#a lot of it being present in songs like Rising

[sweets-library]

care and consequence

Shouta Aizawa/reader. hurt/comfort. wc: 7.9k.

READ THE CONTENT WARNINGS. DO NOT READ THIS IF THEY DO NOT APPEAL TO YOU. 18+ content warnings: spanking, improper use of a hairbrush, punishment, heavy use of daddy as a title, heavy themes of discipline and D/S dynamics

a/n: holy shit guys, the reception on that last one was actually insane, thank you all so much! i hope you guys like this one too, I'm sorry it took so long! i have a lot of personal life drama going on rn, plus I'm sick again :/ anyways, enjoy and strap in, its a long one! ao3

-

You had regretted coming to the bar about an hour ago, though you’d never admit it. The music thrummed in your chest, matching the relentless pounding in your head. Around you, people were dancing, drinking, and laughing, lost in their own worlds. As much as you wanted to join in, your body felt like it was rebelling against you. Still, you clung to the idea that one more drink might just do the trick.

Navigating through the chaotic sea of heroes, you pushed your way to the bar and ordered a vodka cranberry with a shot on the side. Your last drink had taken a while to finish, but this one? This one needed to count. The bartender turned away, and just as you started to feel the room sway, the door flew open with a booming, "WHAT IS UP, PARTY PEOPLEEEEE!"

Ah, Mic made it!. He had been unsure if he could, with the radio show’s schedule, but he must’ve handed the reins to someone else to show up fashionably late. You watched as he carved a path through the crowd, greeting everyone with that infectious energy, before you turned your attention back to your drinks. Downing the shot in one swift motion, you grabbed your cocktail, setting your sights on Nemuri.

You found her in conversation with Kamui Woods and Mount Lady, her laughter carrying over the din. Sliding up beside her, you felt the brush of her nails as she pinched your side with a knowing grin. Without missing a beat, she continued chatting, but you knew she had clocked you. You were happy to wait, sipping your drink and letting its warmth spread through you, barely tuning into the conversation until Nemuri said her goodbyes.

She grabbed your hand, giggling as she pulled you onto the dance floor, and you let her lead—hoping the music might drown out how unwell you felt.

As the tequila and vodka settled into your veins, the world around you softened into a hazy blur of neon lights and pulsing bass. The club was packed, bodies moving in sync with the heavy beat that rattled the floor beneath your feet. Strobe lights flickered overhead, casting quick flashes of colour across the writhing crowd, while smoke machines filled the air with a thin mist that clung to your skin. The music was loud, so loud that it vibrated through your chest, matching the heat rising in your cheeks.

You finally started to feel it, the carefree buzz you’d been chasing all night. The alcohol loosened your limbs, and you let yourself get lost in whatever dirty, hypnotic rhythm Nemuri was dragging you into. Around you, people shouted over the music, laughed too loudly, and clinked glasses at the bar. The air was thick with the smell of sweat, spilled drinks, and the faint hint of perfume mingling with something more electric. It was the kind of energy that pulled you in deeper, making everything else fade away.

A few songs passed in a blur of flashing lights and sweaty bodies. You floated from partner to partner, dancing with Thirteen, Snipe, and Nemuri again, before you found yourself twirled straight into the arms of Present Mic.

“Zashi! Hi!” you practically shouted, grinning at him with the same excitement that buzzed through the room. It felt like he was the only one who hadn’t made it to the party yet, and now, everything was perfect. You could imagine him being stopped by every person on the way in, catching up and spreading his contagious energy.

“Heya, baby, how’s it hangin’?” he grinned, pulling you in so close you could feel the bass rumbling through his chest. But even here, his voice cut through the noise effortlessly.

“Soooo good! I love dancing, I’m so happy you came! Thought you’d get stuck at the station,” you gushed, letting the sway of the music carry you from foot to foot.

He laughed and gave you a playful dip, sending you squealing in delight as the room spun for a brief moment. But when he pulled you back up, his smile faltered as you coughed into your arm, the noise cutting through the music like a reminder that not everything was as smooth as the party felt.

“Gave one of the interns the mic for the night. She was over the moon to take it,” Hizashi said with a chuckle, leaning in closer to cut through the pounding music. His usual energy seemed slightly tempered, though his voice still carried effortlessly. He lowered his tone as he added, “Didn’t think you’d make it out tonight. Shouta told me earlier you weren’t feeling so hot.”

At the mention of your boyfriend, you scanned the room out of habit, already knowing he wasn’t there. This kind of scene was never his thing; too loud, too crowded. Besides, he had patrol tonight.

“Sho’s just paranoid. I’m fine, see?” you replied, brushing off the comment with a lighthearted twirl under Hizashi’s arm. The movement made your head spin a bit, but you ignored it, flashing him a grin as you let go of his hand, intent on heading back to the bar for another drink. Before you could get far, his arm looped around your waist, pulling you back gently but firmly. 

“Hey, you trying to leave me all alone out here? This party’s not even close to over,” Hizashi laughed, his voice rising just above the thrum of the bass. You joined in his laughter, not noticing how, with each song, he subtly steered you away from the bar. The colours around you swirled in a kaleidoscope of neon lights, flickering across faces and catching in the smoke-filled air. Every beat seemed to vibrate through your body, keeping you in a daze of music, movement, and heat.

As the hours blurred, so did the people. Dance partners came and went, their faces brief ly illuminated by strobe lights before they disappeared back into the crowd. But through it all, Hizashi never left your side, keeping a playful hand on your shoulder or at your waist as if he were your lifeline in the chaotic sea of bodies.

Then, a slower song melted into the speakers, and the mood shifted. The lights dimmed to soft blues and purples, and the frenetic energy on the dance floor calmed. Hizashi took the opportunity to pull you close, his arm wrapping around you with a gentleness that felt comforting against the heat of the room. Your head fell naturally onto his shoulder as the world seemed to slow down for the first time that night. The sway of the music was soothing now, and the chatter around you dropped to a murmur.

Couples paired off, holding each other close, moving in time to the slow beat, while others used the moment to catch their breath. The heavy scent of spilled drinks, sweat, and perfume lingered in the air, but here, in Hizashi’s arms, you felt an odd sense of calm. You giggled softly as he whispered in your ear, making quiet jokes about the unlikely pairings that had formed on the dance floor. His voice was steady and warm, grounding you.

But then, he stopped abruptly. The sway of his body stilled, and you blinked, the moment interrupted. Confused, you lifted your head to look at him, but his attention was no longer on the dance floor.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I think your song’s been played out,” Hizashi said softly, his voice taking on a tone that felt more final than playful. You lifted your head to question him, confusion crossing your face, but before you could get a word out, he spun you around; right into the arms of someone new.

Or rather, someone far more familiar than you would have preferred.

“Shouta!” you gasped, looking up to find him staring down at you, his dark eyes narrowed in that way that instantly made you feel small. His gaze wasn’t angry, exactly, but there was a sharpness in it that cut through the fog of your drunken haze. You straightened up, biting your lip as emotions flashed across your face, impossible to hide in your current state.

“I thought you had patrol?” you asked, voice tinged with uncertainty.

“I finished early,” he said, his tone even but firm as he wrapped an arm around your waist. His grip was gentle, but the intention was clear as he began guiding you through the crowd and toward the door. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, wait, I gotta-” you started to protest, trying to twist out of his hold. But Shouta cut you off before you could finish, his voice leaving no room for argument.

“I paid your tab. You can see everyone another time,” Shouta said curtly, his voice as firm as his grip around your waist. The finality in his words made your chest tighten, but you huffed anyway, stubbornly digging in your heels.

“I promised Nemuri another dance, and I was gonna get another drink!” you protested, though the moment the words were out, you knew they were a mistake. Shouta’s gaze sharpened, his eyes darkening as they bore into you. It was a look that made your heart skip a beat and sent a nervous tremor down your spine. Your feet shuffled on instinct, your earlier defiance wilting under the heat of his stare.

“We are leaving right now, little girl,” he said, his tone low and deliberate. The words slid over you like a command, impossible to ignore. His hand drifted down to your ass, the touch firm and possessive, sending a shiver through your body. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against your ear as he continued, “Unless you’d like to get a head start on your punishment in the bathroom. Here. And. Now.”

Your pulse quickened at his words, your breath catching in your throat. The heavy atmosphere of the club seemed to fade, the sound of the crowd growing distant. All that remained was the heat of his presence and the weight of his words. The tension coiled in your stomach, leaving you unsure whether to push back or submit.

“No… m’sorry. Let’s go,” you mumbled, your voice barely rising above the pulsing music, but your regretful look and the way you let him pull you along seemed to say enough. Once outside, the sudden quiet enveloped you, your ears ringing from the absence of sound. The contrast was jarring, but it was nothing compared to the weight of Shouta’s disappointment radiating off him like an invisible force.

He guided you to the car, and without even a hint of protest, you slid into the back seat. The cool leather felt grounding against your skin as he buckled you in silently, his focus unwavering. You could feel the tension in the air, thick and palpable, as he leaned in, resting his hand on the headrest. His expression softened slightly, a hint of concern breaking through his earlier sternness.

“Do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?” he inquired, his voice steady yet laced with a quiet urgency. You shook your head, trying to muster a reassuring smile, though the flutter of anxiety in your stomach made it hard.

“Okay,” he replied, his gaze steady on yours. “Start drinking this.” He handed you a bottle of water, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I want at least half of it gone by the time we get home. And if you think you’re feeling sick, just tell me, and I’ll pull over.”

The seriousness in his voice made your heart race. You nodded, taking the bottle from him, the cool plastic a small comfort in the heated moment. As you unscrewed the cap, you could sense the shift in his demeanour. He was looking out for you, but there was a firmness in his words that reminded you of the line you’d crossed.

“Okay.” you mumble, staring at his chin to avoid the intensity of his eyes. He sighed and closed the door before climbing into the driver's seat and starting the journey home. The ride wasn't long but it was dead silent and it gave you enough time for some of the alcohol to wear off and the reminders that you were sick to kick in. 

Shouta, of course, knew you at the very least, had a bad cold. That morning, he had taken charge, insisting you call off work and ordering you to stay in bed. He had been so sweetly concerned and caring. He had meticulously arranged everything, ensuring you had enough food and medicine at hand. You could still picture him moving around the kitchen, checking in on you with a watchful eye, his brow slightly furrowed in that familiar expression of worry.

Throughout the afternoon, he had kept in touch, sending periodic texts to check on your well-being. Each notification was a reminder of how deeply he cared. The messages were gentle nudges, urging you to rest and take care of yourself. You could almost feel his presence with each ping, as if he were there beside you, coaxing you to indulge in soup and reminding you when to take the next dose of cold and flu medicine.

But as the hours slipped by and daylight faded into evening, the excitement of your friends celebrating the end of the semester began to tug at you. The allure of laughter and music beckoned from the outside world, tempting you to leave the cocoon of blankets and soothing remedies he had encouraged you to embrace. You hadn’t mentioned your plans to Shouta, knowing full well the firm stance he had taken. He had told you when he left for his night patrol that you were to be doing nothing for the rest of the night but resting and getting better. 

In a moment of weakness, you had chosen to ignore his guidance, allowing the crippling fear of missing out to get to you. Now, as the consequences of your decision loomed large, you felt a heavy weight settle in your chest, a blend of regret and dread creating a terrible cocktail with how awful you were already feeling physically.

As Shouta pulled into the driveway, the rush of emotions overwhelmed you. The tears welled up, unbidden and hot, as the guilt of your choices crashed over you like a wave. You hiccuped, desperately trying to swallow back the sobs, but it was futile. When he parked the car and came around to your door, you barely registered his movements, lost in your own turmoil. As soon as he opened the door, he unbuckled you and gathered you into his arms, cradling you against him. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re okay,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing, as he felt you trembling against him. “I know you’re not feeling too hot. Come on, let’s get you inside and into some comfy clothes. Does that sound good?”

You nodded against his shoulder, the gesture almost instinctual as the weight of your exhaustion settled in. With a gentle yet firm motion, he hoisted you out of the car, his strength reassuring. You instinctively wrapped your limbs around him like a koala, seeking the comfort of his embrace. He adjusted his hold, securing you against him effortlessly as he maneuvered to get the door open with one arm, not even considering putting you down for a moment. The night air was cool against your skin, but Shouta's warmth kept the chill at bay. As he carried you inside, you buried your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the scent of him.

He took care of you mostly in silence, his hands moving with a practiced ease as he guided your movements. Gently, he slipped off your heels, his touch tender against your tired feet. Without a word, he helped you out of your dress, replacing the once-glamorous outfit with the softness of your favourite pajamas. His fingers were careful as he wiped away the makeup you'd used to hide the ruddiness in your cheeks and the shadows beneath your eyes, his brow creasing slightly as he worked, focused but gentle.

When he pressed the cool glass of water into your hands, you drank obediently, the quiet rustle of him preparing the medicine a comforting sound in the background. As he handed you the pills, his eyes softened, a silent reminder that he was looking out for you. After you’d swallowed them, he guided you to sit down at your vanity, still working methodically, brushing away the remnants of the night.

The makeup wipe brushed over your nose, tickling slightly, and despite the exhaustion and the lingering tipsiness, a small giggle escaped your lips. You leaned up, catching his eyes in the mirror, and smiled mischievously, asking for a kiss. He indulged you, pressing a brief, soft kiss to your lips before continuing, his attention shifting to your hair. The tender motions of his hands as he brushed it through were almost hypnotic, lulling you into a sense of calm as he completed your nighttime routine for you.

A thought bubbled up, slipping out before you could stop it. “How did you know where I was? Thought patrol didn’t end till 4?” you whispered, your voice barely above a murmur as he turned you to face the mirror. Catching his eyes in the reflection, you saw a flicker of irritation still lingering there, and the weight of it made you shy away. You broke eye contact, your gaze dropping to the clutter of items strewn across the vanity from earlier in the night.

“Hizashi texted me when he got there,” he replied quietly, his voice steady but tinged with that edge of disappointment. You couldn't help but pout at the mention of it, feeling the sting of being caught, of letting him down. The weight of his gaze lingered on you, but you felt his concern just as deeply, even in the silence between you.

“Tattle-tale,” you mumbled under your breath, but before you could sink too far into your pout, Shouta’s fingers tipped under your chin, gently but firmly, guiding you to meet his eyes in the mirror.

“He wouldn’t have to tattle if you hadn’t been misbehaving, would he?” His voice held that familiar grumble, a mix of irritation and concern that made your heart skip. You swallowed, feeling the weight of his gaze and the undeniable truth behind his words.

“No, sir,” you murmured, looking as contrite as you felt. His expression softened slightly, and he let out a quiet puff of air, almost a sigh, before pulling you up from the vanity.

With his hand steadying you, he guided you toward the bed, but your legs still wobbled beneath you. Dizzy, you tumbled onto the mattress, a soft giggle escaping your lips as you sank into the plush blankets. Shouta rolled his eyes, but there was a tenderness behind it, and with practiced care, he shifted you to the other side and tucked you in properly, smoothing the covers over you.

“Wait, Sho... you’re not... are you mad at me?” you asked, your voice suddenly small and sincere, cutting through the haze of your tipsiness. His brow furrowed at the question, and for a moment, you held your breath, waiting for his answer.

“No, baby, I’m not mad. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he assured you, his voice softer now. He leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead, the warmth of his lips lingering for a moment before he straightened up. Rounding the bed, he moved to his side, slipping in beside you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew that conversation tomorrow wasn’t going to be a pleasant one. But as Shouta’s strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you close against his chest, the heaviness of the night melted away. His familiar scent, the steady beat of his heart, and the warmth of his body drowned out any lingering bad feelings. For now, wrapped up in him, everything felt right, and you let yourself drift into the comfort of sleep.

-

The morning greeted you with a vengeance, leaving you feeling every bit as awful as you feared. Your head throbbed with a dull, relentless ache, your sinuses were stuffed to the brim, and your body felt clammy and weak, so much more wrung out than you had been jus the day before. Groaning, you burrowed deeper into the blankets, hiding from the sunlight streaming through the windows. Despite the warmth of the covers, a bone-deep chill had taken root, making you shiver as you curled in on yourself.

“Wake up, baby. You have to take some medicine.” Shouta’s voice, calm and resolute, pierced your cocoon of self-pity. You whined in response, a pitiful sound muffled by the blankets.

“M’sleeping. No thanks,” you muttered petulantly, half-hoping he’d let it slide. Usually, this was when you’d hear him chuckle softly, maybe feel the comforting weight of his hand on your thigh as he gave you a few more moments to stir.

Instead, the covers were suddenly pulled back from your face, exposing you to the cool morning air and making you gasp at the loss of warmth. The sudden brightness forced your eyes to flutter open, though they quickly squinted against the light. Before you could protest, Shouta’s hand was on your face, gentle and deliberate, as he smoothed the strands of damp hair plastered to your clammy skin. The touch sent a shiver through you, the tenderness soothing away your irritation.

His expression hovered between stern and soft, his dark eyes scanning your flushed, pale face with an almost clinical precision. You could feel the weight of his worry as he brushed his thumb over your temple. Despite your exhaustion, guilt pooled in your chest, mingling with the sickness that had you pinned to the bed.

“It wasn’t really a request. Come on, sit up.” His voice was calm, but there was no mistaking the firmness behind it. Before you could muster a protest, his strong hands slipped under your back and shoulders, lifting you with ease. The sudden shift left you disoriented, and before you knew it, you were propped up against the headboard.

Two pills rested on the palm he held in front of your face, his dark eyes steady and expectant. “Open,” he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. Something in the commanding gentleness of his voice had you obeying instinctively, parting your lips without hesitation. He placed the pills on your tongue, and you grimaced as you swallowed them with a few sips of the water he pressed to your lips.

Just as you moved to push the glass away, his hand caught yours, steadying it. “Finish this,” he said firmly, guiding it back toward your mouth. The weight of his worry lingered in the way his fingers stayed wrapped around yours, ensuring you drank more.

You managed another sip, your movements sluggish and reluctant, before he spoke again, his voice softening. “Are you hungry?”

You shook your head, too weary to form words, and he nodded in quiet acceptance. “Okay,” he murmured, taking the now half-empty glass from your hands and setting it on the bedside table. His fingers brushed against your knuckles briefly, grounding you in the moment. “You can sleep a little longer until the meds kick in. We’ll talk when you’re feeling a bit better.”

You gulped and cast your eyes downward, unable to meet his steady gaze. The words he didn’t say lingered in the air, unspoken but heavy, a reminder of the talk you’d hoped that you might avoid. Shouta, ever composed, didn’t press. Instead, his hand smoothed over your hair, the motion tender and familiar, as if to reassure you that his frustration didn’t mean he cared any less.

He leaned down, pressing a kiss between your brows, a soft, lingering gesture that made your chest tighten. It wasn’t fair how easily he could dissolve your guilt and stubbornness in a single moment of care. You couldn’t even summon the faintest trace of upset, not when his touch was so gentle, so grounding. Instead, your eyelids grew heavier, the pull of exhaustion impossible to resist. With a quiet sigh, you let yourself drift, surrendering to the lull of warmth and safety he left behind.

Time passed in a haze, unmeasured and weightless. When you woke again, the pounding in your head had dulled to a faint, manageable throb, and though your limbs still felt heavy, they no longer ached with the same intensity. The room was empty now, sunlight spilling through the windows in soft golden streaks that painted the walls and the rumpled sheets beside you. If Shouta hadn't insisted on taking some medicine earlier, the light would probably be giving you the worst of headaches, but instead, you were able to enjoy the warmth. Of course, Shouta was right, as always. It was no wonder you let him take the reins so often; he had a knack for knowing exactly what you needed, even when you couldn’t see it yourself. It went beyond simple intuition, it was deliberate and unwavering care. It was why you trusted him so deeply.

If you didn’t know that, if you couldn’t feel it in the way he cared for you, you wouldn’t be in this dynamic with him in the first place. You wouldn’t be sitting here now, heart pounding in the quiet aftermath, debating whether pretending to sleep a little longer might save you from the punishment just a little longer, or if it would only make things worse.

But even as your thoughts tangled with uncertainty, you knew you wouldn’t trade this for anything. For all the moments like these, where guilt and the weight of your mistakes pressed down on you, there was always the unwavering reassurance that Shouta would steady you. He’d take you in hand, reminding you in no uncertain terms just how much you mattered to him.

He wouldn’t tolerate behaviour that diminished your worth, not in his eyes, and not in your own. It wasn’t just discipline; it was care, deeply rooted and uncompromising. And when all was said and done, forgiveness would follow, that was never an uncertainty. With Shouta, there was no lingering doubt, no unspoken resentment, only the quiet, steady rhythm of love in its most honest form.

It was about more than letting go; it was about giving that trust to someone who cherished it, someone who didn’t just take care of you but found joy in doing so. And in turn, you found joy in being cared for. It could be terrifying sometimes, to put that kind of trust in someone, but with Shouta it had always felt worth it. 

You sigh and slide out of bed, resigned to your fate. The chill in the air bites at your skin, and the sickness still clings to you making you shiver. You rummage through the closet until your fingers find the familiar softness of one of Shouta’s sweaters. It’s an old crew neck, worn and slightly stretched out, big even on him and perfect for wrapping yourself in his warmth.

Pulling it over your head, you pad out to the living room on bare feet. The sight that greets you stops you in your tracks, drawing a soft, dreamy sigh from your lips.

Shouta is perched on the couch, papers spread across the coffee table in neat stacks. A faint furrow creases his brow as he grades with careful precision, the rhythmic scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. One of the cats is curled in his lap snoring, and a ray of sunlight streams through the window, bathing the scene in a golden glow that feels almost unreal. For a moment, you wonder if you’re still dreaming.

His sharp eyes flick up, catching yours as you linger in the doorway. Before he can say a word, you shuffle over and flop down beside him, burying yourself against his shoulder and letting your eyes drift closed again. The familiar scent of him wraps around you, as grounding as the weight of his presence.

“G’morning baby.” you sigh, and his arm curls around you to tug you to his side properly. 

“Good morning, my love. Feeling a little better?” he murmurs, his voice soft and low, vibrating gently against your ear. You nod, nestling closer into his shoulder, letting the comforting rhythm of his breathing soothe your lingering unease.

The two of you sit in companionable silence, the occasional scratch of his pen the only sound in the room. He finishes grading the last test on his stack, and you catch a glimpse of his expression as he marks something on the page. Oof. Poor kid.

You might have dozed off again if not for the fluttering unease in your stomach, a familiar mix of guilt and anticipation. The thought of the looming punishment makes it impossible to relax entirely, though Shouta’s calm presence keeps you from fully spiralling.

And then, as if he could read your mind, he sets the papers aside with a quiet sigh. The finality of it settles in your chest like a stone. He turns his face into your hair, his lips brushing against your temple as he speaks softly, a warmth and firmness interwoven in his tone.

“We need to have a talk, little girl.”

You bite your lip, the weight of his gaze settling heavily over you. A sigh escapes your lips as you try to find the right words. “I know. I’m sorry,” you murmur, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

Shouta doesn’t immediately respond. He pulls back slightly, his eyes scanning your face, assessing. The silence stretches just long enough to make you squirm.

Finally, he exhales deeply, sitting back and crossing his arms. His posture is relaxed, but the intensity in his eyes keeps you rooted in place.

“Why?” he asks, his voice calm but piercing.

Your stomach churns. You know the answer, of course, you do, but the way he asks makes your guilt multiply. He doesn’t raise his voice; he doesn’t need to. You glance down at your lap, your fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on your pajama pants, anything to avoid the weight of his disappointment.

“For… for not listening,” you whisper, each word sticking in your throat. “And going out when you told me not to.”

“That’s correct,” he says, his tone steady but no less cutting. “But more broadly, I’m extremely not thrilled with your complete disregard for your own health and well-being.”

The words land with a precision that makes your chest ache.

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his voice softening but still firm. “I love taking care of you. But part of that is making sure you take care of yourself when I’m not there. I need to trust that when I tell you to rest and recover, you’ll actually listen. Instead, you put yourself in harm’s way, and for what? A few hours of fun?”

His gaze locks onto yours, and the weight of his disappointment has you nodding mutely.

“And,” he continues, his voice sharpening, “I have never, and will never, tolerate you lying to me.”

Your head snaps up, a reflexive protest bubbling to the surface. “I didn’t lie—”

The glare he fixes you with stops the words dead in their tracks. It’s a look that leaves no room for negotiation.

“What did you say,” he asks, his voice low and measured, “when I told you to spend the night resting and recovering before I left for work?”

Your cheeks burn as you break eye contact. His stare feels like a spotlight, illuminating every guilty thought you’re trying to suppress. You shift uncomfortably, your voice trembling as you admit, “I… I said, ‘Yes, Daddy.’”

The silence that follows feels deafening. You dare a glance up at him, but his expression is unreadable. The weight of your admission hangs heavy in the air, and you shrink under the judgment you can feel emanating from him.

Finally, he sighs, the sound carrying more disappointment than anger. “You know what you did,” he says, each word deliberate. “Now it’s time to face the consequences.”

Your stomach twists, dread pooling in your chest. His tone is calm, almost gentle, but it carries a finality that leaves no room for debate.

“I wouldn’t normally punish you while you’re sick,” he continues, leaning back against the couch, his voice even. “But since you seem to think that being sick has no bearing on your decisions, I won’t let it affect mine either. Stand up.”

Your knees feel weak as you scramble to obey, rising unsteadily to your feet. Confusion flickers across your face- why not just pull you over his lap like usual? Why make you stand?

“Go and get the wooden hairbrush,” he says, his voice low and dispassionate, the command sending a shiver down your spine. “The flat, square one. And lose your pants on the way.”

Your gasp escapes before you can stop it, your hands instinctively clutching at the waistband of your pajama pants.

He doesn’t budge, his expression firm, his gaze unwavering. “You heard me.”

The room feels colder as you move, your steps hesitant. The gravity of the moment weighs heavily with each step you take toward the bedroom. Your heart races as you reach for the brush, the smooth wood cool against your palm. Sliding your pajama pants down your legs, you feel your cheeks burn with a mixture of shame and anticipation. You decide to take off the sweater as well, knowing Shouta would have you sweating soon.  

When you return to the living room, brush in hand and pants abandoned, Shouta’s eyes meet yours. His gaze softens slightly, a flicker of care visible beneath the stern exterior, but it does nothing to ease the butterflies raging in your stomach.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, gesturing for you to come closer. You obey silently, beyond arguing at this point. There would be no getting out of this, Shouta cares too much about you to let you get away with this. You hand over the brush and he places it on the arm of the couch, and then you fold yourself over his lap obediently. Without another word he folds your shirt up to expose the entirety of your backside, and places his hand on it, making you squirm with dread.

“Safeword?”

“Red” you whimper, accepting your fate.

He doesn't hesitate any longer, steadily applying his hand to your ass with all the restrained muscle of a pro hero, just hard enough to make sure you know exactly where you belong. The first few swats land on your bare ass, and you already want to start crying. And then he starts talking. 

“Let's go through each unfortunate choice you made yesterday, shall we?” he says, and you try not to tense up at his disappointed tone.

“First, you disobeyed me when I specifically told you to stay in bed while you weren't feeling well, and second, you lied to me and said that you would be home for the night. Third, you disregarded yourself and your health, which we will be going into great detail about with the hairbrush.”

As he laid out your actions, your ass got steadily reddened, and the tears started falling against your will. You fisted the fabric of the couch and willed yourself not to squirm, knowing it would only make things worse for you. 

Shouta’s voice was calm but carried the weight of unshakable authority, each word landing like a stone in your chest. “Do you think I asked you to stay home for no reason? That I ask you to listen to me for my own amusement?”

Your stomach churned at his tone, the disappointment in his voice far worse than any raised voice could have been.

“You trust me to know what’s best for you, and in turn, I trust you to be honest with me. I specifically told you to stay home, to rest and recover. Instead, I get a text from Hizashi that you’re out, you’re drinking, and completely ignoring what I asked of you. What if he hadn’t messaged me? What if I had come home to an empty house, no idea where you were, and no way to ensure you were safe?” 

The image his words painted made your chest tighten with guilt. You could hear the strain in his voice, the quiet upset that cut deeper than anger ever could. You knew how much this dynamic meant to him—not just as a way to care for you, but as a source of reassurance in a life that was chaotic and dangerous. Being a pro-hero came with enough unpredictability; this was one area of his life he could keep steady.

Even with that realization weighing heavy on your chest, you couldn’t help it. Against your better judgment, a pouty response escaped your lips, soft and stubborn, laced with defiance that you immediately regretted. 

“I was gonna be home before you got back—” The sharp crack of his hand meeting your thigh cut off your words with a yelp, the sting blooming as tears welled in your eyes. His hand rested firmly on the offended area, grounding you.

“That is not the point and you know it. You dont get to have a bratty attitude with me about this, or the hairbrush is going to be followed by a long time out in the corner for you to fix it. Am. I. Clear.” 

“Yes- ‘m sorry, I'm sorry sir.” you cry, your face soaked and dripping onto the cushion. 

“Hm. As I was saying, this will not be happening again. You misbehave, you get consequences. For the next two weeks, you will be in this house and in our bed by 9 p.m. sharp. If I’m not home, I expect a picture of you in bed, and then you will put your phone in my bedside table.”

The shame of his words was almost as unbearable as the sting still radiating from your thighs. You sobbed into the couch, mortified at the level of supervision he felt you required. “Yes, Daddy,” you whimpered, your voice hoarse.

“I am not playing about this,” he pressed on, his gaze unyielding. “If I find out you’ve stepped foot out of this apartment, you had better have a damn good reason—or you’ll find yourself right back here, no excuses. If you can’t take care of yourself on your own, I will do it for you.”

You nodded again, your sobs turning into shaky, uneven breaths. The shame was overwhelming, and yet you knew he wasn’t done.

As the spanks land, the force behind them pulls a sharp gasp from you, and each strike feels like a wave of guilt crashing over you. His words pierce through the haze of pain. "I think this way you might begin to understand how serious your actions are. His disappointment lingers in your chest, making it harder to breathe.

The spanks stopped for a moment, and you gasped, your body trembling as you tried to catch your breath. Shouta’s hands, firm and unyielding just moments ago, softened as they rubbed soothing circles on your spine. His voice, low and steady, cut through the haze of your tears.

“Breathe, baby. Take a few deep breaths,” he murmured, his tone no longer sharp but filled with an unyielding care that made your chest ache.

You hiccupped, following his instruction as you sucked in shaky gulps of air. The relief of his touch warred with the knowledge that this reprieve was temporary. Your breath finally evened out, and your tears slowed, but they didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” he said quietly, though there was no warmth in his praise—just a steady, measured approval for doing as you were told. His hand drifted to your shoulder, squeezing gently before he continued.

“Now,” he began, his tone sharp once more, “let’s discuss the way you’ve been treating your health.”

Your stomach churned, and your heart thudded as the words landed. His hand left your shoulder, and you braced yourself for what was to come, dread building with every passing second.

The hairbrush came down with a crack, the sound cutting through the room and drawing a pained cry from your lips. Shouta didn’t bother to shush you; the punishment was meant to leave a lasting impression, and he doesn't want you to hide where you are at emotionally.  The strikes weren’t as rapid as the earlier flurry of his hands, but each one was deliberate, the wide, heavy impact sinking deep into your already tender skin.

You sobbed with each blow, your cries punctuating the rhythm he set.

“I will never, ever stand for you treating yourself the way you chose to last night.” His voice was calm, but the sharpness in his tone felt like another lash, hitting somewhere deeper than just your body. “You were sick- you are sick- and the fact that you thought you could just disregard that to go party makes me think you don’t understand how seriously I take your wellbeing. Not to mention how seriously I expect you to take it yourself.”

The hairbrush came down again, and you twisted slightly, though his firm grip kept you in place. The dull thud seemed to echo in your chest, a physical reminder of just how much you had messed up.

“Every part of you is important, mind and body,” he continued, the cadence of his strikes steady and unrelenting. “One of our biggest rules is that you don’t disrespect yourself, and you know very well I don’t just mean self-deprecating words. I expect you to take the same care for yourself when I’m gone that I do when I’m here.”

The words hit harder than the brush, and your quiet whimper turned into a full sob. His disappointment was unbearable, an ache in your chest that far outweighed the sting of your reddened skin.

“Clearly, you can’t be trusted to do so on your own,” he said, pausing for a moment to let his words sink in.

The tears streaking down your face weren’t just from the physical pain; they came from the overwhelming guilt of letting him down. You knew how much he valued self-care, and how hard he worked to instill that same value in you, even when he struggled to prioritize it for himself.

You sniffled, hiccuping through your tears, and a treacherous thought flitted through your mind. Hypocrite. He barely looked after himself most days. Your attitude almost made itself known again before the next blow snapped you out of your thoughts, and you yelped, realizing too late that the silence had stretched on too long.

“Every day until you are one-hundred percent better,” he said, his tone unyielding, “you’re going to sit at that table and write me fifty lines, telling me exactly how well you’re going to take care of yourself in the future.”

You let out a soft wail of protest at the thought, but he ignored it, leaning in to speak into your ear.

“And trust me, little girl, you do not want to have this discussion again.”

And then, as suddenly as it began, it was over. The punishing rhythm of the hairbrush ceased, and the room settled into a heavy, tear-soaked silence. Your sobs, however, remained steady, shaking your body as it lay slumped over his lap.

Shouta’s hands shifted, their movements no longer firm and corrective but gentle, smoothing up and down your back and thighs. He didn’t rush you, letting you cry as long as you needed, his presence grounding you even as your emotions spilled over.

When your cries softened to hiccups, he gently helped you upright, maneuvering you so you were straddling his lap. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck as you buried your tear-streaked face into his shirt, soaking the fabric with every breathy sob. He didn’t mind; his arms held you just as tightly, encasing you in a protective warmth.

“Okay, kid,” he murmured, his lips brushing the crown of your head as he swayed you gently. “Alright, you’re okay now. I love you so much, baby.”

His voice was soft, full of love and patience, and it was that tenderness that finally cracked the dam inside you. The moment you had enough air in your lungs, you blurted out in a desperate rush:

“I’m so sorry, Daddy! I’m sorry I fucked up—I didn’t mean to! I just—I wanted—I’m just so, so sorry,” you wailed, clinging to him like a lifeline. The words poured out of you like water from a broken dam, each one carrying the weight of your regret. You weren’t just apologizing for the mistake, you were apologizing for letting him down, for making him feel like his care wasn’t enough to anchor you. The thought of betraying the trust he put in you made the tears fall faster.

“Oh, baby,” he said, his voice thick with emotion as he hugged you even closer. “Okay, okay. I know. Thank you, babygirl, I know you are. You’re forgiven now, okay? You did so good for me, you’re all forgiven.”

His words were a balm to your guilt, soothing and grounding you as you took shuddering breaths, gradually winding down. Your sobs quieted into occasional hiccups, and he gently tilted you back to examine your tear-streaked face. Shouta’s soft smile held no trace of the earlier sternness. He reached over, plucking a tissue from the side table, and methodically wiped away your tears, along with the snot and drool that added to your humiliation. He discarded the tissue without a second thought, his focus entirely on you.

“Let’s go take a bath, baby, clear up your sinuses,” he murmured, his voice warm and soothing. He hoisted you into his arms with ease and carried you to the bathroom, grabbing two towels along the way. Setting them on the counter, he gingerly placed you atop them, your seated position making you just a little taller than him. He stood between your legs, his hands resting gently on your thighs, and studied your face with concern.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice earnest and patient.

You took a moment to check in with yourself, cataloging the aches in your body, the tenderness in your emotions, and the lingering sting of your punishment. Eventually, you nodded and murmured, “Yeah, ‘m okay. I’m just really sorry.”

His brows furrowed slightly, a flicker of sadness crossing his features. Leaning up, he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips. “I know, sweetheart. I believe you.”

He didn’t push for more, understanding how fragile you felt. Instead, he gave you space, letting you sit quietly while he started filling the tub. The sound of water rushing against porcelain filled the room, and he quickly stripped down before helping you out of your oversized shirt. His movements were efficient but tender as if he were afraid to overwhelm you.

Once the tub was full, he climbed in first and extended a hand to guide you in, settling you between his legs with your back pressed firmly to his chest. The warm water enveloped you, and his arms encircled your middle, holding you close.

“There we go, my good girl,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your temple. The praise made you shiver, the tension in your body melting away as you nestled further into his embrace.

“Always my good girl, no matter what,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head. “I love you so much.”

His words wrapped around you like the heat of the water, comforting and secure, and you let yourself relax completely. This was where you belonged—wrapped in his love and care, forgiven and cherished.

[girlwithadragonheart]

Chapter 12 - The Dawn Will Come

This story contains major spoilers for Dragon Age the Veilguard. Read at your own discretion!!

Kalais x Lucanis

Summary: Under the pressure of being a leader, Kalais is having nightmares from her past and present. Luckily, an old friend is there to comfort her when she wakes.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Swearing, nightmares, lots of death, descriptions of death, animal cruelty, I am so sorry, representation of abuse

A/N: I am soooooo sorry Kalais, please forgive me

Chapter 11 DATV Masterlist Chapter 13(wip)

ft. The song that always reminds me of varric and kalais

The battlefield was endless.

Mud clung to my boots with every step, the squelching sound blending with the screams that carried on the wind. Fog swirled around my feet, disturbed by my movements. The air was cold and damp, stinking of blood and rot, so thick I could taste it, iron bitter on my tongue. My dagger was heavy in my hand, slick with something warm I didn’t want to name. I didn’t dare look down. I already knew what I’d see—the bodies. Broken, lifeless, familiar.

I couldn’t stop. If I stopped, I would fall, and I couldn’t afford that. Not now. Not ever.

The mist coiled around my legs, rising like it had intent, like it knew me. I shivered, a chill racing down my spine as a whisper slithered through the air. It wasn’t words—not exactly. It was just the sound of something wanting me. Pulling me.

My throat tightened as I pressed on, my breath ragged and sharp in my ears. Shapes loomed ahead, shifting in the fog. Relief flooded me when I saw a familiar figure.

Varric.

He was crouched in the mid, his broad shoulders hunched, his head bowed. My knees buckled with the force of my relief. He was alive.

“Varric!” My voice cracked as I stumbled toward him.

He didn’t move.

The relief twisted in my gut, turning cold and sour. Something was wrong. His hands cradled something in his lap, his fingers trembling. My chest constricted as I drew closer, the shapes resolving into sickening clarity.

It was a body.

The face was unrecognizable—bloodied, broken—but the armor was familiar. Shadow Dragon armor. I tried to swallow the rising bile, but my throat wouldn’t work.

I wanted to call out again, to tell Varric I was here, that I could help, but the words stuck in my throat like ash. He looked up, slowly, and my stomach dropped. His face was hollow, his eyes ringed with shadow and lined with grief that cut deeper than any wound.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t breathe. The ache in his expression carved something jagged into my chest. I watched his lips move, but I couldn’t hear him. I couldn’t hear anything.

A moment later, his voice floated toward me on the missing wind. “We didn’t win, kid.”

And then he was gone.

The mist surged forward, swallowing him whole.

I staggered back, my heart pounding, my pulse hammering in my ears. “No,” I choked, my voice swallowed by the fog.

I turned, but the world turned upside down, and my stomach flipped.

The battlefield dissolved into a gilded hall. Chandeliers hung above me, their crystals refracting pale, unnatural light. The walls dripped with tarnish, the golden accents corroded and blackened.

I knew this place. I had walked these halls before, in another life. A life where I was a shadow, something seen but never acknowledged. Not for anything good, anyway.

The air was too still, too quiet. Then the whispers began again.

They came from everywhere, faceless voices speaking in venom.

Failure.

Coward.

Traitor.

Each word landed like a stone, the weight of them crushing my chest. My skin prickled as I turned in place, searching for their source.

The Shadow Dragons stood before me, their faces sharp with accusation.

I opened my mouth to speak, but my tongue felt thick, heavy. The words wouldn’t come.

They advanced as one, their movements unnervingly synchronized. Their eyes burned with something feral, something hungry.

“You let us die,” one of them hissed, their voice jagged and raw.

I stumbled back, shaking my head. “No, I—”

“Minrathous burns because of you,” another spat.

“You ran while we stayed,” a third sneered.

My chest tightened, and my legs felt like they might give out beneath me.

Behind them was a familiar face, and the magister’s wife emerged, her silk gown dripping with blood. Her face was pallid, her lips thin and cruel. Somewhere distant the thought passed that she looked remarkably similar to another I had killed.

“Poor, poor, Kalais. Always running, always surviving, but never saving anyone,” she said, her voice soft, almost sweet.

Her words wrapped around me like a vice, squeezing. My knees hit the floor before I realized I was falling.

The ground cracked beneath me. Darkness seeped through the fissures, viscous and alive. It coiled around their feet first, pulling them down. Their screams pierced the air, high and ragged, clawing at me.

I reached for them, but my hands wouldn’t move. My arms felt like lead. Heavy and useless.

“Please,” I whispered, the sound swallowed by the darkness.

The floor beneath me shattered, and I fell.

I hit the ground hard, the breath knocked from my lungs. My vision swam, the world around me a blur of shadow and blood.

And then I saw him.

Lucanis.

He stood at the center of the carnage, his armor cracked, his body bleeding from a hundred wounds. His purple eyes glowed in the dark, the telltale sign of Spite’s influence. The sight turned my stomach, fear clawing at my throat.

I tried to call out to him, but my voice broke. 

He turned to me slowly, his gaze distant, lost.

“I can’t stop it,” he said, his voice low and strained.

“No,” I rasped, forcing myself to my feet. 

I reached for him, but before I could touch him, another figure stepped into the space between us.

Illario.

His eyes gleamed with satisfaction, his smirk cutting across the haze like a blade.

“He’s mine,” Illario said simply, his voice dripping with cruelty.

I tried to summon my magic, but nothing came. My hands sparked weakly, useless, and panic surged through me.

“Please,” I begged, my knees buckling. “Not him.”

Illario’s laugh echoed around us, cold and hollow. It took on another layer, morphing into another familiar tormentor from my past. Magister Imarius. “You think you can save him?” I watched his face morph into that oh-so familiar one. “You can’t even save yourself.”

Lucanis dropped to his knees beside him, his gaze locked on mine. His lips moved, forming my name, but no sound came. His body convulsed, and then he was still.

“No!” The word tore from my throat, raw and broken. I scrambled to his side, my hands shaking as I cradled his face. His skin was cold, his eyes empty.

I thought it was Lucanis, but it was Varric. Those soft eyes looked up at me, empty and lifeless. But no, it was really my mother cold and dead in my arms after I crashed the slaver ring. Then it was the Magister’s wife, her skin hollow and eyes sunken in. But actually, I was a kid again, and I was holding the house cat. 

The scent of lilac oil lingered in the air, masking the faint staleness of old velvet curtains. A lie of beauty, masking the rot.

I was small again, barely more than a child, my hands clutching a lifeless shape against my chest. The room felt enormous. The dark wood of the study stretched into endless corners where shadows gathered, whispering.

The cat’s fur was soft beneath my fingers, still warm. Its neck lolled unnaturally to the side. Blood crusted at its mouth, a thin streak staining its snow coat. I held it closer, my arms trembling under its slight weight. I knew I couldn’t make it right. Not this time.

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, my voice barely audible. My breath came in sharp, shallow gasps.

The magister’s presence filled the room long before he stepped into view. His boots clicked against the marble, measured and precise, echoing in the suffocating silence.

“What,” he said, his voice low, even, dangerously calm, “have you done now?”

I froze. My throat tightened, and I couldn’t look up. I kept my eyes on the cat, as if keeping my gaze there could protect me. 

“I—I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to,” he interrupted, his tone cutting like a blade. He loomed over me now, his shadow swallowing me whole. “That seems to be the excuse of every snivelling slave in this household. Tell me, Kalais, what exactly didn’t you mean to do? Hm?”

“I didn’t mean for him to die.” My voice cracked as the words tumbled out. Tears blurred my vision, dripping onto the cat’s fur.

The magister clicked his tongue, crouching so he was eye level with me. His gaze was sharp, dispassionate, like I wasn’t a person but an object, something broken and bothersome.

“You didn’t mean for him to die,” he repeated, mockery dripping from each syllable. His hand reached out, and I flinched, but he only grabbed the cat’s limp body, wrenching it from my grasp. “Look at it.”

I couldn’t.

“Look at it!” he barked, and my head snapped up instinctively.

The cat dangled from his hands, its head lolling, eyes glazed over. The magister shook it slightly, like it was nothing more than a rag doll.

“Everything you touch,” he said, his voice softer now, but no less cruel, “dies. Do you know why, Kalais?”

I shook my head, but he didn’t wait for an answer.

“It’s because you are cursed,” he continued, his tone almost conversational. “You were born to destroy, to rot everything you come near. You killed my wife. You killed your mother. And now, you can’t even save a cat.”

The words pelted me like stones, each one heavier than the last. My hands trembled, and my stomach twisted violently.

“Do you know what this is?” He gestured to the lifeless animal. “This is the consequence of your existence. Everything you love dies, Kalais. It’s your nature. Your purpose. The sooner you learn that, the better for everyone.”

My chest ached as I tried to swallow back sobs. I wanted to scream, to tell him he was wrong, that I hadn’t meant for any of this to happen. But the words wouldn’t come.

He dropped the cat unceremoniously onto the floor, the thud making me flinch again. He straightened, looking down at me with disdain.

“Clean it up,” he said, his voice cold, detached. “And Andraste’s sake, don’t embarrass yourself further.”

But Andraste had never come when I called.

He turned and left, his steps echoing until they disappeared entirely.

I was alone again. Alone with the dead thing at my feet. My hands shook as I reached for it, my fingers brushing against its soft fur.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

The shadows in the room deepened, pressing closer, their whispers growing louder. Failure. Coward. Traitor.

The magister’s voice rang in my ears, louder than the rest. Everything you love dies.

And I believed him.

—---------------------------

“Rook! Kalais!”

The voice yanked me from the depths of the nightmare like a hand grabbing my arm and dragging me up from drowning.

My eyes shot open, and I gasped, my lungs aching as though I hadn’t breathed for hours. My hands flew to my chest as if I could hold the shattering pieces of myself together. The room swam around me, unfamiliar shadows skittering across the walls in the dim light of the campfire outside the tent.

“Kalais, you’re safe.” The voice again, this time softer, steady. Grounding.

Varric.

I blinked rapidly, forcing the blurred edges of reality to sharpen, forcing myself to see. He knelt beside me, his face lined with worry, his hand on my shoulder. His touch was firm but carefully, anchoring me to the present.

The sound that came out of me was raw and broken, halfway between a sob and a gasp. My hands were still shaking as I reached out, clutching his arm like it was the only solid thing in the world.

“You were dreaming,” he said gently, his brows knit in that way he always did when he was trying to piece together something he couldn’t fix.

I couldn’t speak. My throat felt raw, choked with ash, as though I had screamed myself hoarse in the dream. I tried to focus on his voice, on his steady presence, but the remnants of the nightmare clung to me like cobwebs I couldn’t shake off.

“It’s alright,” he said, his voice softer now. “You’re alright.”

I wanted to believe him, but the images were still there—Varric bleeding in my arms, Lucanis lost to Illario, the Shadow Dragons accusing me, the magister’s words slicing through me. I pressed the heels of my hands to my eyes, trying to block it all out, but it wouldn’t leave me.

“Hey,” Varric said again, his voice more insistent. He leaned closer, his other hand hovering like he didn’t know if he should pull me into a hug or just wait. “Rook. Look at me.”

I forced my hands down, blinking up at him. His face came into focus—concern etched into every line, his eyes steady and warm, anchoring me.

“You’re safe,” he said again, his voice steady. “We’re all safe. It was just a nightmare.”

“Was it?” The words slipped out before I could stop them, my voice raw and trembling.

Varric sighed, his shoulders dropping slightly as he sat back on his heels. “Rook, I don’t know what you saw, but whatever it was, it’s not real. You’re alright.”

My chest heaved as I tried to pull in air, but it felt too shallow, too thin. “I keep seeing it,” I whispered, my voice cracking. “Everything I’ve done. Everyone I’ve failed. I keep losing them, Varric. Over and over again.”

“Listen to me.” His hand gripped mine now, firm and warm, grounding me further. “You’ve made mistakes. We all have. But you’ve also saved people. You saved me, Rook. You saved Lucanis. And you’re still fighting for the rest of us. Don’t let some twisted memory convince you otherwise.”

I wanted to argue, to tell him he didn’t understand, but the look in his eyes stopped me. There was no judgment there, no pity—just truth.

“You’re not alone in this, kid,” he added, his voice softening again. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself.”

The tension in my chest loosened just enough for me to breathe a little deeper. “What if he was right? Imarius. Everything I love dies.” I looked down at my hands, for a split second seeing the blood covering them, the smell of blood and ash flooding my nose. I blinked, and it was gone.

Varric’s hand tightened over mine, grounding me again, pulling me out of the lingering shadows. His eyes softened, but there was something hard beneath them—anger, not at me, but at the words that had taken root in my mind, at the weight of a past that refused to let go.

“That’s bullshit,” he said, the words firm and biting, cutting through the haze like a blade. “Whatever that bastard told you, whatever he put in your head, it’s not true. It never was.”

I shook my head, the ache in my chest spreading like a fracture. “You don’t know, Varric. You didn’t see it. He—he said I destroy everything. That it’s who I am. And maybe he’s right.”

The words came out in a rush, trembling and bitter. I looked down at my hands again, half expecting to see blood, ash, or fur clinging to them. They were clean, but it didn’t matter. I could still feel it.

Clean it up.

“I couldn’t save my mother. I couldn’t save the Shadow Dragons. Minrathous… And you—” My voice broke, and I couldn’t finish.

Varric leaned closer, his gaze never leaving mine. “Stop. Just stop right there.” His voice was low, steady, but there was a sharpness to it, like he wouldn’t let me keep spiralling. “You don’t get to rewrite the story like that, Rook. You’re not a destroyer. You’re a survivor. And yeah, sometimes surviving means you don’t save everyone. But that doesn’t make you some damned curse.”

I wanted to believe him. I wanted his words to be enough to push back the weight pressing down on me, but it wasn’t that simple. “Then why does it feel like everything I love slips through my fingers?”

Varric sighed, his shoulders slumping as he sat back. He looked older for a moment, wearier, like he carried his own ghosts. “Because this life isn’t kind,” he said quietly. “It’s not fair, and it doesn’t care who you are or what you’ve done. But you—you keep fighting anyway. That’s what matters.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat threatening to choke me. “What if I can’t protect him, Varric? What if Lucanis—”

He cut me off gently but firmly. “Rook, you can’t protect everyone. Not all the time. Lucanis is a grown man, and he’s one of the toughest bastards I’ve ever met. But more than that, he’s yours. You think he doesn’t see how hard you fight for him? How much you care? You’re not going to lose him because of some nightmare or an old magister’s lies.”

Tears burned in my eyes, and I bit down on the sob that threatened to escape. “I’m so tired, Varric,” I whispered. “Of losing. Of fighting. Of—of being this.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he pulled me into a rough hug, his arms strong and warm around me. “I know, kid. I know.”

The embrace cracked something inside me, and the tears came, hot and silent, spilling down my face as I buried it in his shoulder. He didn’t speak, didn’t try to fix it. He just held on, steady and solid, letting me fall apart for a moment.

When I finally pulled back, my breathing uneven but steadier, he offered me a faint, crooked smile. “You don’t have to do this alone, Kalais. You’ve got me, you’ve got Lucanis, and you’ve got the rest of us. We’re not going anywhere.”

I nodded, the weight in my chest just a little lighter. “Thank you, Varric.”

“Anytime.” He stood, brushing invisible dust off his pants. “Now, get some rest. You’ve got a long day ahead, and I don’t need you nodding off in the middle of some life-or-death situation.”

A faint, reluctant smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “I’ll try.”

As he stepped out of the room, I let myself lean back against the chaise, watching the reflections of water dance across the ceiling. The nightmares would come again—I knew that. But for now, I held onto his words, letting them anchor me. 

For tonight, at least, I wasn’t alone.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

A/N: I'm sorry...

Let me know if you want to be on any of my tag lists!

Tagging: @encrytpta

[averagemrfox]

My singular prediction I’m willing to make for the rwby finale is that Ruby gets a new emblem. Something moon related specifically

[laurenairay]

felt like magic - N. Hischier

Summary: Nico has been pining for years – maybe this summer is a chance to finally do something about his feelings for you.

I’m jumping in as a pinch-hitter as part of @wyattjohnston's summer fic exchange 2k24, with a Nico Hischier story for @selfindulgentpoorlywritten! I really hope you enjoy this – I had a lot of fun creating something from the prompts you gave me. And who doesn’t love Summer Nico?

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: pining, childhood friends to lovers, idiots to lovers, some bad language

Title (and song lyrics) from Caffeine, by Jack Kays

~

Stay with me, If it’s not our time then will you wait for me? I know that we’re young, but this is destiny I couldn’t be me without you, without you

~

Travelling from Bern to Zurich wasn’t something you’d do for just anyone. An hour and a half driving across the country, surrounded by drivers who were just as impatient to get through their journeys as you were? Not your idea of fun. At least the destination was more than worth it.

“Happy birthday Jonas!”

The man in question turned around at the sound of your voice, a big grin sliding onto his face.

“You made it, liebling! Thanks for coming!” Jonas said happily.

It wasn’t every year that you got to celebrate the birthday of one of your favourite people – early May wasn’t exactly the most consistent time of year for hockey players after all. And the last thing you wanted to do was remind him of the early end to his season. So when Jonas had called you to say that he was hosting a birthday party at his house in Zurich and invited you to spend the weekend, there was no way you were saying no.

“As if I’d miss the event of the summer,” you teased.

Jonas just beamed at you.

“Schatzi! You survived the A1!”

You peered around Jonas’s broad shoulders to see another one of your favourite people – Nico. It was through Nico, one of your childhood best friends – that you’d met Jonas in the first place so you should’ve guessed that he wouldn’t be too far away. Usually you would’ve made the journey with Nico, both of you coming from Bern after all, but he’d already been visiting in Zurich so you’d been stuck with a solo trip this time.

And damn did he look good. It wasn’t something that you let yourself think about often, being just his friend, but Nico was genuinely one of the most handsome people you’d ever seen, let alone become good friends with. It wouldn’t do you any good to travel down that road of thoughts though, so you were always careful to nip those feelings in the bud. You were friends. Great friends. Incredible friends, and that’s how it was always going to be.

“I’m here,” you mused, “had to greet the birthday boy before anyone else.”

“Yeah don’t be jealous,” Jonas teased.

Interestingly, Nico blushed slightly and glared at the taller man, before clearing his throat. “Can I get you a drink?”

“I’ll grab something myself in a minute, but thank you,” you said, smiling sweetly, “Let me just give Jonas his birthday present first.”

You handed over the thick envelope, Jonas eagerly ripping into it, making you laugh softly.

“Oh shit, you’re the best,” Jonas gasped.

“And don’t you forget it,” you teased.

“What did you get?” Nico asked, curious.

“A tattoo voucher. Far more than enough to cover the gap fillers I’ve been looking at getting. This is amazing, thank you, this is way too generous,” Jonas explained, looking gratefully at you.

“You’re welcome. I know you’ve been talking about filling the spaces for a while,” you shrugged.

While you didn’t have any tattoos of your own, you knew how Nico and Jonas felt about their own tattoos, and how much they meant to them – it was an easy decision.

“Are we ever going to get you into a tattoo chair, hm?” Nico teased.

“Maybe if I have someone holding my hand,” you teased back, trying to fight the giddy heat rising to your cheeks.

His lips parted slightly in shock, speechless for once, Jonas just cackling at his response.

“And on that note, I’m going to go say hi to Andreas and Julia. See you both later?” you grinned.

“Yeah, see you liebling,” Jonas nodded.

Nico just nodded, cheeks aflame. His silence was a bit concerning – he wasn’t exactly one to be shy or awkward, especially not around you – but you knew Jonas would figure out whatever was going on with him. Hopefully.

~

“So that was smooth,” Jonas mused.

“Shut up,” Nico groaned.

“No really, that was one of your best efforts,” Jonas snickered.

“You’re the worst,” Nico shot back.

He ran a hand through his hair, watching you walk across the backyard with a confidence he wished he had. There was just something about you that had always reduced him to feeling like a hapless fool, ever since he’d first moved to Bern as a teenager and met you within the first few weeks of living there. You’d been a constant feature in his life for 10 years now, always there with a wide smile and open arms whether it was in Bern, Zurich, or New Jersey, and he didn’t know what he would do with his life if you weren’t in it.

Nico was head over heels in love with you, and you had no idea.

Everyone else in his life knew how he felt for you, obviously, not just Jonas. His parents, his siblings, even Jack had figured it out within an hour of your first visit to New Jersey all those years ago. If Jack Hughes of all people could read it off his face then he didn’t know how much more obvious he could be – other than actually telling you with words, of course.

But how could he say anything to you, when he knew for certain that you didn’t feel the same way?

~

“Are you sure your billet family don’t mind us being down here?”

Nico smiled down at you, shaking his head. The two of you were down in the basement where his billet family’s entertainment room was, the rest of the house having gone out for the night, and Nico had invited you round for a movie night. He’d only been in Bern for a few weeks, and you were the only non-hockey friend he’d made so far, so he hadn’t hesitated to invite you over to get to know you better.

There was just something about you that made him want to put in the effort

“They really don’t mind. They even left us money for takeout,” he insisted.

“Oh, well alright then. What are we watching first?”

The evening flew by, pizza ravenously consumed between movies, the two of you shifting closer and closer on the sofa until you were fully leaning up against each other, Nico’s hockey bulk giving you a solid pillow to rest on. He didn’t mind it at all, if he was being honest with himself, although he wasn’t quite sure what that meant.

“That was so terrible though! They had no chemistry at all!” you giggled as the credits rolled.

“I guess not all actors are going to like kissing everyone they work with,” Nico snickered.

Even in the dim light of the room, he noticed the heat that rushed to your cheeks.

“What?” Nico frowned.

“It’s nothing,” you said, shaking your head quickly.

He might not know you that well yet, but he knew that was a lie.

“Come on, tell me what’s wrong?” he prompted.

“You’re going to think I’m stupid.”

“We’re 15 years old – everything we do is stupid,” Nico pointed out.

You huffed out a laugh, breath a little shaky. “I was just thinking about the fact that I wouldn’t know what it was like.”

“What what was like?” Nico asked, confused.

“To kiss someone,” you all but whispered.

His lips parted in surprise, not expecting those words to fall from your lips, and you immediately grimaced.

“See I told you it was stupid,” you groaned.

As you shifted to move away from him, Nico instinctively gripped your shoulder, not letting you go. You startled but looked up at him, staying silent in confusion.

“It’s not stupid. Not everyone has had their first kiss. You’re only 15,” he murmured.

“You’ve kissed someone though?”

Nico bit his bottom lip but nodded. He’d had multiple kisses, all harmless, all essentially meaningless, he wasn’t ashamed to admit it. Kissing was fun – he always liked the way it made his heart race with adrenaline.

And it was the memory of that feeling that fuelled his bravery.

“I could kiss you, if you want?”

“What?”

He took a steadying breath, before nodding. “I could kiss you. So you have a good first kiss, with a friend.”

There was nothing worse than doing something scary for the first time only to have someone make you feel like an idiot. If Nico could stop that feeling for you, then he absolutely would.

“Are you sure?” you said hesitantly, “You really don’t have to.”

“Of course I am,” he said, smiling to reassure you.

He could feel how fast your heart was beating as he rested a hand on the side of your neck, echoing the beating of his own heart. You closed your eyes as he leaned down towards you, making him smile slightly before he pressed his lips to yours. As he slowly kissed you, he could feel how hesitant and nervous you were, but as you continued to kiss him back he didn’t regret his offer for a moment. Nico kissed you over and over and over again, almost feeling dizzy with how the embrace was consuming him, his thumb stroking over your jaw as you melted into his arms. This was heaven. This was bliss. This was everything he didn’t realise he’d wanted.

After what felt like hours, but could only have been a few moments, you pulled away from the kiss. Nico made a soft noise of protest, opening his eyes to see you looking stunned, lips as swollen as his felt.

“Schatzi,” he managed to murmur.

You just bit your bottom lip, smiling softly, before leaning backwards out of his hands. He tried not to frown, not understanding why his heart was pounding, even though you didn’t look mad.

“I should probably get home. My parents will be wondering where I am by now,” you said, voice quiet, almost as if you were still a little in shock.

Nico glanced at the clock on the wall, grimacing at the late hour. Where had the time gone? Did you really have to leave, after a kiss like that?

“O-Okay, if you’re sure. Text me when you get back safe?”

“I will. See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”

~

After that kiss 10 years ago, the two of you had never spoken about it again. The morning after you’d acted like nothing had ever happened, and Nico had been too nervous to say anything to risk losing the blossoming friendship. He knew now that it was his first experience of heartbreak, as youthful and innocent as that had been – and he also knew that’s when he’d first started having feelings for you. What was meant to have been a friend helping out another friend had started a decade of unrequited feelings, and it was far too late for him to say anything now.

He could only hold on to the incredible friendship that had grown between the two of you with both hands. If this was all he could ever have then he was going to cherish it, no matter how what Jonas said.

“Come on bud, let’s get you a drink,” Jonas said, smiling sadly.

Nico huffed out a laugh but nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m going to need one.”

~

Hours passed by, drinking, eating, catching up with friends and making new ones, until the evening was late and only the last few straggling partygoers were making their way out of the house. You’d volunteered to start cleaning up while Jonas said goodbye to his guests, needing something to do after a long day of socialising. You were making good progress on cleaning up the empty food containers and empty drink bottles when Nico wandered into the living room, holding out a bottle of water for you.

“Looks like thirsty work,” he grinned, leaning against the arm of the sofa.

“Thanks, you should try it some time,” you teased, taking the bottle from him.

You unscrewed the cap and took a couple of long gulps with your head tilted back, needing the refreshment more than you thought, but when you put the cap back on the bottle, you noticed Nico staring at you transfixed.

“What?” you frowned, “Did I spill some water?”

“No, no, it isn’t that,” he said quickly, cheeks heating.

Why was he blushing? What was going through his mind?

“Then what is it?” you prompted, putting the bottle down on the table.

“It’s just…I was thinking about…well…”

“Yes?” you prompted again, a soft smile on your face at his awkwardness.

“It wouldn’t take a tattoo for me to hold your hand,” he blurted out.

“What?”

What was he talking about…oh. Oh. What?

“Wait, shit, no, that came out wrong…”

Nico trailed off with a groan, punctuated only by the sound of a snort. You whirled around to see Jonas standing in the doorway, and he cackled at the look on both your faces.

“Yeah I’m going upstairs. Have fun dealing with your years of feelings,” Jonas grinned, shaking his head.

Oh damn. Jonas knew?

Wait, years of feelings?

With that he left you and Nico alone, a murmur suspiciously sounding like ‘lovestruck idiots’ lingering behind him. Hesitantly you looked back at Nico to see his face full of embarrassment, cheeks tinged with red.

“What was Jonas talking about?” you asked, voice a little shaky.

Because you were damn sure that Jonas didn’t know a thing about how you felt for Nico. So he had to be talking about Nico…which only succeeded in sending your heart into a flutter.

“This was not how I wanted it all to come out,” he murmured.

“Nico, please. No more talking in circles,” you all but begged.

He inhaled shakily but nodded, finally looking you in the eyes once more. “I’ve loved you ever since the movie night where we kissed.”

Your breath hitched in your throat. “That was 10 years ago, Nico. We were 15! You’ve loved me since then?”

Ten long years.

“I know,” he winced, “But yes, since then.”

“You never said anything?” you said hesitantly.

Not about the kiss, and not about his feelings.

“You didn’t either? I mean, like, we never talked about the kiss. At all. I just assumed you didn’t say anything because you regretted it, and there was no way I wanted to lose you as a friend,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

Of all the things he could’ve said.

“I thought you regretted it,” you admitted, “You were this up-and-coming hockey star, and I was just the neighbour down the street.”

Nico burst out laughing, hands rising to cover his face briefly.

“We’re both idiots,” he managed to choke out between laughs, “maybe me more than you.”

Maybe.

Maybe you both were idiots, but that didn’t mean you had to waste any more time. If Nico really wanted to try being more than friends, you weren’t about to stop him.

“Hey Nico?” you said, reaching forward to place a hand on his chest.

You could feel the heat of his skin through his shirt, the rapid beat of his heart, but it was the hope in his eyes that gave you courage.

“Yes, schatzi?”

“It’s been a long ten years…kiss me again?”

Nico’s only response was to do as you’d asked.

~

I’m sitting patiently, Hoping for the day to come where you can see, All the stars, they fall in line for you and me, I can’t wait for you to see too, yes, you’ll do.

[unluckycryptid]

i saw someone headcanon a miraculous ladybug x descendants rise of red crossover with Red as Chat Noir and Chloe as Ladybug. But…. hear me out. Switch em around

Red as Ladybug

She already has the red and black scheme down

She’s very smart and cunning on the field and is shown to use her environment to her advantage

You know she’s one to come up with elaborate plans (just like her elaborate pranks)

She's not afraid to stand up to bullies due to her strong sense of justice and speak her mind, but she's also not afraid to bend the rules a little

Her double life: getting into trouble for rebellious acts so no one expects her to be the heroic and responsible Ladybug

(Honestly just use her fit during her intro song.)

Yoyo = pocketwatch?

Chloe as Chat Noire

She's a straight A student who is involved in loads of activities including founder of the french club, president of the Auradon historical society and captain of the swordfighting team - a representation of a perfect princess

Giving her the mask allows her to relax from the expectations of being the perfect princess

Imagine the double life: her being a goody two shoes in the day (very princess, very demure) but a flirtatious and charming (its in her name) black cat at night

Also, she loves to make puns

She'd get blue eyes instead of the green black cat eyes

And I think we’d still get Bridget/Queen of Hearts as Hawkmoth/Mayura and uses her card deck to reign terror on Auradon

Can't forget the love square and roommate hijinks.

I think we would get a reverse love square tho

Chloe's been enamored by Red ever since they started at Auradon Prep and watched as Red stood up to a bully on the first day on campus.

Red perceives Chloe as a privileged princess that's naive and soft and one of the snotty popular ones. Chloe eventually shows her that she's more than what Red initially thought she was. Chloe can't bring herself to flirt with Red outright given the whole Perfect Princess expectations everyone else has of her.

As Ladybug, Red develops a crush on Chloe's Chat Noire who is ever so charming and makes puns all day, but unafraid to match Red's Ladybug's wit while being a knight in shining armor (unafraid to take the hits for her).

Chloe's Chat Noire sees Red's Ladybug who is very focused on the mission and after seeing her convoluted plan work with their first villain, allows Ladybug to most of the heavy planning, instead choosing to support her as her knight in shining armor. Chloe's a lot better at flirting as Chat Noire without all the pressure from everyone else around her.

The two are roommates, and thank goodness neither of them are ever present when the Queen of Hearts uses her Deck, nor do they press on about any of the lame excuses each one of them gives the other (somehow, neither of them end up running into each other)

--Edit--

Hi All! Quick edit:

I started writing the story! Check it out here If you're interested, I'm writing some extra notes for each chapter so check out part 2 here

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance⁴

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: LONGGGG, descriptions of torture, suicidal thoughts and tendencies, violence, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, very complicated relationships, complex mental health issues, death, grief, and some unhealthy coping mechanisms Words: 18.2K

Masterlist | Part 5

a/n: since it's that time of year, i decided to give u guys a lil present. merry christmas and enjoy!!!

You had never felt so cold.

Growing up in a working home, you sometimes went through winter just hoping that your sheets would be enough to keep you alive, unable to afford a heater. In your first Games, you nearly froze to death, your matches being the only thing that saved you. Then once you had won and made it to the Capitol, you went through those cold nights with Finnick, sometimes hoping that you really would freeze to death, even if you never told him that.

Yet none of those times could compare to how cold you felt now. 

Cold as you were brought out of the Capitol. Cold on the hovercraft. Cold when they sedated you. Cold as you were wrapped in blankets. Cold as Finnick went to touch you. And now, as the doctors examined you like you were an artifact, you were still just as cold.

But you were an artifact, weren’t you? You were the Princess.

So it didn’t really matter how cold you were at all.

You had been transported from the open medical area to your own room. It was almost like you blinked and, just like that, you were in a different room. Like magic.

Even though magic did not exist. Not in Panem. Not in this world.

Someone named Boggs had come to see you, explaining that you were in district 13, a district that you thought didn’t exist for your entire life. This is the revolution, he said. He was meant to bring you up to speed, ease your confusion, but you weren’t sure that was possible at the moment. 

Throughout his explanation, you didn’t say a word, just staring up at him. This may have been seen as rude, but you weren’t doing it on purpose. You really didn’t know what to say.

He eventually left, not getting anywhere with you. From what you could tell, he had a lot more to deal with than just one girl. For a supposedly dead district, there was a lot going on in 13, but that wasn’t where your mind was.

Your body was in 13, but your mind was in the Capitol.

“Please, don’t-”

You closed your eyes, trying to rid yourself of these memories, but that only made it worse, images appearing underneath your eyelids. Your eyes quickly snapped open, darting around the room, your chest rapidly falling and rising.

You were in a bed. There was a desk, some chairs, a glass of water on the night stand next to you. The floor was white, tiled, not grey concrete. There were lights. You were in 13, where the lights were on, not in the Capitol, surrounded by darkness.

You’re alive, Y/N, you told yourself. But that didn’t seem to make anything better.

When did it ever?

You ran your hands up and down your arms, feeling new scars that hadn’t been there before, scars that could maybe heal one day, but you knew there were still open wounds you had that couldn’t be treated, open wounds that may never scar at all. 

You didn’t think the wounds you had right now would ever close.

Your heart was racing, beating so loudly that you could hear it, so you imagined it wasn’t yours at all, that it was Finnick’s heart that you heard. Though you supposed that your heart did belong to him.

Even though you didn’t want to see him.

Nevertheless, imagining him sitting with you and pretending to listen to his heartbeat was what calmed you down. It always would. In a way, that was the only thing about you that remained sure, the only thing you had left from the life you lived.

Because that’s what it was: a life lived. Y/N Y/L/N lived her life. For a time, she was happy. She fell in love. And then she died. Now… now, you didn’t know who you were.

What you did know was that you weren’t the same Y/N that Finnick knew, the same Y/N who’d fall asleep in his arms. Now, you weren’t sure you could fall asleep at all, not for long, never for long.

Johanna and Peeta’s faces flashed through your mind. Their screams still echoed in your head. They were different now, too. Johanna wasn’t so fearless anymore, and the golden boy wasn’t so golden. His bright gold had been captured by darkness, and you weren’t sure if any of you would ever see it again.

At that thought, you finally got up, ignoring the ache in your bones. You couldn’t just sit there. You couldn’t sleep. You couldn’t eat. You couldn’t think anymore- you wouldn’t. You had to see them.

You left your room, a nurse coming up to you right away. “Ma’am, please, you need to rest-”

“I’m fine.” Your voice was raspy and scratched at your throat, so you cleared it. You didn’t know what you looked like, but you knew it couldn’t have been great with the way the nurse was looking at you. “Could you please take me to my friend Johanna?”

Hesitance was painted all over her face, as well as fear. You didn’t know why; you weren’t in any position to fight. “I’m sorry, I- I can’t-”

You cut her off. “I just want to see my friend.” Annoyance laced your voice, but if one listened closely, they’d also hear the desperation. You needed to see her, you needed to see someone familiar, someone that wasn’t there just because you were their responsibility, someone that wasn’t the boy you loved.

Her mouth opened and closed for several seconds before she responded, “I- she’s with a counsellor right now-”

You sharply inhaled, blinking and seeing Johanna, hearing her cry. When you opened your eyes again, you only saw the nurse staring at you anxiously, expectantly. You ran a hand through your hair. You needed to see someone. “Peeta then,” you said. “Take me to Peeta.”

Her fright seemed to increase. She looked at you like you weren’t in your right mind, which was right, but you couldn’t find it in you to care. There was something else in her expression, like there was something you didn’t know, something she didn’t want to tell you, but she nodded, anyway, agreeing.

This nurse was young, kind, and even a little naive. If you were in your right mind, you’d feel more empathy for her, be more compassionate or soft, but you weren’t. Your mind was in all of the wrong places all at once.

She reminded you of the nurse you had in the Capitol. She wasn’t there to ease your pain but to keep you alive, make sure you didn’t bleed to death so that you could go through the whole routine all over again the next day. She looked at you like that, too, like she was scared of you, even though you were the one that was powerless, even though you were the one on the brink of death.

Now you weren’t. You’re safe now, Boggs had told you. You didn’t say anything in that moment, but what you wanted to say was that he was wrong.

You’d never feel safe again.

When the nurse brought you to Peeta, Katniss was also there, but she didn’t notice you, staring through the glass of a white room. There was a blond boy in that room, strapped down to the bed.

But this boy wasn’t Peeta.

He wasn’t Peeta at all.

“Y/N?”

You turned away from the sight in front of you to the voice that called your name. The voice belonged to none other than Haymitch Abernathy, victor of the 50th Hunger Games and second Quarter Quell, but you knew him better as the man who drank his sorrows away until he couldn’t remember all that’d happened to him.

You nodded in greeting, but didn’t speak. He looked like he had more he wanted to say but held it in as he glanced back at the room, a young blonde girl entering it and carefully going to sit on the bed.

“She’s too close,” he remarked.

“It’s okay,” someone else responded. You turned and saw a greying man on the other side of Katniss, recognizing him immediately as opposed to when you first met him. Plutarch Heavensbee.

You glanced to Haymitch who was already looking at you. He glanced at the Gamemaker then nodded to you. Whatever he was trying to say didn’t fully translate, and you didn’t understand why this man who had caused so much pain was standing right next to Katniss like it was nothing, but for now, you still remained silent, choosing to let it be.

Throughout this interaction, Katniss had practically been none the wiser, eyes fixed on the inside of that room. When you redirected your attention to the scene, you realized why she was so focused. You still recognized the blonde girl from the reaping, even though it’d been over a year since they took place.

Primrose Everdeen.

Yet little Primrose never went into The Games. Her sister took her place. This was Katniss’ sister.

We live in district 13 now, she told him, her voice soft, soft enough to tell you that even though she was surrounded by war, her childhood was still there. It’s a real place. Stories are true. A pause. You were rescued.

Peeta didn’t look fazed by what she was saying, his attention on something else entirely. The look in his eyes was contained, but you saw it. Anger. My family hasn’t come to see me, he said, but he was talking to himself more than he was talking to Prim.

Family.

You saw your mother’s face in your mind, but you weren’t sure if that was still what she looked like. The last time you saw her was a year ago, her face stricken with grief, tears leaking from her eyes.

She hadn’t come to see you, either.

And you realized it was probably for the same reason Peeta’s family hadn’t come to see him. 

At that realization, anything else Peeta or Prim said fell upon deaf ears. You couldn’t hear a thing, your song playing in your head on a loop, dancing so fast that the world blurred and you couldn’t see a thing.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-

“Y/N.”

The call of your name cut through the music, making you turn your head to see Katniss staring at you. You glanced around; Haymitch and Plutarch were gone now, so was Prim. It was just Peeta on the other side of the glass, kicking and yelling, people in scrubs going to sedate him.

You actually looked at her now, noticing the purple marks around her neck that matched the bags underneath her eyes. She looked different now, different from the last time you saw her in person and different from when you saw her on TV.

The Girl on Fire looked like her spark had been extinguished. 

And, suddenly, she reminded you of yourself now more than ever.

You nodded to her and then turned to walk away, but her hand caught your wrist. Like a reflex, you yanked it away, spinning around to face her. She muttered a sorry under her breath, making you inhale.

“It’s fine,” you replied, your voice quiet. She couldn’t be blamed for how you could no longer handle touch, neither could Finnick. You felt guilt wash over you as you heard his voice cracking in your head, remembering how you didn’t say a word to him.

He’s fine, you told yourself. He has Annie. 

Your thoughts were diverted away from him and back to Katniss as she spoke. “Has anyone explained it all to you yet?” This was a question, even though her voice was monotone while she asked it.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, thinking back to Boggs. “Yeah- um, a little.”

She looked at you like you were a puzzle and she was rearranging the pieces in her head, using what little energy she had. “Did they tell you?”

You furrowed your brows. You were just as if not more tired than her, your mind all over the place, too all over the place to understand what she was asking you. “Tell me what?” You questioned.

She didn’t respond right away, still looking at you as if she was trying to figure you out. Her eyes told you this story; however, her expression was blank. You’d seen snippets of her videos, not in full, never in full, but even from a snippet, you were able to see that look.

The way a victor looked.

When you met Katniss, you thought to yourself that she hadn’t been under the spotlight long enough to have been burned.

But with the spotlight they had on her now, she’d gone up in flames.

After a beat, she ceased her mental debate and decided to speak her thoughts. “I think we should talk.”

And she may not have known it, but what she told you may have just changed the course of your life.

Katniss took you to her room, sat you down, and with her raspy voice, she explained your situation to you. I’m The Mockingjay, she said. And they wanted you, too, Y/N. They wanted the Princess of Panem and The Mockingjay to be the voices of this revolution.

You stared at her wordlessly as she went on, just listening. To her, you must have looked crazy, listening to everything she said without any reaction whatsoever, but you knew that Katniss had been dancing long enough now to read you, too. 

You were mind-blown. She was telling you that they wanted you to be a voice for the people, but wasn’t that so ironic? Your voice had been on mute for years. You were silent as you were used in the Capitol. You were silent as they made you go back and take everything from kids, kids just like you. Even when you thought you were about to die and had so many things to say to the boy that you loved, you didn’t say any of it.

How could you ever be a voice?

They chose the wrong person. Katniss was good. She was good at being The Mockingjay, good at saying the right things, and great at being a voice for Panem. But you? You weren’t cut out for this.

Why would she tell you this? This revolution had been well-planned and was proceeding fine without you. Why would she tell you this- why now?

You cut her off mid-sentence. “Katniss, what exactly are you trying to tell me?”

She paused as if she didn’t know the answer, either. Her red eyes glazed over and, for a few seconds, you both sat in silence. You thought she wouldn’t say anything until she looked back up at you. This time, her eyes were full of light, like she’d just realized she held the key to all she ever wanted, all you ever wanted.

And, in a way, she did.

“Hope,” she breathed. “I’m telling you that I have hope for a better world.”

A better world. 

Once, you had hopes, too. You hoped that your kids would make it through The Games. You hoped that you could be loved back by the person you loved. You hoped that you could one day mend your relationship with your mother. You hoped that you could be happy.

But each of these hopes were crushed until nothing remained but disappointment.

You didn’t have any hope left.

After Katniss’ declaration, you sat silently before eventually leaving without saying a word. 

She was so young. Sometimes, you forgot that. She wasn’t a child, but she was supposed to be. She was supposed to have a childhood, not the weight of a country resting on her shoulders.

But you’d carried the weight of the crown for years now.

You knew better.

You abandoned the idea of hope as soon as you dived off that pedestal in The Games, and then it abandoned you for good the second you woke up in the Capitol. 

There wasn’t any hope left, not for you.

You got back to your room, ignoring your nurse who opened her mouth to speak to you but ultimately didn’t say anything, letting the door close in her face. It wasn’t personal. There were too many different people on your mind to think about her, so many words you said and didn’t say floating around, things you did and what was done to you.

You didn’t want to be awake anymore, to think about these things. Sometimes, nightmares offered more relief than your real life ever could. 

But as you went to go lie down, you suddenly stopped, seeing something on your bed that hadn’t been there before. It was a sleek black box, one that wasn’t so common back where you were from but became an everyday custom after you won The Games. You picked up, clicking the side button and watching light shoot of it and project an image in front of you.

For a moment, you could’ve sworn your heart stopped.

Because that image that the box projected was of Finnick Odair.

It was a video shot here, in 13, similar to others you’d seen, but you’d never seen this. This was the first time you saw him on camera since before the Quell. And this was also the first time you’d looked into his eyes since you left that night.

Even if you weren’t really looking at him.

Finnick was always charming, the corners of his lips always quirked upward. He had mastered this façade- oh, Finnick knew how to dance, dance around all of the hard topics, dance around everything that was wrong with your lives to make you seem like the perfect happy couple, like victors.

But he didn’t look like that in the video.

He looked solemn. And maybe even a little scared.

No matter his appearance, you could’ve never expected the words that came out of his mouth, never from Finnick, never from one of you, from a victor. But he still said them.

Your mouth fell open. For the first time since you arrived in 13, you let tears fall down your cheeks, though you didn’t know if you could stop them, even if you tried. They burned on their way down, rubbing salt into the bruises you could see and the bruises you could never fix.

May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.

The box in your hands clattered to the ground, the video cutting out as you ran to the toilet, but Finnick’s voice still echoed in your ears. You threw up what very little you had eaten, head spinning.

Dancing, dancing, dancing.

This song didn’t sound right anymore. This dance didn’t feel right anymore. You were so tired of dancing- you just wanted to stop.

But Finnick hadn’t stopped at all.

Finnick was still dancing. Katniss was still dancing. Peeta, Johanna, every single person in Panem was now dancing with you. They knew now. They could hear the music, too. And who would save them?

You had wished for years and years that someone would pull you off the dance floor, that someone would make it stop. There were so many people that knew, so many people that just let you endure it- let you all endure it. How could you let any more people endure anything close to that?

You couldn’t stand on the sidelines and watch as everything burned to the ground. No, you wanted to help them set fire to the Capitol and burn Snow alive.

Hope. I’m telling you that I have hope for a better world.

You may not have had this hope. There was no better world out there for you.

But you’d be damned if you didn’t try to make one for every kid out there that cried and prayed their name didn’t get called at the reapings. 

You would not get to live in this better world.

But you would make it in memory of the younger you that could have.

You later found Katniss again, telling her that you’d do it. You left out the part about how you sobbed for hours at the recording you knew she left you because that wasn’t what was important right now. You were not important right now.

This was about something much bigger.

She took you to Coin, who cleared the room at the sight of you, a surprised expression on her face. “Ms. Y/L/N, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” She stood up, shaking your hand, glancing at Katniss periodically before looking back to you. “I’m sorry I couldn’t visit you sooner-”

“It’s alright,” you cut her off, trying your best to pull your lips into a smile. You had barely been in the room with her for a few seconds, but there was something about this woman that threw you off.

Katniss explained her story to you, how she was a widow, how her entire family died in a day. You sympathized with that, but Alma Coin did not remind you of a widow in the slightest.

She reminded you of the people you saw in the Capitol.

Clearly, she sensed the tension, giving you a smile and letting go of your hand, beckoning you both to sit. You sat down in the chair across from her, surveying the room, looking at the blueprints and papers sprawled everywhere. Your attention was drawn back to the woman when she spoke.

“So, how may I help you? I know adjusting to life here must be hard for you. But I will be here every step of the if you so need it.” You opened your mouth to speak, but she kept going, “You are an incredibly strong young woman. I cannot imagine what it must have been like to live through those Games, nor could I imagine what it must have been like within the walls of the Capitol.”

No, you couldn’t, you thought, but you didn’t say that. Instead, you gave her a stiff smile, hoping that all your practice faking it could make it look believable. It seemed that President Coin had some practice faking it, too.

However, you cut straight to the point. “Madam President, I want to help the rebels in any way that I can.”

Her mouth fell open slightly, as if that was the last thing she was expecting. She looked to Katniss again, like you were out of it. And maybe you were, but so was The Girl on Fire. So were all of you.

It wasn’t fair of her to treat you like glass because, the truth was, she was right. You went through The Games not once but twice, and then you were immediately thrown into the Capitol, facing horrors that you weren’t sure you could ever speak aloud, horrors that flashed before your eyes every time you blinked, even as you sat across from her.

But you were. You were sitting across from her. You were ready to do something.

You may have just been pulled from the Devil’s clutches, but you were ready to walk through Hell all over again if it meant you got to kill him.

Katniss didn’t waver. “So do I.”

Coin’s hesitance was easier than expected to spot. For someone who wanted to lead Panem, she surely wore her heart on her sleeve. Or maybe you had just gotten too good at this dance that you could spot anyone’s slightest misstep. 

Slowly, she cautioned, “You both are going through a lot right now-”

The brunette sharply cut her off, “That doesn’t matter.” Your eyes were trained on Coin, but if you stole a glance at Katniss, then you knew you would’ve seen the fire in her eyes. In a way, she hadn’t changed at all since the last time you saw her.

And you wished that was true.

“Send me to the Capitol- send us to the Capitol.” Underneath her demand was pleading. “I’ll do anything.”

Coin brought her hand to her mouth, an indent on her finger where her ring was supposed to be yet no ring in sight. “I can’t.” But she wanted to. “I can’t send you there. We can’t get into the Capitol until we control district 2.”

“Then send us to 2,” you spoke up, her eyes moving to yours. There was some emotion in her eyes, pity or fear, you couldn’t tell, but you didn’t want to know what you looked like to find out. “I can fire up your troops, call out to the loyalists. You’ve seen what The Mockingjay can do, and I don’t doubt that you know what I am capable of.” You paused. “Let us win this for you, Madam President.”

She was silent for a moment, continuing to stare at you as if she was waiting for you to break, to do something that showed her that you weren’t capable of this, but she wouldn’t get that opening. You wanted this more than anything, and you would stop at nothing to get it.

Finally, she blinked, and you knew you had her.

“It would be an honour.”

You didn’t tell Katniss, and you certainly didn’t tell Coin, but a part of you was relieved that you weren’t going back to the Capitol so soon. You just left, and yet it felt like it had both been a world ago and just yesterday.

You didn’t know if you could handle it so soon, going back there. You could barely even handle looking at Finnick.

It wasn’t his fault. It was never his fault. You could never blame him, never for this.

How could you blame him when picturing his face was what got you through it?

How could you blame him when the only reason you survived was to find out if he was still alive?

They told you he was dead. They played his screams on a loop until you couldn’t tell that they stopped. His screams now blended in with the music so well.

Oh, you loved him. You loved him so much more than you could ever express. And maybe that’s why you never told him, but now you knew it was for the best. Finnick was strong, and beautiful, and he had a long life ahead of him with the woman of his dreams. You weren’t gonna get in the way of that.

You knew that you’d never truly be happy without him.

But you also knew from experience that he’d never be happy with you.

These were the thoughts that filled your head on the hovercraft. Even as he was nowhere in sight, his face was still all you could see.

He was here, too. You knew he was. Katniss told you beforehand. She didn’t know the whole story between you two, but she still told you. She had no idea how grateful you were.

You were hiding from him. You accepted the fact that the two of you would never get a happy ending, but that didn’t mean that you were ready to see him, knowing that. If you looked into his ocean blue eyes, God knew that he’d only pull you in and drown you in them.

You couldn’t do that.

It wasn’t fair to him.

It wasn’t fair to Annie.

It wasn’t fair to you.

And it wasn’t fair to all the people that were depending on you.

Suddenly, your thoughts were cut off the sound of footsteps came your way. You looked up, letting go of a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you saw it was just Haymitch.

He nodded to you. “Princess.”

You held back a scoff as he sat down next to you on the floor. “Haymitch.”

You still remembered when you met him. He was one of the first people to actually speak to you after you won your Games. For some reason, the others were too “intimidated” by you, but Haymitch didn’t have much left to be scared of, not when he went into an arena with 47 people and was the only one who walked out.

What you couldn’t remember was the last time you had an actual conversation with him, or at least the last time you had a conversation and he was sober.

“How’d you find me?” you asked, but your eyes were still trained on the floor. He didn’t seem to mind.

“I hang around here sometimes, go through the boxes and see if there’s anything medicinal in ‘em,” he responded, making you chuckle.

If he was looking for something medicinal, then you weren’t such a great replacement.

“Well, sorry you couldn’t find what you were looking for.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shake his head. “No, I need to be brought back to reality, anyway. And you, uh, you do a good job at that.”

You snorted, sensing the compliment was backhanded, even if he didn’t see it that way. Or maybe he did, but Haymitch was never one to hold his thoughts in. “Why, because I’m so fucked up?”

“No.” A beat of silence passed. “Because you remind me of a human’s will to live better than those Games ever did.”

You finally looked up, seeing that he was already looking at you. The sincerity in his eyes was so strong that it burned into yours, making you look away before it burned just enough to spark tears. “I don’t think I’m the best example of that.”  

His reply came quick, like he didn’t even have to think about it, but he had no idea how much you would after he said it. “You’re still standing, aren’t you?”

Aren’t you?

You didn’t say anything after that, nor did you look at him, and he didn’t force you to. You spent the rest of the ride pondering over his words.

You thought of every painful thing you ever went through. The Hunger Games. Being sold. The Quarter Quell. The Capitol. Falling in love.

You went through all that, and you were still here. You were still standing.

Weren’t you?

Or were you just waiting for the right moment to fall?

Your thoughts were halted as you felt the hovercraft come to a stop, realizing just how long you’d been thinking. You both stood up, going to leave this room. Like most real conversation you’d had with victors, you thought you both would just pretend it never happened, but right before you were about to enter the main ops room, he stopped you, grabbing your wrist. This time, you stopped the flinch before it could happen, looking up at him.

Haymitch Abernathy was not a soft man. After being cut so many times, his edges were jagged and sharp, but looking at you in that moment, he looked more than just soft. He looked sorry.

He hesitated, like he wasn’t sure to say what he wanted to say or not, something unusual for him. He seemed to have made up his mind, telling you, “Stay standing, Y/N. There are still people out there that can’t do that by themselves.” Then he paused, eyes glazing over.

“Show them that they can.”

Getting off the hovercraft, damage surrounded you. The once pristine nature of district 2 was gone, replaced by devastation, rubble everywhere. If this was district 2, then you couldn’t imagine that any of the other districts were any better, that your district was any better.

Your mind was drawn back to your mother before you shook it away. You couldn’t be thinking of that right now.

A man in black attire carrying an assault rifle greeted you. Not a Peacekeeper. But a chill still went down your spine.

You couldn’t really tell if it was because of the soldier or if it was because you felt Finnick staring at you.

He wasn’t far behind you, in the row behind you and Katniss with Boggs and Gale. You tried to ignore it, but that proved to be harder said than done.

Katniss carried her bow in her hand while a sword was strapped to your belt, lightly hitting your leg as you walked, but you got used to this feeling during your first Games. In a way, it was almost comforting, even though it never should’ve been, even though weapons should’ve never been comforting to a child so young.

But you weren’t a child anymore.

In your hand, you carried a crossbow, Beetee’s special arrows on your back. The sword was really only there for show. This wasn’t The Hunger Games; no, this was a very different and special game entirely.

This was war.

You wouldn’t be getting up close for combat very often, so a crossbow made more sense, but after The Games, weapons started to hold sentimental value, both for the victors and the viewers that watched them. For Katniss, it was her bow; for Finnick, it was his trident; and for you, it was your sword.

Suddenly, as you were making your way to the Justice Building, a bomb went off, shaking the ground and making you spin, your grip on your bow tightening. Your heart was beating rapidly, but Corporal Homes wasn’t fazed, even letting out a little laugh. “Don’t worry. It’s just how the loyalists say good morning.”

You let out a shaky breath, holding the bow tighter to try and stop your hands from trembling. You shut your eyes, trying to calm down, but all that did was bring you right back to the Capitol. Your eyes quickly reopened, but when they did, they met those ocean blues that you’d been trying to avoid.

Your body went rigid. It begged you to look away, but you couldn’t. You were pulled to him like a magnet, a magnet that scraped against you, a magnet that nearly stopped your heart with how strong it was, but no matter how much it hurt you, fighting against it was useless.

Concern swam through his eyes, along with another familiar emotion you couldn’t pinpoint. It had been so long since you last saw him, since you last really saw him. Maybe that was why you couldn’t decipher it.

But, really, it felt like no time had passed at all.

“Are you okay?” God, and his voice. How was it possible that his voice could both fill and create a hole in your heart at the same time? It was both quiet and loud, both sure and uncertain, and caring in every sense of the word.

So warm but made you feel so cold at the same time.

You just looked at him for a few seconds, as if you were hypnotized, until you realized you needed to respond. You nodded, afraid that your voice would crack if you tried to speak.

He looked like he wanted to say something more, but a hand came to your shoulder, yanking you out of trance. You turned to see Katniss, glancing between you both for a second before her eyes rested on you. She nodded towards the building and the rest of the crew who had walked ahead of you. You nodded back, walking away from Finnick without another word.

How did we get here? you wondered. 

We’re gonna be fine. Look, whenever you get nervous up there, you just hold my hand, alright? You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.

He was right there. He was still right there.

But the difference between then and now was that you could no longer just hold his hand.

He was right there.

But you were still alone.

Once you had put some distance between yourselves and Finnick, Katniss whispered, “I’m sorry.” You turned your head, but her eyes were directed in front of her. “That looked personal.”

“No, it’s fine,” you assured her, and then you left it at that. Because, truth be told, you were grateful for Katniss interrupting you. You weren’t sure you would’ve ever walked away if she hadn’t. But you did. And now you had bigger problems to worry about than your love life, if you could even call it that.

You finally made it into the Justice Building, being greeted by both Commander Lyme and Paylor. While they lived in higher ranks, they were still soldiers. You appreciated how they cut right to the chase.

You and your squad from 13 stood around a table projecting a hologram of district 2’s mountains with at least a dozen other soldiers, more littered throughout the room with Coin on a TV in front of you. 

Lyme started, “President Coin, we’re indebted to you for the reinforcements, the Princess, and the Mockingjay.” She glanced at you. “But I’m not sure that anyone outside of 2 knows what we’ve been up against.” She pointed at the hologram. “This is The Nut. The Capitol’s headquarters for all offensive operations. It’s manned by both military and civilian personnel from district 2.” She then continued to explain what all more or less knew, that it lied so deep beneath bedrock that it was untouchable.

“Yesterday, we attempted to take the northeastern gate. The enemy countered from higher up and we were forced to pull back.” She momentarily looked down, her mask of a stone cold commander falling and showing the human behind it. “We took heavy losses.”

Another commander spoke up. “Could we create a decoy? Send troops towards one gate, launch a staggered attack on another.”

Paylor didn’t miss a beat. “Whose troops do you propose as a decoy, Commander?”

Although the question was not directed towards her, Coin still responded, “We have the Mockingjay and we have the Princess of Panem. Do not underestimate their influence. We could use them to erode support, sway some of the loyalists.”

“You’ve been underground a long time, Madam Coin,” Lyme said. “This isn’t like the rest of Panem. Support for the Capitol runs deep here.” And why wouldn’t it? When the oppressor had done just about everything but oppress you, then how could you see the oppression happening everywhere else?

Coin quickly retorted, “Then there is no sacrifice too great.” Her voice was like that of a widow: soft enough that you could tell what she’d been through but firm enough for the exact same reason. 

No sacrifice too great… but wasn’t there? 

“We need to control the arsenal inside that fortress. Even with every district in this alliance, we are outgunned.” All twelve other districts could band together, but without 2, none of you stood a chance.

No sacrifice too great.

“I won’t commit my people to a ground assault just to pillage weapons.”

“Commander Paylor, your people have suffered more than just about anyone else at the hands of the Capitol.”

“Which is why I won’t condone a mass suicide.”

“If we don’t take district 2, we won’t get into the Capitol.”

For the first time since your entrance, you spoke up. “What if we don’t have to take it?” You felt everyone’s eyes on you but yours remained focused on the hologram in front of you, unblinking as if you weren’t there at all. 

And maybe you weren’t.

Lyme responded, “What are you proposing, Ms. Y/L/N?”

What were you proposing? You couldn’t be sure. But you knew what you needed, and that was this war ending in Snow’s final breath.

No sacrifice too great.

“What if we don’t need The Nut to win?” You looked up. “What if we could take it away from them instead?”

Gale seemed to be the only one who caught onto what you were saying, or at least the only one willing to speak it aloud. “We could disable it, trap them inside or flush ‘em out.” He continued, gesturing the hologram. “If we can’t attack straight on, then couldn’t we use our hovercraft to strike around it? We’ll use the mountains; we’ll hit weak spots in the peaks.”

“We could design the bomb targets in sequence using seismic data.”

“Trigger avalanches,” you muttered just above a whisper, imagining it in your head. Something like this happened in The Games once, one of the years you were mentoring. It was catastrophic, akin to a bloodbath. It was a miracle there was even anyone left alive to fight for a victor’s title.

You wondered if Finnick thought of this, too, but you didn’t dare look over at him, looking back to hologram and trying to block the images of blood and terror from your mind.

But as you stood there and spoke about war, you didn’t know if that was possible.

Not when the war in your mind had still yet to be won.

“Block all exits, cut off their supplies. You make it impossible for them to launch their hovercraft.”

Paylor had a look of realization on her face. “Bury them alive.”

“We’d forfeit any chance to control the weapons-”

Beetee cut Coin off, “Yes, but we’d face a weakened Capitol.”

“There’s civilians in there,” Boggs interjected, stoic but any hearing person could hear the compassion in his voice. Civilians. Is that what they were?

You were a civilian too, once. Then you were a tribute, a pawn, a victor, the Princess. Did civilians still exist? What kind of civilians could support the Capitol? What kind of human beings could support the torture you were subjected to, the torture people in the districts were subjected to on a daily basis?

You wondered if your mother was given the courtesy of a civilian before the Capitol took her life.

You weren’t.

“They should be given a chance to surrender. Could use one of the supply tunnels for the evacuees.”

“It’s a luxury we weren’t given when they firebombed 12,” Gale said, as if he were reminding you, as if any of you needed a reminder.

“There’s gotta be a better way.” You were already so focused, but if you were losing attention in any way, Katniss brought it back, the disbelief in her voice audible to everyone in the room. She glanced in between Gale and you, but she didn’t get whatever response she expected of you.

Katniss may have had hope for the good of humanity, but you didn’t have that. The Capitol took that away from you without a second thought. She may have been driven by hope, but you were driven by anger.

There was no sacrifice too great.

“I suggest we try the avalanche, but leave the train tunnel alone,” Coin decided. “Civilians can escape into the square, where our armies will be waiting for their surrender.”

“We should have every available medic standing by.”

“And if they won’t surrender?” Lyme challenged.

Coin’s lips almost formed a smile. “Then we will need a compelling voice to persuade them.” And a voice was something she had.

The Mockingjay and the Princess, two sides of the same coin. Heads or tails, luck was on the President’s side either way.

You tuned out after that, letting everyone else talk logistics. Throughout the entire conversation, you didn’t hear Finnick say a word. He was perhaps the most talkative person you had ever met, and yet now, he had nothing to say.

He only looked at you the whole time, like an artifact.

And even as you walked away, you still felt the cold burn of his stare.

You watched from a broken window of the Justice Building as the hovercrafts started, rubble blowing in the wind. The sight was magnetic, pulling you in to look at it. It was almost beautiful.

This world could’ve been beautiful.

You wished that this dance could have been more beautiful before it made your feet bleed.

You watched as the hovercrafts danced in the sky before dropping bombs on the mountains, dancing to the sound of explosions and then to the sound of cheers around you.

Dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing, dancing-

“This isn’t right.” A voice brought you out of your trance. You turned to see Katniss, her eyes on the scene outside the window, as mesmerized as you were. But mesmerized wasn’t the right word. She was stricken by horror.

Oh, if she saw what happened to you that could make you ever justify this. If she saw what happened to Peeta to make him hysteric. If she saw what happened to Johanna to make her numb. If she saw, then would she still be so transfixed then?

If she saw, would she still be standing?

If she saw, would she understand why you still were?

You stared at her for a moment, contemplating if you would say any of this before deciding against it, turning back and monotonously replying, “It’s fire catching, Everdeen.”

She scoffed, “And we’re lighting the match.”

Sharply, you countered, “Don’t forget that the Capitol poured gasoline everywhere first.” You turned back to see her already looking at you. A sigh left your lips. “They did this, Katniss.”

“And so anyone that had anything to do with it deserves to burn for it?”

No.

Yes.

“Did we deserve to burn, Girl on Fire?” You caught her off guard, anger slipping through the cracks of your voice, resolution filling your eyes. “Did we deserve to burn in those reapings, in those parades, in those damn Games as they all made a spectacle of it? All those kids and their families, did they deserve to burn just because the Capitol saw fit?” She was silent, tears coming to her eyes that she refused to let fall, so different from that girl you were with in the arena yet the exact same. Your eyes burned, too. “The way I see it, we’re fighting fire with fire.” You scoffed. “At least we’re giving them a way out.”

You didn’t stick around to hear Katniss’ response, walking away to find whoever would tell you what do next. You could’ve stood by that window for the rest of the night, watching as the terror unfolded, but you had more important things to do than watch the fire.

You had to go light a match.

You examined yourself in the mirror blankly. You were donning a black costume, and a costume it was. Because what was a costume if not an impersonation of something you were not?

But someone thought that this was what you were. Someone thought that you could be a leader. Cinna did—or at least that’s what Effie Trinket told you. You didn’t know why she seemed to be in charge of “design” or why she showed such an interest in you, but you supposed it wasn’t so unusual for an artifact.

Your makeup artists did their jobs fabulously, painting your face until you were almost unrecognizable, until you looked like that girl from before The Games, that girl that the people of Panem knew and loved. With this makeup, you couldn’t see the circles under your eyes, the discolouration of your face. They made you look alive again.

On the outside, at least.

On the inside, you weren’t sure if there was any makeup that could repair the damage that’d been done.

Your hair had been braided into an updo, like a crown. They tried to give you back your necklace, the one Finnick gave to you before The Games, but you never wanted to see that necklace again, never wanted to see a rose ever again.

You would hate the smell of roses for the rest of your life.

“It’s time.” You looked away from your reflection to see Haymitch standing at the door. You nodded to him, glancing back at the mirror one last time before exiting the room. Katniss fell into step with you both as you made your way toward the train tunnel, but remained silent. You didn’t speak, either.

Soon, you were joined by the rest of your Star Squad, but you avoided any and all eye contact with Finnick. It’d be a shame to cry and ruin all that beautiful makeup on your face.

It’d be a shame to feel something right now when you felt so numb.

But you’d quickly be feeling a lot.

“Don’t worry, Katniss. There’ll be survivors,” Boggs tried to reassure. She glanced at him, but didn’t respond.

Haymitch was more concentrated on what you came here to do. “Let’s focus on what it is you gotta say.” He looked in between both of you. “Now, Plutarch wrote a speech that either of you can read-”

“No,” you both simultaneously said, briefly glancing at each other.

Haymitch sighed, throwing the cards to the side. “Okay, didn’t think so. Let’s, uh…” he stopped you both, standing in front of you. “But just remember you’re talking to everybody. Not just the rebels, but the Capitol, the survivors in 2. We want them to lay down their arms. So you- both of you might wanna experiment with a little sensitivity, warmth.”

They have the upper-hand, that’s what he was really saying. But you understood how this worked. You’ve danced this dance a million times already.

“Don’t worry, Haymitch. I know how to fake it.” He looked over at you as if he wanted to say something, but Boggs spoke before he could.

“Make it quick, you’re exposed.”

Katniss walked toward the tunnel first, turning once she was far enough to face the rest of you. They decided that she would go first. She had been at this for a while now, much longer than you.

You’re lucky, you know.

How so?

You just are.

Maybe the Katniss Everdeen that you met in the training centre was lucky, but this one, the one who shot an arrow at the force field in the Quarter Quell, the one who became a symbol before she could even blink… you weren’t so sure that this one was so lucky. Not anymore. Not in this world.

Luck didn’t exist in this new world.

“This is Katniss Everdeen, speaking to all of the loyalists from the heart of district 2-”

“Survivors! Inbound!”

The sound of the train’s horn became audible to you, its wheels screeching against the train tracks. Boggs went running for Katniss while a hand grabbed your shoulder. This time, you couldn’t hold back the flinch.

“We need to go, Y/N.” And then your body went rigid. 

That was your name.

That was your name coming from Finnick Odair.

You didn’t even notice when he moved so close to you.

You swallowed, nodding, but it was like your feet were cemented to ground. You couldn’t move. If you moved, if you turned around, then you’d be looking right into his eyes.

Oh, there was time when the only thing you wanted to do was stare into his eyes all day. And maybe the problem was that you still wanted to.

You closed your eyes, inhaling a shaky breath, and when you opened them, the survivors were jumping off the train, being forced down to the ground, guns pointed at them, loud noise everywhere. Suddenly, you couldn’t take your eyes off of what was happening, even as every bone in your body begged you to, even as your head spun.

Finnick’s hand was still on your shoulder, but neither of you moved. None of you did. 

Another man jumped off, looking disoriented, but what drew your attention to him wasn’t his appearance but the gun in his hand. The grip on your shoulder got tighter. 

“Drop it! Drop your weapon! You! Drop it,” Boggs shouted, aiming his machine gun at him as he moved in your direction. “Drop the gun! Drop it-”

Suddenly, a gun went off, and everyone was screaming. You ducked down, eyes frantically darting everywhere before they settled on Katniss, running towards him, yelling. Your eyes widened, a wave of déjà vu passing over you as you remembered this exact scenario in the Quell, Katniss running towards danger and you running after her.

And just like that, even though you were paralyzed by fear, you quickly shot up, running after her without a thought. “Katniss!”

“Y/N!”

“Stop! He needs help!” She screamed as you were about to reach her. The next moment happened too fast for you to grasp it, the man jabbing his gun at her chin and cocking it. You skidded to a stop where you were, your breath catching in your throat.

Boggs was shouting, but your ears rang. It was almost as if you could feel that barrel on your own skin, and maybe it was because you had.

Snow’s voice rang through your head, Tell me about the rebel plan, Y/N.

You’re gonna have to kill me first.

Oh, sweet girl. He had knelt down next to you. I will make you wish that you died in that arena.

The man’s voice shook you out of your daze. “Give me one reason I shouldn’t shoot you.”

“Drop the gun!”

Katniss was silent, staring right into his eyes, but you saw what was behind the brave façade she was putting on. She didn’t have a reason.

“She can’t.” His eyes went to you, widening as if he hadn’t realized you were there. You stepped forward, feeling everyone’s eyes on you. Inside, you were shaking, but on the outside, you were calm and collected. On the inside, you were just a tribute in this game, but on the outside, you were the victor that everyone had crowned you.

“We blew up your mine. But you burned her district to the ground- my district to the ground.” You stepped closer, your resolve hardening. “So I guess we both have every reason to want to kill each other, but, really, does that make sense?” You asked, not looking away from his eyes once.  “You know who I am. You know who she is, and I can bet that you know a few of the people standing behind me. So many people that the Capitol has rooted for, that you have rooted for- why would we be doing this? After the riches, and the glitz, and the glamour, why would we fight back against a system that has supposedly given us everything?”

Because they took everything from you first.

You took another step closer, putting your hands up when he jabbed the gun in Katniss’ neck. “Look around you.” He quickly glanced around before his eyes fell back on you. “Are these the people you want to kill? The same people that you cheered for?” Slowly, your hands fell. “Why are you fighting us? Why are you fighting the rebels? You’re neighbours. You’re family.”

He looked up at you for a few seconds, but those seconds felt like hours. In his eyes, you could see evil, chaos. But you also a sliver of humanity, and you prayed to God that you reached past the chaos to the humanity. You prayed to whoever would listen that he heard you. And, maybe, for the first time, the universe was on your side, because his gun slowly lowered to the ground.

You exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. Katniss was stuck in a trance until you pulled her up, but you weren’t so focused on her. Your eyes panned over the people, your people and the loyalists alike, but they were all just people, you realized.

They were all just people.

“There is no our side or your side,” you yelled, backing away from the man and facing everyone. “There is only freedom and captivity. These people are not your enemy.” You turned, facing the rest of the crowd. “We all have one enemy. And that’s Snow.” Tears gathered in your eyes. “He does not care who you are or how loyal you are, how important you are—to him, we are all just pieces in a game.”

You pointed to your people behind you. “Katniss Everdeen, Haymitch Abernathy, Finnick Odair, Peeta Mellark, Annie Cresta, Johanna, Beetee, Enobaria- we are all that is left from three generations of victors. The rest of them are dead.” The faces of those that you killed flashed through your mind. “Slaughtered in the Quarter Quell or killed in the aftermath, it’s all the same. They were murdered by the Capitol—and it didn’t matter how important, or loyal, or loved they were- their lives were ended like they didn’t mean a thing.”

“And they would do the same to any of you if it benefit them.” You shook your head, raising your voice. “Stop killing for him.” You paused, breathing heavily. Your fight was not with people in the districts. Your fight was with one person and one person only. It was time that everyone else saw that. “Tonight, turn your weapons to the Capitol. Turn your weapons to Snow.”

Before you could say another word, gunfire erupted and you were falling to the ground.

And then your vision went black.

“Please, I don’t know anything,” you sobbed, fighting against your restraints, but it was no use.

Snow tutted, coming out from the shadows in which he hid. “Oh, Y/N, I wish I could believe that.”

Your body shook. “Please, I’m telling the truth, I don’t know anything about a revolution.”

“And yet all of your comrades did?”

You rapidly shook your head back and forth, worsening the pounding in your mind. They kept telling you about an uprising, but you didn’t know what they were talking about. They said you knew, but you didn’t know. They said that Katniss knew, that Peeta knew, that Johanna knew, that Finnick knew, but they couldn’t have.

You didn’t know.

You didn’t know where they were.

You prayed that Finnick was safe, but if he wasn’t, then you prayed that he was dead. You’d rather him be dead than ever face what you were facing now.

“They didn’t. I didn’t- I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Snow looked at you silently for a few moments, and you had no idea what he was thinking. Then brought his hand up. You flinched, but his hand only went to your hair, petting it. The look in his eyes was almost something like pity, you realized, but it wasn’t real. You didn’t know how long you’d been there, wherever you were, but in the time you there, you learned that President Snow was incapable of sympathy.

You even thought that he enjoyed this.

“Oh, my dear princess… I would’ve hoped that you would’ve learned to be honest with me by now,” he sighed, and then he took his hand away and looked away from you altogether, looking to the Peacekeeper that’d moved to the wall. “Again. And let’s be a little more… effective this time.” He moved to walk away, and you shook your head.

“No, no- please don’t- please, please- no- no!”

You shot up, panting, your hands digging into blankets. Your eyes darted around the room and you realized you were back in your bed in the medical centre. A hand was placed over yours and you immediately shuffled away, your eyes going to the person and meeting blue, concerned orbs.

Finnick held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just me.” Your chest still rapidly fell up and down, but for some reason his presence calmed you down and put you into a panic all at the same time.

Only Finnick could do that to you.

You closed your eyes, blinking the remnants of your nightmare away, even if that nightmare wasn’t a nightmare but rather just the life you so happened to live. You’re here, Y/N. You’re alive.

But why?

“How am I alive?” you croaked, looking down at the dull bed sheets instead of into his eyes. It was funny: you looked down to avoid the blue of his eyes, but the colour of these sheets was so similar. 

What’s your favourite colour?

It’s blue, not really dark or light either. Sort of green- it’s close to grey, too.

Now that colour just made you want to cry.

Finnick didn’t say anything for a moment, as if he was shocked that you were even speaking to him. And you were, too. You hadn’t spoken to him in weeks, and if you went back to the last time you spoke, back in the arena, you would’ve never thought that this was how it would turn out. Even if you went back to just your first days in the Capitol, you still could’ve never imagined a reality where you didn’t speak to Finnick.

But you could’ve never imagined any of this happening in the first place.

If you went back to the night you met him, you could’ve never imagined how deeply you’d fall for this boy.

And you never could’ve imagined how much it’d hurt when you hit the ground.

Finnick’s voice was low when he finally spoke. “You were shot back in 2. But the bullets were stopped by your costume. Cinna made sure that it was bulletproof.”

Cinna.

The way people spoke about him, in the past tense, the way you hadn’t seen him anywhere. You’d figured that he was dead.

You wondered how many more people would die for this revolution before you could all be free.

“The doctor says you sustained minor injuries, bruised rib, bruised lung. But nothing worse than the injuries you came back from the Capitol with.” At that, you turned your head to face him, meeting his eyes immediately. His eyes were soft but almost hard. He was almost looking at you the same way he did after you volunteered for Annie. In his eyes, you saw care, confusion, sadness, some anger, and emotions you couldn’t name, but most of all, you could see the pure exhaustion weighing him down.

He stared at you for a few seconds, or maybe a few minutes, maybe longer than that—time didn’t seem to exist. “Why would you do that, Y/N?” He whispered. And in that moment, you knew you weren’t talking to the Prince of Panem, the victor of The 65th Hunger Games, or the soldier who wanted to build a better world.

You were just talking to Finnick.

And that scared you.

Your breath hitched.

Why would you do that?

Finn-

Why would you volunteer?

Because you had to.You volunteered for Annie because you had to, the same way you did what you just did because you had to. To you, there was no choice, only one path to follow.

“I did what I was meant to do, Finnick.” Even as you willed it not to, your body betrayed you, your voice cracking on his name, but this time, you kept eye contact. And even though you were talking to Finnick, the Finnick that held you at night and soothed you when you cried, your Finnick, he was not talking to Y/N, not the Y/N that he held and soothed.

That Y/N could not talk to Finnick, not this Finnick.

If she did, you didn’t know if you’d ever get her back again.

He was shaking his head before you even finished speaking. “No, you could’ve died.” I’m already dead.

“But I didn’t.” But I did.

“But you almost did!” You flinched as his hands went up in the air, and then he froze, freezing you with him. You flinched. You flinched like he was gonna hit you, and he saw that. You cursed yourself immediately, wishing you could take it back as the look that encompassed his eyes became hurt.

There were few times when Finnick ever looked at you like that, and you could remember each as if they just happened. You never wanted to see that look on his face again, to be the reason for that look.

Time stopped again. You didn’t know what to say. You wanted to apologize, but you couldn’t find the words. And before you could, time picked back up. Finnick’s hands fell down to the bed, and he looked away from you, lowering his voice. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Y/N.”

Tears welled in your eyes. He didn’t know what he was saying. “You could have the world at your fingertips, Finnick.”

“There is no world for me if you’re not in it.” He looked back at you. And you couldn’t tell if your imagination was playing tricks on you, but you could’ve sworn there were tears in his eyes, too. “You’re my world, Y/N.” And just like that, any hope you had of remaining invulnerable shattered and the dam you were trying to hold in your eyes broke, tears falling down your face.

You shook your head, silent sobs wracking your body. Did he have any idea the effect he had on you? Did he have any idea what he was doing to you? “Why are you saying these things?”

Something akin to a scoff left his lips. “Because it’s true-”

“No- no, they’re not-”

Finnick latched onto your hand, making you look right at him. This time, you saw tears trailing down his cheeks, and they seemed so real. “Y/N, I swear to you on everything I believe in that I’m telling you the truth.”

You wished it was the truth. You wished that this was real. You had been wishing that your pretending could become real for ages now.

But you’d danced this dance long enough to know that wasn’t gonna happen.

Even if Finnick had convinced himself that it would.

“It’s impossible.”

“I l-”

“Ms Y/L/N?” You both turned the source of the new voice, finding your doctor at your door. She glanced between you both carefully as you ripped your hands away from Finnick’s, wiping at the tears that’d fallen and the ones that continued to fall. “May I speak with you, please?” She requested, glancing at him.

He quickly stood up, but this time, you weren’t looking. “Yeah, I’ll, uh- I’ll head out.” He paused for a second, like he was waiting for you to say something, but you weren’t sure that you could continue to speak to him right now, even if you wanted to. When you remained silent, you heard his shoes pitter-patter against the ground as he made his way out of the room.

When he was gone, you exhaled and Dr. Terren looked back at you. She hesitated, “Did I… interrupt something?”

“No,” you breathed out. “Nothing important.”

She nodded after a beat, getting right into her medical talk, but she didn’t look so convinced.

And you weren’t sure that you were, either.

You were hit bad, the doctor said, but it could’ve been worse. And she was right. It could’ve been worse.

You didn’t feel a thing. Lung, ribs—all you felt was heartache. Maybe it was good that you couldn’t feel the pain. But you couldn’t be sure.

She kept pushing the same idea: therapy. That’s where Johanna was. That’s where Peeta was. But that wasn’t gonna be where you were. Terren kept talking about trauma, about how this near-death experience called for you to talk to someone, but really, what good would that do?

Would that therapist understand? Did they go through what you went through? Did they understand what you were going through? You didn’t have time to stop and talk about your feelings, if you could even sort them out into words, nor did you want to reminisce over anything that happened while you were in the Capitol.

Even if reminiscing was all you could do. 

When Terren left, you ripped the IV out of your arm, leaving your hospital room to go to the other room they gave you. At least that one wasn’t filled with your favourite colour.

Your room in 13 was grey, like most things here. It was drab, but you wouldn’t complain. Anything was better than the Capitol. The door to your room slid open, and then you stopped. On your floor was the same black box Katniss left you, the same one you watched Finnick from.

Poison.

You swallowed, deciding to ignore the box altogether and go to your ensuite. You never wanted to see that video again. Watching it from that box was the first time you ever saw it, and it would be the last.

They must have gone through extra effort to hide it from you in the Capitol. They made you believe he was dead. You believed this was such conviction that, when you saw him again after the rescue, you thought you were dreaming.

You even thought you’d died.

You even wished you did.

As you looked at yourself in the mirror, dead is what you looked like. That bullet may not have killed you, but you still looked like a corpse. You’re very lucky to be alive, Y/N, Dr. Terren told you. 

Luck.

If luck was what kept you alive, then it wasn’t good luck at all. Luck would’ve been that bullet puncturing like it was intended to.

Your hand went to your ribs, looking at the bandages wrapped around them in the mirror. Then your hand travelled to your hair. Long and silky, so sought after in Panem. But as you ran your hands through it, you didn’t feel its softness. All you felt was Snow’s hand, petting you as you begged him not to kill you.

And then that turned into you begging for the exact opposite.

You don’t know how long you were looking at your reflection before you were opening and closing the sink drawers, your hands moving with a mind of their own. Part of you didn’t know what you were doing, but another part of you must have as you suddenly stopped, having found what you were looking for.

Scissors.

You picked them up, staring at them as if they were treasures, watching the light glare off the blades. You didn’t know what you were doing.

All you knew was that this feeling was tearing you apart.

And that’s all you could focus on.

Suddenly, your hand holding the scissors was moving. You still didn’t know what you were doing, but before you could find out, your name sounded.

“Y/N?”

You looked up, seeing Katniss stand in the doorway, confusion on her face that slowly contorted to fear. She glanced down at your hands, making you do the same. Quickly, you moved the scissors away from your wrist, unknowing of how they even got there.

You looked back at Katniss, your mouth opening and closing. You didn’t know what to say. Finally, you stammered, “I- I-” she looked back up at you and you realized that she, too, didn’t know what to say. “My hair. It’s- I want to cut my hair.”

That’s not what you were doing.

Katniss seemed to know that, not looking convinced in the slightest. She was quiet for a few moments, eyes on the scissors before she was walking towards you. Gently, she pried them out of your hand, as if you were a child holding a gun.

Then her eyes met yours. The eyes that were once hard as stone now looked at you with softness. “I’ll help you,” she whispered. She nodded to herself, repeating, “I’ll help you.”

You were grateful for her going with your story, even if it was just because she didn’t know what to say to what she really saw. She moved behind you, exhaling and getting ready right away.

And she may not have known this, but in just her walking in, she had already helped you more than you could’ve ever helped yourself.

Muffled chatter came to your ears as you sat in one of the common areas. Most people ate in the cafeteria, but you couldn’t bring yourself to go in there. Finnick was in there, along with Katniss, and you couldn’t really talk to either of them right now.

With Finnick, you didn’t know where you stood. He said so much to you in your hospital room, after you were shot, but you didn’t know what to make of any of it. He was talking to you like you were more than just fake lovers—and truth be told, that’s what you were. You may have forgotten that for a while or pretended for too long, but it was fake. The dance changed every so often, but at its core, it was the same.

Finnick was acting like this was a dance you engaged in voluntarily, like this was a dance he enjoyed dancing. While you had no one you’d rather dance with, you knew it wasn’t the same for him. You saw the way he looked at Annie; you saw it for the entirety of your “relationship.” He looked at her with such tenderness and care, like she put the stars in the sky. The second you saw her, the second you saw the way he looked at her, you knew that you didn’t stand a chance.

But for some reason, in that hospital room, you almost felt like he looked at you that way.

And that didn’t make sense.

That didn’t make sense at all.

Another part of you didn’t want him to see you like this, not again. Katniss did, and you weren’t ready to see her so soon, either. It was a weak moment, you told yourself, but you were fine now. You were here for a reason—you were still here for a reason.

Show them that they can.

You didn’t have hope, but you were still the hope of so many people, the hope of Panem. You weren’t gonna let them down. You were not going to stand by and let Snow’s reign of terror continue. 

You made a pact with yourself. As Katniss was cutting your hair, you promised yourself that you would see this through. Afterward, it didn’t matter what happened, but you would fight until this country was free. 

Even if you died for it in the process.

“Looking good, Princess.”

Your head shot up from your tray and, for the first time since you arrived in 13, you felt a smile arise on your face. “Johanna.” Your tray was pushed to the side as you stood, wrapping your arms around her.

“Easy. I hear you’re injured.”

“I’m fine, Jo,” you reassured her, pulling away. She mirrored your smile, a sight you never thought you’d see again after what you heard in the Capitol.

“You always are, aren’t you?” She retorted. You only continued to smile, opting not to respond. She must’ve seen your discomfort—of course she did, she knew you so well—so she changed the subject. “It’s good to see you.”

“Ditto,” you responded, even if it was a little untrue. You loved Johanna. She was the first person you looked for when you got to 13, and seeing her right now made you so unbelievably happy, a happy you didn’t anticipate feeling for a long time, but it wasn’t good to see her like this.

She had always put on a brave face, was always so much stronger than you, but right now, she looked like she was barely holding on. Her eyes were hollow, bags underneath them that matched yours. Her face was pale. And the beautiful red streaks that had once filled her hair, the hair that she loved, was now gone. It was all gone.

The Capitol took it just to show her that they could.

And even though you cut yours out of your own will, they still took yours, too.

Eventually, she sat down with you, resting her head on your shoulder. Before, when things were bad before they got worse, you’d sit together in the Capitol, you, her and Finnick, and you’d pass time together, just like this.

Except Finnick wasn’t here.

However, you convinced yourself that it was for the best.

Annie. He had Annie. You volunteered for Annie, got yourself in this position for Annie, so that he could have a life with her, the life he always wanted. He may have denied it, or maybe he didn’t know that you knew, but some nights, he’d dream about her, talking in his sleep. He wanted to marry her, to have kids with her.

He could do that now. This is what you did this for, so that he could have his happy ending. Even if it meant taking away yours for good.

Like she was reading your thoughts, Johanna muttered, “How come you aren’t in the cafeteria with prince charming?”

You stiffened, but you still knew how to dance this dance, deflecting, “Why aren’t you?”

She lightly chuckled. “Good point.” She didn’t answer, even though you knew the reason why, just as she probably knew the answer to her question. You expected her to drop it, but you supposed you should’ve known better from Johanna Mason. She was silent for a few moments until she spoke again. “He loves you, you know.”

You sighed, “Jo-”

“That boy loves you with all he has, Y/N.” She lifted her head up from your shoulder, making you look at her. “Always has, still does.”

Oh, Finnick and you were incredible. You made the masses believe that the love you shared was real- he made them believe it. You didn’t have to do any work. It wasn’t acting for you, but you knew it was for him.

Not even Johanna knew that it wasn’t real. She might’ve suspected, but for all she knew, you two were really in love. You wished that was true. For years, you wished that was true.

But your wishes rarely ever came true.

“It’s not that simple,” you said.

She slightly tilted her head. “Isn’t it?” Her words echoed throughout your head. Isn’t it? It should’ve been. In a different world, maybe it was that simple. In a different world, maybe the two of you really were as in love as everyone thought you were. In a different world, maybe all those wishes and all that pretending could’ve been a reality.

But that was not this world.

So you didn’t say anything, instead resting your head on her shoulder this time,  conveying your thoughts to her without speaking them.

I wish it was.

You lied on your bed in silence, staring up at the plain ceiling and imagining patterns of your own. Back at home, the ceilings had colourful swirls on them, muted tones swooshing together. But that wasn’t really your home. The home you came from didn’t have pretty designs or fancy furniture. The home you came from had paint peeling off the walls. The home you came from didn’t have furniture at all.

But that wasn’t really your home, either.

At some point, you think, that place was something like a home. When your dad was still alive, you’d wake up every morning to the scent of food cooking in the kitchen, even if it was only a bit. But then he died, and there was no one to buy food at all.

That year, you barely ate a thing.

The next year, you picked up the slack. You could still remember it, being ten years old and finding your father’s hunting gear. Going into the forest, you were scared. You didn’t want to harm an animal.

But you did.

And then you did it every time after that.

When you came home, you saw the way your mother looked at you. Somewhere inside of her, something cracked. Somewhere inside of her, she saw something that you couldn’t. And, after that, she started looking at you a lot less.

Five years later, you were sent off to The Games. You could remember seeing your mother in the crowd, but when you got into the Justice Building, she wasn’t there. You waited. And she never showed. But you held your tears and told yourself you had to stay strong, for her, because she couldn’t.

You thought about her in the arena. You thought about her when you picked up that sword. You thought about her when you took your first life. You thought about her when Bay died. And you thought about her when Claudius announced that you, Y/N Y/L/N, had won the 67th Hunger Games.

Was she watching? you wondered. Is she happy?

When you got back to 4 and opened the door to your house, her jaw fell. Like she didn’t know. Like she was shocked. Like she never thought you’d win at all.

Like she didn’t want you to.

Mom, I- I won. Did you watch?

Silence. I watched. I tried, I just- I couldn’t watch you kill after that first- that-... The boy. A boy your age. A boy you stabbed into. A boy who you watched bleed out. A boy whose blood was on your hands–and with the way your mother stared at you, you almost felt like the stains were still there.

And they might as well have been.

She hugged you. But it didn’t feel like she was doing it because she missed you. It felt like she was doing it because that’s what a mother is supposed to do. They’re supposed to hug you–they’re supposed to love you.

But you weren’t you anymore.

You moved into the new house together. Then, soon after, you were moving into Finnick’s, leaving the house to her. You think she was relieved, relieved that she wouldn’t be sleeping in the same house as a killer.

And now, as you lied on this rough bed in 13, there was no house at all. No old house, no new one, no Finnick’s house, no district 4 at all. No mom, either.

What was the last thing I said to her? you wondered. Why can’t I remember the last thing I said to her?

Tears gathered at the corners of your eyes. You couldn’t even remember when you last spoke to her. Your own mother. She was the woman who gave birth to you, the woman who raised you. Yet you couldn’t remember the last time you were in the same room.

And now you’d never be in the same room again.

A burning grew in your throat, but you didn’t let the tears fall, blinking them away. You’d cried an ocean of tears already. Now wasn’t the time to cry anymore. Now was the time to be strong. 

You never wanted this. You didn’t choose this, to be princess of a country that only abused its citizens, a country that threw you to the wolves then claimed they loved you when you came out seemingly unscathed, a country that wouldn’t have loved you so much if they knew just how scathed you were.

You did not choose this. But, for some reason, it chose you. The people chose you. The people believed in you. They believed that you were some sort of hero, coming to save them all from this villain that had hurt them all so badly. They didn’t know that it wasn’t true, that you weren’t a hero. They didn’t know that you were scared of the villain, too.

But if the people in the districts could believe in you, the people being bombed and attacked, the people grieving the loss of their loved ones–if they could believe that, then you could, too.

If the people of Panem believed you could be a hero, then you promised yourself that that’s what you’d be.

“So I changed the chemical compound of the powder, adding more fluorine to excite the electrons, causing them to jump more rapidly from orbital to orbital and ignite faster as-”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Beetee paused, like he was surprised that you couldn’t understand. To him, it was so simple, but to most people, like yourself, it had no meaning. “Chemical reaction,” he reiterated. “I increased the strength of the chemical reaction so you can hit more.”

Your mouth formed an O shape. “Makes sense. That’s all you had to say, y’know.”

His mouth opened, likely to say something sweet and snarky as per usual when the two of you spoke, but he was halted by the door to the armory sliding open. You both turned to see The Mockingjay making her way into the room.

Your breath got caught in your throat for a moment before you regulated it, calming yourself down. You hadn’t seen Katniss since she walked in on you in the bathroom. The way her eyes met yours told you that she remembered that day well, too. But if you knew anything about Katniss Everdeen, it was that feelings were not her strong suit. If you knew her as well as you thought you did, then she’d pretend it never happened.

You hoped she’d pretend. If you knew Katniss as well as you thought you did, then she was just as good at pretending as you.

“You wanted to see me?” she queried, directing her vision to Beetee. A breath left you.

“Yeah, I wanted to show you both your new arrows. I adde-”

You cut him off, “He did something to the chemicals to make the arrows better.”

“Reaction. I increased the force of the chemical reaction.”

“Same difference.”

Beetee took a deep breath, closing his eyes and then reopening them. “Since you’re so… well-versed, you can explain it to her.” You snorted at his response while he wheeled away. Beetee always had the ability to make you laugh, even if it wasn’t his intention.

When you looked away from his retreating figure, you were met with Katniss staring right at you, realizing she was still in the room. Her brows furrowed, a light, light smile on her face that would otherwise be invisible to a stranger. “I’ve never seen Beetee get so… irritated.”

The tension in your shoulders dissipated as they shook with your laughter. Nobody had seen him get annoyed often, unless you were around. “Yeah, that happens when you're stuck in the Capitol with someone for years on end.” 

Beetee was always a pretty good friend. You met at a Capitol function, of course, and from then on, you made it a point to annoy him whenever you could. Besides amusing you, it also served as a reminder that he was a human, too, not just some Capitol pawn.

Snow didn’t sell Beetee, but he used him in so many other ways. You and Finnick were their pride, but insiders knew that Beetee was their prize. He was perhaps the smartest person you’d ever met, but you figured that, every once in a while, he deserved to let his guard down and just be normal for a few minutes.

And, deep down, you knew he wasn’t as annoyed as he seemed.

Even though you were laughing, the smile on the brunette’s face slowly dimmed as she looked down. Your smile disappeared. “What is it?”

She was quiet for a second until she spoke, “You and the other victors… you all seemed close.”

Seemed.

Pictures flashed through your mind, pictures of your time in the Capitol. Normally, when you thought about your time there, you pictured all the bad, all the conversations behind closed doors, all the grown men and women who used you when you were still a child. What you didn’t think about was all the kids who were there with you, all the kids who had to grow up just as you did.

Some of these people were people you killed, the same people you had conversations with, the same people who were going through exactly what you were going through.

You were close.

Until you weren’t.

You didn’t say anything for a while, letting yourself remember it all. “Yeah,” you finally responded. “Yeah, we were.” And you didn’t say anything more on the matter. You didn’t know what more there was to say. You cleared your throat, changing the topic. “Anyways, this is what Beetee wanted to show us.” You picked up the arrows, showing them to her.

She hummed, looking back up. You knew that she knew what you were doing, but fortunately, she went along with it. “Never knew you could shoot.”

“Oh, please, Everdeen, anyone who grew up in the districts can shoot.”

“Yeah, doesn’t mean they’re any good,” she retorted, shrugging. 

You narrowed your eyes. “Is that a challenge?”

She shrugged again. “I don’t know, is it?”

Another laugh left your lips, your third time laughing since arriving in 13. “You’re on, Girl on Fire.” You grabbed one of the non-incendiary arrows and a random bow lying on the table, loading the arrow in. 

You faced your body to the targets across the room, bringing the bow up to your ear, pulling the arrow back, and eying the red. The corners of your lips quirked upward and, as soon as you turned your head to face Katniss, you let it fly. The look on her face made your smirk widen, turning to see that you hit the target dead-centre.

“How the hell did you just do that?” She walked closer, shock etched onto her face. 

“Precision. And years of experience,” you replied, lowering the bow. “My father was a hunter.” 

When you looked back at her, she had a different expression, like she was remembering something. Her eyes glazed over. “So was mine.” Her eyes found yours again, and this time, there was something there that wasn’t there before.

Back when you met, she was just Katniss Everdeen, and you were just the Princess. But now, you were both a lot more than that.

It seemed that you and Katniss Everdeen were more alike than you thought.

Right before the 74th Hunger Games, when you and Finnick were watching the training scores on TV, you didn’t think the tributes from 12 stood a chance, even though the girl had the highest score. 

Watching the Games, you disregarded them completely, even as they got just as many sponsors as your tributes. You watched as Haymitch Abernathy actually tried, actually cared for these kids, but not even that deterred you. 

You ignored the possibility of them winning at all. You wanted it to be your tributes, so badly. They were good. You wanted them to survive, one of them to survive, to make it out of this, to live the rest of their lives. But you should’ve known better.

No matter your best efforts, those kids died, and there was nothing you could’ve done about it. 

After that, you assumed it’d go to the Careers. Glimmer and Marvel were crowd favourites, flashy and luxurious, but not as cutthroat as Cato and Clove. A part of you even rooted for them. Maybe tradition would be broken, you thought, maybe it’d go to that kid from 11. Thresh had the determination and resilience to win.

That’s why you were surprised when you turned on the TV to see Peeta and Katniss as the last ones standing.

One of us has to die; they have to have their victor.

No. They don’t.

You were even more surprised when they both walked out of that arena alive.

Peeta became Panem’s golden boy, and he knew exactly what strings to pull, as if he’d been doing this his whole life. Katniss, on the other hand, was not a performer, not the performer you knew Snow wanted her to be. You could tell she was angry, but being angry was not her job.

You knew this because it wasn’t yours, either.

People like you and her didn’t get to be angry. You were supposed to be grateful for the opportunity that the Capitol so generously bestowed upon you, not angry or sad or guilty. That wasn’t for you.

You saw so much of yourself in her. And for that reason, you thought you’d never meet her. Too rebellious, too jagged, too questioning–she was nothing that Snow wanted around the Princess. You were right; you didn’t meet her.

Until the time came for the 75th Hunger Games.

You were surprised when she was the one who came up to you. She was confident and put-together, but you knew better. This was your dance she was dancing. You could hear the lyrics so well.

She was scared.

And she was angry.

Her attitude made you like her. You could’ve been friends, you noted, but not in this lifetime, not when she was meant to be your opponent. You never thought that you and Katniss Everdeen would be friends.

Little did you know, she’d become one of the only friends you had.

“C’mon, Everdeen. You’re going easy on me,” you said, holding your arms out. Katniss stood opposite to you, lightly panting with her hands held up.

“I’m just- I’m just tired-”

“No, you’re not. You’re going easy,” you deadpanned. “Stop stalling and hit me.”

The brunette hesitated for a moment before going in for a punch that you easily caught. “You call that a punch? Where’s that Mockingjay fire?”

She scoffed, yanking her fist out of your grasp. “I’m not going to hit you, Y/N. You were just shot-”

“Well, the revolution doesn’t care if I’m shot or not.” You gestured to your body. “I’m perfectly fine. So hit me like you mean it.”

“No-”

“Hit me like I’m Snow.”

She scoffed again. “This is ridiculous. I’m not going to hit you. You’ve barely healed-”

You cut her off. “Fine. If you won’t, then I will.” Without another word, you threw a sharp punch for her face that she narrowly dodged. You didn’t miss a beat, throwing another one right after, and another one right after that like rapid fire.

She blocked your hits, but your pace didn’t alter. The two of you moved around the ring, but Katniss' hands remained in front of her face, not once swinging. You weren’t relenting; you weren’t gonna stop until she swung back.

You had almost backed her into the corner when, suddenly, the wind was knocked out of you and your back was hitting the ground. The world spun. You blinked and you were back in the arena, lying on the ground with Johanna hovering over you. You opened them and you were back in the training room, and now it was Katniss that hovered.

“Holy shit, Y/N, are you okay?” Her eyes were worried and her voice was panicked. Holy shit, she actually hit me. With that realization, a smile slowly formed on your face. “What? Why are you smiling-”

She was abruptly cut off as you swept her feet out from under her, sending her to the ground right next to you. She groaned while you laughed, almost hysterical.

If the old you could’ve seen you now. You never thought you’d be friends with Katniss Everdeen, much less that you’d be laughing with her after she kicked you.

“It’s not that funny,” she heaved, but you didn’t stop, uncontrollably giggling. 

“You- you actually did it-” you cackled, tears in your eyes. She looked over at you, still panting, until you made eye contact and she was laughing, too.

You stayed there on the floor together for a while, laughing your hearts out. For all you knew, you wouldn’t get many moments like this for a while, moments where you could just lie down and rest. For all you knew, this revolution would kill you.

So there you were, the Princess and The Mockingjay, pretending that you were just Y/N, and she was just Katniss.

And for now, that made you forget about everything else.

“Please. Please, I’m begging you- please don’t do it again.” Your shoulders shook with sobs, vision blurred.

“Ah, you know that that is not how the game works, my dear.”

“Please- please, I don’t want to play anymore.”

Snow tutted. “You know the rules. You give me something, and you get something in return. If you do not give me anything, then I will take something.”

“Please, I don’t- I don’t have anything more to give-”

He sighed. “Is that so?” He didn’t give you time to say anything else. “In that case, I won’t take from you.”

You blinked the tears in your eyes away to look up at him, a chill going down your spine at his expression. He didn’t look angry. No, he was smiling. “W-what?”

He hummed. “I’ll take from Peeta.” Your heart dropped. You pulled at your restraints as he turned to leave the room.

“No, please! Please, stop! Stop!” He ignored you, walking out the door and letting the door slide closed behind him.

And then the room went black.

You shot up out of bed panting, heart racing with your eyes darting around the room. The walls were grey, but there was a window. There wasn’t a window where you were in the tribute centre. Moonlight shone into the room. There was light. There weren’t Peacekeepers waiting by your bed, waking you up when you fell asleep. You were alone. You were safe. It’s okay. You’re in 13. You’re alive.

You’re alive.

Somehow, that didn’t make it any better.

You breathed in and out slowly, trying to regain control of your breathing like how Dr. Terren showed you. When you were rescued, you couldn’t breathe and you couldn’t be consoled. This feeling that you felt right now was like that, but you don’t know if any panic attack could ever compare to that one. 

You were rescued. But it didn’t feel that way.

It didn’t feel that way at all.

Once you calmed down or reached some semblance of feeling calm, your mind went right back to Peeta. You hadn’t been to see him since you first arrived in 13–and even then, you didn’t speak. He wasn’t really in a condition to be spoken to. That’s what you tell yourself, at least. But there was more to it than that.

There was always more to it than what you were willing to acknowledge.

As if your body was moving on its own accord, you threw your bed sheets to the side, slipping on a sweater and sliding your feet into the slippers next to your bed. Walking out of the room, you didn’t spare the clock a glance, walking with a subtle determination that many wouldn’t understand.

You called it a victor’s drive. It was a certain determination that came with fighting for your life, even if it meant taking another’s. It was not wanting to kill, but doing it anyway. It was not wanting to live, but doing that, too.

There were many things a victor did not want to do. 

And there were just as many things that you’d do, anyway.

A part of you didn’t know where you were going while the other part was sure of herself. Regardless, you let your body take you to where your mind didn’t want to go, making your way through the dark hallways with no sound other than your feet heard.

Before you knew it, you stood in front of the glass wall that you hadn’t seen since you first got to 13. On the other side lied Peeta, looking no better than the last time you saw him. His screams echoed throughout your brain.

Please! Stop! No-

You screwed your eyes shut, trying to block out the noise that surrounded you even in such silence. His screams quieted after a few seconds, but no matter your resilience or techniques the doctor taught you, no matter what, you’d never be able to silence your song. 

There was a time when you almost believed that you could escape it, the music. When Finnick and you were pretending, it felt like you could really have it, a family, like one day it would be more than pretending. But now you knew that wasn’t possible.

This song would never skip.

And you’d be dancing until the day you died.

When you opened your eyes, you were met with blue ones staring back at you, as if he knew you were there. You took in a sharp breath, scared, but maintained your stare. His hair looked shorter and more unkept than you’d ever seen it. It wasn’t so gold anymore.

Peeta’s eyes were blue, but not blue like Finnick’s. They were bright like the sky and full of a childlike innocence that you no longer saw. His eyes weren’t so bright anymore.

He looked like a ghost.

And maybe that’s what you looked like, too.

Without thinking, you went for the door, pulling the handle only for it to remain still. You furrowed your brows, trying again with the same outcome. That’s when you saw the pin pad on the side and realized that it was locked.

Of course, it was. They weren’t gonna leave Peeta Mellark in a room by himself with the door unlocked. Not this Peeta.

This Peeta had to be strapped down to the bed because his one and only objective was to kill the woman he loved. This Peeta wasn’t the same Peeta you met at the parade.

This wasn’t him at all.

With that realization, you turned around, letting his eyes burn into your skull as you walked away. You weren’t sure of anything, but what you were sure of was that you couldn’t be alone right now. If you listened to the music by yourself right now, you didn’t know what you’d do.

Your feet pitter-pattered against the floor in quick motions. You didn’t know where you were going, just that you needed to find Johanna. If you couldn’t talk to Peeta, then you needed to talk to her. 

Suddenly, you turned a corner and went tumbling to the ground. You closed your eyes, bracing yourself for the fall, but it never came. Slowly, you opened them and the first thing you saw were another set of blue eyes, not bright or vibrant, but your favourite colour.

Finnick.

Your heart sped up. Suddenly, you could feel that the hands on your arms were his. Suddenly, you realized you were in Finnick Odair’s arms.

You think he only just realized that, too.

He cleared his throat, helping you up and letting you go. As soon as his hands were no longer on your skin, you felt cold. You felt just as cold as when the two of you were in the Capitol, standing outside together.

Except, now, you couldn’t hold each other like you did then.

Even if it was the one thing you wanted more than anything in the world.

Your breath got caught in your throat as you realized just how close he was. He was right there, in front of you.

You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.

Right here.

And not at all at the same time.

He looked at you quietly, not saying a word, but after so long, you’d learned to read Finnick well. He looked like he had so much to say but couldn’t find the words to put them in. He looked like how he looked that night, that night that you were in the Capitol and that poor boy and girl died, that night that you kissed for the first time.

But as you looked at him, really looked at him, he also looked nothing like the Finnick you knew. You’d avoided looking into his eyes ever since you got to 13, in fear of what you’d see, and now that you finally were, you could see that his eyes weren’t so lively anymore. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking.

Could you ever?

“What are you-” he cleared his throat again, “What are you doing up?”

At his question, you diverted your eyes, suddenly finding the floors much more interesting to look at. “I, um, I couldn’t sleep,” you reasoned. You didn’t explain why.

“Yeah, neither could I,” he muttered back, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t explain, either.

There was a time when you’d seek him out if you couldn’t sleep, a time when you’d go to him if you had a nightmare. That wasn’t possible anymore.

If you danced with him, you didn’t know if he’d be enough to keep you from collapsing.

If you danced with him, you didn’t know how much longer you’d be able to keep going.

After a beat of silence, you spoke, “I should, um… I should get going now.”

You moved to leave, but Finnick grabbing onto your wrist stopped you. You masked your flinch, not because someone was touching you anymore, but because of who that person was. Your skin ignited so hot that it burned.

“Wait, can-” he hesitated, “can we talk?”

Your breath hitched, back still turned to him. His voice was pleading, a tone you never would’ve imagined him taking when you first met. You closed your eyes at the memory, feeling tears gather.

You wanted to say yes—oh, you always wanted to say yes to Finnick. His happiness became the only thing you strived for. You stayed with him even when you knew he loved Annie, you fought for her, you volunteered for her, you pretended you were okay, you pretended you didn’t love him, you pretended all the time. 

But you couldn’t pretend anymore.

A nation was counting on you. People were counting on you. People needed you. 

You couldn’t fall apart right now. And if you talked to Finnick, you weren’t sure you’d be able to put yourself back together again.

“I-” your voice cracked, “I can’t-”

“Please. Please, Y/N, I just need to talk to you.” You shook your head, holding in the sobs that were begging to escape. 

Why was he doing this to you? Why, why, why, why, why, why-

“Please.”

Y/N, please. I’m just asking you to trust me. Please just trust me.

Trust you to do what?

I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please. Trust me.

I trust you.

You would die for this man. You died for this man. And if it came down to it, you’d die again if it meant that he’d get to live in a better world. But you couldn’t talk to him now.

If you talked to him, then it didn’t matter what the Capitol would throw at you, what bullets you’d take. Those eyes would drown you.

You couldn’t do this. Not now.

“No.” You removed your hand from his grasp and walked away as fast as you could, even as your feet felt anchored to the ground, each step hurting more and more. You didn’t turn back once. 

The tears that you held in fell as you walked away, running down your face like a waterfall. You walked faster and faster until your walk escalated into a run. The door to your room slid open before you ran in, locking it as it closed. You slid down the metal and let out a sob, more and more following it. 

Your hands went over your ears, trying to block out the music, but it only got louder and louder.

No, no, nothing is okay! 

We will never be free, Y/N.

Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Hunger Games.

Mom?

President Snow used to sell me. 

We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear.

May the odds be ever in your favour, darling.

You screamed in agony, nearly ripping your hair out, uncaring if anyone heard you. Your body shook with sobs and your heart ached. It hurt so bad. You never thought it could hurt this bad. 

You didn’t wanna dance anymore. You didn’t wanna feel like this anymore. You didn’t wanna feel anymore at all if this was all it’d feel like.

But it didn’t matter. How you felt didn’t matter. What you wanted didn’t matter. It stopped mattering the second you won those Games, the second you stabbed that boy. You stopped being a person and became the person Snow wanted you to be. You became the Princess.

And now it was your job to make sure there wouldn’t ever be another Princess, another you, another Finnick, another Katniss, Peeta, Johanna, Haymitch, Annie, Bay—it was your job to make sure this never happened to anyone again, that there would never be another group of kids that were forced to kill each other and themselves in the process. It was your job to make sure nobody else ever felt how you felt right now.

As you reminded yourself of that, your sobs gradually subsided and your heart rate came down. You weren’t okay.

But you had to be. You still had things to do- dancing to do. 

You were gonna dance one last time, for this country, for all the kids that died, for the kids you were, for the kids you could’ve had, for yourself, and for the man that you loved. You were gonna dance until you couldn’t anymore. You were gonna dance until the music stopped. And amidst all the unknown, one thing was certain.

The day the music died, so would you.

It’s the things we love most, that destroy us.

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[ksyongi]

a turn of events

synopsis - a mingyu wonwoo fanfic where you wake up naked from a drunken night spent with mingyu which changes your life.

genre - romance, smut, childhood friends to lovers

pairing - childhoodbsf!wonwoo x reader x childhoodbsf!mingyu

wc: approx 4.8k

NSFW - MINORS DNI

warnings: mentions of rain, use of pet names, teeny bit of jealousy, smut ; dirty talk, dom!wonu, dom!gyu, sub!reader, oral(f) and oral(m) wonu being a tad bit rough but it's soft a tad bit too. written with the thought of the reader being on birth control btw so no accidents🙈(lmk if i missed out anything)

an: A BIG BIG THANK YOU TO THOSE WHO HELPED ME ON THIS !! i started on this like last december and man this too way to long with my procrastination but anyway, i hope its okay because i'm not experienced with writing a lot of smut, do lmk if you guys want a pt.2 :) <3

m.list

Yeah, a few drinks huh… You did not know a few drinks would end up with you waking up fully naked a room, hell you barely remember anything. You turn your head and see a bunch of photo frames placed on the desk.

You slowly get up and let an out an audible 'fuck' when you felt the pain between your legs. They must've gone hard on you huh…

You take one in your hands and see two boys in it. Bringing it closer to your face and to it had to be your highschool friends. Kim Mingyu and Jeon Wonwoo, the school's most well known pair of basketball players. Their dynamic worked so well on court that they had been awarded the captain and vice. 

The question everybody had was how they managed to get along? With Mingyu's big ego and Wonwoo's quiet, introverted personality, nobody could understand. You found yourself hanging out with the duo sometimes, they are honestly considered as your best friends. You've invited them to your house multiple times but last night was a first when going to their house since they just recently moved in.

They decided it was a great idea to hold a party after moving into their new house and to get it dirty from all the spilled drinks and litter. You don't even know whose room you were in, you haven't even had the time to familiarize yourself with the home before getting yourself drunk. What a smart move. The week's earlier events had been too much for you, letting loose at your friend's home was the best place you could, right?  

Thinking of the chances of who you could have slept with, you honestly wouldn't mind either if it was Wonwoo or Mingyu. Heck you even might have a huge ass crush on them. There's just something about them ever since you got grouped up one day in highschool for a project. You have even caught yourself daydreaming about being railed by either. Those deceiving soft, innocent eyes of Wonwoo. You bet he was those 'angels in the streets, devil in the sheets' kinda guy. It made your insides flip in the best way possible. Well for Mingyu… his charm was unmatchable by other guys. His flirtatious and confident character were a plus factor. You wouldn't mind if it was him either. The pair was undeniably hot till you wouldn't deny your grown feelings for them ever since the end of highschool when they presented you flowers and a handmade cd full of songs made by them for your birthday.

A click from the door pulled you from your deep thoughts. Speaking of the devil. Mingyu stood there, plate of scrambled eggs in hand, with no shirt and sweatpants that were clinging onto his hips for its dear life. Your eyes trailed down his body till his voice interrupted you. 

"Good morning." Mingyu says. Using his arm to gesture to the bed for you to sit back on. You hum in response, mentally cursing at your drunken mind for not thinking straight the previous night. The situation you got yourself into cannot get any more awkward. 'This ruined our friendship didn't it' you cry out to yourself in your head. You can't help but let a blush rise to your cheeks. Hiding your face, you adjust the loose navy blue shirt on you. Mingyu hands you the plate, watching you start to eat it and give a nod of approval to his cooking. He takes a seat next to you watching you finish the portion of food. 

You were about to be saddened by the fact you couldn't remember anything, but then it all came back to you.

"Taking my cock so well aren't you baby? So pretty under me." His sloppy thrusts bring you to your fourth release of the night. The tight grip he had on your hips made purple marks bloom on them. his grunts and your high pitched moans mixed together. his teeth were sunk into his bottom lip with his eyes tightly shut. the sounds of skin slapping and the smell of sex was evident. “m’ about to cum gyu.” “Alright, cum with me baby.” his thrusts got faster, as your back started to arch at the rush of pleasure. 

Well, shit.

“Hope you're okay with my choice of cooking. Just wanted you to not feel as awkward as you seem right now. You can be yourself, you know." Mingyu shrugs, his eyes fixated on the now empty plate in front of you. 

"What happened last night?" Mingyu's small attempt of comfort does not help and you ask the question that was eventually going to be surfaced. 

"Well, I'm not going to sugarcoat things and go straight to things." Mingyu's irises shift to lock with yours, his eyes seeming as unfazed as ever. "You went to my party yesterday, and you decided to be an idiot and take one too many drinks and decided to hook up with me. Not that I'm surprised about that last part." You break eye contact and groan as Mingyu's lips twitch upwards in amusement. 

What the hell did you get yourself into?

—

"I might have slept with Kim Mingyu, please don't kill me." you confess to the trio in front of you. booseoksoon. Seungkwan slams his hands on the table, catching the attention of others in the cafe.  "WHAT THE FUCK? WE LEAVE YOU ALONE FOR ONE NIGHT AND YOU DO THAT?" Soonyoung shoots him a glare to 'tone the fuck down' that seungkwan brushes off and Seokmin apologizes to the people who are giving questionable glances. You try to hide yourself further into your turtleneck. 

In an instant, Soonyoung puts the pieces together and slides up next to you and pulls the material hugging your neck and the purple marks are on full display for the three. Seokmin's mouth drops agape, Seungkwan slaps a hand to his head, really, really hard, and Soonyoung brings his head closer to your neck trying to examine it as if it was just makeup and all of this was a prank. 

"Girl, you're lucky that you lost your virginity to that hot shot Choi Seungcheol and it wasn't Kim fucking Mingyu." Seokmin shakes his head. His eyes are still wide, trying to recover from that bomb you just dropped on them. 

"I thought you said Mingyu was your 'childhood friend'? I know the guy is hot but really?" Seungkwan's voice is now small, almost in a whisper. "I THOUGHT YOU WERE NOT INTO MEN ANYMORE BECAUSE OF THE LACK OF DICK YOU WERE GETTING MAN." His usual personality came back. You instantly take both your hands and plaster them onto his mouth, muttering apologies to the irritated audience and once again, Seungkwan looked like he was crazy. 

"Hold your darn horses. Explain yourself before one of us marches to Mingyu's house and interrogates him for an answer," Soonyoung rubs his hands on his temples in distress. 

Sure you had a fair share of dick but the last time you ever had sex was like when you were 22? Like a whole two years ago. 

"Well, I'll keep it simple and…not so sweet but you get the idea." The three of them leaned closer to you, eyes filled with a mix of emotion. "Well, I just felt like downing a few drinks and in the morning I just woke up in his bed? What else do you even want me to say man." You sigh, head resting on your palm. 

"Do you regret it?" Seokmin asks, not even hiding an ounce of his curiosity. You look down on your lap and pick on the skin on your fingers as your mouth forms a thin line. They knew that the sex was good and you barely regret it. You couldn't hide the fact that Mingyu was hot. 

"Listen." Soonyoung breaks the silence. "I don't mind if you slept with one of the men you did not expect to, but I don't want you to be hurt. You better sort out where you stand, you better not come crying at one of our doorsteps on one of these days thinking that you were something. I bet all of us feel this way." 

"Yeah, I've known him since I was young so this should not be so bad." 

Soonyoung scoffs and continues. "Just sort your relationship out with him okay? Make sure it isn't awkward or anything. Men are fucking dense and make sure he doesn't think that you are his go-to fuck girl now." 

—

So you find yourself at his doorstep. Grimacing when you remember what happened the last time you went there. You ring the doorbell and hear a pair of feet shuffling behind the door.

What you didn't expect was Wonwoo opening the door instead of Mingyu. You take a step back and you feel the tips of your ears getting hot. 

Wonwoo's hand slowly slides off the handle of the door, "Hey y/n." the low hoarse voice you heard almost sent you to heaven. "Hello Wonwoo…" you find yourself trying not to stutter and hold that eye contact he is holding. Hoping that he did not know anything about the previous night's events, you go straight to the point. "Is Mingyu around by any chance? I have to talk to him about something." Wonwoo shakes his head, "He's out right now, do you wanna come in first? He may come back soon." You quietly accept the offer and enter their home. You see that his eyes follow your figure with your peripheral vision.

You follow him to his room as a usual routine, but you can't dismiss the quiet atmosphere. You did not know why you were feeling this way. Wonwoo was usually a guy with little words but now the fact that you sleep with Mingyu, you couldn't help but feel awkward. "You can get comfortable, let me just finish one more round of my game." You were honestly surprised at his carefree attitude. You sit yourself down on his bed, "Do you remember anything from last night?" You decide to ask. Wonwoo shook his head, "Not really, I was tipsy. Mingyu was busy banging somebody and I couldn't find you anywhere so I just went to bed." You relax at that statement, happy that he was clueless. 

You became comfortable in Wonwoo's presence quite quickly. He finished his game quickly like he said he would and closed his game launcher as soon as the 'victory' screen flashed on his monitor. He placed his glasses on his desk.

"So what do you wanna do now?" He turns around in his chair to face you. Just at that instant, Mingyu enters Wonwoo's room. His eyes widened by the slightest before returning to its usual state. You wave at him, in which he returns one.

"What brings you here?" Mingyu asks. Wonwoo interjects, "She wanted to talk to you about something, which she can ask you now since you are here. So what was it you wanted to ask, y/n?" You were surprised by his sudden straightforwardness. "I uhh just wanted to ask Mingyu if…He's free tonight to come over and just hang out! And since you're here too Wonwoo, wanna come over for a bit later?" You stuttered, only sounding convincing for the last few words. 

The pair in front of you questioned your invitation but went with it. "I'll be there." The taller one said. "I'll be slightly late but I'll definitely be there." Wonwoo gave a small smile. "Great! I'll see you guys then." You quickly take your leave, leaving the two in front of you speechless. "She came all the way here just for that?" Wonwoo snorts. "Weird…" Mingyu looks at the place where you previously sat.

— 

You were expecting Mingyu's arrival. It was currently slightly past 8pm. Bringing out a few bottles of soju, you heard the doorbell ring. 

You quickly pat down your outfit and open the door. Instead of seeing Mingyu, you saw Wonwoo. The wind got knocked out of your lungs after seeing him. Failing to calm yourself down, you hold the door open, letting him in. You fail to notice Wonwoo checking your outfit out while you were trying to neutralize your facial expression. He's in a white turtleneck with a pair of long black pants. To top it all off, he was using those goddamned black framed glasses. Fuck your horemones right now because gosh you really wanted to tear it off him. Your jaw slacked at the slightest and you got snapped out of your thoughts from Wonwoo clearing his throat. 

"O-Oh hey Wonwoo." you smile. "Hey Y/n. Mingyu was held up at home, he made a mess earlier when trying to cook and he's cleaning it up right now." Wonwoo sighs, letting his hand run through his hair. You laugh, standing aside to let him in. 

Wonwoo puts aside his things neatly as you take a seat in the living room. He joined you shortly as you opened a bottle of soju.

"What do you wanna do now?" You ask. "We could probably put on a movie or something." Wonwoo shrugs, taking down a shot of soju. "I have a better idea~"  You sing-song, getting up and gesturing for Wonwoo to follow you.

"Tadaaa" You show Wonwoo the small set-up in your backyard, a few chairs set out with a perfect view of a full moon and a few stars. Wonwoo takes a seat, "This is nice," he sighs. "Of course it would be,'' You wink,  placing down the bottles in your hands onto the table. You take your phone and put a jazz spotify playlist and leave it on shuffle. 

As per usual, you started a conversation. They usually revolved around shared memories from highschool. Some including Mingyu of course, you wonder if he forgot about the night together with Wonwoo. 

"Oh fuck don't remind me of that" You groan, "No way I would let you live this one down, it was hilarious how you asked Hong Jisoo for this favourite colour in 8th grade and the day after you came to school in braces with that exact colour. You were so obvious." Wonwoo was clutching his stomach, his cute laughter made you crack a smile and hide your face in your hands. 

"Oh don't get me started on how you liked that girl from our level and shouted 'Oh this shot is for you!' in the basketball finals right in front of our whole cohort and missed it," You tease, nudging his shoulder. Wonwoo playfully rolls his eyes. "Oh hush, Mingyu would never stop teasing me for that one." 

Your laughter slowly dies down as a familiar tune comes on. Your homecoming dance song. The exact song Wonwoo and you danced two years ago. You didn't have a date because you only had a crush on Mingyu and Wonwoo at the time. You remember it clearly. Watching Mingyu dancing with another girl made your jealousy kindle. But Wonwoo came in front of you, asking you if he could have the dance with you before gently grabbing your arm and you remember dancing with him for the rest of the night. 

Similarly, now he did the same. Standing up, he reaches up his hand. "May I have this dance?" You could simply not refuse, putting your hand in his right away with a blush creeping up your face. He pulls you to his chest onto the grass of your backyard, the small light of your backyard with the stars fit the mood perfectly. You and him swayed to the familiar tune of the song and before you could realise, raindrops started to fall from the sky. One turned into ten and there was a small downpour. But fuck it, since you were already having fun, what more if it were in the rain with Wonwoo? 

Hands still intertwined with his, you slow dance in the rain. Some turns and dips in between the song. You find the song coming to a slow stop, as your hands find a place around Wonwoo's neck. You find yourself in a more intimate position now. You look into his eyes, taking the chance to explore his face too. Wonwoo looks up, "The moon is beautiful, isn't it?" You follow his gaze upwards to the bright moon, "Yeah, it really is." Wonwoo was glad you didn't know the meaning of the sentence he said, but maybe one day you would know the true intentions behind his words.

You both don't seem to mind the drenched outfits and how they were sticking to your body. Both of you slowly look back at each other and you see Wonwoo staring at your lips. You see Wonwoo hesitating, "Can I kiss you?" Wonwoo whispers, his head inching closer to yours slowly. You slowly nod your head, but you see his head stop inches before touching yours. Wonwoo takes a second before saying, "Fuck it." before pushing his lips onto yours. 

Your lips slowly move on his, savoring the taste of him. His intoxicating cologne drags you into a trance, you need more of him as he needs more of you. Wonwoo's arms slide around your waist as he leans down more into the kiss. Your taste was addicting and thankfully he was sober still. He knew for a fact you were sober too, he'll make sure you would have an unforgettable night either way. 

You slowly part from the kiss, grabbing Wonwoo's hand and pulling him into your house. You try and pull him in for another kiss before he cuts you off, "Not so fast sweetheart. You gotta dry off first, don't want you catching a cold." You laugh, "So thoughtful as usual." Wonwoo smiles, walking to your bathroom to grab a towel and he starts to dry your hair. You would never get sick of how any moment can turn wholesome with Wonwoo in an instant. 

Wonwoo finishes drying the both of you off. "Lead the way princess." You take hold of his hand again, dragging him into your room. Wonwoo takes a seat on your bed, pulling you into his lap in the process

"This okay Y/n? Just wanted to feel you for the whole night..fuck you looked so hot the second you opened the door." Wonwoo groans when you grab his arms, putting it on your waist. "Yes this is alright Wonwoo." You smiled, but you were exploding inside. Your heart was beating against your ribcage and you hoped he didn't notice how fast your heart was beating. 

He pulls you into another kiss. It was sweet at first, but Wonwoo starts to drag his tongue over your bottom lip then pushes his tongue into your mouth to explore it as soon as you grant him access. He takes your tongue into his mouth to slowly suck it. You moan at the sensation. Wonwoo pulls away, a string of saliva connecting your lips. You try to catch your breath as Wonwoo takes you into his arms, turning you around so he is caging you to the bed. 

Wonwoo proceeds to sit on your bed, pulling you onto his lap. Wonwoo starts to press wet kisses from your neck, making sure to pay attention to your sweet spot and lightly sucking on it. You softly moan his name, your arms finding its place around his neck. Wonwoo's hands grab your hips, guiding them to sit on his erection. "See how turned on you make me feel? Been wanting this for ages," Wonwoo practically groans by your ear making your breathing start to uneven. The vibrations you felt from his chest went straight down to your core. 

Wonwoo's hands guide down to your shirt, resting there. "May I?" You give him a nod, encouraging him to continue. "Let me know when to stop alright? Tap me twice if you want to stop. Don't be afraid to be vocal either." Wonwoo gives a small smile before lifting your shirt over your head. "Always so pretty for me sweetheart," he looks at you in awe. Looking away, you feel his hand coming to your cheek and pushing it to meet his gaze. He takes the chance to peck your lips before continuing and unclipping your bra. Wonwoo does not waste any time in taking one breast and fondling it. He takes your lips onto his again, muffling your moans. 

When you have the chance to, you manage to choke out, "Please..Wonwoo.." He looks at you with a smirk, knowing how you were far in a bliss to talk properly. "Please what sweetheart? Use your words." You ball up you hands into fists, "Please just fuck me hard. I need you Wonwoo."

All Wonwoo did was let out a low chuckle. You did not know how to react. "Since you asked so nicely I could never say no to you. But I need a taste of you first." It's like a switch was flipped. Wonwoo's hands reached for your pants, taking them off as well as your underwear as if he was tearing it off you. "Be good for me and let your neighbor's know who's making you feel good hm?" You give a quick nod, eyes closing at the feeling of his hot breath fanning on your heat. 

Wonwoo wastes no time in diving into your bundle of nerves, licking and sucking as if it were his last meal. He manages to shove in two of his long slender digits too, it's scissoring motion making your thighs clench around his head. Wonwoo's tongue was quickly bringing you to your release and both of you knew it. But the sudden sound of your door opening made the two of you jump. 

"Oh what a pleasant surprise." Mingyu sauntered into the room, taking a good look at you sprawled out on your bed and Wonwoo's face covered in your juices. "Look who decided to join the party." Wonwoo licks his lips. The wind was knocked out of your lungs as you tried to comprehend that whatever was happening wasn't a dream. Mingyu confirms your thoughts by crashing his lips onto yours. It was an aggressive kiss, Mingyu's neediness was showing through it.

Mingyu abruptly pulls back and that sudden action makes you chase his lips. Mingyu laughs, "Such a needy baby aren't you? That makes the two of us." Mingyu chuckled, "Has Wonwoo been treating you well?" You watch how Wonwoo rolls his eyes and he goes back to focusing on getting you to your release. Mingyu gets the hint and starts to mark you up. You knew you would be littered in their marks. Of course you would, Wonwoo and Mingyu would have to mark what's theirs. The feeling of both their mouths on your body made your back arch off the bed as your hands reached to grab Wonwoo's hair and Mingyu's hand.  And so your release came crashing right after Wonwoo's fingers started to rub your heat and Mingyu started to suck on one of your breasts. 

Your mind was in a haze, mumbling a mix of their names and how good they made you feel. "Oh my god Gyu, you gotta taste her." Wonwoo pants, hands taking the remnants of your release off his face and putting his fingers at Mingyu's mouth which he clearly accepted. Mingyu moans around Wonwoo's fingers, making your core start to get wet once again. 

Mingyu caresses your naked waist, "You're doing so well for us baby," Wonwoo stands up, dusting his knees. "Can you still take us? Unless our slut is already fucked out from a single release?" On a normal day you would shoot back a snarky remark but you knew if you did that right now, you would be put in place. Maybe that wasn't such a bad idea but for now you would keep that idea for another time. You manage to give a small nod to the duo. They quickly undress fully, your eyes admiring their bodies. You take both hands to feel their figures. They both crack a smile, Wonwoo's face trying to turn away to hide his blush as Mingyu's hand reaches to caress your cheek. 

It was always that in moments like these you found comfort in the two. You then take Mingyu's cock into your mouth as Wonwoo wastes no time in pushing himself into your walls. The three of you moan in unison. Your warm mouth and the swirling of your tongue drove Mingyu crazy and how your tight walls clenched around Wonwoo made him close his eyes tight. Your hands helplessly try to grab the bed sheets but with the pleasure that is running through you, nothing worked. 

Wonwoo and Mingyu start to thrust into you in sync. The erratic moans you had sent Mingyu into heaven. It felt perfect. "Taking our cocks so well darling," Mingyu grits. "Making us feel so good sweetheart. You like that? You like Mingyu and I filling your holes and using you like a whore don't you." Wonwoo starts to thrust into you with a rougher pace the second his hands slide onto your waist gripping it hard so he can feel you skin to skin. 

You can feel that their releases were approaching and your second one for the night as well. You focus on running your tongue under Mingyu's cock and sucking it the way he reacted to it the best. As for Wonwoo, you tried to stabilize yourself but nothing was working. Your eyes roll back and it feels as if your body was falling into an abyss. 

Wonwoo takes your legs and hooks them over his shoulders, "Mingyu and I've been thinking about this for the longest time. Wanted to fuck you well so you know who you belonged to. Mmm want you to be ours right Gyu?" Mingyu takes a second to control his breathing, "That's right baby. Want it so bad." The words that got  uttered out of their mouths encouraged you to work harder to get them to their releases. Mingyu could not take it anymore. The combination of how you moan then hollow your cheeks right after made him shoot his seed into your mouth. You make sure he sees you waste nothing when swallowing everything you could.

Wonwoo starts to be slightly more vocal indicating that his release was approaching too. "You drive me so crazy." Wonwoo takes your hands and interlaces them with his. "Wonwoo. Oh my god Wonwoo." You repeat his name on and on, gripping his hands tight. Both of you were sent off the edge, Wonwoo spilling his load right into your abused hole. 

Just like that, Wonwoo is soft again as you lay side by side coming down from your high. Mingyu had already walked off to get a towel to wipe you off. "Are you feeling alright?" Wonwoo asks, one of his hands never leaving yours."Yeah I feel great Wonwoo, thank you." You smile at him, feeling all bubbly in your stomach again. 

"What Mingyu and I said just now, we meant it. Maybe you could give one of us a chance? Ever since you turned up to our house when both of us were ill and not minding the fact that you may fall sick too made us realize our honest feelings for you." You look at Wonwoo, you thought all they said was all the 'In the moment' type of things that you were gaslighting yourself into not believing it. 

"How…" You mutter out. "Well you have Mingyu, never having the balls to come to face his feelings and like for example, dancing with other girls during prom. Or you have me, being well aware of how you make me feel and coming to face them. Like how I danced with you at prom well knowing that it may be the last time I would." 

"I would love to have something like that, with the two of you. Been dreaming of it for a few years." Wonwoo seems shocked at what you said. At that time, Mingyu walks into the room. "Repeat that for us." Wonwoo orders. "Yeah, I would love to figure out something between the three of us if that's possible." You glance between the two, noticing how Mingyu's eyes widen. "We would love that." Wonwoo utters, looking at Mingyu in disbelief. Mingyu snaps out of his daze, "Now let's get you cleaned up shall we?" 

That night you found yourself in between your two lovers, still trying to come to believe what happened in the span of a few hours. But how you woke up, legs tangled with them and getting showered with kisses, hugs and a great breakfast made you not regret a single thing. 

"Maybe you could do what you've been wanting to do with us these couple of years you've been waiting for." Mingyu winks as Wonwoo gives you a knowing smirk oh you were so ready for what was to come. 

an: after changing the plot like 4-5 times i might just wanna stick to writing hcs and reactions TT do lmk if i should continue w this !

reblogs and likes are appreciated, thank you :)

[itsonlydana]

"passenger princess" | chapter five

the hobbit | a modern!AU by itsonlydana

❱ pairing: Thranduil x fem!reader

❱ wordcount: 6,3k

❱ summary: a hot summer day & two conversations

❱ warnings: mature language + jokes, Legolas being a nuisance

❱ an: third attempt to post this.. man I hate tumblr sometimes. I just want to bless you all with this juicy chapter. I'll try to add the pictures in later

general m.list + series m.list

🌿 reposts and comments are appreciated, they motivate me a lot - especially with longer projects <3

CHAPTER FIVE: POOL

Time, as it often does whenever you want to hold on to it, passed in a rush of essays that needed to be written, lectures demanding attention, and the ever-present need to work as many shifts to be able to make rent.

Which, in fairness, were a lot less than many other students though it irked you all the same to stand behind the counter at the small yet overfurnitured café on campus and relish the the summer sun through a window.

"Could you be a dear and fill up the coffee beans?"

You looked away from a couple dozing on a bench to your co-worker Tauriel and nodded. She was a pretty woman, red-haired just like Gimli, and smart as hell.

She was funny too, and made the shifts you got paired together manageable and bearable.

You used the towel over your shoulder to wipe over your forehead, patting some of the sweat away that accumulated within seconds.

The sunshine and warm temperatures had been fun at first for they meant longer nights and earlier mornings, lounging around with sunglasses and opening the windows of lecture halls to fill the rooms with soft breezes and the chatter of the students hanging around on the lawn in groups and pairs.

The temperatures hadn't dropped though, they kept on rising and rising, the air got warm and stuffy and every breeze was like a soothing balm on sweat-coated legs, arms and faces.

You were thankful that the café had AC, a wonder of technology compared to the unbearable lecture halls and, to your pain, your dorm as well.

A week ago it suddenly stopped working and ever since then, you dreaded coming home and spent even more time at Legolas' and Thranduil's.

There were more overnight stays, starting with long nights watching movies between Legolas and Thranduil, or cooking dinner for when Thranduil came home from work and stopped dead in his tracks, staring at you humming a song, flipping eggs and Legolas setting the table, snorting and rolling his eyes over the "disgustingly heart eyes" that his father supposedly threw at you.

Those stays ended with breakfast on the patio, fresh orange juice in jugs, coffee in mugs, the old radio that crackled every then and again and filled the warm air with the sounds of Queen, Oasis and The Cranberries as you snacked on apple slices and watched Thranduil read the newspaper, casting soft smiles over the edge of the paper whenever he caught you looking or let his hand brush your ankle as you popped your foot on the empty seat between you two.

If it hadn't been before, it was now established that you were wandering in and out of their house as if it were your own.

There was a pair of slippers next to Thranduils' "old man" Birkenstocks (Legolas' words), a second toothbrush next to Legolas' bamboo one, and the pillow you always cuddled on what now was your space on the couch.

Neither Legolas nor Thranduil minded.

That much was clear by Legolas' pure enthusiasm of having someone to spend the entire night gossiping under the canopy of his bed, chatting you an ear off over something.. no anything that Aragorn had done and said and my god, you even learned about the times your ruggedly handsome best friend had so much as breathed in Legolas direction.

And well for Thranduil you couldn't say that whatever was there blossomed into more than those looks and soft touches.

Nothing like that moment a few weeks ago happened again, and although the memory of that car ride and the teasing and tension as he had you pressed against the painting in the halfway was still fresh and sent thrills through you, there was a much more subtle string connecting you.

You always meant to confront him, to pull him aside and ask why the hell he wouldn't just tell you what exactly was happening.

Still, every time you were ready, Thranduil would disappear into his office or cease all touches and go back to that infuriating look of yearning all across the room without actually stepping into it.

You nearly lost yourself in this conflicting back and forth, and came close to overfilling the coffee machine with beans that would have been a pain to clean up so the jingle of the bell came right on time to snap you out of the little trance.

"Hi, could I please get one Grande Triple Sugar-Free Cinnamon Frappuccino at 100 degrees with Honey and one extra shot of Caramel and cream?"

"Oh my god," you whipped around to the counter and nearly threw your towel at the new customer, hand already balling the wet fabric into your fist.

"That's literally the worst fucking order I've ever heard," Tauriel barked out, slamming the metal cup for steaming milk onto the counter loud enough that another student shuffled right back out the door.

You would have felt bad if you weren't busy stalking toward the bar until it was just the wooden counter separating you from climbing over it, fists ready for swinging.

"Woow," Legolas, –a little dramatically– leaned back and stared at you with curled lips, "this how you treat your best customer?"

"No," you shook your head, "no, this is how we treat dickheads with annoying fucking orders!"

"I'll let you know that while I very much appreciate dick–"

"STOP!"

"As well as head–"

"Someone stop him, please," Tauriel cried out, scaring yet another woman with the alarmed tone of her voice.

"I don't particularly enjoy being called such a mean, mean word when I was simply trying to get a coffee"

Even on tiptoes, it was impossible to reach Legolas, as much as you tried to slap a hand over his mouth that now curved into a satisfied smile over the chaos he had ensured in the mere moments he was in the shop.

"Simply?" Tauriel sneered, still looking truly murderous which you couldn't blame her for.

Legolas order, for the atrocious sugar bomb, that it sounded like, came only close to the worst drink that went over to a customer today.

After mixing a Matcha frappe with raspberry, caramel, cinnamon, and whipped cream not only once but twice for the same dude, her reaction to another monstrosity was well in its right. "Simply?!"

Legolas scoffed, tapping his pink fingernails against the wood, contemplating something over in that thick head of his before running his tongue over his teeth, baring them in a grimace.

"Fine, then I'll take a triple espresso, cold and without ice. That's not too much to ask, right? Don't want ya hitting the walls because you have to do your fucking job!"

He then turned to the first years that had taken over one of the biggest tables right after you'd opened, their wide eyes showing their struggle of 'should we stay and watch? or go? what's going on?' while staying glued on where they had spent the last few hours loudly gossiping, though as Legolas grazed them with their attention, they fell silent.

"So rude, am I right?" he asked.

All five of the girls nodded their heads fast, not blinking once.

Legolas, not caring at all that he was ogled like a piece of meat, propped both arms on the table and rested his head on his folded hands.

"Now, when do you get off again?" He fluttered his lashes, ignoring the snort you let out at his words.

"Well, my shift ends in ten, if that's what you want to know."

"Great!" Legolas tilted his head, watching as you busied yourself wiping a few glasses, "Soo, d'you wanna hit mine and drown ourselves in the pool?"

He leaned forward, grabbing one of the sugar packets you gave out, flicking his finger against the upper half before ripping it open.

He then, like it was totally normal and didn't hurt your teeth by just looking at it, licked his finger and stuck it into the packet to suck his finger clean.

Eyes stuck on his hand, already reaching back into the sugar, you curled your lips, "Sure. The others there as well?"

He grinned a Cheshire grin, releasing the finger with a 'pop'. "Mhmm, Gimli said he's in for a late night over at his friends. Aragorn has some poetry writing to do but he wants to join us later.

You stared at him, waiting.

There was an obvious question left hanging between you, one that bothered you if not answered and here he was, acting like a total dick by avoiding your stare and thanking Tauriel for the to-go cup of pure caffeine.

"Well, I'm going to wait outside–"

"Legolas!" you hissed just as he jumped down the barstool, tipping his rosé sunglasses back onto his nose.

He paused, turning and smiling sugar-sweetly. "Yes? Was there anything else that you want to know?"

Scowling you draw your eyebrows together, munching on the words, pulling them between your teeth. "Ishegoingtobehome?" you rushed out, barely understandable for you and you doubted that anyone around you actually got what you had said, but Legolas' smile softened.

"Maybe," he said, quieter and with a hint of a sigh, "Who knows these days? He was early the last two days, wouldn't count on it though."

You tried your hardest not to let your smile waver.

It threatened to break down at the edges, the tell-tale signs of the wave of insecurity that always pushed onto you at the topic of Thranduil; nipping your cheeks and you crushed them with a hard click of your tongue, pushing them away into the darkest corner of your mind.

Legolas, observant little shit that he was, scrunched his nose and squinted over at you through his glasses.

"Meet you in fifteen?" he asked instead and after you nodded, he waved at Tauriel, "Good coffee! Lacks a bit in friendliness but I think I'll leave a good Yelp review nevertheless!"

The doorbell chimed as he left the café– a bounce in his step and lifting his face toward the sun as soon as he stepped outside.

He was, by all means, the loveliest friend you could've ever wished for.

You spent the last few minutes rushing iced coffee orders, serving them to students all heading out of the uni toward the longed-for weekend, and helping Tauriel clean up for the shift-switch.

The uniform was thrown into your locker, exchanged with a yellow summer dress that flowed right above your knee and would, despite the airy fabric and barely there straps, prove to be far too hot because as soon as you and Tauriel stepped outside, away from the air conditioning, the sultry air enveloped you in a gripping hug.

It was borderline unbearable if not for the sunnies that you quickly pushed on top of your nose and the iced coffee that Tauriel had quickly whipped up for you both while instructing the other shift on what to do.

You said goodbye to Tauriel when she climbed onto her bike and you turned to the car park where you made a beeline toward Legolas.

While you appreciated Thranduils sleek sports car, you absolutely loved the days Legolas pulled up in his Chevy convertible and drove around without the hood.

With the others around, you'd always get a backseat so that Aragorn could sit in the front but now that he wasn't there, you couldn't be bothered to open the door and jumped just right into the seat next to Legolas.

"Hi Asshole," you greeted him and placed your coffee in between your legs to fasten the seatbelt, "you're so lucky Tauriel didn't just kill you for that order."

Legolas scoffed, already fiddling with the console and turning the keys.

He threw one look over his shoulder, made sure that this time there wasn't a bike that he could crash into, and passed you his phone.

"For what?" he asked, "I just wanted to try something new, is that against the rules?"

"No," you entered his code, a combination of your birthdays, "you wanted to be a pain right before shift end and you know we know you don't give a shit about any rules."

"Oh sue me. Next time I want to have some fun I'll post a warning beforehand. What the fuck are you doing?" Legolas turned his head as you tapped onto one of the many playlists he had and a soft guitarre song started playing.

He was met with the largest smirk on your face, eyes gleaming full of mischief.

"Ayo, my my… Las, care to tell me what I'm seing right now?"

Your only goal had been to tease him for the playlist titled 'For Las' but the further you scrolled, squealing and giggling, the more Legolas blushed, blushed!

"Oh my god, please–" he begged and tried to reach over though you giggled and shook your head.

"Legolas, who… who made this for you?" your eyes widened, taking in a lot of songs mouth agape, "This is twelve hours long!"

The blonde, who was now nearly as pink as the glasses on his face, pressed onto the pedals a bit harder, flying around a corner and onto the highway.

"Yes? And? You have playlists that long as well." He was evading the answer, fiddling with the console to overpower you, "I even made you one playlist that long!"

You snorted and turned the music louder on the phone, "Legolas, the playlist you made me was full of kpop and Kesha. This–" you pointed at the phone screen, showing him the cover that was a picture of himself, snapped on some forest ground and his blonde hair in disarray, "–this is not some platonic shit."

"What? D'you really think that?" Now, instead of just looking like he wanted to die out of embarrassment, he pulled a face as if you'd told him you believed the earth was flat; in total incredulity.

"Legolas–" you stared at him, still holding up the phone, "Legolas this is twelve hours full of what.. Hozier, Lord Huron.. there's even some Mitski and Lana Del Rey."

"Yes?" Legolas glanced over to you, his long manicured fingers drumming the steering wheel in that nervous habit of his where he couldn't, for the life of his, be still for just a second and think.

Or maybe stop thinking.

"I'm going to ask you one more time," you said and for his sake, switched to another playlist, one that ended his suffering, "who made this? This says it's by your account but I know.. I know you're not that self-centered."

He gripped the wheel even tighter, white knuckles protruding as he lifted one hand to bite onto his pointer finger.

Not once had you seen him this out of it and it made you wonder how you must've looked before you'd told them all about Thranduil.

Had you been this obvious as well?

Fidgeting whenever his name was dropped or Legolas had asked you if you could set another plate for his father?

Close to fainting just because Thranduil would pick you up?

"Promise me that you won't laugh?" he asked and you knew he was serious.

This was more than jokes, this was top-secret-bedroom-whisper-secret-level, and you reached over to pull his hand away from his mouth, linking your own pinkie with his.

"Promise."

"It's from Aragorn! Aragorn wrote me a letter with the songs listed as well as the Polaroid he made when we were out for a walk at that one party at Bilbo's, y'know? And fuck, do you really think that this is romantic and a hundred percent sure this couldn't be a 'hey buddy, here're some tunes that I found cool and that reminded me of our friendship, have a nice day dude' playlist!?"

Nothing, and you mean absolutely nothing, led to the scream you let out as the words burst out of Legolas like a balloon popping under pressure, rushing out all at once and leaving you to bounce around as good as you could in the car.

The car that had no roof and thus drew all kinds of looks from other drivers onto you shrieking.

"Aragorn made this? Are you kidding me?" you yelled, already slapping Legolas' arm that wasn't on the wheel. "No fucking way you looked at the songs 'Francesca' and; Jesus there's even a song literally titled 'I'm in love with you'," you paused, once again boxing his side, "and you thought this was platonic?"

"Maybe?" Legolas shrugged meekly, glancing over to you over his glasses, "I dunno, it's Aragorn. Why would it ever be romantic?"

"Because," you made sure to emphasize your next words carefully, "because you're both idiots and I love you- I love you very much but you both are so very stupid and so very blind."

"You're one to talk," he grumbled and smoothed some flyaway hairs behind his ear so as to not eat them due to the wind. "Were you not the one just asking me if Ada is home or not because you two can't get your shit together?"

It didn't suit you at all that he suddenly turned the conversation around to you, when you were just talking about Aragorn, very potentially not only reciprocating Legolas' feelings but trying to reach out to him as well, to shine the spotlight somewhere where you preferred darkness as long as you weren't sure yourself.

You buried your teeth in your lower lip, pushing it out into a pout, before turning your head away from your best friend.

"Look," he said faintly, resting one hand on your leg, "this isn't easy for me as well. He's my dad and your my best friend in the whole world. But watching you two is so hard and not for the reasons you may think. Of course, I don't get why you would choose him of all people, we could've made fantastic-looking babies as well–"

You involuntarily hiccuped a laugh, rolling your eyes, "Sure, keep telling yourself that lover boy."

Legolas grinned, though returned to a more serious expression as he started tapping away on the wheel again, "But you do like him and I know Ada so I know he likes you two. He's.. well he's an idiot like his son and would rather perish than admit to having feelings like anyone else. That would mean he needs to open up, to let someone into his heart."

Legolas turned the car onto a quieter road, driving past trees that threw their shadows onto your warmed skin and filtered the sun through their thick green foliage.

"I'm willing to do that," you said after a while of thinking. "For him, I mean. I'm ready to work on us, to take on every hurdle together, and to talk. Gods, I really want to talk to him."

You let your head fall back against the headrest, closing your eyes to watch the black and golden points dance over shut lids.

Mentally you were preparing a list of all the things you wanted to tell Thranduil, firstmost your feelings, yes, but you also wanted him to know your favorite color, your first memory of him, how much you loved to dance and that you never threw away movie tickets.

You wanted to ask him on what side of the bed he slept in, which countries he had seen, what his favorite animal was.

"By the way," you blinked open both eyes, meeting Legolas' gaze, "talk to Aragorn, please. The man needs to hear you say that you like him the same way."

Legolas relaxed with a chuckle, "Gimli's going to hate us."

Laughing you could do nothing but agree with him.

The rest of the drive is all the usual, the sincere and deep talks pushed away for jibs and jokes, complaints about work and moans about Professors who think summer break is to prepare with even more coursework.

You didn't mention the playlist, Legolas stayed silent about Thranduil, a mutual agreement.

The sun was impossibly high as Legolas parked his Chevy next to the other (empty) spot, beating down on you in a manner that screams for sunscreen and…

"Pool!" Legolas yelled and jumped out of the car. "Water! Refreshments!"

You both raced over the gravel path, not bothering walking through the house but rather dashing to the gate in a wooden fence, that led directly to the garden.

Even while you were still running, Legolas tore off his tanktop, throwing it away to land somewhere next to the seating area, flinging his shorts onto a lounge chair, and you followed his example.

You kicked your shoes away to run through the soft grass and at the sight of the shimmering pool, wrestled the sundress over your head.

Glad that you had the foresight to wear a bikini instead of normal underwear, you don't think twice before pulling your knees to your chest and crashed into the ice-cold water at the same time Legolas fell into the water face first.

For a bit, you two did nothing but splash around, using feet and hands and every unfair method you could think of trying to get the other to swallow as much water as possible.

Legolas, once again having quite the advantage due to his height and slender figure, got so good at diving under you and pulling you down, that after an hour of coming up sputtering and coughing, you were the one raising the metaphorical white flag.

After a short refreshment break consisting of (unchlorinated) water, Legolas went to grab two inflatable floaties from the pool house, throwing one in your direction before making himself comfortable on the green one.

"This is the life," he sighed, hands crossed behind his head.

You found not one bit of motivation to answer him using anything else but a drawn-out "Mhmm" as you laid down on your stomach, face hidden in the crook of your arm.

"I think, I'll take a nap." Legolas yawned but already sounded very far away for your eyes closed as well, exhaustion of the day and the fight seeping into your bones.

It was the combination of the gentle rocking of the inflatable, the water splashing in the background, muffled by your ear pressed against your arm, the sun drying your wet body with her warm rays that sent you into a blissful rest, floating away in the pool as well as your dreams.

When you awoke, it was to the gentle caressing of water running through your hand as well as someone blocking out the sun.

"Las," you mumbled, "Laaas, go away"

Nothing happened, the shadow casted onto you didn't move an inch.

"'M getting up cranky," you threatened as a last attempt, groaning into your skin as the last bit of sleep slipped away from you. "Now you've done it– I hate you."

"And I probably deserve it." The voice that finally piped up was, to your absolute horror, not your best friend.

Immediately your head shot up, nearly tearing some muscle as you craned it up… and up the body of the man standing in front of the sun.

Golden light fell onto strong shoulders, creating a halo that made it very hard to look at Thranduil without needing to squint your eyes against it.

Seeing your struggle and taking pity, Thranduil crouched down to your height. "May I?"

Incapable of saying anything, you nodded. Your mind was caught on the last threads of sleep, drowsiness tugging on your consciousness that was trying its best to keep up with the current happenings.

Thranduil let out a sigh as he sat down on the edge, not caring the slightest bit that his shorts were getting wet, and kicked his long legs into the water, sending ripples toward where you floated.

He did not attempt to start a conversation, instead, he just leaned back, large hands spread on the stone behind his back, his face angled just the right way for you to know his eyes were not completely shut but focused on you through lowered lashes.

There wasn't a need to mention how gorgeous he looked, bathed in sunlight and the buttons of a moss green linen shirt that much undone, that you could follow the line of his throat down to a small peek of a rosy porcelain chest.

You felt your throat clog up at the sight of him, effortlessly graceful and despite the humid air, not breaking a single sweat.

You quickly lowered your head again, burying your nose in your arm to not get distracted by his pine wood perfume that wafted over to you.

"Can we talk?" Thranduils voice was low, a soft rumble that barely topped the gurgling and splashing of the water.

"Mhm," you cleared your throat, "I don't know, can you? Kinda felt like you lost any ability to, or maybe that was special treatment for me." You let the words wander away and glared at him in a manner that screamed 'Give me a break'.

"Point taken."

"That wasn't nice, Thranduil."

"I know."

"Good. Did Legolas send you?" You moved your head, scanning the pool for any sign of your best friend but except for you and Thranduil and some bees buzzing and butterflies fluttering in the air, there was no one else. "Where is he?"

"Inside. Came in when Aragorn rang the bell and after he nearly killed me with one murderous look, they both disappeared up the stairs."

"Ah," the disappointment seeped into the single expression, weighing down onto your shoulders, "So you came to talk because Las told you."

"No, not at all!" With an alarmed expression on his face, Thranduil leaned forward, resting one hand on his broad thigh instead of the stone. "I understood I needed to talk to you soon. Legolas just kicked my ass one more time. I've thought of nothing but you for the last few days."

The blood immediately rushed to your cheeks at this statement. "You're thinking about me?"

"Constantly. How could I not?"

"I wasn't sure," you admitted quietly, "after you... well, after you drove me home the last time, everything changed somehow."

Saying what you felt had never been easy for you, admitting things meant exposing yourself and that feeling of pure nakedness when the other person saw you, heard what you were revealing like little messages encoded through meter-high walls, it always brought that dizziness with it.

Fears that the other person wouldn't like you if they found out you weren't perfect, that they might realize how your flaws and imperfections didn't fit their expectations.

You'd rather cram the truth behind well-chosen and hopefully satisfying answers that covered up the cracks.

"I was a daft idiot," Thranduil said and, to your surprise, let out a shaky laugh that sounded more fearful than anything else.

You raised a quizzical eyebrow, knowing better than to interrupt a man wanting to explain himself.

Mulling over his words, Thranduil dropped one hand into the water, swirling it back and forth in even rotations of his wrist.

"This–", he lifted it, dripping droplets onto his beige shorts as he pointed to you and then to him, "this caught me unexpectedly. For years I blocked off any attempts of lo– of liking someone. First I blamed it on the need to focus on Legolas, his upbringing and when he was old enough to become completely uninterested in his old Ada and reached the top shelf without me needing to lift him onto my shoulders, then I searched for other reasons. My job doesn't allow much time, they would just want my money, it's just not the right time..."

While he talked, the flow of the water had carried you close enough to him for the pool float to dodge the edge of the pool. You didn't attempt to push yourself back into the water.

Instead, you reached one hand over, holding onto the warm stone next to his thighs.

"This– you, my dear, dropped onto me so out of the blue that I realized I do not have the skills to converse as easily as you may hope."

His jaw muscles protruded as he lowered his head, the tip of his ponytail falling onto his chest.

Taking that bit of courage you found in you, you let the stone go, instead laying one hand gently onto his toned thigh next to his hand.

The muscles flexed as soon as you touched the pleasantly warm skin, moving under your palm in uncontrolled spasms that you ignored for the sake of both your minds right now.

Now that you had some stability, you tried to sit up. Doing your best to hold your balance while the wobbling made it difficult, you drew your legs to your chest and then straddled the pool float, huffing out a breath full of tension.

Thranduil, halfway through your struggle grabbed one corner and prevented you from drifting away.

"There," you said and blew some hair out of your face, "now, this is hard for me too."

As you sat up, you saw Thranduil's gaze snap up to you, or more explicitly; to your whole body.

There was a hitch in his chest, a gulp so loud it would've been embarrassing to draw attention to but while you make a point of focusing on the conversation, you can't help or stop the blush that spread over your whole body, a heat that traveled faster than the sun and that left you stuttering for the right words.

"And well, I– what I meant was that I don't expect a lot, just for you to be there. Don't leave me behind in the unknown. I.. I'm in zero gravity space here, floating around in these endless questions." You gestured a lot with your hands, fiddling with the bow on your bikini top, smearing some water over the heated plastic in front of you, anything to calm your racing mind.

You were, like you said, out of your own depth and that not only came from Thranduil being different than other guys but also because your feelings were so much grander than anything else you've felt before.

Not just lust.

Not just attraction.

Not just admiration.

When Thranduil spoke up again, his voice was firm; calm, quiet, meant for just you, and firm: "I'm here and I'm in, one hundred percent of me."

"Good," you whispered, "Me too."

In that single moment, just thirteen words and a trembling of lips, a wave of relief washed over you, freeing you from the weight of countless sleepless nights spent tossing and turning, worried that all of this would be for nothing.

Thirteen simple words, mere letters strung together in infinite combinations, yet in that particular arrangement, they held the power to soothe your soul like nothing else could.

There was something in your chest that snapped, a tight leash of worries that had been bound around your heart, layering that precious muscle in a protective case so as to not get hurt again.

He visibly relaxed at that, not entirely, but there was a drop in his shoulders, a shift in his thighs; physically opening up to you and not just emotionally.

You decided to do the same and smiled.

"So," you started, "now that's finally out of the way. Was this the reason why you got all sassy and distant?"

He huffed, ever-attentive eyes roaming over the wide slopes and curves of the garden behind you as if there was an easier answer out there that he could offer you.

But you knew, without turning around, there was nothing else except for flowers and trees, maybe some hidden wine bottles that Legolas and you had snuck out and buried as time capsules right next to the patch of vegetables.

"Sassy, you say," he pondered, and you too thought back to the snippy comments that he had thrown Legolas's way when he came down the stairs and found Legolas rummaging through a box of old movies to watch with you; coming on rather defensive over movies you'd watched together, the three of you, two nights ago.

Or the night he knocked on Legolas's door to send you both to bed like you were two children and all you did was stare at each other in disbelief.

He must've come to the same conclusion as you, he pulled a very apologetic face that was downright hurtful to watch. "Oh, yes. I may or may not have been a total ass, haven't I?"

You agreed with a nod. "Total ass, like stage five. Me and Legolas were already thinking you'd robbed a bank or planned to overthrow the government with all the mood switches you'd going on."

There was a playful tone in your voice, despite the underlying accusation though you couldn't be bothered to force him to explain anything if he didn't wanted.

What he just said, the admission of attraction was more than you'd thought you got today, so you decided to let him off easy.

"Darling," he smirked, throwing the teasing right back at you, and you swallow loudly at the nickname, "I'm rich and a lawyer. If I wanted to lead this country I could simply pay for that seat." The way he said that completely self-assured in his abilities... or well... his bank account, made your stomach flip.

It took a total amount of five slow and counted breaths before you went back to thinking straight, or let alone to speaking again.

"I offer you my support in exchange for clearing my college debts. Sounds quite fair to me," you stated.

"I can just pay them off for you," Thranduil offered.

"Sure," you burst out laughing.

"I'm serious," Thranduil insisted but was met with a quick headshake from you. "Okay. But, and don't shoot me this look, the offer stands. You don't have to accept it right away, not in the near future. It's there, okay? Just like I am."

The words lingered between you, folded into your chest directly beneath your heart, which seemed to have no intention of stopping its erratic beating.

You were aware that if Legolas had made the same offer, you would have reacted differently—probably lashed out at him. After all, you weren't a charity case.

You worked not only to finance your university and room but also your free time, just as you had planned long before the Oropherion household showed you how easily some things came with money.

That's exactly what you would have told Legolas, perhaps adorned with a few curses or insincere insults, a bit offended until you both apologized.

Although Thranduil's offer hit the same sore spot and your ego, you couldn't help but ponder how it would feel to be cared for by him.

"I neither accept nor decline, okay?" You nailed him with a glance at the ground, through which he raised his hands in defense with a smirk. "First, I want a pony, one with a beautiful, long, blonde mane, because you never allow us to braid yours." Admittedly, you had never asked, but that didn't matter in this playful banter.

"Just–" Thranduil laughed huskily, "Just take it easy on this old man, alright?" Both of his hands grabbed the pool float with ease, pulling you into the open space his spread legs provided.

Your knees touched his, water sloshing up.

"Huh?" you pretended to look around, already breathless despite not having moved an inch.

"What are you doing?"

"Well–" you said, knee nudging his playful, "I'm looking for the old man. Wouldn't want some creep staring over the hedge."

Thranduil rolled his eyes slightly and raised one of his eyebrows. "I can see," he began, shaking his head with a harsh laugh, "you firecracker are about to drive me out of my mind."

You grinned cheekily at him. Your body unconsciously leaned forward, propped up on your elbows, you looked up at him and pursed your lips. "We never talked about playing fair."

He followed your example, his upper body leaning down until his face was mere inches away from yours.

This must be it, you think, taking him in one last time, rosy plush lips opened slightly, piercing eyes searching your face, blonde hair framing strong cheekbones, and you let your eyes fall close.

There was water rushing, the gentle bobbing on top of it, the wet coolness nipping everywhere except where his knees touched yours.

You leaned forward some more, yearning to finally learn what he tasted like, to memorize the burning touch of his lips on yours.

The inflatable shifted as he let go, opting to instead hold you close by laying his large hands on your neck, nearly spreading his fingers all around and you knew he felt your breath hitch and you suspected he must've felt the nervous flutter of your pulse like a hummingbird as well.

You awaited the kiss with bated breath.

It didn't come.

The subtle shift in weight, as you inched closer to Thranduil, proved to be the catalyst that upset the delicate equilibrium of the pool float.

In an instant, it slipped between your legs, and the last thing you felt was the tight grip of Thranduils hands on your shoulders.

The subsequent splash echoed with a deafening resonance, the world above the water muffled as you found yourself submerged, cut off from the surface.

Thranduil's body followed swiftly, his legs intertwined with yours, forcing him to tip underwater as well.

When you gasped for air, your brain not quite realizing that there was no air, not only did you swallow a mouthful of chlorinated water, the jerk of your knee came also close enough to kick him into the groin.

Thankfully you only got his thigh.

The water embraced you, surrounding you with playful gurgles and chuckles, as if nature itself joined in on the amusement of your unexpected descent.

Thranduil was the first to react.

His hands reached out, a strong arm securing around your middle, pulling you close. With a powerful push of his feet, you both burst through the water's surface.

"Fuck," you sputtered, the sting of chlorine in your eyes forcing you to shut them tightly against the blazing sun. "Fuck, shit, fuck."

Your flailing feet found purpose when Thranduil murmured, "Hold on, I've– I've got you!" Responding instinctively, you wrapped your legs around him.

Just before he hoisted you out of the water and placed you on the sun-soaked stones, you registered the firmness of his chest, the smoothness of his skin, and the subtle flex of every.single.muscle at play.

Coughing loudly and deeply from the shock and the overwhelming intake of water, not intended to be enjoyed in such excessive amounts, you spat some out onto the grass next to you.

"Fuck," you repeated. The stress of the situation crashed onto you, leaving you to cough and sit in the embarrassing position where you could only blink and take in a mushy version of Thranduils handsome face peering up at you.

"Hey, it's alright, you're alright." His voice pulled you back, calming the scratch in your throat.

"What– how?" you wheezed, body curling until you could rest your head on his broad shoulder. It was no comfortable position with him kicking the water to hold himself upright, hands holding onto your thighs and you bend nearly in half, but it helped.

The soothing circles his thumb drew over your skin, the reassuring words he mumbled.

"I'm so embarrassed, oh my god," you whined. "I can't believe this happened."

"Hey–" His large palm cupped your cheek, tipping your head back to lock his eyes onto yours. "Hey look at me." His fingers stroked over your temple, slightly pressing into it. "You could've hit a much worse spot than you did."

You snorted, "Yes, then I would've probably drowned myself."

The same moment you wanted to try again, chasing that adrenaline high, the loud "What the fuck happened?" of Legolas sounded over to you and all you two could do was burst out into laughter.

taglist [still open]: @mushroomemeralds, @mssuguru, @solartoge, @12134z03, @fruitymoonbeams-blog, @lady-of-imladris , @finallyforgotten , @123forgottherest @tomhockstetter7-111 @marshymallo @emily-roberts @howlerwolfmax

[jaykaysthicthighs]

The Path Of A Singer | JJK

excerpt | the appearance of your old lover pops up on tv, and the horrible memories showed itself once again.

genre | heavy angst, cheating, abuse, minor fluff

rating | 18+

warnings | strong language, present & past, toxic relationship, mental & physical abuse, jk cheating, panic attack, alcohol and drug consumption, lots of crying, heartbreaking conversations, jk being vile, lots of yelling, jk manhandles the reader, mention of abusive father, mention of ptsd, reader being selfless (you might not agree with the decisions she's made, but don't hate her; she's a broken person), maybe more

wc | 4K+ (very short)

notes | it's been a hell of a long time since i wrote and posted anything....!!!

my inspiration came from watching the movie insidious: the red door lol. the reason for the mature rating is because of the strong language, the heavy conversations said, and the talks of alcohol and drugs. i want to say that i'm not romanticizing this type of relationship or the behaviors of the characters, i'm just making a story that maybe some people might have gone through. sometimes the decisions made or thought of does not make you a bad/horrible person. everyone had a reason good or bad; you just have try to be understanding. i also tried to make this as heartbreaking as possible, but for some reason i feel like it's not. hopefully it does pull some heartstrings for you guys.

You finally arrived home after an exhausting day of work. Your roommate wasn't home yet, so, luckily for you, you're able to binge eat without the concerned eyes of your friend watching you.

You walked your way to the kitchen and made yourself some sandwiches, you also grabbed some water on the way to the living room. When you made it to the couch, you plopped down heavily. You grabbed the remote and started scrolling through the channels. You came across a channel that was showing a music festival, and without thinking about who might be performing you clicked on it.

The first performer was a group called XG. As they were performing, you happily ate while vibing to their songs. At one point, you started singing as well, not caring that you still had some food in your mouth. If the neighbors were able to hear you, they would probably think someone is dying - yelling for help.

When you finished, you got up put away your dishes, and made your way to your room to change your clothes. As you were changing, you felt a bit lonely. You and your friend don't have any pets, no companion to keep any of you guys company. You exited your room with a simple sweater and shorts.

You made it back to the living room with a content expression on your face, unfortunately, it wouldn't last long. As you were about to get yourself situated on the couch, you looked at the TV screen, and the one person you never wanted to see again was singing.

You fell to your knees with a hard thud, watching the screen with horrid eyes. It's been three years since you saw him. In those three years, you tried your damned hardest to avoid anything and everything that involved him in it. The pain he caused you still resides in your little heart.

You didn't realize but you started crying; the tears rapidly falling. Your body started shaking; the little goosebumps displaying your skin. Your chest felt heavy like a huge wave crashing on you, and the water is rising up into your nose, making it hard for you to breathe. You felt like you were suffocating, and the lack of air was making your head light; dizziness taking its place.

On the outside, you were frozen, but on the inside, you were trying to claw your way out. You felt like you were scratching every surface of your body, but you weren't moving an inch. Your brain was screaming for help, but the only thing leaving your mouth was the hardness and unstableness of your breathing. Right now, you were wishing for your friend to come home right now and save you.

Three Years Ago

You were in your car driving your way to your boyfriend. Jungkook's manager called you demanding that you come and pick him up. You don't really know what happened, but from how his manager sounded, you were thinking that he got himself drunk and high again, causing thoughtless actions.

Not too long ago, Jungkook was able to get into his dream record label. After years and years of hard work, passion, and dedication he was able to pursue his dream. What you didn't realize is that with Jungkook getting to follow his dream of being a singer, he would soon lose his sense of self. In just two weeks he was starting to drink, and in another week, he started experimenting with drugs.

As time went on, so did your patience. You would try and try to stop him - to help him, but every time Jungkook would stop your advances. Pushing you away and causing you pain made Jungkook feel superior, it made him feel proud that he reached a certain height in life.

Your guy's relationship now consists of yelling and crying. Jungkook started to mentally abuse you, but even so, you would accept it. You didn't have the strength to leave him - to leave the man you love since middle school. You couldn't leave the man who would write songs about you, the man who would wake up during dawn and make you a big breakfast, the man who would call you no matter the time, the man who would always tell you how much he loves you every second of the day. You didn't have the strength to leave him.

With all your anger, you finally made it to the studio in one piece. When you entered the building, the looks on the staff's faces were concerning you. One of the staff went up to you and told you to not go inside the studio. You looked at them judgingly and pushed your way through them, but they still tried to stop you.

"What is the problem? Let me through!" you yelled. They gave you a sad look and apologized, "I'm sorry ma'am, but Jungkook is very busy, and I don't think it's a good idea for you to go inside there." Your anger was boiling, steam coming out of your ears. "Sorry for yelling at you, but I don't fucking care if he is busy. Jonny called me saying that I need to pick this asshole up, okay? If you're worried about me finding out that he is high or drunk - even both, don't. This is not new to me."

The staff in front of you looked like she was on the verge of tears. She opened her mouth to say something, but before she got the chance, a disheveled woman left the room your boyfriend was in. You watched her with wide eyes as she left the building with a smile on her face. You stomped your way to the studio door ignoring the pleas from the staff. You pushed open the door causing a loud bang, startling the man recognized as Jonny.

Jonny swiftly got up and the first thing you noticed was the bloody nose. You walked your way to him digging in your bag grabbing some tissues for his nose. Gently placing it on him, you politely demanded, "Where is he, Jonny?" The man before you faced his eyes on the floor. "Jonny, you called me here, so, don't fucking hide anything from me. Where is he?"

The man took a step back letting the blood freely fall again. He shook his head, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have called you. I've ruined everything." You gritted your teeth and threw the bloody tissue at his face. "Where the hell is he, Jonny?" you yelled.

A second later, Jungkook swung the bathroom door open with nothing but some sweats on. Your heart dropped from his appearance. It was evident that he had fucked the girl from earlier. You guys made eye contact, and you could tell immediately that he was high out of his mind. "Get out, Jonny," you said without looking.

When you heard the door shut, that's when you crumbled. Your eyes started blurring with the tears that were coming. Your body shaking with rage. You walked up to the fucked-up man and slapped him. "Why? Why? Why the hell would you do this to me?"

Jungkook harshly grabbed your wrists and laughed. He laughed like what you had said was something funny. You can smell the horrible alcohol leaving his mouth as he laughed. "Because it's fun, babe."

The pain rippled throughout your body. You snatched your wrists away and bellowed, "You're hurting me! You're destroying me! What does she have that I don't? I thought you loved me?" Jungkook towered over you; he grinned, "I don't love you." Your whole world died. Never had Jungkook spouted those words. It tore you limb from limb, slowly but surely. And that was all it took for you to call it done.

You were fine dealing with his hurtful ways. You were fine being the punching bag. But you were not fine being cheated on. Even with Jungkook in this fucked-up state, not once had he said that he didn't love you, and not once did he ever cheat on you. You felt lower than before, and you didn't want to feel like that. You knew that the moment he started doing drugs and drinking alcohol, the man you once knew would be gone. Still, you had hoped there might be a tiny sliver of him inside, but today proved - his words proved you wrong.

Your eyes hardened and your expression became stoic. Without trying to sound broken you seethed, "We are done! You fucking hear me? I am done with your shit - with everything!" As you walked your way to the door, Jungkook rushed in front of you and pushed you to the ground.

The wind got knocked out of you; you started bawling your eyes. For the first time, you were scared of the man before you. Jungkook locked the door behind him and dragged you by your feet. You tried kicking your feet, hoping that his release would loosen, and you could run away. But before you knew it, Jungkook locked you both into the soundproof booth.

When his grip on you was gone, you scurried to the corner of the booth shielding yourself with your bag. Jungkook walked to you and kneeled to your level. "Don't hide from me, baby." He gently grabbed your bag and tossed it to the other side of the booth. You closed your eyes; you couldn't see the monster of the man you love.

You felt Jungkook tenderly cupping your jaw. You trembled beneath his fingertips; quietly whimpering. It stayed like this for a few seconds until you felt his touch disappear. With your eyes still closed, you could hear Jungkook digging for something. You heard a rustling sound of a Ziplock bag. You knew better, you knew that he was using drugs right now.

"Open your eyes, ____," Jungkook demanded.

You didn't answer, you didn't move. This pissed off the man in front of you. He slapped you, making your body jolt, making your eyes open. You brought your hand to your cheek, tears threatening to fall. "See, it wasn't that hard?"

"W-what do you want... from me?" you stammered.

Jungkook seethed, "You can't leave me. I won't let you leave me. You owe me. All that money I spent on you, all those years I wasted on you - I want that back! And the only way you can pay me back is by being my bitch. You are fucking mine, ____!"

You finally let the tears fall again. Your whole body shook like lightning shooting throughout you. Shaking your head, you wailed, "No! No! No! Please! Don't do this to me, Dad! Stop hurting me!" For the first time today, Jungkook felt his senses come back. Your words panged his heart.

Your mother was never in your life. It was always you and your father, but your father was an abusive man. He would try to find any little thing to blame you for, just for him to lay his hands on you; from hitting, kicking, even to cutting. You had met Jungkook when you were thirteen years old, he comforted, protected, and helped you. When you finally turned eighteen, that's when you moved in with him - that's when you finally felt peace.

Jungkook cupped your face into place. He frantically said, "____, it's me. Your dad's not here. It's me, Jungkook." His touch burned you; you felt like dying. You mustered all your strength and pushed him away. You gripped your shirt and yelled, "No! You're not him! You're not Jungkook! You're a monster and I don't even recognize you!"

Monster... That simple word rang in Jungkook's mind. Monster... Such a terrifying word. If he was a monster, his reason would be because of you. Unfortunately, all the drugs and alcohol in his system weren't enough to keep him sane for one minute. Jungkook launched at you. His hands wrapped around your throat, choking you, but still letting you breathe.

You started clawing your nails on his bare arms. Digging deep that blood starts making its presence. But all that Jungkook could see right now was red. He couldn't feel the pain you were giving him; he couldn't hear the agony in your voice; he couldn't see your wrecked state. Red became his friend.

"You are the reason for my horrible being. You are the reason why I'm a monster. You bitch! If you hadn't kept pushing me to pursue this fucking career, I would've still been the same. If you hadn't been so loving and caring and supportive, we wouldn't be in this predicament. I can't believe that I fell in love with a disgusting person like you. I can't fucking believe that I let you take control of my whole being!"

Right when you were on the verge of passing out, Jungkook released his hold on you; he backed himself on the other side of the booth. You were catching your breath. Your hands shakingly touched your neck, throbbing against your frail fingers. You were painfully coughing; mentally asking God to help ease your pain. Your eyes went in and out of vision; red and black dots were the only thing in sight.

Jungkook watched you with dark eyes. He watched as you were struggling to regain your previous state. He watched as you were crying from the pain, he inflicted on you. He watched the one person who was always with him, the one person who loved and cared for him no longer be the same. He killed you, painfully and slowly.

Present

"____, look at me. It's okay. It's okay." Your friend Lia gently held your face in place. She called out your name, praying that you would settle. She watched as you were frantically breathing; your eyes looking everywhere but her; your body shaking like the room was freezing.

Your panic attacks rarely happen, but when they do, Lia feels so useless. She wished that she could help ease your pain, she wished that she had the power to prevent this. But all she could do was hold you and tell you that you're okay.

Minutes go by until you are finally back. "____?" Lia cautioned, "____, look at me. Are you okay?" As you looked at Lia, you could see the worried expression painting her beautiful face. You hated yourself for making her feel like this, but you couldn't help it. This feeling will never go away; it gets buried six feet under, but once he appears they come back.

"Lia," you whispered, "I saw him again... on TV." Lia took a deep sigh; she hated the pain he caused you before and now. She wrapped you in her arms, holding you with such care. The second you were in her arms, you broke. You cried and cried, loudly speaking your pain.

Lia felt her shirt dampen, but she didn't care. Whatever you do to her, she will take it all in, as long as you feel better in the end, Lia will gladly be your tissue, your enemy, your punching bag. Lia murmured against your hair, "I'm here. I will always be here." She held you tighter; she didn't want you to fade away from her.

You took deep breaths to calm down your nerves. You pulled away from Lia and made your way to the couch. You brought your knees up and buried your face in the space between. You hissed, "I hate what he does to me. He's not even here!" This time you whispered, "And yet, he's able to bring me down to my knees... scared."

Lia met you three years ago; months after your event. You were just a newly hired TA. When Lia first saw you, you looked like a girl who was barely keeping her life together. You told her beforehand - when you started room mating with her, that you have PTSD and that your panic attacks happen from time to time. You didn't really tell her the whole story, just that you were in a very abusive relationship and that you experienced something so terrifying. She accepted you with an open mind and open arms; from then on, Lia became your rock.

Lia got up and sat right next to you. She wanted to ask you a question, but she was scared that you would hate her or push her away for asking. But this question has been in her mind for a while now. After taking a few seconds thinking to think it through, Lia wiped her sweating palms on her pants and inquired, "____, if you don't mind me asking... why didn't you call the police on him? You should've, 'cause I don't think he should be performing after everything he's done to you."

Your eyes started getting blurry; you told yourself the exact same thing, but there was a reason. With your head still buried, you softly replied, "It's easier said than done, Lia. I wished I called the police on him - I wish I could call the police on him, but I can't. Because in simple words... I love him. I hate myself for loving him. Even after everything he has done to me, and everything he has said to me, I love him. Does that make me a horrible person?"

Lia felt herself invisibly jumping out of the couch. No way does she think you're a horrible person. You're just a person who's been through something horribly traumatic. Her heart was filled with so much pain for you. Lia positioned herself so she was facing your small figure, and expressed, "____, no way in hell are you a horrible person. Far from it! I won't be able to say that I relate or know what you're going through, because I don't. But I am able to say that I'll support you and understand your feelings and decisions."

You lifted your head but still kept your eyes on your knees; you muttered, "I met him when we were thirteen years old. He was a very shy and reserved kid - hated social interactions. I remember..." you quietly giggled without realizing when you were remembering the fond memories, "I remember when he used to make small mixtapes every anniversary with letters. He wasn't always a horrible person. He used to be kind, supportive, and loving. One of my favorite things about him was his selflessness towards me. I loved that he would always think about my needs, what I wanted, what I was thinking, and how I was feeling, but in turn, he did the opposite for himself. It was a blessing and a curse."

Lia looked at you and saw the small smile showing. This look was rare for you, and every time it made its appearance, Lia would always treasure it. "He must have been a great person for you to smile like that." You furrowed your brows; you turned to Lia with confusion. "What smile?" you questioned. Lia rolled her eyes, "Well, there's no smile anymore."

You took a deep sigh and apologized, "I'm sorry for talking about him. It's just - just talking about him in this light makes me happy and warm... even if it only lasts for a few seconds." Lia noticed that you started tearing up. Your face was slightly contorted with pain; you were trying not to cry, holding it in but it didn't work. Your tears were freely falling, and Lia comforted you once again. You quietly whimpered, "During that time I called him a monster, but really, I don't want to remember him as the monster in my life because at one point he used to be my prince who saved me from one. I try to think and talk about him in this beautiful light that he used to be under - I want to remember him as that, but the pain he brought upon me is too hard to ignore." You started wailing at this point, "It continues to haunt me, and I hate it! I want to hate him, but I can't! I can't!"

Lia felt herself crying for your pain. She felt herself slowly dying by your words. It truly kills her that her most precious and beautiful friend is going through so much pain. As you both cried into each other's arms, you could hear Lia continuously apologize through her cries. You were so grateful to have such an amazing person as her.

Once you were calmed down, you pulled away from the still tearful woman and wiped her tears away. "Don't cry anymore, Lia." you sniffled, "What happened to me - what's still happening to me would never be fully cured, but I know that whatever happens next, you'll be by my side, and slowly but surely, I won't be able to be to feel the pain anymore. Okay?" Lia nodded her head with a soft smile. You're right, as long as she's with you and as long as you are with her everything will be fine. You guys are each other's glue - each other's person.

There is no doubt in your mind that this pain will pass by. You don't know how long that will take, but until the day comes, having Lia with you eases your heart from pain as much as possible.

"You mailed her my letter?"

"Yes, Jungkook."

The tired man finished his show with a bang, and even though people enjoyed his performance, Jungkook couldn't seem to feel all that happy. For the past year since he finished his rehab, nothing has felt more depressing.

The morning of that night when he woke up, Jonny had told him that you had left, and he was to go to rehab immediately. He hated you for leaving, he hated that you left him in such a messy state. Jungkook blamed everything on you. Jonny had told the ill man that if it wasn't for you, everything that he had worked so hard on would go down the drain. At first, Jungkook didn't understand why you left or what Jonny was saying, but as time went on, he knew that everything was his fault. His addictions and his abusive behavior were all his fault. The reason for your disappearance was his fault. Your pain - everything was all him.

Jungkook knows that there will be no way for him to fix the things he has done and the things he had said, but even so, he would try his damn hardest to fix it. When he finished rehab, Jungkook made it a mission to send you a letter every week, telling you about his days throughout the week, how much he loves and cares for you, telling you how much he is so regretful. Deep down he knows that he is being selfish, he knows that he should let you go - let you move on, but the helpless man is stuck in the past. The past is what keeps him alive. The past is his only source of reason. Jungkook doesn't want to let go of that one thing he has left of you.

Jonny felt so much pity for the man, he didn't have the heart to tell him that he didn't know your address. He would accept the letters, promising that he would mail them, but when night rolls around your letters would be burned. Jonny wanted to quit being Jungkook's manager, but you begged and begged for him to stay with the broken singer. You wanted Jungkook to at least have one person for him to lean on when things get hard. Jonny admires your strength - how strong of a woman you are, so, he agreed.

"You should just stop already, Jungkook. She's never gonna mail you back. I know your reason, but you lost her, and you can never fix that." Jonny was getting tired; tired of seeing the broken singer trying with no prevail.

Jungkook walked up to his manager and lowly whispered, "You think I don't know that, Jonny? Ever since I learned that everything is my fault... I knew that she would never come back to me. Yet I still hope - even if that hope is microscopic or nonexistent, I hope that I will be able to see or be with her again."

The fatigued man took a few steps back and lowered his heavy head down. His eyes searched the floor trying to keep his tears at bay, but it didn't work. The salty tears of this poor singer escaped and landed harshly on the wooden floor. Sniffling, the fatigued man uttered, "You think I don't know that you burn my letters?" Jungkook lifted his head up and saw the ashamed manager looking back at him.

He continued, "You're not as discreet as you think you are, Jonny. I went to your hotel room to ask for a favor... and I saw you burn my eighth letter with sadness swimming in your eyes. I connected the dots from there, and I realized that you never sent any of my letters because you don't know her address, huh? You're left in the dark like I am, huh? You know nothing about her whereabouts, about how she's doing, about anything, huh, Jonny!" The manager kept quiet; didn't know what to say.

Jungkook slumped down on the nearest chair with a hard thump. He leaned his head back with closed eyes and softly whimpered, "I now understand the meaning ‘You reap what you sow’… I'm never gonna stop. I know I can never fix this, but I promise you Jonny, I will never stop. Ten years - fifty years from now, I will keep writing her letters... knowing that deep down all of this is for nothing. I don't care if I'm shaming myself by doing this - I don't care about anything but her. She's not mine anymore but I'm forever hers. Let me live like this. Let me live with the consequences. Let me drown myself in this regret."

The destroyed man opened his eyes and gently moved his head to the side to see the lone figure of his manager feet away. With a deep sigh, Jungkook claimed, "You're just my manager, right? So, don't involve yourself in my pitiful life. Just do the job you were hired to do, along with getting my letters. Don't care what you do to them - burn them, keep them hidden, rip them up... doesn't matter, just don't let me know about it; let me falsely believe that you mailed them to her. Alright? Now please get the car... I wanna go home."

[offtorivendell]

My thoughts on the Bryce, Azriel and Nesta HOFAS bonus chapter...

Disclaimer: as suggested by the title, the following discusses the Walmart HOFAS bonus chapter featuring Azriel, Bryce and Nesta. I haven't read the main text, so it won't feature anything related to that, but there are massive Maasverse and HOFAS spoilers ahead regardless. Please beware.

These are just my initial thoughts, not expanded upon in any substantial way and, as usual, I could always be way off the mark.

Also, yes, fair warning that I'll be mentioning the ACOTAR characters a lot. If that's not your jam, and you'd rather avoid any of the possible implications of the crossover, then I'd give this post a miss. On the other hand, if you're interested in how CC/HOFAS may affect Prythian going forward, please read on.

Music:

The Stone Mother song has me 👀 especially as the stone and water were "talking" at the start.

@cassianfanclub and @wingedblooms have already posted about the Stone Mother (here and here); @ladynightcourt3 has found the Phrygian goddess Cybele, also known as the "Mountain Mother," who sounds very relevant.

That being said, am I crazy to think Elain could have been listening in? Is Azriel stone and Elain water? His stone siphons - which Elain called beautiful, did she hear their song, as kin? - and Elain possibly as water? Was she using salt water to boost her powers, or a reflection pool to scry, and keep tabs on her sister and friend?

Or is it the space between linking worlds? Are the old gods talking?

Alternatively, could stone be referring to Nuala and Cerridwen, who are capable of manifesting stone around themselves and others (ACOTAR).

Is this what SJM meant when she said we'd see Elain in "some form" in the next book?

@psychee92 said she wished that SJM had somehow included Mr Brightside, and now I wish the same; even a mention of indie rock. 😭

Josie and Laurel - "He/god will add/increase" "(laurel) trees/victory"? Elain? Lol sorry, but it's either giving gardener, or Elain killing Hybern.

Wraith-like harmonies? After the description of Josie and Laurel's voices? It's crack, but is it a metaphor for Nuala and Cerridwen?

The musical similarities between what Juniper dances to and Prythian's music?!

Azriel's humming/singing made the shadows dance, once more suggesting that shadows dancing is a response to power, not mate bonds

The music Az liked was death metal. Could this link to any sort of metal artefact, like an iron crown for grounding? Or wyrdstone jewellery?

The glass coffin?

"Nineteenth century literature presents the glass coffin as a prison within which sleeping women are frequently mistaken for dead or vice versa." (Source). It's giving Sleeping Beauty (credit to @elriell for the OG SB theory), and a little Snow White.

Check out this tale from The Brothers Grimm, which sounds... suspiciously relevant to Elain.

@cassianfanclub also suggested that it's giving necromancer vibes, and I'd love that for Elain.

Feyre once said she could sleep for a hundred years after coming back from the Prison, right before going to the Hewn City in ACOWAR. After Elain had left the room, and before Feyre went to check in on her to find her "asleep—breathing."

Let's not forget Elain's assistance in rescuing the human COTB, Briar, from Hybern's camp.

Will Elain prick herself while weaving?

I was tired enough that I could barely summon the breath to ask, “Do you think the Cauldron made her insane?” “I think she went through something terrible,” Lucien countered carefully. “And it wouldn’t hurt to have your best healer do a thorough examination.” I rubbed my hand over my face. “All right.” My breath snagged on the words. “Tomorrow morning.” I managed a shallow nod, rallying my strength to rise from the chair. Heavy—there was an old heaviness in me. Like I could sleep for a hundred years and it wouldn’t be enough. “Please tell me,” Lucien said when I crossed the threshold into the foyer. “What the healer says. And if—if you need me for anything.” I gave him one final nod, speech suddenly beyond me. I knew Nesta still wasn’t asleep as I walked past her room. Knew she’d heard every word of our conversation thanks to that Fae hearing. And I knew she heard as I listened at Elain’s door, knocked once, and poked my head in to find her asleep—breathing. - ACOWAR, chapter 27

Azriel specifically said Nesta "beheaded" Hybern, after looking down at Truth-Teller.

This is not Azriel giving Nesta credit for the assassination. If anything he's hiding Elain's involvement.

I've said before, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who has done so, but I would expect Azriel to protect his LI with silence, whoever they are.

He had to have been thinking about Elain, who I've theorised could now/soon be known as "The Shadowsinger's Knife" after she became the "knife in the dark" in Azriel's place at the end of ACOWAR.

The young girl sitting on the mushroom:

I'm still looking into the carving of the young girl sitting on the toadstool with the hound sprawled on the ground beside her, as I find it really interesting. My initial thought was that it seemed like a convenient place to drop a mention of a garden-like fairy carving with a hound right after Bryce had quizzed Azriel about his hypothetical mate, or lack thereof (Elain being both heavily associated with plant life, thanks to her "little garden," as well as dogs, after Nesta called her one in ACOSF).

I also wonder if it has anything to do with the Czech tale that amanita muscaria - while psychoactive/toxic - are said to protect from lightning and other ill fortune. If this is correct, it reminds me a little of the markings - wyrdmarks - on the Archeron cottage.

I don't know where Bryce and co were walking, as I have only read this bonus chapter and the prologue, but given it was carved on an underground wall, and I suspect that there are underground portals in at least the Hewn City and the Prison, and maybe the waterways... could it have been for protection against the invading lightning Asteri? Or did the Asteri (Daglan?) put them there to protect against Thunderbirds, or whatever Hunt is?

Miscellany

Maybe Bryce hadn't been sent there by Urd? Who then? Was @silverlinedeyes right all along?

The mention of pleasure halls seems like a call back to Azriel's bonus chapter, but it's also likely that they aren't all brothels (see Rita's).

Azriel listening closely about Nesta now liking being Fae; he could extrapolate her responses to Elain. Maybe she's no longer miserable, and in need of their pity. And maybe she's changed her mind from ACOFAS, when she said to Feyre "I don't want a mate, I don't want a male."

Azriel said "no" to whether or not he has a mate rather quickly. Hmm... the shadowsinger doth protest too much?

It's also potentially important that Nesta said "yes, WE are" curious about Azriel's mate status. Her, Azriel and most of the fandom! 😂

"Okay, okay," Bryce said. "But it'd be cool to know something about your world. Or about you." They were both silent. Bryce asked Nesta, "You have a mate, right?" She nodded to Azriel. "Do you?" "No." Azriel said quickly, flatly. "A partner or spouse?" "No." Bryce sighed. "Okay, then." Azriel's wings twitched. "You're incurably nosy." "I think that's the nicest thing you've said about me." Bryce winked at him. "Look, I just... I'm curious. Aren't you?" Azriel didn't answer, but Nesta said, "Yes. We are." - HOFAS, Bryce, Azriel and Nesta bonus chapter

All in all, while there were no overt mentions of Elain - and really, why would SJM do that in a series that wasn't Elain's own - imo we got the Elain-shaped holes in the text that I was hoping for, and I can't wait to see if there are any more in the full book.

[juniperdugong]

Perfection Pt.6; Rising Tides

Pairing: mortician!mingyu x corpse!fem!reader

Genre: Mortician!au, Horror!au || Fluff, Crack, Romance, Angst || Inspired by Frankenstein and other undead media

Warnings: Suicidal thoughts || Depression || Minor wounds || Mentions of death and corpses (Nothing in-depth and nothing intended to disturb) || Mentions of suicide || Necro-romance, aka romantic attraction to a corpse. || {Please let me know if there are other warnings you would like me to add}

WC: 4.1k

Songs that inspired this fic

Series Masterlist

The ride home was long and silent.

After you woke up and got your bearings Mingyu carried you to the car, he moved to drive on instinct but Wonwoo insisted that the two of you take the backseat while he drove. As confused as he was, Wonwoo could decipher Gyu's worried face from a mile away. So - at least for the moment, he was willing to put his curiosity aside for your comfort.

Gyu held your hand the entire way home, doting on every slight movement you made with a look of concern. You on the other hand were quick to drop your gaze whenever he held it. The embarrassment taking over all other emotions. Every so often you would catch Wonwoo's eyes in the rearview mirror, the look was cold.

Mingyu always wore his heart on his sleeve with you but Wonwoo was a different story - it was near impossible to tell what he was thinking by expressions alone. You wondered what he thought about the situation - you wondered what Gyu thought of the situation, your one secret was revealed within days, and danger was now at an all-time high in your mind.

While thinking about your worries, you hadn't noticed the way your hand squeezed Mingyu's so tight the entire drive, your fingers picking at his nails like a habit. He wanted to say something to soothe you - he wanted to press his lips to your fingers to ease any of your negative thoughts… But he understood if you needed time to settle after everything that had happened and he knew that he would probably be crossing a line, especially with Wonwoo practically inches away.

Wonwoo sat across from you and Gyu in the living room. The air palpable with the tension being held. The only thing cutting the thickness being the muffled sound of the TV behind Woo. It felt like some sort of trial had begun and you and Mingyu were the suspects of a horrendous crime… And technically you were. Thankfully, this isn't a courtroom though.

Sunlight was just beginning to peak through the blinds. Everyone's eyes revealed the lack of sleep and at the same time, everyone was on high alert - well at least you and Mingyu were. Wonwoo stared both of you down, his glasses dropping so you could see his intense gaze - it felt like you both were a bunch of prey that had been caught trying to escape the grasp of a dragon. Gyu attempted to lighten the mood with some giggling - no doubt out of nerves but nonetheless, it failed as Wonwoo remained as stoic as ever.

"So…" Woo started.

"Listen! I- I can explain!" Mingyu nearly jumped from his seat. "Just- Let's just talk about this me and you Wonwoo. Let her rest, please." It sounded like a plea - and how could Wonwoo say no to one of his longest friends?

"Right." For the first time, Wonwoo turned to face you, "I'm so sorry, y/n. You've been through a lot today. The sun's already up, you should go wash up and rest.", a gentle smile landed on his lips as he spoke to you, the harshness of his demeanor suddenly fading away.

"Wait- but-" everything happened so fast you barely had time to interject.

"It's okay. I think it's better for me to try and explain the situation…" Gyu gave your hand a reassuring tap as he motioned for you to head upstairs. You felt a bit helpless - they want to speak alone but the subject of their conversation is YOU, so you should be present, no? After an exchange of looks to both of the men that conveyed something along the lines of "You're talking about me and you have the audacity to leave me out of the conversation?!" with a huff you stomped your way upstairs. Oblivious to the lovesick look on Gyu's face at your frustration and the look of reluctant understanding as Wonwoo observed Gyu observing you.

You honestly couldn't tell if the water was steaming from how hot you had it or if the excess annoyance made your body so hot it could pass as a boiler. Either way, once you finished showering your anger had only slightly subsided.

As you dried your hair the sun was now settling its rays over every inch of the streets. You took a moment to recall what you'd experienced while you were out - the overwhelming darkness of depression, the lowest you've ever been. The heat of the blow dryer burning a hole into one spot on your head snapped you out of your daze, putting it down you couldn't help but wonder why the only things you can remember seem to be your darkest days.

Soon your anger faded into curiosity. Exiting your room you could hear murmurs as the boys continued their conversation. You know you wouldn't be able to sleep if you didn't hear at least a small bit of what the boys were talking about - that's right! Completely justifiable to listen in for just a second to ease you own worries, right?

Creeping ever so slowly down the stairs you made sure to keep close to the wall - the closer to the wall the less of a chance of creaking floorboards. Peaking through the living room entrance you could see just a sliver of Mingyu resting his elbows on the coffee table, despite the limited vision you could tell he looked relieved. You couldn't make out most of what they were saying unless you focused intently on just listening, so you pressed you ear as close as you could to the wall.

"Sorry, it's just hard for me to understand, Mingyu."

"I know. It's a lot."

"She's technically dead…"

"I know."

"What do you plan to do next time something like this happens?"

"Take her back to the mortuary and-"

"Mingyu. I know she's important to you but it's not like she can stay here forever."

"What are you talking about?"

"Listen." Wonwoo took a deep breath in before continuing, "I don't know how to put this exactly… but sometimes- most of the time, things die for a reason."

"Wonwoo, I know you're looking out for me but-"

"No no no, Mingyu. Listen to me, she doesn't belong to this world anymore."

"But she's here, isn't she!? She's here. She's upstairs right now! I know you think that this can all be cleaned up with base reason and logic but it can't, it's beyond life and death, it's a miracle. For now, all I can do is continue living in this ignorance, okay? I don't know what'll happen next time, I don't know. But I will continue to love her until whatever happens happens." Mingyu's rapidly speaking so Wonwoo can't get a word in, you can't help but clutch at your chest as your heart begins to sting.

"You've only known her a couple of days."

"I don't care."

"Mingyu-"

"I don't care!" He sounds breathless, "I know it's crazy. I know that. I'm not stupid. But let me have this, let me have her, even if it's just for a moment. It's so fucking crazy but- Right now I can't think straight. I can't think of a future without her. So I won't even encourage the thought until I have to face it head-on."

Wonwoo stayed silent for a long while. You took another peak into the living room and saw the two men just staring at each other. Wonwoo looked as calm as the ocean in his contemplation of Gyu's words. You couldn't see Gyu's face from this angle but as he began to catch his breath you could almost hear silent pleas being said with every exhale.

This was all too much. Of course, the danger of all of this was apparent to you but maybe the severity of that danger should've made you more on edge. Maybe you'd gotten too comfortable with Mingyu and with this entire situation. You felt your heartbeat rise, an anxious rhythm. You clutched your chest feeling a sudden panging, like a small needle being pierced through you - bearable but not painless. What would happen the next time you suddenly faint? What if all your memories came back? What were these past few days in the expanse of your entire lives? Maybe you shouldn't have come downstairs.

With all of this swirling inside you, you quietly made your way back to your room. You didn't know why but tears began to fall. Resting on the pillow you thought about your memories and about Mingyu; In this second chance at life, which mattered more?

Finally, Wonwoo stood up. Mingyu quickly scrambled to his feet to meet him. One glance is all he took towards Gyu, he nodded his head, "I still don't understand but you're obviously passionate. I can't force you to do anything at the end of the day but- Just be safe. For your sake and hers. I really hate seeing any of you guys (referring to their friend group) get all twisted up like this."

Mingyu walked Wonwoo out, the weight on his chest easing with every step and every word said after the conversation. A weight lifted but there was still an unease in his stomach - Wonwoo knew but he didn't understand. How could he understand something that came to Mingyu like instinct? How could he know about the ache in Mingyu's chest every time you aren't in his sight? The type of connection, the type of attraction, Mingyu holds for you is something like worship and he understands the unhealthiness of it all but it's not like he can help himself. He's become content with his imperfections and obsessions - as long as you're able to take him as he is then he's happy.

A sigh of relief comes from him once the door closes. He basks in the shadow that it casts - the coldness it provides amongst the heat of all the tension from before. He drags his heavy, tired legs upstairs and to your door. A few gentle knocks to see if you're still up. He presses his ear up against the door and waits for far too long a time before deciding the coast is clear and entering your room. Soft sunlight warms your face but he can still see tear stains as he sits at your bedside. "Pretty girl, why were you crying? Was it a nightmare?", he questions knowing he won't get an answer, bringing his hand to gently trace your cheek. He doesn't say it but just knowing that something caused you pain puts him on edge, he knows he shouldn't pry but how could he rest when you're hurting?

Exhaustion caught up to him as he left your room. Not bothering to wash up or even close his bedroom door, he flopped onto his bed unceremoniously and knocked out within the minutes following.

Sunday came and went. Honestly, the following week went by like a blur.

After all the hectic stuff had passed Mingyu seemed to give you your space. That coupled with you avoiding most interactions with him if you could help it made for, for the first time since you've been awake, an unwelcoming atmosphere in the house.

It's not that you didn't want to see Mingyu, if anything it was quite the opposite. But your heart never settled around him and your thoughts always ate at you like sharks. Is this right? What if I'm not good for him? What if I'm only holding him back or keeping him in harm's way? He doesn't deserve to be hurt.

So you resolved to walking on eggshells, at least for the time being. If he clung to you even more than he already has there's a higher chance that he'll be hurt in the future. That's not what you want for him. You want only good things to happen to Mingyu, he's already done so much for you! He's, quite literally, done nearly everything for you. At your beck and call if you asked him to be. But that's not right - that's not fair to Mingyu and that's not how he should be living. You had your time… It's time for him to have his.

Mingyu on the other hand hated this. He hated seeing you lock yourself away. But he understood that you needed space. He didn't know what had happened when you were passed out but obviously, it left some sort of toll on you. It took everything in him not to shower you with praise and love when you entered a room he was in, his all was put into making you feel comfortable. He was absolutely restless, sleep became an afterthought as you occupied his mind. He wondered if he should say something or do something to show you how much he cared but his pondering only made him seem more distant. Unknowingly he was building walls… just like he had feared he would. But this was for you, right? This was what needed to happen for you to be better, you needed time, at least that's what Gyu had thought.

The days were filled with text messages about leaving for work, food left in the fridge, and idle talk about less-than-trivial things - all of this initiated by Mingyu of course. When he would come home he'd simply wash and make dinner. At the table nothing more than a few sentences were exchanged with the excuse of focusing on whatever was on the TV, as if it really mattered to either of you. A quick glance at each other before saying goodnight or that you were gonna wash up first was all that you could manage before bed.

It felt like torture.

"Hey, y/n…" Mingyu sauntered up to you in the kitchen. It's the first time he's approached you directly in days. You'd been lucky that he'd had work all week so that you could easily avoid him but tomorrow was Saturday, you'd be a fool to think you could get away from him this easily on the weekend.

Mingyu was completely entranced by your visage the moment he stepped foot into the room. The way you leaned back against the counter, your hair still messy from waking up, and in house clothes - Oh god… You look so good right now. His throat began to dry up-

"Mingyu?"

Right, back to reality Kim Mingyu…

"The boys have been talking about getting together, I hope you don't mind but my house is the best for gatherings. You don't have to come down or anything but I just wanted to let you know…" His words came out before he could process them, the only thing on his mind is the way your fingers picked up the strawberries on your plate and brought them to your plush lips- Holy shit Mingyu! Get it together man!

"Okay, I don't mind."

"Huh? Oh!" Once again he's brought back down from the alien spaceship (of love) that he was on, "Alright, they'll come around tomorrow by the way, I'll let them know that they have the green light." He took out his phone and began typing. He licked his lips in concentration and suddenly your brain turned to mush. Have his arms always been that big? A blush adorned your face like a wildfire in the California summer, quick and red hot.

Good god if this is how you two act facing each other after a week of little contact… Maybe you truly are crazy for each other.

You had foolishly assumed that the Kim Mingyu only invited 4-6 friends like last time. So imagine your surprise when you hear the doorbell ring… and keep ringing every. 5. Minutes. For. An. Entire. Hour. Jeez does no one carpool?

You didn't know exactly how many people had come around but to your untrained ear you could guestimate anywhere between 10-20 people, all of whom seem to be men but you aren't completely sure. He did say "the boys" but what does that even mean? Rolling that pearl around in your mind suddenly a loud growling came from below, dang, I'm really hungry. You wondered if you should go down to get something to eat. It was around dinner time but was it worth the risk of running into one of them?

After the talk with Mingyu, you guys avoided each other around the house like the plague. Even dinner was had separately, which was a first for the both of you. At first, your distance all week was out of hesitation and fear but now the distance was purely made out of embarrassment and awkward blushing, like over the course of a minute conversation you both had gone back to square one. Oh, the effects of mutual crushes and pining… sigh.

The impact of the previous week and all the contemplation wasn't lost on either of you but the weight of living under the same roof and not so much as smiling at each other was making you both stir crazy. Like your hearts, minds, and souls begged to be nearer and nearer and the time apart only made them grow "fonder" or perhaps more ravenous…

You cursed yourself for not grabbing at least a snack from the kitchen earlier. You had all the time in the world but… God that Kim Mingyu! It was like he was standing guard in that section of the house all damn day! The two most traveled places in a home are the kitchen and the living room. And both of them were occupied by the one other person in the house, the man you couldn't face right now. You knew that he was just preparing for tonight but you couldn't help but feel a bit slighted by his actions. As if he were taunting you by staying there all day.

The way he'd smiled devilishly at breakfast and lunch but not so much as a word being said between you when you got your food and brought it back up to your room. It felt like he was saying, "Come join me y/n… Or are you too scared?", you shook the image from your head. Then there was the TV, the TV that you know is set at a constant 38 volume, the perfect volume to be heard from the kitchen but not so loud that it would reach upstairs. But suddenly you can hear the muffled sounds of what you swear are rom-coms playing from down there. And finally, the haunting sound of him singing along to cheesy songs about romance made your heart churn like it was your stomach. What was he hoping to gain?

The answer, well… your attention of course. While you spent your day brooding in your room, thinking of all the ways Kim Mingyu was trying to tear you down, Mingyu was busy setting the mood. He made foods that you expressed a liking for since your time with him, plated them extra pretty, and even gave you the sweetest smile while handing it to you. So why in the world was he met with your face full of disgust?! He mulled over it the whole time he marinated the meats for the party, while he filled the coolers with ice, even while he prepared the side dishes from Seungkwan's mom. He couldn't believe it, every time you looked at him like that he could've sworn he felt his little cartoon heart break just a teensy bit. He put on romantic movies to quell his emotions… but that only made him even sadder. All these happy couples in love hmph while my girl isn't even my girl yet and ON TOP OF THAT SHE'S MAD AT ME! If anyone saw him in this state they'd have thought someone took away his PlayStation or something. Oh, and the singing… Of course, the only rational thing to do in a situation of complete and utter heartbreak at the hands of your unrequited crush is to belt out lovelorn songs like your life depends on it! How could he do anything else?

And he continued with that up until the doorbell rang. Then everything went silent for a time, you listened diligently to get a lay of the land. There was some movement, then chattering, and then the noise and voices just continued to multiply until you were certain an entire class was invited into your home now. It didn't help that you had a nice view of the backyard from your room and opening the window invited the smell of BBQ into your space. Your mouth salivated at the thought of stuffing yourself full of whatever they were having down there. You could also hear them, the conversation was as lively as you'd expect and all of them seemed like such good friends. At some points, you even heard mention of yourself but Mingyu would shut down any attempts to pry into you - it's funny, although you couldn't see his face, his tone definitely conveyed something a kin to a guard dog protecting its owner. The thought made you smile as you propped your elbows on the windowsill.

That's it! You've finally had enough! You can smell the food, you can hear cans popping open, and the worst part, you can hear everyone's mmm's and ahh's at Mingyu's cooking! It's as if he's a five-star chef getting compliments at his restaurant. Of course, you know Mingyu can cook and he can do that damn well, but did they have to say all this while you're sitting up here on an empty stomach looming over them like a starved hound? No, you're fed up! And you're going to do something about it!

You hastily put on a random sweatshirt that Mingyu had bought for you on your shopping trip and tip-toed your way to the stairs. Most of the party was outside shooting the shit right now so you knew you were able to get away with being slightly less cautious.

Like before you kept close to the walls, no creaks of the floor to be heard beneath your feet. Getting to the kitchen entrance you pop your head out just enough to scan the area. "Haha don't worry Hyung! I'll get it!", you quickly retreat as someone walks in. It's a young man, with fluffy hair, and a boyish smile - ah! That voice! You've heard before in the background of some of Mingyu's calls, this must be Chan, the Crematory tech.

Your heart's pounding after almost getting caught. Minutes pass as you make sure that absolutely zero people are walking into the kitchen while you get something to eat. You make your way out of the safety of the shadow and into the warm ambient light. All of them are outside and you can't help but notice how comfortable Mingyu is. All that tension he's been holding erased completely by their presence.

You were a little envious of how many close friends he had at his age, but the thought of envy was quickly replaced with thanks, a part of you feeling as though you should thank these men for sticking by Gyu's side. You took your time daydreaming about Mingyu, so much time that you didn't notice as a shadow growing over your body from behind.

"Excuse me." You're shaken to your core by an unfamiliar voice, frozen in place out of fear.

Unmoving from your spot, firm but gentle hands rest on your shoulders and give you a nudge to the side. You move willingly but aren't able to turn and face what feels like impending doom. Doom however walks ahead of you and when you do eventually come face to face with doom it's actually a lot nicer than you'd expected.

Doom doesn't look like a devil tricking you into the arms of Kim Mingyu. No, not at all! Doom looks like a very nice man, shorter than Mingyu but built like a brick house (lovingly), with a smile that could kill and dimples to boot! His hair covered his eyes a bit but the kindness shone through. He gave a gentle pat to your shoulders as he let go. "Ha ha, sorry. I'm Seungcheol, one of Mingyu's friends. You must be y/n!", he felt warm, a similar aura to Mingyu but more distant, less comfortable.

You grew a shy smile as you met his eyes, his unending charm shining through and making you blush.

"Woah y/n! Nice of you to join the party!", you hear the condescending tone of Boo Seungkwan's voice as you become aware of all of the eyes on the two of you right now. Every single body turned in confusion and curiosity at your presence.

All of this terrified you to your core but perhaps the scariest thing was the seething heat of rage you felt emanating off of Mingyu's gaze. Boring holes into your body with his eyes alone. Oh no oh no oh no oh no. He's jealous.

A/N: I'm back~ And with more perfection! This was actually the cutest little thing to write. And guess what? I actually took my time to write this! A whole 3 days for 4k words. (Usually, I rush lol) But let me know what y'all think... I would love to hear some opinions people!!! Seriously though, I missed y'all~ Did you miss me?

Please Reblog and Comment (They act as power-ups for me)

Taglist (OPEN): @jjin-kun @mydolle-dd @sojuxxi @zimzalaminho @hollxe1

[riality-check]

part 3 of... whatever this au is. here's part 1 and part 2 if you missed them. tw substance abuse. part 4 here. part 5 here. part 6 here. part 7 here.

ao3

"You ever taken a hit?"

"Excuse me?"

First, Harrington calls his songs "boring" and "repetitive." "Talking about all the same thing." And, yeah, maybe he does have a point. Maybe Eddie can't write about much else, but that's a casualty of not being able to think about much else.

Everyone says addiction is selfish, and they're right. No one talks about how recovery is, too.

So, sorry that he's consumed by notoriously all-consuming things.

But then, Harrington shows up late to the studio. Granted, Eddie was, too, but Harrington stumbled into the little room fifteen minutes after the time Chrissy set up for them, ever-present coffee in hand.

And now he asks that.

"Like a punch," he explains. "Have you ever been hit?"

Eddie lets out a breath. "Yeah, I've been hit."

He thinks back to being a freshman in high school, what feels like forever ago, and getting shoved and tripped and swirlied by senior jock assholes.

There were never any closed-fist punches, but Eddie thinks he gets the idea.

"So you know that it feels good."

Eddie stares at him. "Good is not the word-"

"There's a moment," Harrington interrupts, and Eddie wants to kill him, "between the impact and the pain. You feel everything: how their hand feels, whether they're wearing rings, if they're holding something. And that might not feel good, but right after they hit you, everything is warm. And it feels really good, right until the pain sets in."

Eddie doesn't know what to say, not really, so he mouths off. "Got a lot of experience?"

"Four diagnosed concussions," Harrington replies.

Well. Eddie wasn't expecting that.

Just like he wasn't expecting Harrington's music to actually be good. He stayed up with the band last night, listening. And, yeah, he didn't like the goddamn synth chords, but reading along with the lyrics...

It was impressive. Eddie was impressed, okay?

Harrington's lyrics are far-ranging and emotionally impactful. He writes about family and love and survival in these really compelling, sometimes upbeat, sometimes not, ways. He writes about getting better and getting back up and fighting and Eddie gets it. He gets why Chrissy got his help.

Because not only is Harrington a rising star with a voice that Eddie thinks could be a little grittier if he put in the effort, but he also knows how to write about a lot of stuff.

And Eddie, since - since all of it, has clearly forgotten how to do so.

So, maybe, just maybe, he should start throwing his expectations about Harrington out the window.

"You know what it feels like," Harrington says. "So write about it."

Eddie sighs and lets his head flop onto the back of the couch. He hears Steve shift in his chair, hears him yawn.

In the silence, he wonders if he's sipping his coffee or covering his mouth like he did last week.

Eddie thinks that if he finds out the answer, he'll need a cigarette to kill the itch that'll inevitably spring up.

"Or not," Harrington mumbles.

Eddie drops his head forward. "Give a guy a second, will you? I don't know how-"

"Well, I'm here to help, not spoon-feed you lyrics."

"I didn't ask-"

"Oh, believe me, I know."

"Then why the hell-"

"Write about losing," Harrington snaps.

Eddie tilts his head to the side. "What?"

"You write about-"

"I know what I write about."

"Then you should know," Harrington says, raising his voice, "that there was a point where you wanted to give in."

Eddie shuts his mouth, and, despite his better instincts, leans forward, toward Harrington, far enough that his knees hit the coffee table between the couch and the chair.

"Because when you're fighting monsters, a little part of you thinks, it would be so much easier if I just lost. If I threw up my hands and let them get me."

Eddie thinks back to waking up after blackouts. To being carried places and dunked under cold water to sober the fuck up before we go out there. To figuring out ways to stay higher longer, refusing to be beholden to the inevitable crash.

And he hates that Steve Harrington has somehow found that out about him, however vaguely.

"Lot of experience with monsters?" Eddie says because damn if Harrington gets to cut him without getting cut back.

Harrington leans forward in turn. "You have no idea."

He picks up the black ballpoint pen on the coffee table and shoves it toward Eddie, toward his blank notepad.

Eddie bites his tongue, takes it, and writes lyrics and a lead guitar part in the fastest time he's ever managed, with Harrington as a sounding board, offering his suggestions.

They're good suggestions.

It's going to be a good song.

It's too bad that Eddie can't stand Harrington's smug smirks and his terrifying assumptions and his little bit of spaciness. It's too bad that after he sees Harrington swipe at his nose - even though it's probably not like that - when they're done that Eddie has to go outside and smoke two cigarettes to stop thinking about it.

Otherwise, they might actually make a good team.

[starsworldd]

⁑ astro observations pt. 5 ⁑

take with grain of salt per usual and don’t take personally ⭐️

✷ cancer moons are clingy

✷ scorpio suns are typically pretty nice people i’ve noticed

✷ although sometimes scorpio/8th placements can be pretty paranoid and cautious

✷ i feel like moon in virgo should have some sort of dignity because i know a lot of people who have had difficult home lives with this placement 

✷ virgo moons like loud/bold music like heavy metal, megan thee stallion type stuff, musicals, etc.. just stuff that really stands out i’ve noticed

✷ sun trine neptune people are really talented with music

✷ pluto square ascendant people are very magnetic and give femme fatale but they really can be manipulative and toxic to others. this can also indicate a relationship that changed the course of the natives lives forever

✷ pluto in 4th house doesn’t only signify struggles in early childhood. remember that the 4th house indicates the safe haven in our charts so it can also indicate struggles away from the public eye throughout the duration of your life

✷ saturn in the 12th house of a native can indicate someone who lacks a sense of personal boundaries and restrictions. can manifest as a very karmic placement (i know, cliche) but saturn in of itself is a karmic placmement hence why it has its joy here potentially? hmmm maybe i can research this more just for funzies hehe

✷ mercury in 8th house people tend to be pretty pessimistic

✷ moon in third house people love video games

✷ gemini placements 🤝 english/writing (especially moon)

✷ leo in the chart can show where we are talented:

2nd house: cooking or singing —> (i feel like this is why cancer risings are known to be good cooks)

4th house: home decorating

9th house: adventure, religion, philosophy

✷ house rulers that are placed in the 9th house indicate those house themes present themselves as opportunities:

2nd house ruler in 9th house —> opportunities through cooking or singing

5th house ruler in 9th —> opportunities through music and arts

6th house ruler in 9th —> opportunities through your job or daily work

✷ neptune square mc could mean that you are misled with things that take you away from your calling

✷ jupiter shows where we take things for granted or where we take things too far:

jupiter conjunct mc or in the 10th - reputation, working towards our calling, life success. a lot of people say that this placement is destined for success, but not a lot of people also talk about how this placement can definitely show someone who doesn’t take their calling or career seriously as well

jupiter in 5th house - our talents, fun stuff

jupiter in 1st house - confidence

✷ water moons/stellium artists are really good at writing spacey out of this world stuff whereas air moons are really good at being crafty and catchy with their songs (not one is better than the other)

✷ a lot of people talk about how jupiter dominant people are more likely to become famous/rich but there’s also a handful of celebrities with saturn dominant in their charts as well. and it makes sense, saturn represents hard work, patience, and reaping the rewards of your past deeds!

✷ moon conjunct mars people are simetaneously the most “idgaf” people and some of the most passionate people i’ve met. hard workers.

✷ sun conjunct saturn people are quiet/reserved

✷ mercury conjunct venus with venus being debilitated are not afraid to say some rude stuff

hope you enjoyed!

[josephquinnswhore]

could you do a little fluff of pedro (or any of his characters) x plus!size reader where reader buys new lingerie for his birthday and he's like lemme take a picture and he takes a polaroid pic and sticks it in his wallet and then they go out with friends and one of his friends for shits and giggles takes his wallet and sees the picture and they're like "👁️🫦👁️ wow she's hot" and he gets jelly

ilysm kisses 🫶🏾

Polaroid - pedro pascal x female reader

Summary: an image meant for Pedro’s eyes only, ends up being seen by curious eyes who make inappropriate comments.

Word Count: 2.2k

Content Warning: lewd language, Pedro being horny as fuck, taking nudes, Pedro swearing/getting jealous. Slight smut but not really, unprotected p in v but no actual sex.

Note: THANK YOU FOR THIS REQUEST. I’m a plus size person myself so I’ll divulge into this so hard. 🫶🏼

Through the years you’d always put a lot of thought into Pedro’s gifts, whether it be a sentimental gift, such as the hand painted family portrait of him and his sisters you’d gifted last year for his 47th birthday. Or something he needed but would never tell you he needed. He didn’t need to tell you, because you always listened and figured out simply by listening; such as a new laptop during covid lockdown so he could do interviews via Skype and Zoom call.

This year, you were stumped. You figured it wouldn’t hurt to ask Oscar to help you with what to gift Pedro. You FaceTimed him, his warm smile is the first thing you’re met with, his messy mop of dark curls fell onto his forehead, some grey hairs visible through the bad lighting. “Hey Osc, I’ve got a favour to ask.” His eyebrows shot up In curiosity. “Go on.” He encourages.

“I don’t know what to gift Pedro for his birthday, he’s made it entirely impossible this year. No hints, no nothing.” Oscar raises an eyebrow, “you, the best gift giver doesn’t know what to give her boyfriend for his birthday?” You bit your lip, embarrassed as you walk around throwing some pieces of rubbish in the bin, trying to keep your mind busy as you stress about this present, with only 7 days until his 48th birthday, you felt your blood pressure rising as the days came closer and you still hadn’t gotten him anything.

“I know, I know. Can you help me or not?” A mischievous smirk crawls onto his lips, something that had your suspicion spiking. “What are you smirking at Oscar? Tell me what you’re thinking.” He shrugs casually, “get some lingerie for him, do a sexy photoshoot or something.” You bite your lip in uncertainty, “are you sure it’ll be good enough?” The older man huffs, “you’re joking right? Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

You hum, deep in thought as you realise Oscar’s right, Pedro does love your body, your curves and perfectly natural breasts, the cellulite on your rounded ass cheeks. The way he can grab handfuls of your thighs and how they feel wrapped around the back of his head as he dives face first into your cunt, he even loves the way your soft tummy slightly hangs over your pubic bone.

“Hey, you still with me?” Oscars voice snaps you out of your trance, figuring it wouldn’t hurt to try something new, if Pedro didn’t like it, which was unlikely, you’d know for next year, and bonus, you’d have a new set of lingerie. “Uh yeah, thanks Oscar I gotta go, bye!” You quickly hang up before he has the chance to say his farewells. Lingerie, it’s gotta be sexy, accentuate your curves and be the best gift he’s ever received. You pull your hair up into a messy bun before making a beeline straight for your car, keys in hand, jingling as you speed walk, eager to get to the shops.

The lingerie shops ambiance is unmatched, the pink neon sign drew you in, once you were in you didn’t want to leave, the golden hue of the light was soft on your eyes, the faint scent of rose water had been spritzed into the air with the fan circulating air around the small store, the quiet hum of a SZA song played from the small portable radio that sat on the wall shelf behind the counter.

There were so many options, too many colours and plus sized inclusive sizes. The shop attendant approaches you with a smile, “can I help you at all?” You smile nervously, “yes please! I’m wanting a new set, for my boyfriends birthday. Has to be super sexy. It also has to be purple, that’s his favourite colour.” You explain meekly, your cheeks reddening at the fact you’re telling all of this to a stranger, she leads you to a section of purple garments, all stunning in their own right. “He’s one lucky man. Do you need help with the sizing?” You tell her your size, she flicks through and finds all purple items in your size, stacking them on the front desk. “You can flick through them or feel free to try them on.”

You pick up the first set and hum uncertainly, feeling like it was not what you wanted, the material certainly wouldn’t cover much at all, you wanted something with more coverage. The second set was nicer, but still not something that wowed you, the small silver studs were definitely too much in your opinion. The third set you picked up you gasped, the colour was beautiful, rich and thick in the back of the bra, it had 5 clasps which would offer more support, it had harnesses that would look sexy with some stockings clipped to the harness. It had a stunning chest piece that would expose your cleavage and make it look sexy, the lacey material would would look beautiful on your skin.

“Can I try this on?” The lady smiles, “please! Go for it. Our dressing rooms are just to the left here.”

You underestimated how good you would look in this piece of lingerie, it made your hips look bigger, your curves softened and your breasts looked incredible, not to mention how nice your assed looked. The purple on your skin tone was like it was made for you, you felt sexy and knew this was the one.

“I’ll take this one, thank you.” As you return to the counter and set the lingerie down as she scans it, you pay the $120 on card and smile as she puts it into a paper bag with the store name on it. “I know he’s going to love it. Good luck!” The lady farewells and you thank her for her help before sitting in the car, all these scenarios running through your head about how Pedro will react.

“Happy birthday baby!” You cheer as Pedro steps into your apartment, the house smelt delicious, you’d cooked his favourite meal, the food simmering and getting to be plated. The room was littered with purple and silver balloons, red rose petals led down the hall to the bedroom, the scent of just blown out bubblegum candles lingers as the wick starts to smoke. “Thank you baby. Look at this, it’s incredible.” You pull him into a hug, squeezing your arms around him as his scent swirls up your nose and makes you inhale. “This isn’t the gift baby, it’s in the bedroom. I’ll get it for you.” You offer, rushing to the bedroom and know you need to move quickly, you’d practised a few times over the past couple days knowing you had a time frame of a few minutes before Pedro got impatient.

You pull your nice dress off and throw it into the hamper, setting up the balloons nicely and the love heart shaped rose petals on the bed, setting the candles alight, you slip your heels on and open the cupboard draw to set up the Polaroid camera so it was facing you. “Baby, you okay?” Your heart races, you need to finish up, now. You take your hair out and let it fall down, sitting up as you lean your weight on one hand behind you, setting one knee up on the bed, you let the other fall flat. “Actually baby I could use some help if you don’t mind.”

Your heart is in your mouth as you hear his footsteps near the bedroom, the squeak of the bedroom door is deafening as he opens it. His mouth drops when he sees you, the purple lingerie that covers your body is looking incredible on your body and you know it. Pedro’s dark orbs are scanning your body, groaning as he sees the Polaroid camera, shuffling in the spot as his cock grows hard and awfully uncomfortable in the confines of his jeans. “Fuck baby you’re gunna kill me.” You hum and look at him through your lashes, something you know drives him crazy. “Looking so fucking perfect for me, this is all for me hm baby?” You nod, “all for you Pedro.”

He picks up the white Polaroid camera and steps back, snapping the image of you posing, capturing the decorum of the room, “I love you so much.” He moans, his fingers gripping the image as it prints out, he was quick to snap an up close photo of you smiling, eyes closed teeth baring, he knew this would be his favourite.

“Let me see those perfect tits baby.” You lie down on the bed, your back being itched by the rose petals. He snaps a few pictures. “On your knees, honey.” You obey him and stretch your arms out toward the pillows, arching your back and raising your ass in the air, a grunt leaves Pedro’s lips as he smacks your ass, your gasp turns into a moan as he smacks your other asscheek, pushing yourself further back towards him. The camera snaps a few pictures, the redness of his handprint visible on your asscheeks. “So fucking perfect.” His thick fingers play with the small amount of fabric, getting a good look at your weeping cunt that’s soaked for him. “Fuck baby you’re dripping, roll back over.” You roll into your back, your hair sprawled onto the bed underneath you. Pedro, with one hand unbuckles his belt with a groan, undoing his jeans to relieve the tightness that caged his hardness.

He pulls your lingerie covering your cunt to the side, getting a perfect look at you. He palms himself roughly before pulling his underwear off entirely. Pulling his shirt underneath his chin. He slides his thick cock into you, your body squirming at the feeling, “fuck-so fucking big Pedro.” He groans, only pushing himself half way into you, before wrapping one large hand around your neck and takes a photo with the other hand, of his cock inside your cunt, hand wrapped around your neck and your perfect body clad in this purple lingerie.

“What about dinner?” You whimper, hearing the whir of the camera printing the obscene image. Pedro tosses the image along with the others onto the bed beside you, along with the camera. “Dinner can wait baby, I gotta have you. So fucking perfect. This is the best birthday gift ever.”

You would have to thank Oscar for the advise.

Two days later on the weekend was when everyone was out at a bar celebrating Pedro’s birthday, they had all insisted on spending time with him, Oscar had rallied some old and new friends of his, the bar jam packed and booked to yourselves thanks to Oscar.

The music was loud and you were having a great time, catching up with some old friends. “Hey honey, can I get you another drink?” You finish your beverage, the alcohol making you a little lightheaded, your bladder begging for release. “Sure baby. Just gotta duck to the toilet. I’ll be back.” You kiss him on the lips, missing his warmth and taste as soon as you pull away, shimmying through the crowd of drunk friends.

“Hey man, I’ll just get another beer and a cocktail.” Pedro leans against the bar, knee bent as he pulls his card from his wallet, paying for the drinks. “Hey man. Whoa, I gotta see this.” Oscar snatches Pedro’s wallet, Charlie Hunnam steps behind him, “dude no way.” Pedro leaves the drinks on the bar, “Oscar, give it back man.” Charlie huffs, “you get to have that all to yourself, so unfair, she’s so sexy.” They pull the Polaroid of you out half way trying to get a better look, Pedro’s hand is wrapped around your throat and thankfully they don’t pull it out entirely, the thought of his friends seeing him inside of you was too much. He didn’t need them seeing you like that, exposed and taking him perfectly, he didn’t want them thinking of you like that, or getting any ideas.

Pedro snatches the wallet back, pushing the Polaroid back into his wallet and shoving it into his Jean pocket. “Don’t ever touch that again, you hear me?” Pedro growls, his jealous getting the best of him as he turns around to pick up the drinks, they throw their hands up in surrender, “we’re cool man, alright.” You walk up to the bar and press a tipsy kiss to Pedro’s lips, he hands you the drink and you sip, groaning at how perfect it was made. Pedro’s free hand grips your ass and gives it a tight squeeze.

“Oh, hey guys!” You didn’t notice the two men standing there at first, they were watching Pedro claim you, his possessiveness shining through even though he knew you’d never do anything to make him worry. You were just incredibly sexy and that image wasn’t for their eyes, you were his and only his.

You turn back to Pedro and a drunk smile sits crookedly on your lips. “Happy birthday baby.” You whisper. Pedro pulls you into him and he kisses you, he moans into the kiss as if it were just you two, as if the bar wasn’t full of his family and friends. You hook your finger into the belt loop of his jeans. Throwing the glass back before licking your lips seductively, “what do you say we go home handsome?”

Pedro only nods, giving his friends a lazy smirk and a wink as his hand rests on your ass on the way out of the bar.

[ladykailitha]

Grief ( A Friend Indeed) Part 11

Here we finally get the singing love songs at each other, a misunderstanding, and it's resolution. The next chapter is the last one. Thank you all who've come along with me on this journey.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

****

Steve woke up the next morning feeling like the world had been taken off his shoulders for the first time since he ran back into the Byers’ house and throw his lot in with would-be monster killers.

Yeah, the thing with Hopper still hadn’t been resolved and maybe never would be, but he had someone who understood. Eddie understood.

The next few days went without incident. Steve still talked to Robin whenever he could, but now he had someone else to talk to, too. He called Percy as well.

But that was reserved for when Eddie wasn’t around. He wanted to talk to someone about being in an gay relationship. And even without knowing Eddie’s romantic history, there was still no doubt that Percy had way more experience than his friend.

It felt good.

Soon it was their last night in Ashland and they were all at Hal’s Bar. Penny, Danny, Wayne, too. Oliver was watching Gale while everyone else went out.

Granted he had only agreed to babysit if Penny and Danny bought him a Nintendo system for his birthday, but it was still nice.

Danny got up and sang Donovan’s Sunshine Superman to Penny, who laughed.

“I’ll tell you right now,” Danny sang, “Any trick in the book now, baby, all that I can find!”

Steve laughed along with her but he couldn’t help but think of Eddie when he heard the lyrics “A you-you-you can just sit there a-thinking on your velvet throne, Bout all the rainbows a-you can a-have for your own, when you make your mind up forever to be mine!”

That silly little throne he insisted on having at every D&D game, that finally Steve got Dustin and Lucas to help him steal it from the drama department when Eddie graduated and install it in Steve’s basement so that he could continue to be King of the Freaks.

Eddie had nearly cried when he saw it. As far as graduation presents go, it really couldn’t be topped.

Steve shared a glance with Eddie who blushed. And maybe they were thinking of the same thing.

They even got Wayne up there to sing House of the Rising Sun.

Steve nudged Eddie with his elbow. “And you said he couldn’t carry a tune. I think he did a bang up job with that one,” he teased.

Eddie grumbled something about hiding talents under bushes or some such shit.

Steve got up and sang “Head Over Heels”.

Just belted his heart out.

*

Eddie and Lauren were sitting there sipping their drinks, Hal, having gave Eddie a bottle of beer since his birthday was so close and Lauren sipping on her Dr Pepper.

“So did you hear that Steve turned down Beth of all people?” Lauren said with derision.

Eddie smiled around his beer. “Oh yeah, but Steve was never gonna tap that, even under more ideal circumstances than attending a funeral.”

“Yeah, why’s that?” she asked.

“His type is leggy brunettes with soulful eyes and curly brown hair,” he said with a smirk.

Lauren turned to Eddie in shock. “So he really would have changed the pronouns that first night if he hadn’t thought that the crowd would shank him outside the bar after.”

“Yup!”

“Holy shit!” She downed the rest of her soda. “Which means the person he has chance with...”

“Is from home, but not at home at the moment?” he teased. “Oh yeah. No doubt he was talking about me.”

“Wait,” Lauren hissed. “How did you know that’s what he said?”

“I may have overheard the conversation on my way to the bathroom,” he admitted with a wince.

She smacked his arm. “You sly dog! You’ve known this whole time and didn’t tell me!”

“It wasn’t my place to tell,” Eddie defended. “He hasn’t even told me she was the reason he wanted to get out of town in the first place.”

She eyed him warily. “Fine.” Lauren crossed her arms over her chest.

“Fine?” he asked, unsure.

“Yeah, it sucks,” she said. “But I get it.”

She looked up at Steve who was finishing the song. “That song is also about you.”

“In my mind’s eye, one little boy, one little man. Funny how time flies,” Steve crooned.

Eddie grinned. “Yeah, I know that too.”

“Go get ‘em, tiger,” Lauren said.

Eddie got up and gave Steve a hug as they passed each other. Hal had already hooked up the amp so Eddie could play.

He grabbed the guitar and put the strap over his shoulder. “Hey, guys! I have one more song for you before I go back to Indiana.”

“Mh-hm-hmm, yeah, yeah,” Eddie began. “Holy Diver. You’ve been down too long in the midnight sea. Oh what’s be coming of me?”

Steve blushed.

Lauren tilted her head to look at him and then back at Eddie on stage. There was something about the song Eddie was singing that got Steve embarrassed.

Well, maybe that wasn’t the right word. Flustered? That might be closer to the mark.

“Holy diver!” Eddie continued to sing. “You’re the star of the masquerade. No need to look afraid!”

A few minutes later the song was over with and was absolutely star struck.

When Eddie loped back over to their table Steve said, “Dude, you really should be famous for your playing.”

Eddie grinned. “But not my singing, right?”

Steve pushed him playfully. “For that too, drama queen.”

Eddie cackled and sat back down.

Steve watched as other patrons got up and sang too. None were as good as Eddie. But then he was pretty sure he was bias.

Eddie walked out with Steve and Lauren at ten despite being told he was welcome to stay.

“So what’s the deal with Wayne and Hal?” Steve asked. “They spent the whole night huddled in that corner booth.”

Eddie laughed. “Hal and Wayne go way back. Since Uncle Danny and Aunt Penny got married. They’ve been inseparable.”

Steve just hummed.

Lauren looked at him. “What’s up?”

Steve scratched his cheek. “It’s just that if either of them had been a woman, it would have looked they were trying to change their last name.”

Lauren and Eddie frowned unsure of what he meant but Lauren caught on first.

“You thought they were flirting?” she gasped.

Steve shrugged. “One of my uncles is gay and if I hadn’t seen them act the same way as Wayne and Hal...”

Eddie stopped in his tracks and then burst out laughing.

“That sly dog!” Eddie crowed. “That’s what he meant when he said that he understood me better than I thought he did when I came out to him when I was sixteen.”

Lauren’s eyes went wide. “I have two gay uncles?”

Steve laughed too. “I didn’t mean to rock your world.”

Lauren looked back at the bar. “I think I know how to get Hal to bend the rules for me.”

Eddie smacked her hand. “No blackmailing Uncle Wayne’s boyfriend. That’s mean.”

Lauren pouted. “Fiiinnnne.” She grinned. “Does that mean I can blackmail Uncle Wayne?”

“No!” Steve protested. “Absolutely not!”

Eddie giggled. “Uh-huh, you got him to use his mom no. You’re in so much trouble now.”

“I do not have a mom no,” Steve protested. “Don’t listen to him he doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

Eddie cackled. “It’s the same no you used with Red in her trailer.”

Steve’s jaw dropped. “Well, shit.” He turned to Lauren. “Apparently I have a mom no.”

She laughed.

Steve was really going to miss her. Maybe he could convince her to come out later this summer, too.

*

Eddie was not having a good morning. He couldn’t find his Metallica shirt, tore up the whole room looking for it, only for Wayne to point out he was wearing it.

And then he spilled hot coffee on his pants and to change them.

Then the tarp they were going to use to cover the furniture they got was ripped in three places. So Danny had too take Wayne to buy a new one, because the one he had was too small.

So they were late getting out. The skies were darkening and a huge storm was rolling in.

Cue one very grumpy Eddie.

Steve wasn’t fairing much better but that was more that he wasn’t fully awake yet.

“I’ve got to go with Wayne,” Eddie grumbled. “I see you at the truck station we stopped on the way down, k?”

Steve nodded, his lips pursed. “Got it. See you then.”

Eddie nodded and trudged back to the truck.

Wayne wisely said nothing and they both slid into the cab of the truck.

“Your boy going to find the truck stop okay?” he asked to break the oppressive silence.

“He’s not my boy,” Eddie grumbled. “Not yet anyway.”

They started driving and Wayne looked in the review mirror to make sure Steve was following him.

He frowned. “Is he okay?”

Eddie looked back at the Bimmer and saw that Steve was hitting the steering wheel, waving his arms about and he couldn’t be sure. Not at this distance. But it looked like he was crying.

“Shit!” he cursed. “Stop the truck!”

Wayne slammed on his breaks and Eddie threw open the door and ran back.

About half way to Steve’s car the skies opened up and just pummeled the earth with rain.

Eddie picked up speed and yanked the passenger side door open. He hurried in and slammed the door.

“Eds?” Steve croaked confirming the crying as easily as the tears on his face. “What–how–I mean...”

Eddie grabbed his face and gently wiped away his tears. “You seem to be laboring under some misconceptions out here. So I’m going to clue you in.”

Steve blinked. “Huh?”

“One, I have go with Wayne to keep an on the tarp over the heavy furniture,” Eddie explained, hands never leaving Steve’s cheeks. “He needs a second person as a spotter to make sure nothing flies into traffic.”

Steve gulped. “Yeah?”

“Yes,” Eddie said firmly. “Two, I would much rather be in this car with you. Getting to spend this week with you have been amazing because I got to know you better and I loved that. I love just being with you.”

“Oh,” Steve said, his breath stuttering in his chest.

“Yeah, oh,” Eddie said. “And you better listen up to this bit, Steve Harrington, because I’m going to make this a clear to you as I can. I am absolutely head over heels in love you.”

“Oh.”

“So what’s going to happen,” Eddie finished, “is this. I’m going to kiss you senseless, then I’m going to run back to Wayne’s truck in the fucking rain because the weather decided to be a bigger dramatic bitch then I am, and then I will meet you at the truck stop to repeat step one a lot.”

Steve face shivered into something like happiness. It wasn’t a smile, not yet, but Eddie could feel the change of mood.

“That okay with you?” Eddie confirmed.

Steve smiled at last banishing the last of the gloomy thoughts. “Yeah.”

“Good,” Eddie said and proceeded to kiss Steve senseless.

“Wow,” Steve murmured when they broke of the kiss.

Eddie cackled. “Back 'atcha, Stevie.”

“You better get back to Wayne, before you flood the cab of his truck because you left your door open.”

Eddie turned in front of him. “Oops! See you, sweetheart!” He kissed Steve’s cheek and was dashing back into the rain, jacket pulled over his head.

He got to the truck and slipped back in. The seat was wet, but so was his pants so it really didn’t fucking matter at that point.

“So you still wanna argue he’s not your boy?” Wayne asked with a smile.

“Nope.” Eddie just crossed his arms and hunkered down on the bench.

“You not going to tell me about what just happened?”

Eddie looked at him, grinning from ear to ear. “I don’t kiss and tell.”

Wayne shook his head and started driving again. This time Steve immediately followed.

****

Pt 12

Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @estrellami-1 @zerokrox-blog @artiststarme @swimmingbirdrunningrock @gregre369 @pyrohonk ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @chaoticlovingdreamer @messrs-weasley @goodolefashionedloverboi @maya-custodios-dionach @val-from-lawrence @i-must-potato @danili666 @carlyv @rozzieroos @emly03 @wonderland-girl143-blog @justforthedead89 @bookworm0690 @itsall-taken @bookbinderbitch @redfreckledwolf @vecnuthy @littlewildflowerkitten @scheodingers-muppet @mira-jadeamethyst @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @gutterflower77 @genderless-spoon @hel-spawn @ellietheasexylibrarian @anne-bennett-cosplayer @mamafaithful @yikes-a-bee @dragonmama76 @flaming-reauxster @r0binscript @awkotaco24 @ilikeititspretty

[hwaightme]

Golden hour

THIS IS 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI FOR MOUNT'S SAKE (nsfw tags under the cut) (masterlist) (join taglist)

🟡 pairing: bf!san x fem!reader 🟡 genre: smut, pwp, a lot of fluff, established relationship 🟡 summary: in the busy urban jungle, one fateful night at a jazz bar, choi san met his angel of light. from then on, each moment is a breathtaking golden hour, your love a wondrous duet. 🟡 wordcount: 6.5k 🟡 warnings/tags: loving bf san, jazzman!san, you are the apple of his eye, trumpet player, two lovebirds making it in the big city, discussion of marriage, discussion of planning for the future, yes he wants a future with you, late night coffee, being goofy, lots of hugs+heart eyes, lmk if I missed anything! 🟡 a/n: presently in the middle of being a san appreciator and listening to a lot of jazz, which resulted in quite a few song references being interlaced in this ahah; thank you so much for your support, any reblogs, comments, thoughts always appreciated!~

🟡 perma-taglist: @legohwas @acciocriativity @justhere4kpop @honey-lemon-goose @byuntrash101 @shakalakaboomboo @starillusion13 @hongthoven @cqndiedcherries @uwuheeseungie @cheollipop @frankenstein852 @charreddonuts @miriamxsworld @mingigoo @michel-angelhoe @innsomniacshinestar  @foxinnie8 @preciouswoozi @wooyoungjpg @mystar1024 @nebulousbookshelf @wowie-hockey @hongjoongs-patience @memoriesofwoo @ate-ez @toxicccred

🟡 nsfw tags: switch!san/the softest dom!san, switch!reader, the sheer volume of pet name use (sweetheart, darlin', love, angel, my light, my sun...), slight(?) hints at exhibitionism, light nipple play, lovebites/hickeys (giving/receiving), fingering, oral (f!recieving), handjob, hugging during sex, slow and steady, multiple orgasms, cockwarming, riding, unprotected sex (wrap that before you tap that pls), cum inside, soft and gentle aftercare

Enchanted by the ghostly wisps of steam rising from the cooling rich mahogany brew, twirling into the barren nightscape until they were nothing more than echoes of a magical breath, you waited. You were tired of conversing with the shadow stretched before you,  from the sun-like lamp light rays that hopped from the window at the top of the stairs all the way down. So you sat there, between the fourth and the fifth floors of your apartment complex, studying the circular holes in the steps that had become your rocking chair for reminiscing. At nights like these, you took things slow, and let yourself sink into an intimate fragility. Only you and the remnants of a busy late night shift. The hair and skin, which even after bathing seemed to cling onto most, if not the entire bouquet of aromas from the bar; the hands, still bearing the traces of coolness from having heaped buckets of ice into overpriced drinks; the faded eyeshadow, the lipstick - most of it transferred to the mug of coffee, steadily approaching lukewarm, cradled in your hands. Habitually, you traced its rim, feeling for the chip in the ceramic that it sported like a scar, after you had accidentally dropped it on the counter. Its presence was grounding. A reminder that you existed in a world beyond the endless cycles. That sometimes, the unpredictable could happen to you too.

You found companionship in the fluorescent light perched above a sign that attempted, but failed to remind the locals not to litter, and the miniature exhibition of waste backs collected right below it. This scene, viewed from so many metres above, was almost poetic. It was endearing seeing the last hints of humour that your neighbours managed to retain despite the bleakness of the complex and its surroundings. Windows facing brick walls and going grey from smog, a cacophonic roar drilling into the ear drums from the ceaseless chatter of clubbers and late night diners ambling down the nearby wonders of nightlife. The flickering, leaking neon signs above business either long-closed for the day, or just beginning to awaken were practically pitiful, and yet, you could not help but feel a twinge of sentimentality when your mind traversed the area, reminding you of any changes you had spotted, new faces, new flyers; these were the only things that, without fail, would greet you as you walked back home in your midday, another’s time for deepest slumber. Perhaps one would think you were alone or lonely in this hour, remaining out of dreamland solely to tomorrow’s disillusionment. But to anyone who would dare propose something so ridiculous, one look at the smile that graced your lips as soon as you spotted a familiar figure making its way down the courtyard, and stopping to wave at you - knowing full well that you were sat at the stairwell, would be enough to cut any argument at its root. While he was not someone who you came home to often, despite you having lived together for what was about to be a year, Choi San was the music that soothed your soul, the sweetest song, the melody of your heart. He was there for you, and you were there for him. Even if that meant turning into a nocturnal creature, conversing aimlessly with a cuppa into the early hours.

You closed your eyes and counted his steps. Both of you had made it something of a routine to avoid the main entrance. Initially it had been as a joke and as a means to flee from the permanently vexed madam in her seventies who lived on the ground floor, shrill voice and a shivering, bitey pooch cooped up and cradled like baby; she had seen the two of you in states deemed dissatisfying in her view, and as such had turned into a guardian of the complex. A guardian from two young fools who lived to the fullest. In an adoring duet, you had found paths to your comfort, and soon enough, the emergency stairs were an ascension to your palace - shared paradise spanning a couple of rooms. 

San’s resolved, confident steps as he made his way up the stairwell, skipping the second, avoiding the worn down centre of the step between the first and second floors; it was so worn down, in fact, that on some nights when the moon caught this side of the building just right, it was like a fallen star. You grinned to yourself as you recalled this theory. That star worked hard on giving you your wish; the wish whose slicked back, jet black locks you could already detail in your line of sight. As he made the last turn, you gripped your mug tighter; somehow, even after years of knowing this man, of loving this man, San never failed to ignite the warmest, cosiest flame within your soul. The home you had dreamed of, found not in four walls, but in this gentleman, who was now standing before you, hand outstretched and a gentle smile on his face. You graciously accepted the assistance, and let yourself be lifted off the ground with a light pull, to come face to face with your boyfriend. Your precious, funny valentine, with a heart of gold.

“Hey, darlin’, now, I told you the gig was gonna run ‘til late, why’re you up? And with your coffee?” he drawled as he searched for a place to put the case for the second most precious aspect of his life: his trumpet, settling on a nook closer to the inner railing - protected on all sides from a fall. You hummed, and took another cautious sip, studying the man before you.

Despite having woken up at the crack of dawn to walk you to your second job before commuting to his own, there was still that inextinguishable glint in his magnificent dark eyes. Feeling your gaze on him, San rolled his shoulders back, as though he had not a hint of weariness in his muscles, accidentally forcing one side of his favourite jacket, a vintage brown piece made of corduroy, to slip and commence its slow climb down his upper arm. Sighing, you twisted to set your cup aside on one of the stair steps, and made a move to fix it back in place, ignoring the way in which San's hands rapidly snaked to your waist.

"Mm, missed you Sannie." You responded, smoothing the non-existent creases on the black t-shirt he was wearing underneath, your touches lingering as if you had not rested your form on his chest thousands of times, each occasion imprinted in your memory for as long as there was music.

"I missed you more, Y/N…” his eyes darted a couple of times to your hands, only to slowly rise, and focus on the black top that you had chosen to change into after your workday. San exhaled, amused as he imagined you waddling around the apartment wrapped up in that fleece towel you liked, ready to raid the wardrobes. Taking the very edge at the base of the article between his thumb and index finger , he toyed with it, and stated as a matter of factly: “I can see you're stealing my shirts again."

"Well… I can take it off…" you trailed off, moving to undo the very top button, stifling a giggle as San instantly dropped his act and pinched the collar together. He shook his head, gaze glossed over, unreadable. His other hand inched a little closer to your hip, sliding down - a barely noticeable change, but it nevertheless sent sparks across your skin and left you struggling to breathe.

"Uh-uh, that's for my eyes only. Can't have you flaunting something priceless for the whole block." tugging on the shirt, he guided you into his arms and wrapped himself around you, taking in the smell of home. The aroma of his gift that was today, the promise that was tomorrow, and the dream that was the symphonies of a future to come.

It was surreal, the moment he came home. Be it to wait for your shift to end while he tried to get a simple dinner cooking on the stove, or to have you waiting, just like this, curled up on the stairs, every bit a cat basking in the warm glow that resembled the sunset in its hue, falling down the steps from the window of your, and his apartment. As he stood in front of you, etching your form into his memory as if each time he saw you you were someone new, he imagined what it would be like to truly come back at sundown. Have dinner earlier than midnight, spend the evening chatting away about this and that, hidden under a woollen throw that you had found at a thrift store. Let the last rays of the sun, departing to its sleeping quarters, wash over the two of you as you would hold one another in a long, loving embrace, rocking to the ballads only you knew and shared. Sometimes he wondered whether what he played outside of this magical golden hour that was ‘you and him’ was truly music, when all the melodies to divine adoration played in your caresses. Whether the words he sang held any meaning if they were not dedicated to you, sung to you. Whether the sultry notes of the trumpet were anything but noise if you were not there to hear it. 

Crash landed into the big city, he had been a boy with stars in his eyes and boundless ambition. He had wanted to fight the world alone, head on, and had no feel for the rhythm of the metropolis, its people, its jazz scene. He had assumed that he was wanted, and oh, how wrong he had been. Rejection after rejection, San had found himself playing on the streets for a couple of bills to last the day, and had run into a debt with a cruel landlord - so large, that he had considered turning to less conventional solutions. But then, by some stroke of luck, he had met other musicians who were dreamers, warriors of the arts, those with impeccable feel for every note, every off-beat both in the pieces they would cover or improvise, as well as life. Just like that, San had found himself a band, and by the grace of destiny itself, he had found himself performing at a bar, the bar, where he had the boundless joy of meeting you. 

An old hole in the wall in the middle of downtown, it had been your first place of work since moving in more central from the outskirts. Having been on the scene for a lot longer than him, sweeping, cooking, mixing - anything you could get your hands on, you knew practically all the artists around town, thanks to your appreciation of their life’s essence in the form of jazz and their habitual lingering around the bar to chat after a show. As such, a new face had immediately caught your eye, and there, your gaze stayed. All through the night. All through his impeccable covers of Chet Baker’s ‘I Fall In Love Too Easily’ and ‘Like Someone In Love’, during both of which you swore you had never felt yourself being regarded with more intensity. All through the years in which you had come to move in a shared rhythm, existing in a gentle swing, cheek to cheek. For the first time, you felt as though you were staring right into the sun, but instead of tears rolling down your cheeks and agony spreading over your body, your vision cleared and new hope settled.

This rhythm did not falter. Even when some notes were played with their respective delays or anticipations, this was all a wondrous interpretation of life as a duet that was you and your favourite, your only, beloved San, trumpet player, singer, an artist through and through. The man with a dream and the resolve to achieve it. You had promised to one another that one of these days, you will see yourselves as the makers of a new oasis. Your own corner in the glimmering canyons of steel to serve as a sunny safe haven for jazzists from all walks of life. You as the owner of the new Blue Note, him as the first man on the stage. This was the future towards which you both strode, and alongside it, a heavenly devotion bloomed.

As you rocked in a sweet embrace, it was impossible to imagine anything more right. Arms around his torso and hidden from the nighttime breeze by his jacket, you sank into San’s reassuring heartbeat and loving warmth. Caught in a trance, he pressed you impossibly close as though he had not seen you in an agonising ‘forever’, and ran his fingers through your hair while a hand rested on the back of your head. The brilliant, cascading tresses that still retained some of the aroma of the cordials and syrups you often used at your job, despite the top notes being yours, and consequently, his favourite shampoo. He admired the way in which it reflected the sunset captured in the apartment, only half a flight away, a golden luminescence that made him all the more convinced that this was where the glowing, comforting star had found safety to rest. After walking through the town that was enveloped in dark hues, passing by dingy shops and streets in dire need of tender love and care, he could not help but feel blessed that all that time ago, the sun had risen for him, and all he had the pleasure of experiencing was brighter, lighter, and any trials and tribulations were merely a simple test. He fondly recollected your first meeting, having purposefully made a detour on his journey back to walk past the location that marked the beginning of your history.

“We played at a club a couple of blocks from that place tonight.”

“Where we met?” you asked, nuzzling into the crook of San’s neck and relishing in his soft hum as he continued.

“Mhm. Actually, I walked past it while going home.”

“And?” you inquired, pulling away to glance at San’s cheeky lopsided grin.

“Made me walk faster.” you raised an eyebrow, only making your boyfriend chuckle, the honey-like tone never failing to induce a thrilling flurry in your chest.

“Damn, is it that run down?”

San imitated a pondering stance, looking off to the side before returning to study your very irises, with such attentiveness that you thought he was in a world of his own. And in a way, he was. He was convinced that, for as long as he lived, San’s best view would be exactly this. These eyes that had hypnotised him as they followed his figure from across the bar, these gorgeous orbs that held the moon, the stars, the songs sung and unsung. No matter where he went and no matter what new challenge life threw at him, all he needed was to imagine you and suddenly, everything would fall into place. The young man moved to press his forehead against yours, a strand of hair that grazed his eyebrow tickling your face and causing you to scrunch your nose. The adorable reaction proved to be too much for San’s poor enamoured heart as it skipped a beat, and in an attempt to subdue the overwhelming ache he rubbed his nose against yours.

“Nope, just made me want to see you even more.” he spoke low, focusing only on your shallow, lightly trembling breaths and the intoxicating feeling of his skin against yours. 

“Can you see me now?” you joked, hinting at your closeness, hands moving to graze his sides, trailing down until you could tap his alluring waist with your fingertips, stepping forward until you were practically hip to hip and you could feel the friction of his navy jeans against your skirt.

“I don’t know, Y/N, I think I need to get a little closer…” in one cautious trailing of the jawline, he cupped your face, waited for a tiny nod from you to proceed - something he had always subconsciously done when it came to loving you, and what little space had been left between your bodies was no longer.

Tenderly, like early mist settling on the dazzling midnight sea, he worshipped you with every move. Lost in a sigh, in softest caresses, you indulged in the sweetness of his precious lips, fitting so perfectly with your own. While you had not been a believer in soulmates, the only way in which you could describe the idyllic nature of your coexistence was that it was meant to be. It was as if, even though you had your respective, independent melodies, they oh so seamlessly flowed into one, body and soul. San kissed you as though you were life itself, at such a slow, sultry tempo and yet it set your soul ablaze, caught up in a wild wind. Lost in exploring your lover, you only realised how he gingerly lifted the shirt at its base when his arms brushed against yours, causing you to snicker right against him. Immediately you could feel him retract his tongue and lean back to look at you. Your eyes fluttered open after having automatically given themselves up to a sensory bliss, only to be met with San’s signature pout that was dramatically contrasted by an enticing darkness in his half-lidded orbs.

“What…” he whined barely audibly, only making your smirk deepen.

“Now what about that ‘show’ you were talking about, hm?”

“My shirt, my business.” he attempted to dive back into a kiss, digging his fingers into your sides when you tilted your head back and chuckled.

“My lips, my business.”

“Awh darlin’ don’t tease.” he batted his eyelashes, gaze darting around your face to catch any signs of caving in to his charms. However, even if he tried his hardest, his searches would amount to nothing at all, for you would not be able to get mad at his cute face even if you wanted to. As such, your facade soon dropped and you were seeking him once more.

“Don’t be bossy.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good- Choi San put me dow-” you yelped as he stepped to the side, and with mischief flashing across his face, hooked you under the knees and supported your back, sweeping you off your feet for good. Careful not to let you hit the stairs, San’s strong arms held you tight against his chest, and he smiled down to give you a cheeky retort.

“Don’t be bossy~” playfully shaking your head, you let your hands find themselves loosely hanging from his neck, and gave into the addictive fiery pecks that he was leaving on your cheek, across your jaw, only to culminate in a deeper, ravishing kiss, punctuated by an unmistakable undercurrent of sensual longing. As your passion ascended into a crescendo, and the heat rising in your bodies was elevating into being unbearable, San breathlessly whispered the shared desire against your reddened lips:

“It’s time to quit stalling, methinks. Yeah?”

“Sounds fine by me.” you agreed, not fearful of sounding eager. Though apparently, that was not enough. While San dipped you forwards, eliciting a giggle and a compliant hooking of the trumpet case with your finger, he tried to correct you.

“Now, fine won’t do.” giving you another quick peck on your cheek, he began climbing towards the fifth floor, though you were certain that he was spending more time studying you than checking if he was stopping at the right level. Not bothering to mention the mug that had been abandoned, concluding that the beverage was always going to be nothing compared to the energy this wondrous love of yours gave you, you simply gave into the boisterous affection.

“Mighty fine.”

“A little better…” he mumbled back while stepping through the open window into your piece of urban heaven.

“Gonna have to work for any more than that, darling.”

“A challenge?”

“An invitation.”

The phrase almost made him falter as he attempted to gather at least some form of coherence before the submitting to your priceless seduction. Setting you back down onto the floor only to return to his hold of your waist, he shadowed your movements as you set the case down. At the first given opportunity, your boyfriend focused and nipped at the sensitive skin right above your exposed collarbone, one hand rising to hastily unbutton the shirt as you gasped at the contact and in a daze, rushed to tug at his jacket. Promptly, the article found itself on the floor, soon joined by the black shirt that you had borrowed and leaving your chest entirely exposed.

Entranced, San let himself be guided by you to the bedroom as he cupped one of your breasts and ran languid circles across the nipple, while catching you once more in a feverish kiss. Upon hearing the hint of a moan, muted by his own mouth, he inadvertently bucked his hips against you, the pressure on the growing arousal making him needy, and desperate for more touch. Stumbling down the corridor, you felt for the doorframe of the bedroom, stopping right underneath and running your hands under San’s black tee and up his abdomen. He obeyed your unspoken wish and gave you the pleasure of watching him undress, the divine, sculpted lines and edges of his body, muscles working overtime under his beautiful sunkissed skin, all in a magnificent dance. Before you could indulge in him once again, you felt a couple of pulls on the fabric of your skirt, and soon enough the elastic band had given in, and rolled down to let the material pile on the floor around you.

San guided your two hazy forms to the bed, hissing as you trailed kisses up his neck, to the side and nipped at his earlobe, your erratic, shallow breaths nearly sending him into a frenzy. Burning skin, each touch turned scalding making heat pool to your core; you saw stars as your boyfriend slipped his hand into your panties and ran two digits across your dripping sex to collect some of the nectar, before starting to rub your aroused clit, teasing it as you shot out to grab a hold of his upper arms for some illusion of stability. Whispering sweet nothings against your skin he laid you down onto the bed sheets; you could swear they had retained some of the warmth where the sun had hit them during its routinely finale, orange streaks stalking across the apartment. Nuzzling into San's neck you muffled your whines by turning your attention to making this moment bloom, lovebite after lovebite.

"Ah… Y/N…" he sighed, voice husky as he shifted in his half-lying posture in an attempt to get at least some friction. As he flicked your clit and glided two fingers into your entrance, curling them exactly how he knew it would drive you closer to your high, you dug your nails into his biceps to resist a tremble and uttered:

"My man, my business."

"Yours, all yours, darlin', just as you're mine." 

"Mhm, ah, San, I'm- cl-" you moaned as he increased his rhythm, the wanton sounds of his digits pumping into your pussy only accelerating you to your orgasm.

"Close? Already, sweetheart?" You could sense a hint of pride in his tone, but could not form any snarky comment, thoughts turned to mush.

"Too good to me, love…"

"Now, now, and I wanted to make you feel even better…" he chided jokingly, lifting your lower half ever so slightly from the bed to slip the wet panties off fully, not once taking his eyes off yours. You tried to reach for his jeans, the erection so painfully obvious that all you could wish for was to give San at least some relief, but to no avail as he intercepted by taking a hold of your wrist, kissing your knuckles lovingly and simply requesting: “Lie back for me, darlin’, won’t you?”

Of course you would not disagree, not when you felt an emptiness from where his fingers had denied you a complete release, leaving your walls clenching around nothing, and desperation approaching an all-time high. Eagerly, you crawled and fell back on the bed, watching his figure follow you until he was hovering dangerously close, clouded over with lust. After resting his hands on your knees and then, at a deliberately slow pace, sliding them down your inner thighs for you to part your legs wider for him, he lowered himself to devour you. Placing a long kiss on your sensitive clit while holding your legs in place so you were in his temporary control, he ran his hot tongue along the length of your fold, stopping to give the bud extra attention with dedicated licking, and sucking until you were melting into the sheets and the only thing escaping your mouth were pathetic moans laced with his name and praises. As if you had been blinded by the sun, you ceased to see any definition in the world around you as your climax crashed down hard and fast, leaving you shaking and crying out for your boyfriend, who, after leaving a tentative trail of open-mouthed kisses on your pulsating core and on each of your thighs, rose to hook you under your back.

“You’re so beautiful, my love…” he cooed as he wrapped you up in a long hug, careful to let you ride out your high in the safety of his arms. He bit his lower lip as your leg accidentally grazed his clothed cock, only to squeeze his eyes shut when the action prompted him to taste you once again, sending his mind into an overdrive.

As you returned to a brighter lucidity, you gingerly fiddled with the button on San’s jeans, and proceeded to free him of their confines with the lowering of the zipper. Unable to restrain yourself from feeling the hardness of his length, you palmed it through the cotton briefs that were already showing traces of his pre-cum, and pulled down the waistband to let it spring free.

“Oh, San, please, why wait so long, you must be so on edge, I’m sorry baby…” you mumbled, lifting your hand to collect some spit, then wrapping it around his member. Instinctively his hips bucked towards you as you pumped him, barely registering how close San’s face was to yours.

“‘s alright, Y/N, but if you could… mh… kiss it better? May I?”

“Of course.”

You could taste the remnants of your orgasm on his lips and tongue, but only momentarily as he hungrily explored you. Low grunts and breathy moans fell from his mouth, only to be swallowed by your newly blooming desire for more. Deepening the kiss, you absorbed his moan as you sped up the movements of your other hand. Unable to resist the building frustration any longer, San brushed your arm and tilted his head back to show you his eyes - glazed over, full of raw want.

“I need you.”

“How?”

“I need your pussy, sweetheart.” you slowed down, teasing the tip of his cock as he gripped your hips, a coy smile dancing across your features.

“Didn’t you just have it?”

“Not enough, it seems.”

“I think we can do something about that… tell me how you want me.”

“Ride me.”

“Be my guide.”

Nodding, moved to the edge of the bed on his knees, and slid down until he was in a seated position. He motioned for you to come closer, helping you understand his wish. Raising yourself from how you had been positioned, you crept towards your boyfriend, cautiously throwing a leg over his lap until your core was millimetres away from his throbbing member. San’s hands found your ass and gave you a few nudges towards him, while you ran your fingers through his dishevelled locks, a shy smile gracing you as you thought back to how pristine he had managed to look when he had been in the stairwell. Now, he was perfect. When you tapped him to suggest your readiness, San took his cock to slot it into your entrance and with a couple of adjustments, he bottomed out inside you. Sighs combined into a single, intimate breath as his length pressed against your walls, and you rose into an unimaginable euphoria.

Foreheads pressed against one another, neither of you wanted to rush, instead succumbing to a darkness behind your eyelids and focusing exclusively on the other senses. How your inhales and exhales were equally as shallow, how the light tinge of sweat had mixed with the dark accords of his perfume - one that, after having made the step to live together, now almost permanently lingered on your skin, how the contact was every bit like being wrapped in the golden glow of a sunset. You peeked at San, catching him still in a trance, and admired how the light from the ceiling lamp out in the corridor highlighted his sharp and alluring features, all contrasted by the softest, plushest lips which you gave into the instinct to peck. 

Your boyfriend gazed up at you, breaking into a heart-melting smile. Little did you know, he was counting his blessings and had to consciously remind himself that somehow you were not a sun goddess. Perhaps in disguise. You were the melody he would never get tired of hearing, the dawn and dusk that he would always greet and cherish. His muse and guiding light.

“My sun…” he pecked your cheek, flicking his nose against it while restraining himself from acting rashly. Not tonight. Tonight was all about you and him. Together.

“The light of my life…” kissing the other cheek, he groaned as you grinded your hips to have your chest almost flush against him.

“My Y/N,” “My San,”

You whispered in unison, looking at one another with an unequivocal tenderness and adoration. Two seamlessly blending into one, you did not need the days to guide you. Existing in a glittering bliss, before either of you was an angel of light. Truthfully, there need not be anything more. Only the sound of jazz to give you rhythm, and the radiance of your mutual enamourment. 

As you began to ride his member, you took immeasurable pleasure in seeing San’s face contort into that of ecstasy. The fluidity of the motion rivalled that of waves that lapped the distant shores of a paradise. The oncoming bubbling of a climax that threatened to drown you in a sensual unravelling left you lost at sea, with only the rays of your favourite star enveloping you. Rocking your hips, you felt his cockhead hitting your ideal spot over and over, and whenever you would need a break, he would soothe you with a feathery touch. 

The leisurely pace proved to be a build up to unfathomable ruin, as the clenching of your pussy around his hard length left San’s thoughts in a total disarray. He could not register the most basic things around him, jutting into you without a single decipherable word spilling from his lips. He gripped onto you harder, silently begging you to take him deeper, faster as his high became more imminent and he could barely hold on.

“Darling, you’re… I-I swear…”

“Ah… yes? What?”

“Can I? Please, love…”

“Yes, Sannie, please- ah!” he thrusted his hips with a newfound vigour, practically lifting you to give himself space to accelerate. The sudden change of pace sent curls of pleasure to the knot that had been building in your core, leaving you like putty in San’s hold.

“Fuck yes, Sa-an-ie… please…” lewd moans filled the bedroom as his member snapped into you with the exact beat that would send you into a frenzy. Falling apart over him, your pants rapidly turned into high-pitched whines as you could feel yourself approaching the edge to your undoing.

Just as he began to falter, you fell between his head and shoulder, shaking as another orgasm overtook you. The spasming of your sex sent him into uncontrollable pleasure and with a final few snaps of the hips, San kept you still on his cock as hot ropes of cum painted your inner walls. Embracing you like you were the most fragile being on the Earth, he glanced at you even in his half-consciousness to check if you were comfortable. Elated when you returned his regard with an elated grin, San beamed right back, giving you a quick peck before hugging you even tighter, attempting to slow his breathing while his length was still pulsating, surrounded by a divine warmth.

“So unreal… so, so marvellous, Y/N.” that seemed to reel you back from the wonderfully overwhelming sensation, and you brushed your cheek against his. Silence. Two bodies connecting, not needing the light as they lived in the afterglow. Listening to San’s heartbeat, your temple against his, you mumbled:

“I would never leave.”

“Then don’t. I would never let you go anyways.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to carry me to the bathroom.”

“I’ll even hold you in the shower.”

“Oh how romantic.” you tried to shift, only eliciting a groan from San as he cautiously moved you back, a sheepish grin on his features.

“You know what, darlin’, let’s stay like this for a bit, yeah?”

“Fine by me.”

“Fine?”

“Very, very, very fine.”

Once the two of you had in part returned from your post-coital utopia, and San kept his promise and carried you around the entire apartment as though showing you off to every piece of furniture and every wall, you were clean, fuzzy from the perfectly warm shower, and wrapped up in fresh bed sheets which you had playfully commanded for San to lay down.

After having given up on immediately settling down to sleep, you and San had dissolved into a giggly mess. You had convinced him to bring his trumpet into the room and let you have another go at playing it - even though these attempts had already likely accumulated into hundreds - without much progress. At the moment, the one piece which you could confidently play was ‘a whole lot of nothing and painfully blown out air’. As you tried for the umpteenth time to produce as much as one hint of a note, you were distracted by a sudden ‘oohing’ from your boyfriend, who was watching you unwaveringly.

“What?” you lowered the trumpet and raised an eyebrow.

“That was an indirect kiss, darlin’.”

“Come on, San, what in the world-” you hit his chest playfully and attempted to return the instrument, “I’m out here huffing and puffing and that’s what you’re thinking about?”

“Mhm, and so much more…”

“Choi San.” you addressed him sternly, though nothing in your expression even remotely suggested that you meant it.

“Fine, fine, want me to show you again and proper?”

“You know what, I think I practised enough for today.” you handed him the instrument, restraining your laughter while he returned it to its case, clipping it shut and setting it aside on the bedside table closest to him.

“Well done, Y/N.” he praised you, though a hint of sarcasm did not go unnoticed.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh at me as much as you want, but you still can’t make a bloody mary.” you pointed out, making San jut out his lower lip and nod in agreement.

“Fair.”

He opened his arms wide, leaning back onto the large pillows to invite you to rest against his bare chest, an offer which you simply would never refuse. Snuggling up to him, you were in seventh heaven. One arm over his torso and the other propping you up so you would be level, you doubted that there could be anything that felt more safe, more comforting and more adoring than this. Feeling him rubbing unrushed, lulling circles on your back, accompanied by the rustling of cotton, you wanted to dissolve in this moment, your molecules reflecting onto every surface until this was all you knew.

“Y’know, I’m s’posed to have a gig next week that’s gonna cover at least three month’s rent.” he broke through the quietude with the exciting news, making you immediately look up at him, gleaming.

“What? No way, who?”

“Some bigshot from uptown wants music for his party. And who am I to refuse?”

“Damn, San, that’s amazing-”

“And, and, and, they were looking for a mixologist to make the magic happen, so if you are happy to accept, the man’s asked me to call him back tomorrow noon,” the continuation left you stunned, and you wrapped a leg around your boyfriend, embracing him until you could barely breathe.

“WHAT? San, no you didn’t I… thank you? How? I mean…” you stumbled over your words, trying your hardest to not squeal at the opportunity.

“No words needed, lovely. See? We’re gonna save up for that wedding dress in no time.”

He stated casually, but the words sent butterflies into your stomach. You had discussed official commitment early on, deciding that this was to be in your plans for certain, but considering your careers, your desires and your dreams, you wanted to find that golden sliver of stability before taking that next step. Though, as months ticked by, you could tell San’s motivation grew stronger and stronger to be able to call you his wife.

“Oh Sannie, but I told you that I don’t need anything fancy, I just need you.” you responded, trying to provide reassurance that either way, happiness was guaranteed; but it appeared that in the ghost of an intimate night, your boyfriend found entertainment in misconstruing your words into a lustful implication.

“Say that again and you are not getting out of bed for that morning shift.” you hit his chest so faintly that there was barely any impact before hiding your face against him, not reappearing until San brushed some hair away from your face and cupped your chin, “Darlin’, I just wanna have, and live a life with you. Many lives. More than.” melting into his touch, you wiggled upwards, closer to him.

“We’ll make it.” San nodded at your resolution, glancing out into the corridor - although the lamp that had provided the sun-like hues had long been turned off, the heat of your passion prolonged its echoes.

“It’s us we’re talkin’ ‘bout, it’s written out for us. And if not, we’ll take the pen and write it. You promised I’ll be the first to play at your bar… opening night.”

You took in the adoration in his eyes, while San delighted in the same feeling that was held in your own.

“Of course. And you said that the song you’ll sing will be the one you wrote for me.” barely audible, you answered, getting closer and closer to the sun that you knew would never burn you and instead only help you amplify your shine.

“The whole set, love. My all.”