed.

The man appeared. She shot him. She screamed.

The man appeared. She shot him. The scream caught in her throat and she choked on it.

The man appeared. She raised her gun.

A pale hand grabbed it and shoved it down, and a black claw swiped through the man’s head, sending him again to the ground. Sliding into his place was a new man, much younger than the last, with long unkempt dishwater hair, an unshaven jaw, and goggles. This new man took the gun from Emery first, then cupped her face in his hands. The claw disappeared and his palms were gentle but rough. Human hands. Long fingers.

“Sandman,” she said.

“Emery,” the Sandman said. “Focus on me. Focus as hard as you can, but don’t move. You’re having a fever dream. You are very ill right now, do you understand?”

She heard focus and dream and ill. She did feel ill, now that he mentioned it. She felt very ill. At least his appearance had stopped the unbearable spinning repetition.

The Sandman brushed the hair away from her face. “You were injured in my dream. What was it? Did something bite you?”

His dream. Injured. Bite.

“Little…bat.” The words didn’t want to come out. Her tongue weighed twenty pounds and was made of wet sticky rice. She saw her hand, then her hand against his face, then her hand brushing over his stubble. It felt nice. More than that, it felt real. She tried to push his goggles up. Her weak fingers got stuck on the rubber strap.

“The little bat. Of course.” He grabbed her hand and took it down from his goggles. “Listen to me, Emery. The venom of the animals is not like any the Fenhallow clinic knows. None of the antidotes they try will work. It adheres to the laws of the Dream, and specifically to my dream. They need to—”

Emery’s eyes opened. The clinic was hot and stuffy and she shook with chills.

“How am I supposed to know what to do for her?” The curtain was open enough for Emery to get a glimpse of brown skin and bright orange hair. “You think toxicology is learned through osmosis? I’m positive the things in his dreams are poisonous or venomous or whatever, but that doesn’t mean I know—”

Sleep pulled her eyes closed again. The Sandman was back, yelling at her, his mouth moving with words she couldn’t hear.

Then she could.

“EMERY. YOU—you’re back! Damn fever dreams. Listen closely, this isn’t going to make much sense. You need warm baby oil, and you need it poured into your ear. The venom only attacks your brain, and the oil draws it out through—”

Back to the clinic. The lights were too bright. Someone was holding her arms down to the bed.

“Why can’t we see her? What happened?” The voices were far away.

Back to the dream.

“Did you hear me? Warm baby oil. In your ear. Tell them Klaus said to do it—”

The clinic banged cymbals in her ear and flashed a spotlight in her eyes.

“Baby oil,” she gasped out. Black eyes looked at her from just outside the curtain. Then a flash of red hair. Then student uniforms. “In…in my ear. Warm.”

“What’s she saying?”

A hand touched her face. Grandpa Al was there again.

“Warm baby oil,” Emery groaned. “Ear. Klaus said—Klaus—”

“She’s hallucinating.”

“What if she’s not?”

“Warm baby oil in the ear is meant to help with ear aches, not venom.”

“It can’t possibly hurt to try.”

“Miss Fenhallow—”

“Look, I don’t know all the intricacies of your dreamhunter voodoo, but I know some weird nonsense goes down in the Dream, and warm baby oil in the ear sounds like weird nonsense to me.”

When Emery fell asleep again, the Sandman was gone, and she had a gun, and she had a gun, and she had a gun.

~

Nothing was well. Not her and not her dreams. She no longer knew when she was sleeping and when she was awake. Sometimes she felt someone holding her hand. Sometimes her other hand throbbed: all her fingers were gone and poppies grew from their stumps. Sometimes she was looking in a mirror, and her reflection’s hair floated around her head, and where her eyes should have been were two glowing disks like car headlights.

She was prodded and turned. She fell into a deep and inescapable cold, and shivered violently. She pleaded for someone to make it stop, however they could, to please make it stop. Make the world stop spinning, make her stop shivering, settle her stomach and calm her mind.

Her mouth was clamped shut, her teeth ground together, her tongue too heavy to move.

~

Something hot slithered into Emery’s ear.

Her eyes snapped open. The clinic spun around her, but the heat cut through the haze in her mind. She tried to jerk away from the feeling but found herself pinned to her bed. Someone grunted.

“Sorry, Em. Don’t move.”

Joel. He laid on top of her, using his weight to hold her down; he held her wrists in both his hands, pinning them to her stomach. His face came into her vision a second later, expression apologetic. Kris and Jacqueline moved into view a second later. Kris looked pained; Jacqueline had her arms folded and her eyes narrowed.

That only left the person pouring the hot, nasty thing down Emery’s ear—

“Hypnos’s ballsack, Ashworth, hold still.”

Marcia. Of course.

The hot slithering stopped. The heat dissipated quickly. All the muscles in her head and neck loosened, relaxing, and as they did the fog in her mind lifted and the room stopped spinning.

“I don’t know if that was enough.” Marcia leaned over. “Did he say how much to put in?”

“No,” Emery grunted. “You can let me up, Jojo. I won’t move.”

“Hold on.” Marcia leaned away. A finger jammed something soft in Emery’s ear. A cotton ball. “Okay, let her up.”

Joel let go and helped Emery sit up. Blood rushed to her head, but once the fuzz cleared from her vision, she could see again. Her index finger was bandaged and she wore a paper hospital gown.

Marcia looked at the oil-slicked spoon in her hand and said, “Wow. That was fast.”

Emery pressed her hands to her face. Her stomach lurched, she was covered in sweat and shaking slightly, but the tempest of horrible feelings had passed. Joel moved up the bed to sit beside her against the headboard, planting his arm behind her. She had to ignore her own sweatiness to burrow against his shoulder, and her reward was breathing deep the smell of Old Spice. They were alone in the clinic, just the five of them. The nurse’s station at the far end was empty.

“Where are Grandpa Al and the clinic staff?” Emery asked. “Where’s Wes?”

“The dean is currently speaking to the director of the North American Ward,” Marcia said. “You looked pretty terrible, but you weren’t getting worse, so he took the opportunity to call for help.”

“And the clinic staff was a quick distraction,” said Jacqueline. “Wes told Dr. Wong that the Wilmark Fox had gotten ahold of one of the non-dreamhunter students and he’d lost an arm. Marcia offered to stay here while Wes went with Dr. Wong and the nurse to help.”

Emery looked around again. “And…where’s Lewis?”

Kris blushed. “He offered to lose an arm.”

Jacqueline rolled her eyes. “We didn’t actually cut off his arm. He agreed to act hurt on the soccer field because Kris asked him to. We just needed them gone long enough to get the baby oil into you. Once they were out of the room, we snuck back in.”

Emery put a hand to her ear. The cotton ball was already falling out. The details of her dream, the Sandman’s words, and even waking the few times to conversations in the clinic were fading fast, but she remembered Grandpa Al there, and she remembered him arguing.

“They didn’t want to do it, did they?” she said. “They didn’t believe me.”

“You did sound delirious,” Jacqueline said.

“You were delirious,” said Joel. He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tighter against his side.

“So why did you all believe me?” Emery asked.

They all looked at Marcia, who looked immediately disgruntled. “You said Klaus told you to do it,” she said. “He came to you in the Dream, didn’t he?”

Emery nodded.

“Idiot,” Marcia spat. “Fever dreams are the most dangerous to walk into. He could have killed himself just to tell you that. What else did he say? Anything?”

“No. I don’t think so. I was kind of out of it at the time, Marcia.”

Marcia’s lips curled back from her teeth. “Because you went into his dream. What prompted you to do something that stupid?”

“I don’t know, it seemed like fun.” Emery pressed the heel of her hand to her now-pounding head. Memories from the Dream trickled back in. The dark forest, the castle, the witch of the wood and her glowing eyes. “You were there. But you probably already knew that, right?”

Marcia’s dark eyes glittered. She said nothing.

“Who is this guy?” Joel asked.

“Wes and I were assigned to find him, but not to engage him,” Emery said. “We found out he was following us. Following me. He knew who I was, and in his dream we found…we found a drawing of me. Of my doppelgänger.”

Marcia’s gaze sharpened. Joel, Jacqueline, and Kris all came to attention with confusion and worry. Marcia seemed to think hard for a moment, then said quietly, “Keep that to yourself. I mean it.” She looked around at all of them. “That doesn’t leave this room. Tell no one, not even Dean Ashworth. Understand?”

“But why would he—” Emery began.

And before she could finish, the clinic doors burst open.

(Next time on The Children of Hypnos —> TWO WILL ENTER. ONE WILL LEAVE.)

[oikawaz]

so long as you come home (kuramiyu)

Summary: (hunger games au) 

“You okay?” Miyuki finally asks when he feels Kuramochi shudder beneath his fingertips. Again.

“Tell me what you mean by okay.” Kuramochi hisses, tipping his head back to bump against the tree he’s leaning against. He’s not looking at Miyuki, eyes screwed shut tight as Miyuki uses water to clean the gash on his hand. “Maybe I’ll answer.”

notes: warnings for blood, injury, and mentions of death. no one actually dies, though. this is just. me indulging myself and writing Soft and Tender things 

AO3 Link

Kuramochi throws a rock in the stream they’ve stumbled on. The splash draws Miyuki’s attention away from the blood on Kuramochi’s hands.

“What?” he asks when he turns, catching Miyuki looking at him.

He shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Just being safe,” Kuramochi mutters, as an explanation, kneeling down and sticking his hands under the water, cleaning the blood off of them. He looks relieved that it’s finally gone, no longer a constant, visible reminder of the fight they’d just been in, the battle they just made it out of. “Remember the year that kid died from stepping into the lake?”

That year—two years ago if Miyuki’s remembering right—the water sources in the arena had been scarce and difficult to find. To make it worse, a few of the places it was accessible were simply traps, rigged by the Gamemakers to kill whoever touched or drank it.

Apparently it was more entertaining to watch people die when they had thought they found something they needed to survive.

“Ugh. Yeah.”  He sits down next to Kuramochi, mostly to offer some menial form of physical comfort after they hadn’t really had that since their run in with a group of tributes earlier. He’s thankful Kuramochi had thought to check for something like that because the last thing he wants is for them to make it out of a fight, alive and together still, only to be killed by the Gamemakers’ interference.

They can’t stay here out in the open like this for very long if they don’t want another confrontation like earlier. But for now, it’s a nice break from that. From constantly being on guard and worried about what could happen. The arena could almost, almost be called beautiful when it’s quiet like this. And you know, without the backdrop of death and violence tainting that image. Sure.

There’s nothing like this back home. No canopy of trees, high enough to climb and no streams of water like this. The closest they've ever gotten to anything like this at home is sitting on the rooftop of Miyuki's tiny house with Kuramochi, looking at the stars or the sunset. From there, the trees of the forest outside their District are visible in the distance, but not reachable, not obtainable. They’re looming nearby, a welcome escape that no one can really make, taunting people to go there and actually take the risk of running and the Capitol finding them.

Ignoring the false sense of security the arena's masking as at the moment, Miyuki knows that no matter what, though, he’d rather be at home. He'd rather be anywhere than this. At home, things are tough, but it’s not like this. He’s not scared like he is here. He’s still got a life in front of him and people to come home to.

Back home, Kuramochi’s not facing death with him. Kuramochi doesn’t have to fight by Miyuki’s side. They don’t have to fight to keep each other alive in a twisted game.

Back home, Kuramochi isn’t pulling his hands from a stream, expecting them to be clean of someone else’s blood and finding his own instead.

Oh.

“You’re bleeding,” Miyuki says, gesturing to the gash on Kuramochi’s palm, only bleeding slowly, but still nothing to be taken lightly when they’re out here.

Kuramochi merely looks at Miyuki funny for stating the (very) obvious, but still confirms, a little dazed and transfixed on the cut “I’m bleeding.”

“C’mon.” Miyuki helps Kuramochi up, holding onto his arm. On the surface, it doesn’t look like a terrible injury, but they still should take care of it right away. Especially to stop the bleeding. “Let’s get out of here and clean it up.”

...

Upon closer inspection, the cut on Kuramochi’s hand is deeper than either of them initially thought. It's still nothing horribly serious, but enough of a pain that fixing it up has Kuramochi wincing.

“You okay?” Miyuki finally asks when he feels Kuramochi shudder beneath his fingertips. Again.

“Tell me what you mean by okay.” Kuramochi hisses, tipping his head back to bump against the tree he’s leaning against. He’s not looking at Miyuki, eyes screwed shut tight as Miyuki uses water to clean the gash on his hand. “Maybe I’ll answer.”

It’s quiet for a moment as Miyuki searches for something to say, quiet enough that he can hear the soft wind picking up a little, blowing against the tree branches they’re sitting under. “We’re alive,” he finally manages. At least there’s that—something to hope for when there isn't really anything else.

“We’re alive,” Kuramochi repeats, just as quiet as Miyuki had initially said it. “Yeah… Lucky us.”

The words spike in bitterness at the end, and for a moment Miyuki wonders why. That’s what they want, but…

Oh.

When he thinks about it, he realizes that maybe it’s the means they have to go through to keep themselves that way. To survive.

To say it’s jarring to be pulled from a life where they’ve avoided thinking about the Games beyond their yearly occurrence—beyond worrying if this would be the year one of them was chosen, beyond being forced to watch in support of their District’s tributes if they were lucky enough not to be—and be thrown into actually participating in them instead, trying to stay alive through them, is an understatement if there ever was one.

They’ve gone from trying, hoping it wouldn’t affect them to being forced to a place where it would definitely affect them. Where it is affecting them.

There’s not a circumstance where Miyuki’s ever seen Kuramochi so strong, determined and unwavering in one moment—motions practically inhuman as he plunged a knife into a tribute’s chest when they’d come too close to hitting Miyuki, to killing him—and then so quiet, and subdued almost immediately after when the cannon went off, battle over for the moment with that kill, and he’d noticed the blood on his hands. Literally and figuratively.

The thing is, Kuramochi’s not made to kill. He’s too kind for that. Too good. Too bright. He’s made for giving care, giving life. Not for taking it. Never for taking it.

That’s how it’s always been.

(“Hey!” Miyuki’s yanked into an alley nearby the tiny, what he supposes you could call a market in their District. There, he’s met with the same kid who’d almost gotten caught stealing until Miyuki had cut in, distracting the vendor.

“Oh.” He looks down at him. “Did you want to thank me that badly?”

“No,” he growls, holding onto the front of Miyuki's shirt tightly. “I didn’t need your help!”

That’s… that’s a bit of an unexpected response. Even if he looked way too angry for someone who’s probably no older than Miyuki’s eleven years.

“You were about to get caught. Besides, who said I was helping you?” He grins as the grip on his shirt only tightens. “If you got caught, I wouldn’t have been able to take this.” He holds up a loaf of bread he’d managed to swipe when no one was looking.

His mother had always told him not to steal, but she’s not here anymore. And he’s hungry. Winter had been terrible that year. There was never enough food.

“Wha—?! How did you get that?”

“Talent.”

“You?” He snorts. “Yeah right.”

Miyuki laughs. “If it weren’t for me you’d be in trouble with the Peacemakers for stealing.” Then, more serious, “Be careful if you’re going to do that.”

He groans, letting go of Miyuki’s shirt, clenching his fists at his sides instead. “I’ve never done it before.”

“You look like you have.” He laughs again, watching the other’s agitation grow in response. “But then again, I guess not, considering how terrible you are at it…”

“Kuramochi,” he finally supplies, turning away from Miyuki.

“Well, Kuramochi, next time you want to steal, I’d be happy to do it for you.” Miyuki turns, makes a move to leave the small space. He doesn’t really expect to see Kuramochi again, but—

“It wasn’t for me,” Kuramochi mumbles, catching Miyuki’s attention again.

He turns back around. “Huh?”

“I wasn't trying to take it for me! There’s a kid that lives next door to me. Crying because she’s hungry. I thought I could get something for her. That’s all.” He looks down at his feet, like he doesn’t want to say what he does next. “Thanks for the help…”

“Miyuki,” he says, introducing himself to Kuramochi as they fall into step together. “And I meant it when I said I’d help you out if you ever want to try it again. Considering how terrible you are.”

“Yeah, no thanks, jerk.”)

None of this is surprising at all now. Over the years since that very first meeting, Miyuki’s gotten to know every part of Kuramochi. Selfishness isn’t one of them. He may look or try to pass himself off as menacing, but he’s got a really good heart. A soft one.

It’s one of the many things Miyuki loves about Kuramochi.  

“Sorry,” he mumbles without really thinking about it, more focused on wrapping the piece of fabric he’d torn from the sleeping bag in his backpack around Kuramochi’s hand than he is at looking at him.  

Kuramochi looks up at Miyuki, surprised by the sudden, almost random apology. “For what?” Then, “Ow. That’s too tight, you idiot.”

He loosens the makeshift bandage, making sure it’s more comfortable on Kuramochi’s hand. “Okay.”

“Hey.” Kuramochi kicks at his thigh. “You can’t say something like that and leave me trying to guess what you’re talking about. What’s wrong?”

Miyuki shakes his head. “It’s nothing to worry about.” He lets go of Kuramochi’s hand now that it’s all wrapped, wound covered up and hopefully safe for now.

“You’re worried about it, so that means I am too.” He sits up, reaching out to touch Miyuki. “So tell me what’s up.”

Shrugging, Miyuki mutters, “If I would have done a better job watching myself you wouldn’t have had to…”

“Stop.” Kuramochi rests his hands on Miyuki’s shoulders, and Miyuki looks at him. It’s funny. Kuramochi knows what he’s talking about without Miyuki really having to explain it. He knows him too well. They know each other too well. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not? It’s true, isn’t it? You don’t like killing people...”

“I don’t think anyone likes killing people. Except for the Careers, maybe.” And the Capitol, but that goes unsaid. “And yeah, I don’t but… that’s different.”

“What’s different?”

“If it’s to keep you alive, I’ll do whatever it takes. Whatever I have to.”

That promise is shared, of course, but… hearing aloud, confirmed with words that they’ll both do whatever they can to protect each other is reassuring in all of this. “Youichi…”

“Just… stay alive, okay? That’s enough for me.” He squeezes Miyuki’s shoulders, punctuation to the request. “That’s all that matters.”

That goes both ways. No matter what. They’ll both do everything they possibly can to uphold that promise.  

Kuramochi pulls his hands away, breaking the thread of contact between them before it can become anything else. And normally, close touches, quiet moments like this would. Just… maybe not here. He groans, shaking his hand a little bit. “This hurts. Should’ve been more careful with that guy’s knife.”

“Want me to kiss it better?” Miyuki asks, almost automatically, puckering his lips and leaning toward Kuramochi.

Kuramochi snorts, uninjured hand coming to rest on Miyuki’s cheek, shoving him away gently. “No thanks.” But his touch lingers for a moment, and he brushes his thumb over Miyuki’s cheekbone, fingertips sliding down his jawline.

He doesn’t let Miyuki kiss him in front of the cameras, in front of everyone watching, but when his hand comes to rest between them on Miyuki’s leg, he lets him hold it, clasped tightly between them.

A cannon in the distance—not too close, but not too far—breaks the small moment of comfort between them. Back to reality. Back to the Games.

Kuramochi stands, pulling Miyuki along with him, fingers still intertwined and resting at their sides. “We need to find somewhere to stay for the night. It’ll be dark soon.”

“Yeah. Let’s go.”

...

They really shouldn’t let their guards down like this—lying on their sides on the floor of a cave they’d found for shelter, huddling for warmth. Normally at night they’d take turns keeping watch while the other slept for a little while, but the arena gets deathly cold at night. And choosing warmth in favor of freezing to death, most tributes tend to take shelter at night—unless the Gamemakers make it so they can’t.

“Your hands are freezing,” Miyuki murmurs, rubbing his hands over Kuramochi’s in an effort to warm them up.  

“Sorry, let me just find a way to control the temperature of my hands,” Kuramochi shoots back. He hesitates for a moment, like he’s contemplating whether this is okay to do, before clearly deciding, fuck it—he can practically hear Kuramochi saying the words even if he doesn’t say them aloud—and sliding his leg between Miyuki’s.

It’s not really much, but it’s a little warmer now with the added bit of physical contact. And it's nice to have this again, after days spent starved of it for the most part.

“I’m fine,” he says as Miyuki, a little concerned at how Kuramochi seems so much colder than he does, pulls a hand away from Kuramochi’s own to feel his forehead. “Promise.”

“You can’t promise something like that,” Miyuki mumbles, pulling his hand away when he’s sufficiently satisfied that he’s not feverish from the cut on his hand getting infected or anything.  

“That’s not gonna stop me from doing it.” He reaches for Miyuki’s hand again, taking it in his own.

Yeah. It’s not. Maybe that’s what’s terrifying about it—that no amount of promising or reassurance can do anything in the end. It’s all really up to chance. Luck.

And that’s the thing. It’d be a different story, different problem if Miyuki’d gotten chosen for this on his own. He knows he could fight hard enough and likely drag himself to the end. He knows he could make it back home to Kuramochi if he were here on his own. They could be together again.

But it’s not like that. That, while extremely difficult and a promise he can’t guarantee with a set one hundred percent, is still easier than the alternative, however. They ended up here together. And for now, even with close brushes with danger and death, it’s something they can handle because there are plenty of tributes left.

When the pool of tributes gets smaller and smaller, and even if they make it to the end together, there’s no guaranteeing what the Capitol will do. They’ve never let two tributes live before.

There’s absolutely no guarantee they’ll make it back—

(“Your feet are freezing.”

“What are you gonna do about it?” Miyuki laughs, pressing his toes against Kuramochi’s calf.

“I’m gonna fucking leave this bed if you don’t stop, Kazuya,” Kuramochi threatens, shoving playfully at Miyuki’s shoulder when he leans closer to try and kiss him.

“You’re a terrible liar, Youichi.”

“Want me to get up and walk back home right now?” He grins, failing at trying to sound serious, threatening.

“In the middle of the night?”

“I’ve done crazier things before.” His fingers brush over Miyuki’s cheek. “Like dating you.”

They both fall into a fit of quiet laughter, trying to remain as silent as possible so they don’t wake Miyuki’s father, asleep in the next room. Kuramochi reaches up to hold Miyuki’s face in his hands as he pulls him down for a kiss, silencing their laughter in favor of something else.

“You’re terrible,” Kuramochi manages between the quick, playful kisses as they dissolve into slow, open-mouthed ones, Miyuki’s fingers travelling up Kuramochi’s sides, over his chest, his heart.

“Only for you,” he whispers, barely joking anymore. They both know it, if the tender look in Kuramochi’s eyes is anything to go by. He tangles a hand in Miyuki’s hair, pulling him in again.

Their free hands, when not otherwise occupied with gentle touches, manage to find each other, fingers twining together and resting next to their heads. Among the buzzing of his mind, the excited frenzy it always settles into whenever Kuramochi kisses and touches him, looks at him in a way that he doesn’t look at anyone else, a clear thought of ‘this is home’ stands out in Miyuki’s mind.

It doesn’t matter where they are physically. Just as long as they’re together they’re—)

Home.

“You okay?” Kuramochi looks concerned all of a sudden, like he’s immediately ready to go to war with whatever might be bothering Miyuki. Like he’d do anything he could to make it better.

“Yeah.”

“What’re you thinking?” He pulls a hand away from Miyuki’s grasp, cold knuckles rapping against Miyuki’s forehead, gentle. “Kazuya…”

The only answer he manages is to shake his head a little. For a moment, he wonders if he can just act on what he’s been wanting to do for days—since they’ve been put in the arena, actually—if only for a small amount of physical comfort and reassurance that they’re still here. They’re still alive.

“Kazuya. Is something wrong?”

Well, everything is, actually, considering the situation they’re stuck in. But he knows Kuramochi doesn’t mean it like that. This is just a question about any immediate discomfort or problem—not the fact that death is likely very inevitably looming over their heads, waiting for the best moment to strike, to take and take and take.

Miyuki leans forward and presses his lips to Kuramochi’s. Kuramochi stiffens beneath him for just a moment—the idea that everyone’s able to see this intimate moment through the lens of a camera a little uncomfortable when dwelled on—but quickly warms back up, falling into the familiarity of it. Like they’re alone. Like they really are back home.

At this point, it doesn’t really matter who else can see them.

All that matters is that it’s for each other.

...

“You okay?” Miyuki asks when they’ve finished kissing each other breathless, lying on his back, Kuramochi hovering over him. Kuramochi rests his forehead against his.

“Well, I’m not really cold anymore. So there’s that.” He grins, pressing another kiss to Miyuki’s lips.

“Always glad to offer my services.”

“Ugh…” Kuramochi groans a little when he pulls away, sliding back down and resting his cheek over Miyuki’s heart. It's quiet for a moment before he whispers, “I love you.”

“Yeah…” He wonders if Kuramochi can feel the way his heart rate picks up at the words. They don’t say it all that often, but that doesn’t mean they don’t feel it. Especially now. Especially when they don’t know what could come in the next few minutes, the next few hours, the next morning. “Love you too.”

He curls his hand in Kuramochi’s hair, an unspoken promise settling between them to accompany the confession.

Whatever happens next—today, tomorrow, anything after that—they’ll face it together. As long as they can, they’ll stay alive and take on whatever’s thrown at them until the very end.