#a thousand a day would set ME for life sure

[shanastoryteller]

They destroy a hundred seals in thirty days, which feels like good progress until Sam realizes even if they can keep up this pace, it’s going to take them nearly two years. “There has to be a faster way to do this.”

“It took three hundred thousand years to set the apocalypse in motion,” Castiel says dryly. “Patience is a virtue.”

“It took a year from first seal to last, don’t exaggerate,” he says, pacing the length of the motel room. Cas may not need things like food and sleep, but Sam is still human at the end of the day.

He’s refusing to touch the virtue bit. No one’s keeping track of those and they both know it.

Cas gives him a bitchy look that Sam tells himself he’s not growing fond of. “Yes. Sixty six seals took a year to open. We’ve destroyed nearly twice that in a month. You are not being reasonable about this.”

Maybe not, but they don’t have time to be. Can’t Cas feel it? Like something’s bearing down on them, hot breath on the back of their necks. If there’s one constant in Sam’s life, it’s that he never gets enough time. He doesn’t see why this should be any different. “What if we killed Lilith? She’s the last one, right? As long as the first seal hasn’t been opened, killing her destroys the seal. If the last one can’t be opened, Lucifer can’t be set free. Right?”

Cas tilts his head to the side. Sam kind of hates how quickly he’s picked that up this time around, but he’s only realizing now that it’s a gesture Cas learned from him, not Dean, and the first go around they hadn’t exactly spent a lot of time together in the beginning. “Likely correct. But even if we could find her, I’m unsure of your capabilities.”

“Fuck you too,” he says without heat. “I killed Azazel. I killed her before. I can do it again.”

“She wanted to be killed, last time,” Cas says. “She knew her death would grant Lucifer’s freedom and she did not fight you with all her strength. Killing Azazel is not killing Lilith. They are different beasts.”

“Wait,” he says, “are you telling me that Lilith is stronger than Azazel?”

Having killed them both, that’s really not what he would have guessed. Which means that Cas is probably right. Damn.

“What is stronger, blood or bone?” he asks. “She is Lucifer’s firstborn. There is power there.”

Great. “I’m more powerful this time,” he points out. Azazel’s blood – Lucifer’s blood – is still buzzing under his skin, not quite as hot and pounding as it was at first swallow, but not fading and sputtering out like Ruby’s blood always had. Something in between, maybe, except those first few drops of blood as a baby hadn’t had any immediate affects either. It’s probably a good thing he won’t live another twenty two years. Who knows what Lucifer’s blood will have done to him by then.

“Yes,” Cas says. “I just don’t know if you’re powerful enough.”

And if he’s not, Lilith won’t even kill him. He needs to be alive for Lucifer to wear, after all. No, whatever she does to him will be much worse.

Sam.

He turns, even though he knows they’re alone. But his name had been so clear.

Sam, please!

He looks around uneasily. “Do you hear that?”

Cas blinks. “No.”

“Seriously?” he demands.

Sam, please, please, I’ll do anything, I’ll give anything, please help me. Help her. Sam –

He moves, not entirely sure what he’s doing, shifting from one place to the other, not entirely sure where he’s going until he arrives.

He’s standing in an empty apartment building, a ghost howling in front of him that looks sort of familiar. What the hell?

“Sam!”

Taking his eyes off the ghost is probably stupid, but he looks behind him anyway and finds Ellen on her knees, tears streaming down her face. Jo is clutched in her arms, skin pale and eyes open and unseeing, bits of plaster in her hair and a gaping hole in the wall behind them.

“Holmes?” he asked incredulously, turning back to the ghost who’s getting steadily closer. Last time they trapped him in the basement and cemented him inside. Last time Sam hadn’t spent years researching how to banish the worst sorts of evil.

The incantation rolls off his tongue easily, half Latin and half something older than that, and Holmes screams as he burns up in whisps of smoke.

“Sam, please,” Ellen begs. “Please. You have to help her.”

How does Ellen even know him? They’ve never met before. Not here. He kneels across from her, heart clenching at Jo’s body. He’s supposed to be making things better, leaving and destroying the seals is supposed to fix things. Except he guesses he and Dean weren’t here to find Jo this time and Ellen got there too late. “She’s dead, Ellen.”

“So?” she asks fiercely. “Jim was dead. Caleb, that girl, Meg. They were all dead. You brought them back.”

He stares. “How do you know that?”

“Please,” she repeats. “She’s all I have left. Please, Sam. I’ll do anything. I’ll give anything. Just bring her back.”

Sam knows that desperation. He’s felt that desperation, those miserable four months when hell tore his brother apart.

But he doesn’t have the same overfull, burning power he had with the taste of Azazel’s blood in the back of his throat.

Ellen, proud, tough Ellen, has tears down her face and begging him.

She lost her husband because of his father. He can try and save her daughter.

He reaches out, gripping the back of Ellen’s neck, and pulls her towards him. She opens his mouth for him, kissing him back without hesitation. He bites her tongue, blood hot and salty, and she doesn’t so much as flinch, doesn’t pause, just holds Jo between them and lets Sam take.

When he pulls back, his mouth is full of blood. He leans down, pressing his lips to Jo’s, letting her mother’s blood slide between her lips and presses his hand against her chest, trying to quicken something in her that will bring her home.

She gasps under him and he pulls back. Her eyes dart around, cheeks flushed, and stutters, “What – who–”

Ellen lets out a sob and clutches Jo to her, letting out a choked litany of scolding that has Jo patting her back and making soothing noises that Sam doubts Ellen hears at all.

He sits back on his ass, rubbing a hand over his face and wondering if anyone will care if he just lays down and takes a nap. Resurrection is exhausting.

“How?” Ellen asks, looking at him with red eyes and a puffy face and so much gratitude he can barely stand it. “There’s nothing special about my blood.”

“There’s power in sacrifice,” he says, wincing at the roughness of his voice. “Not a lot. Not enough. But,” he shrugs. He’s spent a lifetime making something out of not enough.

“What did I sacrifice?” she asks. It’s curiosity, nothing more. He can tell that she doesn’t care about the answer, that it really good be anything ant it would still be a bargain well made as far as she’s concerned.

This is how apocalypses are started.

“Nothing I’m going to collect on,” he says tiredly. “But it’s not a trick that works more than once. So be careful, okay?”

That last bit he directs to Jo, who’s just staring at him with huge eyes. “You’re Sam?”

“Yeah,” he says. “How do you know who I am?”

Jo and Ellen share a look, then she says carefully, “I met your brother.”

“How is he?” he asks, almost before she’s finished speaking. “Is he – I mean,” he cuts himself off, grimacing. Sam made out with their possessed father, killed the demon, and left. It’s a real toss up about what messed him up the most. “You shouldn’t hunt on your own,” he says, switching tracks. “You need a partner, one who can show you the ropes if you’re going to keep this up. See if you can talk Dean into it. I think you two will get along.”

Jo swallows. “Uh, okay. You’re not what I expected.”

What had she expected? He’s sure the rumors about him are nothing good, if not outright setting a bounty on his head. Ellen might have been desperate enough to seek him out with Jo dead, but that doesn’t mean anything. He and Dean both ran to demons when they lost the other.

There are footsteps down the hall and he tries to muster a smile for them before he’s leaving, returning to the motel room he’d been in with Cas.

“Where did you go?” he asks.

Getting back here had taken the last bit of energy he had. He flips Cas off and collapses face first into the bed, barely managing to kick of his shoes before he falls asleep.

Dean would have taken them off for him, but Dean isn’t here.

~

When he wakes up twelve hours later, it’s to Cas standing above him and staring.

He groans, rolling over and away from that piercing blue gaze. “Don’t do that.”

“Where did you go?” he asks.

Sam tells him. It doesn’t take long, but his voice is still strained by the end of it.

“You heard her prayers?” Cas asks.

“No,” he says, then frowns. “I don’t know. I guess. Can I do that?”

Cas is learning human expressions one by one. Judgement had come quickly and easily.

Whatever. Apparently he can do that now.

“You said Azazel was a prince of hell,” Sam says. “Does that mean there are more of them?”

“Three,” he says warily. “Why?”

He shrugs. “Think they’d be willing to part with some blood in exchange for their lives?”

Sam’s not going to survive this. He knew that from beginning. It doesn’t really matter he has to do to himself to finish it.

There’s power in sacrifice.

“This is a terrible idea,” Cas says, which isn’t a no.

Apocalypse Never

They help Dad into the cabin, more coherent than he was when they first broke him out, and Sam heads back to the car for their bags, for the Colt, and tries not to think about how everything has gone so quickly to shit. Mom and Jessica’s killer got away, again, but they’re all alive. That’s not nothing, that’s –

The pain hits him so completely and suddenly that he has no chance to brace himself for it. Usually it builds, first prickling pain then greater, but this is something else. It feels like nails are being shoved into his skull, images coming almost too fast for him to follow. He doesn’t realize he’s screaming until it stops, until he comes to with his head in his brother’s lap, Dean’s arms pinning him down and his face white and terrified above him. “Sammy? Sammy, you’re bleeding. What’s wrong?”

His throat is too raw and tight to speak even if he wanted to. He does want to, but he can’t, he can’t say a goddamn thing.

I saved the world for you, he thinks wildly, and I didn’t even get to keep you. How fucked up is that?

~

He doesn’t know if his future self couldn’t send it all back any further, or if he thought that this would give Sam less time to fuck things up.

For a couple terrifying minutes, Sam had taken control of Lucifer. For a couple exhilarating minutes, Sam had the power of an archangel.

That sending the knowledge of the future back four years in the past was the best thing he could think to do with it leaves Sam with a poor opinion of the man he became. Then again, he had saved the world, so. There’s that.

He doesn’t want to think of the him that had fallen into the pit with Lucifer and Michael. He hopes he can save him by making different choices, but maybe he can’t. Alternate universes, or parallel ones, or whatever. Maybe that Sam is damned for good and the best he could do was save a different version of himself, a different version of his brother.

There’s not much point in wondering about it. He’ll never know either way.

It’s memories with no emotions, thank fuck, because just the knowledge of it all is enough to drive him to his knees, to edge him to weeping and whimpering and slitting his wrists if he lets it.

He’s not going to. He has work to do. There will be time to fall apart after, when the world is safe. When Dean is safe.

Dean after Dad had died and given him that ultimatum had been bad enough. Dean after forty years in hell had been nearly unrecognizable.

He wipes the blood from his face, ushers Dean back inside, and tries not to think too hard about what he’s about to do.

Dean figures out it’s Azazel in Dad’s body and they’re pinned to the wall and Sam waits until Azazel is hovering over him, hand next to his head as he tilts his head back and breathes over Sam’s lips. It’s a torture and a powerplay, to let the want in his eyes come out in his father’s face, to make it John’s body that’s pressed so nauseatingly close to his own.

Sam isn’t the same person he was four years ago, ten minutes ago.

Breaking out of Azazel’s hold is easy. He’s using the equivalent of a single finger to keep them down, like pinning down a butterfly, and it's only enough until it isn’t.

He grabs Azazel’s face and pulls him close, hears the beginning of his laughter before Sam seals their mouths together. He’s making a deal here, selling his soul sure as anything, just not with Azazel.

Azazel leans into it, just like Sam knew he would, shoving his tongue in Sam’s mouth and getting off at his instinctive flinch of disgust, of the way Dean’s screaming bloody murder behind him. Azazel hasn’t hurt Dean yet. Sam’s going to make sure he never will.

He bites down hard. Blood fills his mouth and he sucks on his tongue, drinking as much as he can. It doesn't tase like iron, not like it should, instead it's sweet and thick like honey. He thought Azazel would pull back now, but he’s still laughing into Sam’s mouth, even bites the inside of his cheek to add to the blood from his tongue, and he just lets Sam drink his fill. Of course, he doesn’t know what Sam knows. If Sam had done this the first time, the only thing the blood would have done would be to get him high and useless.

It means he gets more than a mouthful, that it’s long minutes of keeping his eyes closed and swallowing and trying not to think too hard about how it’s Dad’s hands on him and Dad’s hard on at his thigh and Dad’s tongue he’s sucking on. He’s already got four years’ worth of nightmares in his head. No need to add more than necessary.

His skin is buzzing, feeling stretched out over him like his body is too big for it suddenly, almost like the aches of growing pains but more electric. Azazel pulls back and licks up the side of his face, leaving blood and spit behind, and breathes into his ear, “If you missed me feeding you, boy, all you had to do was ask.”

Yeah, that’s enough of that.

He shoves Azazel back without moving his hands, hard enough that he stumbles, and he has to move fast, before he gets a smart idea like snapping Dad’s neck or bursting his heart. He raises his hand and he’d settle for an exorcism, but power is lying heavy and thick in his veins. Destroying Lilith nearly killed him and Azazel is more powerful than Lilith and the blood he drank shouldn’t be nearly enough.

But fear sparks in Azazel’s yellow eyes and he starts choking, black smoke leaking from his ears and out his mouth. “How-”

Sam doesn’t let him finish. He remembers killing Samhain, killing Alastair, killing Lilith. He knows what to do.

Azazel dies screaming. Mom and Jessica are avenged. It’s not as satisfying as he thought it’d be.

Dad is on his hands and knees, taking in deep lungfuls of air. Sam knows from experience that being possessed isn’t pleasant.

“Sammy?”

He forces himself to look over, sees his brother approaching him with hands outstretched. The fear hasn’t gone anywhere even with Azazel dead, even with Dad alive, even though he doesn’t have any of the devastating injuries he sustained last time.

He doesn’t have the emotions to go along with the memory of the first time Dean saw him drinking demon blood, but he imagines it was something like this. “I’m sorry.”

“Sammy,” Dean says again, but Dad’s getting to his feet, Dad’s looking at the Colt, and Sam can’t die yet. He still has work to do.

It’s not a conscious thought, not something he actively tries to do, it’s just one minute he’s there in a cabin with his father and brother and the next he’s in the middle of a field, the night air crisp and clear and a million stars shining above him.

He couldn’t do that before.

There’s something wrong, he thinks, because he doesn’t remember what drinking demon blood felt like, but he remembers describing it, and this isn’t right. He should be drained after that, should feel almost normal again, but instead it’s like there are bees pinging around inside him, like there’s molten lava in his veins, like he’s dying.

He’s dying, he realizes suddenly, the power threatening to eat him alive. He looks down at his arms, like he’s expecting to see them crisping up beneath moonlight, but they look normal, like skin. Of course it’s not killing him, no matter what it feels like. He’s Lucifer’s perfect vessel. There’s no power his body can’t contain, none except God’s, maybe, and it looks like he’s long past making house calls.

It won’t kill him, but it hurts like hell, and he can’t think, he needs to burn it off somehow. He’s never had this problem before, not even when he drank all that blood for Lucifer.

He’s standing in Bobby’s living room and he doesn’t understand why until he sees the body on his kitchen table wrapped in a white sheet. He doesn’t know how Bobby got rid of the paramedics, if he’s maybe holding the body for her family, but Sam thinks he knows how to get rid of some of the itching along his skin.

Sam died a lot, in those weeks he and Dean were apart. Lucifer was true to his word. Sam came back every time.

He pulls down the sheet, sees the ways Meg’s face has settled into death in the past day, how decay has started to take hold and left her blue and cold and her skin slack. He leans down, presses a kiss to her cheek, and thinks that this is the least he owes her, for what she endured because of him, for trying to help him even at the bitter end.

She gasps to life beneath him, warmth flooding her skin and air stuttering into her lungs. “Sam?” she asks, fear and confusion and a pain that’s not physical.

Maybe she won’t want to live, considering everything she’s been through, but at least now the choice is hers and not a demon’s. There are footsteps and he turns to see Bobby standing in the doorway, gun pointed to the ground and mouth open in shock. Sam doesn’t have time to worry about it, instead he’s gone, the same burning still clawing its way out of his bones.

Caleb lies slumped in the chair Meg had tied him to, throat slit and eyes empty. Sam puts his hands on his shoulders, presses his lips to his bald head, and feels the moment his heart starts beating again. He sends the ropes falling with barely a thought and he’s gone the moment he hears his first confused groan.

Pastor Jim is laid out in his home, church workers Sam vaguely recognize huddled around him in prayer, his final send off. He’s just glad he got here before they burned him. They start screaming when they see him but he leans down, internally wincing at how Jim’s going to explain his way out of this one, and kisses his forehead, a reversal of the paternal tenderness Jim had shown him as a child.

His chest rises and his eyes open and his eyebrows push together. “Sam, what-“

He doesn’t stick around to hear the end of that question, figures it’s not anything he can answer anyway.

It takes him a long moment of staring out at the snow covered peaks and too close sky and the brilliant sun hitting his face even though it was just the middle of the night for him to place himself, even though it shouldn’t be enough, but he knows where he is even though he shouldn’t.

The air’s too thin and he’s going to give himself altitude sickness if he lingers and he should probably be freezing to death but his blood is still running too hot. Not burning, not like it was before he brought three people back from the dead, but still far from comfortable.

Still. He can’t say he ever thought he’d ever get to see the view from Mt. Everest.

“Castiel,” he says. “It’s Sam Winchester. We need to talk.”

Nothing. Typical.

“I know about God’s plan, about Lucifer and Michael, about my role as his vessel. I know about you, Cas. You’re going to want to hear me out.”

There’s the rustle of wings behind him and he turns to see Cas, younger than he looked before. Jimmy Novak younger than he’d been before. He wonders about that for a moment. He’d half expected Cas to show up as a sherpa rather than nip to America for a vessel, but Cas had kept the shape of Jimmy Novak even after his physical body perished, so maybe there’s a deeper preference there than just convenience.

His face is as cold as their surroundings. “You have strayed from God’s light.”

“Yeah, well, what good has he ever done me?” he asks tiredly. He used to believe. He believed yesterday. He prayed this morning. Even when he met Cas the first time, he believed. “I can’t explain. Can you just read my mind? We don’t have time.”

His eyebrows push together, but Cas has to be curious, otherwise he wouldn’t have said anything. He steps forward and presses two fingers against Sam’s forehead. He doesn’t feel any different, but when Cas lowers his hand, he’s lost his stoicism. Shock, despair, and anger chase themselves across his feature and Sam can’t blame him.

He’s not the only who lost his faith in the future.

“You said there were thousands of seals,” he says. “How many exactly?”

His eyes snap to Sam’s. “What?”

“God loved Lucifer,” he says. “It’s why he imprisoned him rather than destroying him. It’s why he left him a way out. Maybe it’s why he set up the apocalypse in the first place. I don’t know, I don’t care. All I know is that I’m not letting him out, ever. So we’re going to destroy every seal we can.”

Some can’t be undone, like the first one, a righteous man torturing an innocent soul in hell. But there are plenty that can, hopefully enough, hopefully most. If there are less than sixty six seals available, then Lucifer is never getting out of his cage.

“There were originally ten thousand seals,” Cas answers and Sam gets lightheaded for reasons that have nothing to do with thin air. “Only two thousand and thirty four seals are still viable.”

Okay, that’s better. Not great, but better. “Let’s get that number down to sixty five.”

“You are different,” Cas says.

Of course he’s different. His father’s alive. His brother never went to hell. Sam has never known the utter desolation of being completely alone, of grief and guilt so heavy he’s surprised it didn’t break his spine as surely as Jake’s knife in his back. He doesn’t actually remember feeling it, which is no small mercy, but he saw the effects of living with it, which is almost as bed. He'd thought what he’s feeling because of Jessica is as low as he could get. It’s not even close.

He wants to dig up her bones and breathe life into them, but at almost a year dead he thinks that’s beyond even this strange new power. Even like this, he’s failing Jessica one more time.

“Got any ideas?” he asks. “It wasn’t like this before. With the blood.”

He’d drank Ruby nearly dry more than once. It had been a high and then a crash and never did it give him access to this type of power.

“Azazel is – was a prince of hell,” Cas answers.

Sam frowns. “I thought he was king?”

“He was regent,” he corrects, “but to be a prince is separate from being ruler of hell. Lucifer created Lilith from bone, as Adam and Eve were made. The princes were created from his blood. Azazel’s blood is, in a way, Lucifer’s.”

Lucifer’s blood. Sam, his vessel, drinking down Lucifer’s blood, as a baby and now. Except as a baby he’d only had a few drops. He’d consumed a lot more than that back at the cabin.

Demon blood always wore off. The few drops of Azazel’s blood he’d gotten as a baby never had. He probably should have taken that into consideration, but there hadn’t been any time.

“Lucifer is evil but he is not a demon,” Cas continues.

Sam realizes suddenly that he did have power like this once. When he locked away Lucifer inside of him and took his power for his own. It’s not the same, not even close, but it’s similar. “This is what angel blood does?”

“No,” he says. “This is what Archangel Lucifer’s blood does to his perfect vessel. I believe. This has never happened before, so I cannot be certain. You are, as always, one of kind, Sam Winchester.”

It’s not quite a compliment, but it’s not as combative as he remembers Castiel being in the beginning. He’ll take it. “Guess we’ll figure it out together, then. If you’re sticking around to help prevent the apocalypse.”

If he’s not, this is going to be more than difficult. Tracking down all the seals without an angel on his side isn’t going to be impossible, but pretty damn close. And he doesn’t know how much time he has. Hell is going to be pissed about him killing Azazel. Heaven is probably going to take notice once he starts destroying seals so they can never be opened. Not to mention, he’s definitely going to be on hunters’ radar. Even if Dad can keep his mouth shut about him drinking demon blood, which he knows better than to rely on, him bringing back people from the dead is going to spread quickly. He’s going to be hunted at all sides, just like last time.

At least last time he had Dean, even broken, even when he was broken himself. He still had his brother.

But this is the price for saving him. For making sure that Dean is never in the position to kick off the apocalypse in the first place, to make it so Lucifer never again walks the earth even if heaven and hell reincarnate him and Dean and try and start this all over again.

He’s going to be killed for it, he knows, by demons or angels or hunters. But that doesn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

“Yes,” Cas says. “It is better for us all if the future you saw never comes to pass. I will help you.”

He grins, clapping Cas on the shoulder, and only laughs at the glare he receives in return. They have to get out of here before the altitude makes him loopy. Maybe it already has.

He’s going to save the world for his brother and he’s not even going to get to keep him.

How fucked up is that?

[noona-clock]

Heart of the Ranch - Part 5

Genre: Cowboy!AU, Slice of Life, Fluff

Pairing: Namjoon x You (Female!Reader)

Warnings: None

Part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5 | Words: 3,147

You and your friends, whom you had deemed the Official Marketing Team of BTS Ranch, spent most of the day doing what friend-cations were truly for: having fun together. Sure, you weren't exactly relaxing, but still! You weren't sitting in your office doing your usual accounting work, so that definitely counted for something.

You sat with Rachel as she created profiles for Namjoon (and the ranch) on multiple platforms, tagging along as she scurried around to take pictures of the house, the gorgeous scenery, and -- of course -- the owner, himself.

You hovered behind Trish at the front desk as she reimagined the website. She hadn't asked for your help, but you offered it anyway! If she could tell you to go on vacation, the least you could do was tell her how the website should look.

You exchanged ideas and giggles with Emily about what kind of content to post, and you stuck by her side as she followed Namjoon around to film a 'Day in the Life' type video. It was such a chore. I mean, watching Namjoon work outside and hearing his deep, smooth yet raspy voice explain what he was doing? Who'd want to do that?

(Just kidding -- obviously. The whole reason Emily was filming him doing this was because you both knew thousands, if not millions, of people on the internet would want to watch it!)

By the time dinner rolled around, Rachel had posted pictures and status updates on most of the profiles she'd created, Trish had nearly finished a complete overhaul of the website, and Emily had edited the footage of Namjoon into a fun, interesting video (that was also a subtle thirst trap, of course. How could it not be?).

As the four of you sat around the table, it was all you could talk about. Your plates sat largely untouched as you all scrolled and clicked through your phones in admiration.

"Hey, come on, now," Namjoon scolded as he entered the dining room carrying a basket of freshly baked rolls. "Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to look at your phones at the dinner table?"

"We're simply appreciating all the hard work we've done today!" Rachel rebutted, though all four of you did set your phones face-down next to your plates.

"Yeah," Emily agreed as she reached for one of the rolls after Namjoon set the basket down on the table. "The hard work we did for your ranch."

Namjoon winced and rested a hand on the back of your chair. "Okay, I deserve that. Guilt trip accomplished."

You rolled your eyes in amusement, ignoring the way your stomach jumped as your shoulder brushed against his hand.

"Let me know if you guys need anything else," he chuckled. "Dinner-wise. I think I'm done with social media for the day."

Emily quickly picked her phone back up and held it out toward him. "But wait, don't you want to see the comments on your video?"

"Absolutely not," he answered immediately, taking a few steps away from the table. "The comments are none of my business."

"But they're all positive!" she assured him.

"Can we at least reply to them?" Trish asked.

"Be my guest," Namjoon nodded. "But I've lived this long without reading comments, I can go another day or two."

He turned to leave the dining room, but before he did, he discreetly slipped a piece of paper under your placemat.

It turns out he hadn't been as discreet as he thought, though, because as soon as the door into the kitchen swung closed behind him, Rachel leaned over to you and whispered, "What does the note say?!"

Emily and Trish leaned in, too, and you slid the paper out as silently as you could. You pressed your index finger to your lips, signaling to your friends to stay quiet before reading the message out loud (but softly, of course): Meet me outside in an hour.

Emily pressed her lips together to contain a squeal, and Rachel and Trish both reached for your arm to squeeze it with excitement.

There were many positive things you could say about your lovely friends, but the one thing in the forefront of your mind right now was just how supportive they were.

Without another word, you folded the paper up into a tiny square and poked it into the pocket of your jeans.

"How many views are we at, Em?" you asked, raising your voice louder than normal to make sure Namjoon heard you were talking about social media -- not his note.

In your head, though, you were already counting down the minutes.

It hadn't quite been an hour yet, but you couldn't wait any longer. You'd freshened up after dinner, and there was only so much freshening up you could do without just changing into a whole new outfit and washing your hair, y'know? And you figured that if Namjoon wasn't out there yet, he would be soon enough, and there was plenty around the ranch to keep you occupied.

But you really weren't surprised to walk out of the front door and see Namjoon sweeping the stone path connecting the driveway and the porch.

"Are you ever not working?" you asked, immediately realizing how laughable that question was coming from you.

Namjoon paused to look up at you, and a smile flashed across his lips for a few moments -- though it was just long enough for his dimples to make an appearance. Your heart thrummed in response.

"Yes," he replied as he continued sweeping. "I don't work for about six to seven hours every night when I'm asleep."

You hopped down the porch steps, approaching him and reaching out to take the broom from him. You weren't well-versed in many of the tasks it takes to run a ranch, but you could definitely sweep.

"Six to seven doesn't cut it," you admonished as you pushed some stray dirt clods over into the lawn. "You should really be getting at least eight hours of sleep a night."

Namjoon let out a soft chuckle. You didn't realize just how close you were standing to him, but you felt the light touch of his laugh on your cheek.

"If I'm going to take rest and relaxation advice from anyone, it's not going to be you," he murmured.

Now it was your turn to pause and look up at him. You wrinkled your forehead at him and said after a moment, "You know what? You're so valid for that."

Namjoon laughed gently, reaching out and taking the broom from you, his fingers grazing over yours. "Anyway, I didn't ask you to come out here so you can do chores."

Your eyes followed him as he leaned the broom against the porch railing, and you said, "Then why did you ask me to come out here? Did you want to film another video for social media?"

You were teasing him, of course. Being out here in the twilight, just the two of you? Social media was the last thing you wanted to do.

But, unsurprisingly, you had just wanted to see his dimples.

Honestly, you should be concerned with your obsession with Namjoon's dimples, but your teasing question had accomplished your goal -- his dimples were on full display -- and you were too enamored to care.

"No," he grinned. "I wanted to show you something."

Your eyebrows climbed up your forehead. "Is that so?"

Namjoon nodded and nodded his head toward the gazebo. "This way," he murmured.

Of course, your instincts were tugging at you to ask him where he was taking you. But something stopped you. Something else in you overtook your instincts and told you to simply follow him, to wait and see.

Maybe it was the fact that the ranch was so peaceful, especially as the sun was almost done setting. Maybe (hopefully) the peace was contagious.

As the two of you were approaching the gazebo, Namjoon slowed and said, "I figured... since you're helping me with the ranch and everything... I could help you, too."

"Help me? With what?" you asked, preparing to step into the gazebo.

But Namjoon continued walking, leading you past the gazebo out into a large grassy area.

"Help you actually have a real vacation," he explained. "Help you take a moment for yourself and just... relax."

You opened your mouth to retort that he was just as bad as you when it came to relaxing -- maybe even worse since he probably didn't even take weekends off.

"I know," he interrupted before you even said anything, though. "I don't know how to relax either, so I am being just a little selfish. I'm helping you relax and also helping myself in the process. But this is the best I could come up with, okay?"

"Okay," you chuckled, nodding once to show you understood and accepted it.

"Just up here," he murmured as he gestured up to an area of the meadow that was free from trees. You spotted what could only be a blanket laid out on the grass, and your brow furrowed slightly in confusion.

It couldn't be a picnic because you'd just eaten dinner, and there was also no picnic basket. There was nothing else, actually -- just the blanket.

"This," Namjoon began as the two of you approached the blanket. "Is the best spot in the whole ranch for stargazing."

Stargazing!

"No trees to block the view, and the animals don't come out this way --"

"So, no poop," you finished.

"Exactly."

You weren't going to lie: you were just the tiniest bit wary. Seeing as you spent the majority of your time either in your office or in your apartment, it was pretty safe to say you weren't exactly one with nature. But the fact that Namjoon had 1. come up with this plan in the first place and 2. thought to specifically mention there was no chance of encountering cow poop warmed your heart enough to give it a try.

Namjoon held his hand out to help you onto the blanket, and as you crouched down, ignoring the exhilarating feeling of his fingers grasping yours, you warned, "I am not what you would call well-versed in astronomy."

"Don't worry, I've spent enough time out here at night to know a thing or two," he assured you, letting out a quiet groan as he took the spot next to you. And once the two of you had laid down on your backs, he added, "And if there's something I don't know, there's this handy little thing called a smartphone that has all the answers."

You simply chuckled in response as you clasped your hands together on your stomach, crossing your ankles and lifting your gaze skyward.

Your breath caught in your throat. "Oh my god," you gasped. "There are so many. And they're so bright!"

"The benefit of living in the middle of nowhere," Namjoon pointed out.

After taking in as much as you could, you lifted the arm closest to Namjoon and pointed up to three stars in a row. "I know that's Orion, and that's about it," you chuckled.

"Yep," Namjoon confirmed, tilting his head ever so slightly closer to yours. "Orion the Hunter. Those three stars are his belt."

"Where's the rest of him?"

Namjoon lifted his own arm, mapping out a somewhat large circle with his finger. "Right there," he murmured. "See, that's one arm he's lifting up, and there's the other arm with his shield. And then his legs are those two stars down there."

"Ahhhh," you remarked, not wanting to admit you were completely unable to visualize what he'd just pointed out to you. "What else?"

"Well, right up above Orion is Taurus," he said, moving his hand to point out the area above where his shield supposedly was.

"That's a bull, right?" you asked. And when Namjoon hummed positively, you grinned and said "Trish always sends zodiac stuff to the group chat, so I've gotten pretty good at it over the years."

"Gemini is right on the other side there," he told you as he circled the area next to Orion's other (alleged) arm.

"The twins!"

Namjoon chuckled before moving his finger to point at a star nearby that was just a bit brighter than the others. "And that is Mercury."

Your brow furrowed, and you turned your head slightly to glance at him out of the corner of your eye. "Mercury, like the planet?"

"The very one."

You gasped in amazement. "We can see a planet?!"

"Yeah," he answered, grinning. You couldn't see him well enough right now, but you could just tell he was grinning. "We can see all of the planets in the sky, just not all at the same time."

"Wow... I knew there was a lot I didn't know about space, but how did I not know we could see the planets in the sky?"

"You live in a city, right?" Namjoon asked as he set his arm back down beside him.

You nodded and hummed positively.

"You can barely see Orion in a city," he pointed out with a shrug. "How can you know it's a planet if you can't see it?"

"Very true," you sighed. "You don't know what you don't know and all that."

As the minutes ticked by, you learned just how much you didn't know about the stars and the solar system and outer space and the universe -- and how much Namjoon did know. For someone who seemingly had no time to read or do anything but work, the guy was kind of a genius.

Your conversation eventually turned from constellations to the philosophical side of space, and while you should've been sent spinning into an existential crisis at the thought of just how remarkably, incomprehensibly vast the universe was, Namjoon was somehow able to keep you grounded here on Earth. He discussed things passionately but was still level-headed, and that helped to stop you from falling down the rabbit hole.

But then you somehow got onto the topic of current events on your own planet. Somewhat surprisingly, you found that you and Namjoon had very similar values -- not that you thought he was dumb or a bad person. Quite the opposite, actually, especially after tonight. But the two of you led very different lives. It was just very refreshing to find out you weren't as sheltered by city life as maybe you thought you were.

It seemed like Namjoon was just as surprised as you were, though.

"I'm an accountant," you reminded him. "I know finances like the back of my hand, and I understand how corporations work. Of course I don't believe in ethical billionaires."

"I won't lie, I figured you being an accountant would mean the opposite."

"Like I'm obsessed with money?" you chuckled.

"Yeah," he admitted with some guilt in his voice.

"Oh, no, you're not wrong. A lot of accountants are obsessed with money. But some of us -- the good ones -- are just obsessed with numbers and helping people."

He didn't answer immediately, so you turned your head to look at him as the two of you still laid side-by-side on the blanket.

"That... makes a lot of sense, actually. I guess I just never thought about it that way," he told you.

A grin curved your lips, and you said, "So, we're both learning new things tonight, I guess."

"I guess," he chuckled. "But, wow, did we get off-topic."

"You're so right. We were supposed to be relaxing," you grimaced.

Namjoon lifted an arm to check his watch quickly and said, "We still have a little bit of time. How about we just stargaze for two minutes in total silence and then call it a night?"

"Deal."

You yet again rested your hands on top of your stomach, crossed your ankles, and focused your gaze above you.

And you... well, you looked. You looked at the stars. You admired the beauty of the sky. You acknowledged your breathing and tried to keep it steady and deep.

And when you finally couldn't stand it any longer, you whispered, "Has it been two minutes yet?"

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Namjoon look at his watch again.

"...It's been thirty seconds," he whispered back.

You let out a dispirited sigh, but then the corners of your mouth lifted up when you heard Namjoon laughing under his breath.

"What's so funny?" you teased.

"You can't even relax for thirty seconds!" he replied through his laughter.

"Oh, I'm glad you think it's amusing. Tell that to my blood pressure!"

Namjoon stopped laughing abruptly and lifted himself up onto one elbow. "Wait, are you okay?"

Well, actually, no. You were not okay right now because the look on Namjoon's face showed his concern clear as day -- even though it was nighttime. And that made your heart skip about five beats.

"I was joking," you assured him, hoping you'd hidden your breathlessness well enough. "I mean, we're all dying little by little each day, but that's a conversation for another stargazing session."

Namjoon laid back down and blew out an exhale. "One minute," he breathed. "One more minute, and then we can go inside."

"I make no promises, but I'll try," you answered with a smirk.

And even though it felt like it took an eternity, you did it. You were able to lay there in silence for one full minute -- it helped that you closed your eyes.

Honestly, you might have fallen asleep if Namjoon hadn't sat up and said, "Huh.... those clouds don't look friendly."

Your forehead wrinkled, and when you opened your eyes, you almost jumped when you didn't see a singular star in the sky. How had that happened so quickly?

When you sat up, as well, you also realized the wind was starting to pick up.

"Seems like a storm's coming," Namjoon murmured. "You go ahead inside, I'm going to make sure all the animals are in for the night."

Your instinct was to offer to help him, but honestly, if you spent any more time alone with him tonight... you didn't actually want to think about what might happen. Or what you might want to happen.

So, you stood and prepared to head back inside.

The only problem was, with the clouds covering the stars and the moon, it was now almost fully pitch black, and you had no idea how to get back to the house.

"Here," Namjoon murmured, his voice suddenly right next to your ear. "I'll take you back."

Before you could reply, you felt his hand circling your forearm... and then sliding down until his fingers grasped yours.

Oh great.

As Namjoon held your hand in the dark, leading you back to the house with softly mumbled directions, you were definitely thinking about what you wanted to happen.

This was not good.

(...Or was it?)

[fishyfishyfishtimes]

Daily fish fact #6 444 205

Fish!

The fish like to have a little drink :) Sadly as they drink the water around them they also drink their own pee, and that is the curse that they will have to live with for the rest of their life

#fish #fishfact #fish facts #fishblr #biology #zoology

( 2 notes )

🪼 clovergonads follow

Tasseled wobbegong women >>>>>>>>>>>

🐸 i-eat-skin follow

bitch those are goosefish

( 27,196 notes )

🐚 seashell-on-the-seashore follow

Say what you want about fishblr updates, but I think this format for reblubs is a wonderful improvement over the previous one. One of the only times staff did good.

🐚 seashell-on-the-seashore

@featherstar53 If reblub chains got too long, new reblubs would start appearing as darker and darker until you couldnt see the text anymore. It mimicked how light disappears as you go deeper in the ocean but the sunken code this webbedsite runs on never set a cap for how dark it gets, so eventually you would have to copy ad paste the text on the reblubs onto somewhere to read them.

🐍 swamplamprey follow

It sounds fake but it's true! You can still find some older fishblr post screenshots with this effect:

This even went for full abyssal mode users! In their case, the text would slowly turn from white to dark blue, effectively making it impossible to read against the black background.

🦞 fastest-claw-in-the-west follow

I think it would be super funny if they brought this back but for individual posts. Like the reblubs stay the same colour but the posts themselves get gradually and gradually darker until you can't see them anymore lol. It would be disastrous but also funny and it might finally stop some of you frys from being so addicted to this webbedsite

#im all for a bit of chaos lol #treasure trove: talking tag

( 730 notes )

🌿 invertlike-behaviour follow

Okay for the record. My eyes are Red because I'm a COMMON ROACH! RUTILUS RUTILUS! It's not because I smoke seaweed!

🌿 invertlike-behaviour

Okay Yes I smoke seaweed all day. But the specific reason my eyes are red is Not That

( 104 notes )

🦈 spiritually-placoderm follow

🫧 surgeonsturgeon follow

OP you forgot brackish water and the option for inhabiting both

🦈 spiritually-placoderm

Shut your inferior ass mouth up

🫧 surgeonsturgeon

#(i couldnt find the actual gif i wanted to use but this weird tiger shark will have to do) #(not sure why his fins look like that)

( 1,020 notes )

☀️ slenderfish follow

"ocean sunfish have over 40 parasite species" factoid actualy just statistical error. average ocean sunfish is infected with only one or two parasites. Parasites Georg, the mola who suffers from every ailment known to fish and has over 1 000 000 000 parasite species infesting his flesh and organs, is an outlier adn should not have been counted

( 193,239 notes)

🪷 trout-about-you follow

Selfieeeee :3 (ignore the two sea lampreys attached to my flesh)

🪲 toebiter follow

how did you take the picture you aren't holding your phone

🪷 trout-about-you

The sea lamprey on the left took it for me

( 58 notes )

🔲 salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated

FISH USED TO MIGRATE THOUSANDS OF MILES TO BREED. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS!!!!

IN MY DAY PUSSFISH LIKE THIS WOULD GET EATEN ALIVE BY REAL RIVER MONSTERS FOR BREAKFAST.

🐟 darting-action follow

these are Siamese fighting fish bruh.... They don't have migration as part of their life cycle lmao

🔲 salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated

OF COURSE THE YOUTH CAN'T PUNCTUATE THEIR SENTENCES PROPERLY. I SHOULDN'T EXPECT SO MUCH FROM THE SOFT FRY THEY ARE. ALWAYS GETTING RILED UP!

🔲 skip-hopper-deactivated

Ignore this guy, @darting-action. He's well known for saying offensive nonsense like this, I think he's bait and trying to get someone to bite.

🔲 salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated

YOU MUST BE ONE OF THOSE INBRED DOMESTIC SCUM OR HATCHED YESTERDAY SINCE YOU ENTIRELY LACK THICK SCALES. I SPEAK THE TRUTH AND ONLY THE TRUTH. IF YOU GET TRIGGERED THEN THAT'S NATURAL SELECTION, SON. YOU SHOULD FIGHT ME IN REAL LIFE.

🔲 walrus-tits-in-my-mouth-deactivated

You really dont know a thing about natural selection, do you? Bettas have flashy fins because they have to seem threatening to possible competitors. They don't migrate so they aren't built for that. They're built for living in ponds and marshes, low oxygen environments, and by cod, they are built for fighting territorial battles! You shouldn't underestimate a fish literally called fighting fish. They're very tough and hardy fish and can even send larger fish fleeing!

🔲 salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated

SIAMESE FLAILING PUSSFISH HAVE LADY FINS BECAUSE THEY'RE WEAK AND SOFT AND HAD HUMANS DECIDE WHO THEY BREED WITH FOR THEM. THEIR QUOTE UNQUOTE "FIGHTING PROWESS" SURE DIDN'T SAVE THEM FROM BEING PRISSY LITTLE PRINCESS FISHIES FOR LITTLE KIDS DID IT? THE INDUBIDABLE FACT IS THAT THEY'RE MUSKIE FOOD.

🔲 iknowthecrabbypattysecretformula-deactivated

Wait a minute... I recongize that picture on the right! That's from @betta-than-this 's OnlyFins! How did you get that picutre hmmm? Salmonidae? How on Ocean did you gain access huh?

🐠 betta-than-this follow

"Indubidable" is a pretty specific word to use. This you @salmonidae-supremacy-deactivated?

🔲 iknowthecrabbypattysecretformula-deactivated

LMAOOOOOO GOTTEMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

🔲 aquarium-life-deactivated

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

🐟 darting-action

woag i never saw this entire chain before until it hit me on my dashboard. Why does this have so many notes

Thanks fishblr user walrus tits in my mouth for biology info i didn't know

🫖 burgle-the-turts follow

Woah woah woah we're just gonna ignore this guy using p*ssfish as an insult!!???? THE CATFISH SLUR????????? No one is going to bring this up!!!!!???????

🔲 tilapia11128-deactivated

does anyone in this thread smoke seaweed

🌊 herringageposts follow

date of origin: 28th of august, 2017

( 392,229 notes )

🟧 sponsored

Suffering all alone, handsome?

No need to anymore.

👄 pollywannacracker follow

Reblub with your favorite snack in the tags! I’ll go first: coral polyps! :}

🚬 shark-noir follow

@ninjalantern-999

#as for me #my fave is definitely my lower set of teeth when they shed #crumchy :D

( 295 notes )

🩸 must-lunge follow

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA STUPID HUMAN DROPPED ITS ELECTRONIC CAMERA IN THE LAKE!!!!!!!! NEVER GETTING THAT BACK BUB!!!!!! I'M TELLING ALL MY ISOPOD AND MUSSEL FRIENDS AND THEY'RE GONNA LIVE INSIDE IT!!!!!

🧑 official-human-posts follow

ofishal human post

#ofishal human post #this post contains humans

( 891 notes )

🦦 hellofromtheotterslide follow

Wait, how come this site is called fishblr and not something like oceanblr or aquablr? Wouldn't that be more inclusive?

👑 goldielocks follow

I believe the name "fishblr" pays homage to the meaning of the word where just about everything in the water was considered a fish. It's why we have words like "shellfish", "whalefish", "jellyfish", "starfish".

Personally aquablr would work really well, too. There's a sizeable amphibious userbase on here.

🦐 worldwideshrimp follow

You forgot whale shark! Those arent fish either but are called fish

👑 goldielocks

....Whale sharks are fish. They are sharks. It's in the name.

🦎 eye-of-newt follow

But I thought it was a whale named after sharks? WHALE shark! Why else would they put whale up first?

👑 goldielocks

A whale named after a shark would be called a shark whale. You can take one look at a whale shark and see that, with its gills and fish tail, it is a shark.

⚪️ number1-seacucumber-ass-enjoyer-77 follow

Wait, then what about baby whales? Are those whales named after babies?

👑 goldielocks

If you're talking about the actual whale babies, then yeah. If you mean the mormyrids, small aquatic animals that can sense electricity, then no, those are fish. Sometimes names are inaccurate to what the animal really is.

🌌 themanta1234 follow

If you think about it, fishblr is also inclusive to aquatic tetrapods since they are lobe-fins, and therefore fish :D It's a term that can include everyone on here, the perfect catchall!

🦑 abyssal-gigantism follow

Ewwww fuck that definition. If mammals hear about them being fish on some sort of """"technicality"""" then this webbedsite is gonna get flooded with those self-important idiots! "OoOoOoOoOoOoOoOOOOO LoOk At MeEeEeEeEEE i'M a MaMmAL!!11!!! I TAKE CARE of mah BAAABIEEEES!1111 I'm SUCH a good MAMAAA!!! All those OTHER STUPID HEARTLESS ANIMALS could NEVER do as I DO!!! I LOVE sweating into my BAABIEEEES' MOUTH1!1!1!111!!! I'm FLUFFY and AWSUM and ERRYBODDY LUUUVSSSSS MEE!!!!!!!!!!111!!!!!!! You should all LUV me TOO!!!!"

Is THAT how you want every fishblr post to look!!!!??????

🦛 drippohippo follow

😨

🪄 magicmanatee45 follow

DD:

🎼 humpbacked-musician-offishal follow

:'''((((

🐋 blainvilles-bitch follow

🕶️ egg-laying-mammal-of-action follow

:///////////

🐢 greenXD follow

i think jellyfish shouldn't be classified as fish because they're clearly living spaghetti

🌜 foolish-idol follow

Great fucking post everyone. Hit the air bubblers

( 60,376 notes )

🟩 ultrahyva-heihoi follow

Guys what the fuck kind of sponsors does fishblr have I just saw an ad for having parasites housed in me who are they advertising to 😭💀💀

#i swear the quality of this site keeps going down and down #if you see ads for parasites then report the shit out of em #fuck em my friend got early onset cataracts due to parasites

( 4 notes )

😃 doweopenandcloseourmouthtoday follow

Yes! :) :O :) :O :) :O :) :O

[thewonandonly]

LONGING FOR YOU

PLAYLIST : spotify

PAIRING : pro-baseball player!jaehyun x fem!college student!reader

GENRE : fluff, smut

PROMPT : "if you were my little girl, i'd do whatever i could do, i'd run away and hide with you." au

WC : 15,323 words

WARNINGS : strong language, sports medicine student!reader, reader used to play volleyball, teeny tiny age gap (reader is early 20's, jaehyun is irl age), greek life, jaehyun is implied to be a (former) frat brother (never officially states it), frat party, drinking/alcohol, there is a mention of puke/vomit, mention of overstimulating setting, cameo by yeri :3, mark, and johnny, consent is sexy, protection is hot, lots and lots of praise, BRIEF locker room sexual tension bc i had to, ig it can be considered a kind of sugar daddy au?, jaehyun has no rizz 🗣️, penetration (f), oral (m + f),

AUTHOR'S NOTE : jaehyun military enlistment 😞 jerma helped me write this thats why it took so long. forgive me for the horrendous explicit scene i quite literally have not written full length smut in so long. and also, jaehyun jaehyun jaehyun jaehyun jaehyun jaehyun. :3 that's all.

DISCLAIMER : the characters in this story are to be allusions to real people, and none of the situations, personalities, and actions found here should reflect reality. this story was created with zero intention to violate the images of the artists.

"Come on, come to the party with me!" Yeri groaned, tugging on your arm as if you were her mother and she was your child begging for a toy.

You sighed, rubbing your temples, "I would love to, but I've got work I've gotta do." It was the seventh time — yes, all in one day — where Yeri has asked you to join her at this giant frat party that her friend, Johnny, who happened to be the RA where said party was being held, invited her to. She would've loved to go by herself, but she planned to consume insane amounts of alcohol and would require someone with wonderful bedside manner, i.e. you. 

Yeri groaned, throwing her head back dramatically, "All you do is do your homework." She complained, "I'm sure the wonderful science behind athletic medicine can wait for one night off."

"I'm sorry, Yeri, but my entire scholarship is riding on this." You mumbled, watching Yeri groaned louder, as her head moved forward, trudging her way out your bedroom doorway.

You would be ecstatic to go to some lame party down University Road. You'd love to get drunk, hook up with some dude who is looking to hit. You'd love to take a break, but, unfortunately, your life after you graduate was already starting. You had 29 thousand dollars and two internships invested in your future. If you wanted to be an accredited professional in athletic medicine, you'd have to focus, and not get distracted or discouraged. 

But, then again, you're still young. You're only getting closer to the end, and Yeri is busy with her cheerleading career. You'd rather not lose this connection. Glancing at the clock, you noticed as the second hand tick away, sighing softly. It was thirty to 12. The night was still young.

You turned in your chair, calling to her, a small laugh escaping your lips as she looked at you with eyes that looked as if she was a kicked puppy, "I'll go."

Her face immediately lit up and she smiled, "You will?"

You held up your hands in surrender, standing from your cluttered desk, "You're right, as much as I hate to admit it. The world of medicine can wait."

"I'm so happy right now." She cheered happily, "Okay, I'll let you get ready. I'll take a quick shower and everything." She turned the corner into the hallway and you heard the shower run.

Sighing, you opened your closet door and analyzed the clothes on the hangers. You didn't have any "sexy" outfits, so to speak. Everything was strictly professional clothing, especially considering you had your internships around the corner. But, who could show up to a frat party in high rise, flared dress pants? Maybe it was time to break out the clothes you packed right out of high school. 

Once you tore through the boxes, pulled on the clothes, you could swear they grew tighter, which was normal; you were still growing, in more areas than one. You opted for sticking to the items you chose, for the most risqué look, considering it was a frat party.

Yeri was quick to get in and out of the shower, quick to get her makeup done, and quick to get dressed. You're sure she was going to be quick to get out the door as well.

You leaned against the wall to pull on your shoes, watching Yeri immediately grow frazzled as she struggled to find her keys, which were normally in the catch bowl, but was strategically hug up on the key hook earlier for convenience. 

The trip to the Pi Phi house wasn't far, but the blistering cold wind bit at your nose and cheeks as you and Yeri both walked down the road from your apartment to the frat house.

You both turned the corner, your jaws opening in shock. 

The Pi Phi house was huge, damn near 3 floors. And much to your dismay, it wasn't a new brother of the house at the door, it was two sisters from the Kappa Omega Pi sorority. They seemed nice, letting in quite a few people, until they turned away another girl. 

You looked to Yeri, sighing softly, "I don't think we're gonna get in." The small queue was moving quickly.

Yeri rolled her eyes so far back you were sure they'd get stuck, "Relax. If they don't let us in, I've got an in." She rubbed her hands together, the cold chill in the air slowly building, "God, fuck! It's fucking cold."

"Just don't think about it. We're almost to the front." You mumbled, stepping forward up onto the porch, watching the girl's faces drop at the sight of you after letting two guys inside.

They gave the two of you a once over, exhaling a deep breath through their nose, "It's six bucks to get in."

Yeri pulled out her phone, scoffing, "That's not what it says on the flyer." She turned her phone to the girls, giving a smartalick smirk, "And, besides, I know Johnny." 

The girls looked at each other, chuckling, "You know Johnny?"

Yeri crossed her arms, motioning to the open front door of the frat house, "Go on. Go get him."

One of the girls stepped inside, and walked out in seconds, a tall male peeking his head out, pulling a face at the girl, "Come on, you're really asking if Yeri can come in?" He nodded his head to the two of you. 

Yeri smiled at the girls, waving to them before turning to you and speaking over the music that grew significantly louder as you walked through the crowded hallways, "Those girls were definitely not girls girls."

"Aren't the Kappa Omega Pi sisters like really tightknit with Pi Phi?" You responded, watching your temporary escort split off from the two of you.

"Yeah," Yeri sighed, "Let's not worry about them, though! Let's just have fun!" She immediately turned a corner and you found yourself by your lonesome, squeezing past people with small whispers of "Excuse me's" and "Sorry's" before you finally made your way into the kitchen where it wasn't as crowded, but was definitely still filled with a few people. Pi Phi brothers and Kappa Omega Pi sisters were lined up along a wall where they took pictures together to show their love for their greek life. Your hand moved to grab at a bottle of Michelob Ultra, pouring it into the cup while you stared at the group taking photos. Maybe a social outing wasn't the best idea, considering the setting. You weren't much of a—

"Hey." Someone reached over and set the glass bottle down on the counter, laughing softly, "Your cup." 

You tore your eyes away from where you were staring, glancing down at the cup filled with foam from the beer, "Oh." You mumbled softly, glancing up at the person who was kind enough to take the empty bottle from your hand, "Thanks."

You watched him dump out the foamy beer into the sink, grabbing another plastic cup and beer, slowly pouring it out in front of you, "Here." 

"Thanks." You mumbled out again, grabbing the cup from his outstretched hand. It was dim in the kitchen, much to your dismay, only a string of Christmas lights you weren't sure the brothers ever took down from the passing holiday. You squinted your eyes to try to get a glimpse at who this person was for pouring your drink out. "I recognize you from somewhere."

"Damn, dude, what's taking so long?" A voice spoke over your own, at a much louder octave. He patted the guy on his shoulder, "Gotta celebrate your big game tomorrow."

Your brows pinched together as you assessed the voice, "Mark?" You questioned, your eyes squinting more, almost blinded by your lashes.

The shorter male turned to look at you, "Woah, Y/N, bro, I didn't even know you were here!" He smiled, laughing out loud, "What's up?" He asked.

"You're Pi Phi?" You asked him, waving awkwardly at him, "I didn't know you were part of the greek life."

"I didn't know you were either." Mark laughed again, "Bro, that's crazy. I didn't know you were in a sorority."

The unknown man turned to pour out some drinks, Mark's hand holding onto his shoulder for balance as people shoved their way through. 

"Oh, I'm not." You shook your head, taking a sip of the beer poured into the cup, "Yeri was able to get us in."

"Yeri's here?" Mark began to whip his head around, looking for the mentioned lady, "Dude, I didn't know she'd be here." His hand began to slap at the other's shoulder.

"Guess it's time you get over your fear." The other called to Mark, who grabbed three of the cups in his hand.

"Oh, I completely forgot." He motioned between the three of them, "Uh, Jaehyun, this is Y/N, she's in my athletic science class. The one I was telling you about!" 

The man, now named Jaehyun, waved his free hand at you, "Nice to meet you."

"Man, Y/N's, like, the smartest girl in the class! She knows a lot about that stuff." Mark nudged him, "Maybe once she completes her residency, she can be your primary physician." He teased.

"You play sports?" You questioned, taking another sip of the beer from the cup, "What do you play?"

"Baseball. Nothing too exciting."

"Does he play sports? He's in the ML." Mark seemed more excited about it than Jaehyun was, your smile growing as you saw Jaehyun roll his eyes. "ML means major league." 

"I know what it means, Mark." You laughed, "But, hey, congratulations! It must be nice." You smiled to Jaehyun, "Have you always wanted to play major league?"

Jaehyun shrugged, "Got scouted in high school. Johnny was the one who convinced me to accept it."

Mark laughed, "Well, hey, Y/N, it's nice to see you. If you want, we're gonna be at the couch with everyone." He used his elbow to motion over to the center of the house, "No pressure!"

You nodded, "Yeah, sure. I can help you carry some of the cups." You grabbed two of the cups from the counter in one hand, following the two of them back over to the couch where Johnny, Yeri, and other attendees sat, including the girls from the front door. You squatted slightly to place the cups down on the coffee table, wincing softly as you felt your knee creak.

"You okay?" Jaehyun, who wandered behind you to sit down, asked, his hand lingering on your back as you stumbled.

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." You laughed awkwardly, sitting down on the couch, "Old injury." You waved it off, taking another drink of your beer.

Mark found a spot next to Yeri, smiling softly as he greeted her and began conversating with her. You glanced at the two, chuckling softly as you watched Mark's cheeks turn pink.

You heard a jumble of words from Jaehyun, turning your head back to him, "What was that?" You leaned closer to him to hear him over the music playing over the subwoofer speakers.

"What from, if you don't mind me asking?" He repeated into your ear, his breath gently fanning across your cheek.

"I used to play volleyball." You shrugged, "Liberio, so, I normally fell on my knees." Your hand found it's way to the cap of your knee, rubbing it with your hand.

"Used to?"

"Yeah. I stopped playing after the injury." You laughed, nodding your head, "But, my doctor was really sweet. She actually helped me to study up until the entrance exam." 

Jaehyun nodded his head, "Well, I know myself and other athletes will be happy for your help." 

You smiled, laughing softly, "I hope." You turned slightly to look at him as he sat back against the couch, his arm resting over the back, "Do you like the major leauge?" Setting down your cup, you looked at him.

Jaehyun shrugged, "It's nice. I've been on a training regimen since I started. I mostly joined just cause I love baseball, though." He smiled, the cup resting in his hand on top of his thigh, "But, I mean, the coach and my teammates are pretty cool. And the pay isn't bad."

"I bet." You chuckled softly, "At least you get to do what you love." You smiled at him.

"How do you-"

"When are you-"

You both spoke over one another, both of you laughing.

Jaehyun motioned to you, "You go first." He reached his hand up to lean his head against it, looking at you.

"I was just gonna ask how you know Johnny and Mark." You shook your head, "I know you said that Johnny encouraged you to accept the scouting offer in high school. But, how'd you meet Mark?"

Jaehyun laughed, his hand reaching up to rub his temples, "Well, it's a pretty funny story." He started, glancing at Mark, who continued to talk Yeri's ear off, "He kinda joined the frat after finding out I was apart of it. I was only apart of it for a month, but, you know, sometimes people just get close."

"Well, if I do say so myself, it seems Mark is ecstatic that he knows you personally." You nodded to Jaehyun.

"I'm glad."

Yeri turned to you quickly, tapping your shoulder, "Hey, Y/N." She called to you, pulling your sight away from Jaehyun to look at her, "Wanna dance?"

You glanced at Jaehyun, and back at her, your mouth open and shutting like a golfish, "I-I really shouldn't... My knee."

Yeri groaned, "Come on! I love this song." She pouted, rubbing her hands together as she silently pleaded.

It was true, she did love this song. God, the amount of times she'd play this song in the car would make you nauseous. And you didn't have much of a choice when she pulled you up from where you were sitting to drag you into the crowd of people dancing to the music.

"How are you and Mark?" You called into her ear, the two of you holding hands as you both lazily danced.

Yeri glanced back at Mark, who was happily comversating with Jaehyun and Johnny, giggling like a little kid before she turned to you, "He's so much fun to talk to." She smiled.

You smiled back, happy to see her happy. "I'm glad." You responded, "Plus, he really likes you. You know he can't hide his feelings well." You glanced back at the three, glancing at your feet as you caught Jaehyun's eye.

Your friend smirked, laughing softly, "Oh, I see what's going on." She nudged your shoulder, which you rubbed with your hand as you looked at her, "You've got the hots for number 16." Yeri teased.

"What?" Your voice came out slightly higher, considering the assumption, "No, no." You shook your head, "I just met him."

"Doesn't mean you can't find him hot." She nudged you again, "Johnny told me he was expecting him to come tonight." She pulled out her phone, opening the tab of her browser to show you the search. "Jung Jaehyun, major league pitcher." In the middle of the crowd, you glanced between the phone and the man who sat on the couch, "Number 16." Yeri's finger clicked on a photo of Jaehyun, the front of the jersey embroidered with big red letters that read, "Sentinels".

"Wow." It's all you could say. You knew Mark said he was in major league, but you didn't think that major. You were thinking maybe small hometown baseball that made it big. "He even has a trading card?"

Yeri nodded, locking her phone before putting it back in her pocket, "He's big." She nodded her head, "Professional Sentinels player, going on his fourth year with the team."

You were flabbergasted. No wonder Mark was so excited telling you.

Standing there, you thought for a second, "If he's so big, why isn't anyone freaking out about him being here?" You raised an eyebrow.

Yeri raised her own brow, "You'll be surprised how many athletics students don't watch athletics." She hummed, nodding her head at her own statement.

"Okay, well, now that you told me this, I'll just feel like a gold digger." You rubbed your neck shyly, completely unaware the end of the song just as another one kicked up.

"Shut up." She scrunched up her face again, grabbing your hand to lead you back to the couch where you both were previously sat, "You're fine. You're nothing like a gold digger."

"Welcome back!" Johnny called, motioning to the couch.

Yeri sat the both of you down, smiling at Mark as soon as she got comfortable, taking the cup from his hand to take a sip.

You sat down, Jaehyun to your right and Yeri to your left. 

Jaehyun's whole hand covered the top of the cup he held, slowly passing it to you, "I held onto your drink while you were gone." He smiled.

"Oh, thank you." You nodded to him, taking a small swig of the drink, glancing at him shyly.

He wore much more lax clothing; a black long sleeved shirt and black cargo pants, various rings along his fingers and a silver necklace with an charm you couldn't quite see as it was flipped over. You glanced away, watching Jaehyun smile softly as you took another sip.

"What?" You questioned, blushing softly as he continued to stare.

"Nothing. Nothing." He mumbled, "Just... don't drink too much." 

You smiled softly, setting the now empty cup down on the table, "Don't worry. I normally only have one drink and I'm done." You sat back on the couch, looking at him.

You both sat there for a second, not saying anything. Jaehyun would glance over the back of the couch every once in a while, meeting the hands of other members of Greek life, making small conversations with them, or even sharing a few laughs as they conversed. Sometimes Johnny or Mark would join in.

Slowly, you felt your social battery slowly drain, and you whispered to Yeri to share where you'd be going; outside, in the expansive, empty backyard of the frat house, away from the music, crowds and smell of alcohol in the air.

You sighed softly as you relaxed against a chair in the backyard, glancing down at your phone to slowly recharge your own battery.

Yet, it seemed like despite being away, your thoughts and fingers lingered back to Jaehyun, typing his name across the keyboard into the search bar.

There were articles about him, fan pages, compilation videos of some of his pitches and plays. Professional photos and fan captures. He really was larger than life. 

The baseball uniform he wore was clean and pristine aside from the red dirt across the left side of his body, and after much digging, you found out that after batting, he'd reach a base by sliding. 

You found yourself diving headfirst into doom scrolling about Jaehyun, his career, what people thought about him. His record with the team was clean, and his ability was impressive. He was often claimed as MVP of his team, giving them several wins in their games.

The sliding door opening was enough to have you scrambling to lock your phone and set it down in your lap. You glanced behind you, finding it was nothing more than another guest at the frat party, gagging as they turned the corner to spill their guts. 

You pulled a face, standing up to move back inside to the party, the sudden smell of puke and alcohol mixing making you feel sick, mixing together just as you opened the door to step back inside. 

You recharged your social battery just enough to continue talking before Yeri wanted to leave, yet it dropped right back down again as the smell settled around you. Did it always smell like sweat? Did the floor always feel sticky? Did the counters have all those cups on them? 

Everything felt so overwhelming.

"Hey, are you okay?" 

It's the second time that voice has asked you if you were feeling okay. You pull your eyes away from looking at the scene before you to look at Jaehyun, whose eyes were softened.

"I was just about to check on you." He mumbled.

"I'm okay." You took a deep breath in, slowly exhaling, "It's a little overwhelming in here." 

"Yeah." Jaehyun chuckled, letting him step behind you to slowly guide you away from the big group of people, "Here. This way you can get the best of both worlds." Jaehyun leaned beside you against the wall close to the front door, holding the brim of his plastic cup with his fingers, glancing around at the group as it only grew bigger.

"Thank you." You whispered, crossing your legs as you leaned against the wall, "Hey, so, I know Mark said you were in major league, and... Yeri kinda showed me the google search about you."

Jaehyun laughed softly, "Yeah." He rubbed the back of his neck, "Sentinels."

"Yeah." You nodded, looking at him, "Must be cool going places and getting recognized." 

He shrugged, "I mean, it's all the same. Often times people don't know it's me without a cap or a batting helmet." Jaehyun nodded, "It is pretty cool having a trading card, though." He smiled to you, turning to look at you.

"I saw that! Did you see how much someone's willing to pay for a signed one?" You chuckled.

"Yeah, I did." He laughed too, "Can't believe someone has that much money to spend on a piece of paper. Especially when I started not too long ago."

"Well, I mean, you do get that type of money." You nudged him, feeling your uneasiness quickly disappearing as you spoke to him.

Jaehyun shook his head, "Most of it goes to bills and taxes." A group of some Pi Pho frat brothers pushed by, forcing Jaehyun into you, his arm above your head to make sure he didn't crush you, "Jesus fu- Christ." He didn't finish the swear, glancing at you, "Are you okay?" He glanced at the people sprinting by, one slipping and dropping their cup of alcohol.

"I'm fine." You whispered, "Fine."

Jaehyun leaned his arm on the wall, right above your head. His face was close enough to see the details. He smelt good — like rose and ember; so much so that it was intoxicating. His dimples and his eyes as he smiled, the faint stubble along his chin and his upper lip. The necklace hanging from his neck, the emblem still flipped backwards; you were beginning to think he put it on backwards for it to face away from others. As you appreciated his features you realized that perhaps he was sculpted from marble by Michelangelo himself. 

The faint smell of alcohol from his red solo cup and a puddle of the spilled liquor from the brothers swirled around the both of you. The song changed beat and volume, glancing around the corner to find Johnny turning up the dial, the bass nearly blowing out your eardrums.

"Don't you have a game tomorrow?" You spoke into his ear over the music, feeling your heart flutter as he turned his head slightly so you didn't have to move much.

He chuckled, shrugging, "It's kinda tradition to visit before a game." He responded, his lips gently brushing against your cheek as he spoke.

You nodded as he moved back to his position, smiling at him, "So, do you always linger around the university or...?"

"No," He shook his head, and you can see the liquid courage glossing his eyes, "But, I mean, if I got to find someone as beautiful as you, maybe it's not a bad idea." Someone nudged behind him, causing him to straighten up with his chest hitting your own. He had you pressed flush against the wall, but he obviously wasn't focused on that as he glanced behind him, "A lot of energy for you students." He laughed as he looked back at you, "Must be nice to be young."

You laughed, smiling at him, "Aren't you only 27?"

"Well, yeah, but..." He playfully rolled his neck over his shoulders, "At some point in time, these old bones have to rest."

"And you decided to do that at an old frat house with a bunch of newly turned 21 year olds?"

He shrugged again, "Better than the old farts in the league." He glanced around the party, noticing multiple of the attendees either drinking to their restless end, making out with some of the bubbly blonde sorority sisters or passed out on the ground, table or couch. He noticed Mark talking up a storm with Yeri, and Johnny handing out more drinks to guests, "But, you're right. Wanna head out?"

"Yo-you wanna leave with me?" You stammered.

He laughed, "Yeah!" He smiled, his dimples making an appearance once more, "How rare is it that I meet a beautiful woman here among all these girls?"

You blushed at his compliment, smiling before nodding your head, "Yeah. Yeah, let's head out." You stood up straight, Jaehyun pushing away from the wall, "Let me just let Yeri know where I'm gonna be at." You stepped around him, making your way over to the couch where Yeri sat, "Yeri." You tapped her shoulder, and when she didn't turn around you called her again, "Yeri!"

"What?" She turned to you, "Is something wrong?"

"I'm heading out." You spoke into her ear, "With Jaehyun."

Yeri smirked, nudging your shoulder, "Come on, stop messing with me." She laughed.

"I'm not messing with you!" You chuckled, "Hey, you have my location, and maybe I'll be back tonight, most likely tomorrow morning." You gave Mark a wave as you made your way down the hallway once more.

"Use protection!" She called loudly as you walked off, continuing her conversation with Mark. 

You made your way back to where you and Jaehyun were standing previously, catching sight of Jaehyun in the kitchen, bidding Johnny farewell with a one-armed hug and an untraditional handshake. The two were laughing as they both finished up their conversation, Jaehyun walking straight towards you, "You ready?"

"Yeah. I'm ready."

Jaehyun took your hand in his own, guiding you out of the frat house. The silence of the night was a comforting contrast to the loud frat party you were both victims of attending. The rustle of the leaves, the sound of wind whistling. It was the only sounds you could hear as your ears adjusted to the noise disappearing. 

The street lamps gave you better sight of Jaehyun's figure. His arms were ripped, to say the least. He had veins crawling up from his hand to his elbow, and his hand was a little rough, calloused skin from swinging baseball bats for a lifetime. 

The two of you approached a fairly new car, but still a few years behind the recent model. Jaehyun unlocked the door, and pulled open the passenger side.

"Thanks." You whispered, settling into the seat. You slowly buckled in the seatbelt, Jaehyun gently closing the door just as the realization just set in that you were in the car with a national professional athlete. The butterflies began to fly from your stomach into your throat, and you were worried if you even spoke that you'd just embarrass yourself.

Jaehyun climbed into the driver's seat, sighing softly as he reached up to stick the key into the ignition, "Sorry. I didn't expect to bring anyone back with me, so, I brought my less inconspicuous car." He chuckled softly.

"No, no! It's fine. I mean, you're already one step ahead of me. I don't even have a license, so, I have no right to judge." You matched his chuckle, smiling at him. "Besides, there's something more humble about an old 2008 Honda Civic." 

Jaehyun let the car warm up for a second before he pulled off from the curb, his hand lingering on the stick shift, his foot lingering on the clutch. 

You began to admire his hands once more. He had slender fingers, his wrist was adorned by a silver cuban link bracelet, another vein wrapping around his arm and ending at his bicep. You could tell he's worked out, but not too much. I mean, he is a professional athlete for a living, so him working out wasn't much of a surprise. Just as he stopped at a stop light, you pulled your eyes from his form and glanced out the window. 

The both of you drove through the heart of the city, your eyes catching the bright lights as you stared at the window. It was a nice difference from University Road. The quiet melody of music played from the radio, filling the tense silence between the two of you. Jaehyun clearly kept the car in good shape. There were zero stains on the seating, the steering wheel and bulb of the stick shift were a little worn from where his hands rested, the radio seemed intact.

Jaehyun continued to drive, clearing his throat, "You can change the channel, if you'd like to." He motioned to the radio, before he quickly downshifted, "I have a bunch of CD's in the glove box."

You took the initiative to open the glove box, smiling to yourself as you saw the CD case, unzipping and opening it. You weren't sure if you were smiling because he seemed like such an old soul for keeping CD's for his older car, or because it looked like the CD's were all in alphabetical order. "Crazy Town?" You questioned teasingly.

There was a slight tint at the shell of Jaehyun's ear, chuckling, "What can I say? They're revolutionary." He looked into his mirror and over his shoulder as he switched lanes, glancing over at you as he saw you eyeballing him, "What?"

"Just never took you for one who enjoyed rock music like this." You continued to flip through the CD case, seeing various discs of music; including, but not limited to rock, pop, hip hop and r&b. There were more genres that you didn't really recognize and you tried to read the fine print to see if they printed it, but no luck. "I think it's definitely fair to say you listen to every genre."

Jaehyun chuckled, watching you insert the Crazy Town CD into the reader, his hand quickly moving to turn down the volume, "I just listen to music. Genre doesn't matter to me."

You smiled to yourself, slowly turning the volume up as the CD started playing. The silence felt less tense now as the music played between the both of you. Given the circumstances, you needed the tension to die down. 

You looked out the window, not recognizing the area you were in very well, but you definitely recognized the giant building on the side of the road; two tall buildings beside each other, the sign reading "The Hallows".

Jaehyun took a very gentle left turn into the roundabout, stopping right in the middle as he climbed out and passed the keys to his 2008 Honda Civic to the valet. 

"You live... here?" You questioned, staring up at the buildings.

Jaehyun chuckled, grabbing your hand in his, "Yeah." He smiled, "It's pretty nice. Out of the way." He guided you into the lobby of the building, and you were even more awestruck.

Everything in the lobby were either expensively vintage or expensively new. They even had a couch you would see frequently in a magazine you glanced over while you waited in line at the supermarket. A couch you could only dream of purchasing. For this condo — penthouse, seems more likely — complex to have 4 sets of a couch that only the richest people can afford already told you what to expect.

Jaehyun greeted the front desk attendant, calling the elevator for the two of you, his hand holding yours gently. 

A small chime was heard just as the doors to the lift open, and he motioned for you to step inside. You took a step in, glancing at every corner, making eye contact with the camera. 

Jaehyun sighed softly, clicking the floor button as he stepped inside, stopping just beside you. "Sorry if this makes you all uncomfortable." He started, "I realize now just how awkward it might be to show up here. Like I'm showing off."

"No, no, it's not your fault! You make your money the same way I do, you're allowed to spend it where you please." You smiled, "And sometimes where you please to spend it is at a gigantic apartment building, and that's okay." 

Jaehyun chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, "I'm just enjoying your company so much, I don't wanna scare you away."

You smiled to yourself, messing with your fingers as you glanced down at your feet, "I'm enjoying your company, too." You chuckle, "A lot."

Jaehyun smiled brightly as the elevator doors opened once more, and grabbed your hand back in his own as he guided you down the hallway, swinging your intertwined hands as he walked. His free hand grabbed his keys and skillfully unlocked the door, allowing you to step inside.

Which you agreed to, and you were met with a large condo, with a window large enough to span across the wall of his condo. The skyline was bright enough to light up the wall straight across from it. There was a giant kitchen, a giant living room. The whole place was giant. 

Jaehyun tossed his keys into a catch bowl by the front door, flicking on the lights.

"It's..." You paused as you continued to take in the sights, "It's beautiful."

"Yeah, my... Johnny and Mark kinda got a little excited with an interior designer and they decorated it like crazy."

You smiled, taking off your shoes to set them to the side before you took a step further. "Did you always have the idea to have an open floor plan?"

"Well, no, but like I said, Johnny and Mark got excited." Jaehyun chuckled, "Gave me a bachelor's pad when I'm hardly even a bachelor."

"Live while you're young." You whispered to yourself as you admired the city line. Jaehyun stopped beside you, but his eyes lingered on your reaction, which he was generally pleased to see.

Jaehyun cleared his throat, his fingers pulling at the cuff of his long sleeved shirt, "So, Mark told me a lot about you." He started.

"Did he mention how I let him cheat off my papers?" You teased, turning to look at Jaehyun.

"No, no, nothing like that." Jaehyun laughed, shaking his head, "But, he did show me your SNS accounts." 

"Oh, that's embarrassing."

"I think you looked amazing." Jaehyun whispered back almost immediately, "But, you look more amazingin person."

"It seems like we both looked up each other."

Jaehyun shrugged, "That's why I wasn't as upset when you did it." He smiled, "Where was I going with this?" He mumbled to himself, "Mark really talked me up for this." 

The tension between you both returned. And it wasn't an awful tension. It was tension that was telling you that obviously something was going to happen. You didn't know how long or what Mark said to him, but you couldn't help but thank Mark for whatever length of time he's been talking to Jaehyun about you.

Jaehyun cleared his throat again, feeling like all the words he prepared for this moment had disappeared from his mind. His eyes that were once watching you turned to look out the window where you were looking previously.

"You don't have to force yourself." You whispered, smiling at him. 

Jaehyun smiled back, turning to look at the couch, "Come on, let's sit down." He sat down on the leather couch, and you could notice he was in his element.

You followed, sitting beside him. 

"You didn't have to come here if you weren't comfortable." He started, his hand finding your own, "I know it's pretty awkward to get picked up at a frat party, and I never meant to put you in a position where you didn't think you could say no."

"Oh, I didn't think of it like that." You chuckled, "Trust me, if I wanted to say no, I would've." 

Jaehyun leaned a little closer, drawing his bottom lip in with his teeth, "Can I kiss you?"

God, you've been waiting for that question all night. Nodding your head, you smiled as Jaehyun's lips pressed against yours. The hands you have been admiring for the last 30 minutes during the car ride were now placed on your hips as he attempted to pull you closer until you were practically on his lap. He tasted of Heinekien beer, and spearmint, and you began to question when and where did he get gum or mouth spray from. Despite the mix, his lips were soft, and they were tender against your own.

Jaehyun pulled away slowly after a moment of kissing you, his hands lingering on your waist, his eyes opening to look into your own.

You both shared a small laugh, a lingering peck placed on his lips.

"You don't know how long I've wanted to do that." Jaehyun whispered, letting a sigh escape his lips.

Glancing at your phone's time, you chuckled, "Can't be anymore than 2 hours." You teased, "But, if it's any consolation, I've been thinking about it too."

Jaehyun rolled his eyes, "You really aren't aware of how much Mark's been trying to set me up with you." He whispered.

"Is that so?" You raised an eyebrow, "How long?"

Jaehyun sighed, running a hand through his hair, "Months, at least." He leaned his head against the back of the couch, the hair he pushed back falling back into his eyes, "He's been trying to set me up with you for the longest. Johnny, too."

You rolled your eyes, "You're telling me that tonight was one giant ploy to get us to finally meet?"

"No, no, definitely not. That was a frat party, through and through. But, I'm happy we could've met there." Jaehyun gently grabbed your hand, pressing soft kisses to your fingers.

"Are you always this romantic?" 

"Only with people I actually have feelings for."

"And that implies that there's people that you have had feelings for."

Jaehyun chuckled, "It does. But, none of them were you." He smiled, intertwining his fingers with your own. You looked at the size of his hand compared to yours, the length of his fingers compared to yours. Jaehyun had height, and his hands definitely matched that; slender fingers, thick veins, soft skin. His nails were well kept too, considering what he did for a living.

His words repeated in your head, and you had to stop yourself from smiling. To be desired and admired for that long, with nothing but Mark's words and your social media posts to hold him over. 

"Why didn't you just follow me and talk to me?" You chuckled, watching him kiss your hand and wrist.

"It's not like I have a personal account. I only have my professional one for work." He whispered softly, "Plus, I had to see if you were interested first. I'm not good at that over text." 

You rolled your eyes, "Excuses."

Jaehyun chuckled, "Maybe a little. I just didn't want to swing and miss." He smiled, "I have an idea." He sat a little closer, his fingers playing with your own again, "Why don't you come to the game tomorrow? I have one pass left."

"I don't know a single thing about baseball." 

"That's fine." He smiled, "I'm not expecting you to figure out the miles per hour of my fastball. I just... I think I'd do better with you there." 

"Who else is gonna be there?"

"Johnny, Mark, and your friend. Mark wanted to show off." Jaehyun's dimples made another appearance, and you couldn't help your heart racing behind your ribcage. "You don't have to say yes, but I'll be happy if you were there."

You thought for what felt like minutes, but in reality, it was nothing but seconds, "Yeah. I think it'd be fun."

"Unless we totally lose." He chuckled, "My only excuse would be that I was too distracted by you."

"Are you always this cheesy?" You smiled, shaking your head.

Jaehyun met your smile with his own, "I can be." He shrugged.

"It's cute." You whispered, "I'd love to see you play, Jaehyun."

Jaehyun was physically fighting his excitement, giving another shy smile, "Great. Great." He chuckled, squeezing your hand. "If that's the case, we should probably head to bed then. We've gotta be up early if we wanna make it in time."

"Right." Your hand reaches for your phone in your back pocket, and you open your contacts, getting ready to call a taxi to pick you up, "I can get a cab ride home."

"I was thinking..." He locked your phone, "Maybe you could spend the night here." He whispered shyly. 

"Oh." You thought for a second, "Oh!" 

Jaehyun chuckled, "Doesn't have to be anything more than innocent, if that's what you want." He stood up from the couch, your hand lingering in his. "Come on, I have some clothes you can wear."

"Please don't tell me you're gonna dress me up like Adam Sandler." You stood up, letting him guide you down the long hallway to his — once again — gigantic bedroom. The lighting was dim, and you would've thought he had the lights on the entire day if it wasn't for the sound of the switch flipping. There was a bay window adjacent to the bed set of velvety black duvet, sheets and dark stained bed frame. 

Jaehyun let you linger by the door while he wandered off to somewhere around the corner, only to return with a red dirt stained baseball jersey and a pair of sweats you were sure weren't going to fit you. "Here you go."

You snapped back from admiring his bedroom to grab the clothes, smiling at him, "Did you wash this?"

Jaehyun nodded, "Red dirt stains. Only way to get it out is power washing." 

"Good enough for me." You laughed, "Where should I change?"

"Oh! Right, right." He stepped behind you to guide you by your shoulders to the double bathroom, "You can change in here." He looked at you through the mirror, smiling softly, "And, if you aren't comfortable with us sleeping in the same bed, I can always take the guest room."

"You have a guest room, too?" You chuckled, setting the spare clothes he gave you on the counter.

"Yeah. The bed isn't as comfortable in there as it is in here, though." Jaehyun continued to watch you through the mirror before he turned his eyes away and walked out of the bathroom, "I'll let you get changed." He nodded, shutting the door behind him.

You took a little longer to admire the bathroom, your fingers running across the granite counter, the big mirror and the nice black sinks. He had a walk-in shower, lined with dark grey tile. You peeked around the sliding door to the shower, catching sight of a shower ledge where the occupant could sit. 

You smiled to yourself before you turned to start changing your clothes, pulling on the clothes Jaehyun was nice enough to offer. It smelled like him. And they were nice and soft.

You folded up the clothes you wore to the party, setting them to the side of the sink closest to the door, gently opening the door.

Jaehyun sat on the edge of the bed, standing up as soon as you stepped out, "Hey."

"Hi."

"They look better on you than on me." Jaehyun chuckled softly, blushing a soft pink, pushing his hair back with his hand, "I knew they would."

You raised an eyebrow, chuckling softly, "Is this your way of saying you wanna see me wear your clothes more often?"

"Yes, definitely." He wore clear framed glasses, andyou could swear you saw them fogging up from the blush growing on his cheeks. "I definitely want to see you in my clothes more often." He grabbed your hand in his own, squeezing it gently.

"We'll see." You teased, squeezing his hand back.

Jaehyun smiled, "Did you think... about...?" He pointed at the bed, silently asking. 

"If you want me to, I can sleep in the guest room." You started, "I mean, it's your bedroom. I am a guest."

"I have no issue sleeping in the guest room. The whole bed thing... that was a joke." Jaehyun cleared his throat, obviously tense. "The mattress in the other room is just the right amount of soft and stiff."

You had to stifle the laugh that threatened to leave. "Jaehyun, really, I don't have an issue sleeping in the guest room."

He nodded his head, "Okay, okay." He smiled awkwardly, "But, really, I wouldn't mind if you stayed in here with me. Just put this whole thing behind us." He laughed.

"Hm, that might be easier." You continued to hold his hand as you sat on the edge of the bed, "As long as you promise to not crush me."

"Don't worry. I sleep like a log. Fall asleep in one position, wake up in the morning in the same." He held up his hands in defense, "I also promise to try to keep my hands to myself."

"Haha." You laughed sarcastically, sitting him beside you.

"I'm just kidding. I'll keep my hands to myself if you want me to." He nudged you, intertwining your fingers together.

"And if I don't?"

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow again, glancing at you, "Then I won't."

You smiled, "Sounds like a plan." You let go of his hand to crawl up to the head of the bed, laying on your side as you rested on a pillow.

"What? Like you not wanting me to keep my hands to myself or...?"

You laughed, "Just come lay down. It's already almost 3am and you said we have to be up early, didn't you?" 

Jaehyun took off his glasses, setting them down on the bedside table, laying down on the pillow next to yours, a soft smile on his face. 

☆

You aren't sure when you fell asleep, and you definitely weren't sure about how you ended up with Jaehyun's arm over your hip, the alarm clock beside his bed blaring the god sound of the "Apex" ring tone. You slowly sat up, rubbing your eye and running your hand through your hair. You took a second to remember the scene of Jaehyun's bedroom before your eyes, turning your head to admire him. You were aware how odd it felt that you were allowing yourself to lay beside him in his bed, wearing his clothes. You weren't sure why you were doing this. 

You tried to convince yourself it was the alcohol you had the night before but you weren't even tipsy, let alone drunk. You could feel the butterflies flutter in your stomach as you thought about the night before, studying his face as he slept. You wondered how many people would kill to see this view. 

"Jaehyun." You whispered, leaning against your hand, brushing some hair from out of his face. 

"Hmm?" He grumbled, obviously half asleep.

"It's 8 a.m." You responded gently, quietly trying to coerce him out of his slumber, "We're gonna be late, Jaehyun."

Jaehyun groaned, pulling his arm back to his chest as he sat up and pressed the stop button on his home screen. He sighed, pulling his legs out of the covers so they could touch the ground. 

Some moment throughout the night, Jaehyun obviously pulled on a large white t-shirt and sweats, expelled the shirt from his body (evident by the white t-shirt thrown at the foot of the bed), and went to sleep. 

His back was muscular, his shoulder blades prominent as he stretched his arms above his head and in front of him. His fingers wiped at his eyes before he pulled on his glasses and stood up to stretch further.

"Did you sleep well?" He asked gruffly, turning to look at you, "I hope I didn't hog the bed too much."

You fought with your eyes as they wanted to linger on the happy trail below his belly button, settling on shutting your eyes as you smiled at him, "It was perfect, Jaehyun."

The sound of rustling sheets made you open your eyes to find Jaehyun on all fours, his face impossibly closer to you, "Good." He whispered, using a hand to pinch your chin with his thumb and index finger, "I've been thinking about kissing you again since last night."

Your cheeks turned red, and your heart raced in your chest. "Why didn't you do something about it earlier then?"

"You looked too beautiful sleeping." He smiled, "But, if you'll allow me, I'd like to do something about it now."

You smiled, "I'll allow it."

Jaehyun chuckled, cupping your cheek to press a kiss against your lips. His lips were still as soft as they were the night before, his hands gently as his thumb rubbed across the skin of your cheek. Despite it feeling like minutes, it was only seconds in reality until Jaehyun pulled away.

"Can I consider that my good luck kiss for tonight?" He asked softly. 

"Yeah." You chuckled, "And if you win, I'll maybe consider giving you a victory kiss as well."

"Sweet." He nodded, moving back to climb off the bed, making his way to the bathroom, "I'm gonna take a quick shower."

"Alright."

"I'll be back."

"'Kay." You smiled as he stepped into the bathroom and shut the door, immediately reaching over to the nightstand to grab your phone. 

You don't know what you were thinking staying the night when you didn't even have a change of clothes. You sent Yeri a quick text asking her to grab you a set of clothes, anything would do. Especially something warm. 

You can tell she agreed when she started calling you on Facetime, which you answered.

"How was it?" She asked as soon as the call connected.

"What do you mean?" You asked, turning down the volume as you sat back against the headboard.

Yeri rolled her eyes, sitting up in her own bed, "Come on, share all the details." Her screen switched to "Paused" and you could only assume that she was scrolling either on Instagram or Tw- "Holy shit! You're at the Hallows?"

"Yeah, that's the name of the building."

"Y/N, how out of touch are you?" Yeri started, her face returning to the screen, "The Hallows is where all the famous people live, like Lee Jongsuk and Seo Inguk."

"Well, if you're asking, no, I haven't seen anyone." You started, "The lobby looked expensive, though."

"I've gotta see this!" She stood up, "Okay, tell me what outfit you want then I'll head there."

Yeri entered your room at your shared apartment, opening your closet and turning the camera to show you different shirts, pants and other fabrics. You both took about 30 minutes of the call deciding on a good outfit, before you both settled on something.

"I'll be there in a few. What should I do when I get there?" Yeri asked, folding the clothes neatly into a bag.

"I can grab the clothes from you in the lobby." You nodded, "I'll see you when you get here."

"Bye. Love you."

"Love you, Yeri." You responded before ending the call. 

You heard the shower water come to a stop, and you fully expected Jaehyun to walk out of the bathroom but you sat there, staring at the door as he stood behind it. 

A text from Yeri came through your phone and you stood up, making a slow trek to the front door, which you opened and closed behind you. You remembered the door number, and the floor number, and you memorized the button you'd have to press to get back up. You suddenly felt awkward to even walk down into the lobby wearing Jaehyun's clothes, but the awkwardness melt away as you saw the area empty. Yeri was the only one there, recording herself for her Instagram story. 

She was too absorbed in recording the lobby that when you stood in front of her as the camera panned to you, she jumped, a yelp getting cut off just as she released the button. "Jesus, you scared the crap out of me." She said through a laugh, patting your shoulder. 

"Do I look that bad?" You questioned, grabbing the clothes from her hand.

"No, you don't look bad. You know me." She chuckled, I brought you some extra shoes too, so you don't have to worry about wearing the ones from yesterday." 

"You're awesome."

"It's really nice in here." She started, looking around the lobby, "I almost feel too broke to be here." 

You ran your finger over the clothes, chuckling, "I felt the same." You smiled, "So, how'd it go last night with Mark?" 

Yeri smiled to herself, "Well, I think it went wonderfully." She paused, playing with her keyring, "He asked if I wanted to come with him to Jaehyun's game today." 

"I heard." You laughed, "At least you'll have me to play wingman."

"You're coming too?" She smiled, "Awesome! Now I don't have to be so nervous." 

You laughed, "I've gotta get ready. Jaehyun's already in the shower and everything." You gave her a hug, "Get back safe."

"Text me if anything new happens!"

"Same with you." You called the elevator, watching her walk back out to her car, where you're sure she'd play her song of the week over and over until she got tired of it.

You retraced your steps as you stepped into the elevator, thinking of the night before as Jaehyun clicked the floor button to get you up to his place. The elevator stalled, then moved upwards. 

You felt the same butterflies in your stomach as you rode the elevator up, smiling to yourself as you glanced down at the clothes you held in your arms.

Could you even begin to consider this a date? You thought to yourself, It could be considered nothing more than just visiting Jaehyun's workplace. 

As the elevator stopped, you made your way down the hallway and stopped right outside Jaehyun's front door. You knocked on the door, waiting patiently for him to open the door. Which he opened, to him wearing nothing more than black sweatpants around his waist, his hair dripping droplets down his collarbones. 

"Hi." You looked at him.

"Hey." He chuckled, "I thought you left."

You shook your head, "Without my shoes?"

"Good point." He opened the door a bit wider for you to step inside, which you did.

"Yeri just brought me some clothes to wear for today." You motioned to the folded clothes in your arms.

"That's nice of her." Jaehyun smiled, "You can use the bathroom to change if you'd like." He closed the door, "I'm making something to eat as well."

You nodded, making your way to the bathroom in the hallway, quickly changing into the outfit Yeri and yourself picked out through the video call. It looked almost as nice as you thought when you imagined it. Sure, the black shirt was darker than the washed out black pants, but you think that added to the charm. You folded up the clothes Jaehyun offered the night before on top of the washing machine in the bathroom, slowly opening the door into the hallway once more. 

It smelled of maple syrup and coffee, and you took a seat at the island in Jaehyun's kitchen as you watched him cook. It was simple breakfast food; bacon, eggs and some rice. You spot the coffeepot brewing, the soft sound of the java hitting the glass pot. Jaehyun seems to have taken a step away from the kitchen to pull on a shirt to wear. 

"Thank you." You whispered softly as he set a plate down in front of you of the food, taking a bite of the bacon. 

Jaehyun smiled at you, taking a seat beside you as he started to eat his meal with you as well. It was silent, save for the water used to make the coffee coming to an abrupt halt. It wasn't an uncomfortable silence, not at all. It was comfortable. Like sitting in silence together was comforting enough. 

As soon as you both finished, Jaehyun cleaned up, poured himself a quick cup of coffee after offering — which you respectfully decline, "trying to cut back," you'd joke — and grabbed the bags by the door that you didn't notice earlier. A giant duffle back, and a backpack that looked like it's been through Hell and back, littered with handwriting, even some quips from Mark and Johnny. You joined him in The Heights spacious garage, climbing into the newest Genesis model as he opened the door for you after he shoved his bags into the backseat. 

Throughout the car ride, as his phone connected to Bluetooth and changed through the songs, Jaehyun would grab your hand every once in a while, not paying much attention to it as he drove to the stadium. You didn't bother moving your hand. 

Jaehyun pulled into the back of the stadium, parking his car in some obscure area and helped you out. There were news tabloids, sports enthusiasts and paparazzi everywhere, and you felt your heart racing in your throat. But Jaehyun made quickly to avoid them, pulling you in front of him as he stepped through the door before the cameras started flashing. All you saw before it shut was a blinding flash.

Jaehyun sighed softly, adjusting the bag over his shoulder, "This is where we split off." He whispered.

You felt upset. You spent nearly the last 12 hours with him and for him to split off from you now for who knows how long felt so weird. You could tell you grew attached to him.

"Hey," Jaehyun chuckled, "The game doesn't start until 6:30, you've got the rest of the day to chill." His hand trailed down your arm before he grabbed your hand.

"I know." You chuckled, "I do have some homework I was planning to finish from last night, so I could do that while I wait."

Jaehyun smiled, "Great." He rubbed his thumb against the back of your hand, "Come on, I'll show you where you'll sit when the game starts." He began walking, silently passing you his jacket and let you sit down in the front row of the seats, watching as the field attendants chalked the dirt, and maintained the advertisements against the barriers. 

Jaehyun walked off after you sat down, giving you a wave as he walked off to where he needed to go.

You didn't realize how focused on your schoolwork you were until you felt the cold breeze and the loud chatter of other attendees. The stadium lights were turned on and the field attendants you saw hours ago were no longer there. You shifted uncomfortably in your seat as people push by your legs; unsure whether you should stand up from the chair to let people through or pull them up to your chest. You pulled on the coat Jaehyun had given to you earlier around your shoulders, waiting patiently by yourself for the other three guests to arrive. 

And when they did, you smiled up at them.

"Yo, Y/N, what's up?" Mark gave you a headnod, sitting on a seat only one away from you. Yeri and Johnny followed behind Mark. Your best friend taking the seat right beside you.

Johnny sighed, "You guys are gonna make the tallest, lankiest guy push through you all?" You could tell he wasn't irritated, clearly making a small joke as he stepped over your feet to sit in the seat beside Mark. He sat down with a sigh, adjusting the jacket over his shoulders.

Mark and Johnny shared a quip with one another, Mark sharing a boisterous laugh like he always did. 

Yeri nudged you, smiling sweetly, "So, what have you been doing while waiting for the entertainment to return?" She asked.

You held up your phone, the word document plastered on the screen, "Homework."

"Like always." She sighed, "You look nice."

"Thanks." You smiled, quickly saving the document before you shoved the phone in the pocket of Jaehyun's jacket.

You and the trio all spoke to one another, talking about school, interests and other things to fill the time before you caught sight of the teams walking through their thresholds.

Attendants around you all began to share chants of their respective teams, some going as far to shout out jeering taunts to fans of the away team.

Johnny and Mark seemed familiar with this, standing from their seats and clapping as the teams prepared with their coaches for the game.

You caught sight of Jaehyun laughing, the mit around his hand worn and clearly aging. He looked around the stands, waving to fans before he stopped and glanced at you, giving a small wave and shy smile. 

The crowd exploded with a loud cheer after he waved at you, and the teams were off.

☆

A little over four hours later, the Sentinels had yet another win under their belt. Johnny and Mark were critiquing the plays made by both teams, while you and Yeri were busy trying to understand what the hell was happening in real time. It was different for the both of you when you were watching the plays in real time without any type of commentary or slow-mo videos to show the play. 

The wind picked up during the middle of the game and you were thankful Jaehyun gave you his jacket. Although, you weren't thankful for the wind sending a foul ball straight into the barrier net to keep the audience members safe. You could feel your heart racing, turning to laugh with Yeri, who was also frightened.

As soon as the game came to an end, everyone filed out of their seats, making there way to food stands or tailgates in the parking lot, where fans celebrated the Sentinels victory. Johnny, Mark, Yeri and yourself opted to waiting by the locker room for Jaehyun to walk out.

You held Jaehyun's coat over your arm, playing with your fingers as you waited. Mark and Johnny were having their own conversation while Yeri stood beside you, doing some complex edit to the photo she took with you and the boys to post on her Instagram story. 

"Dude, I'm hungry!" Mark complained, leaning his head back against the wall, rubbing his stomach.

Johnny snorted, "Yeah, I bet you want that stadium hot dog."

Mark gave his usual chortle, hitting Johnny's arm in a playful way, "Shut the hell up, dude." He spoke through his laughe. 

Yeri leaned against the wall beside you, sighing, "Yeah, I'm hungry, too. I haven't had stadium nachos in years."

"Yeri, the last time you've had stadium nachos was at school at the football game last week." You teased, locking your phone as you looked at her. 

"Well, it feels like years." She mumbled, looking at Mark, "Wanna come with me?"

You could see Mark's eyes light up, nodding his head rapidly, "Yeah, yeah, let's go."

Johnny kicked off the wall, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets, "I might as well come, too. Don't want you two to get lost." He looked at you quickly, "Wanna come, Y/N?"

"No, I'm okay. I ate before I came." You smiled softly, "You guys go eat. I'll wait for Jaehyun so he doesn't think we ditched him." You waved them off.

Yeri held up her phone, "Well, text me if you want anything."

You nodded your head, waving to them as they walked away before you leaned back against the wall as you pulled out your phone to occupy the short amount of time. 

You were invested in the random video of how fossils were formed, blackhead videos, mukbang ASMR, and other interesting videos. And you would've kept watching if you didn't see the last of the team file out of the locker room, save for the dark haired male you came with. You watched the team leave, and you pulled a frown. 

You began to question what was taking him so long, but decided to leave it as it was. It wasn't your concern what was taking him so long. You were a guest.

You looked at the locker room door for a moment longer, and hovered your thumb over the pause button on the video about who knows what — you blocked that information out. And just as you were about to press play, your phone chimed and vibrated.

jaehyun:

no one's in here, if you wanna come in.

so you don't have to wait in the cold.

delivered 1 sec ago

You blushed; for one, it was the men's locker room. And second, you didn't know where your thoughts were going. All you could remember was this morning, where Jaehyun pulled open his front door with just a towel on. You kept the text open for a moment, before you approached the locker room door. You looked both ways three times. One look was too quick. The second, in case any one was approaching. Third, for extra measure. 

Your fingers held onto the handle for a second as you contemplated a little more, the metal handle cold from the breeze drafting through the open stadium. 

You pulled open the door, peeking your head in slowly, "Jaehyun?" You called softly, your voice echoing off the walls, making it seem louder than you intended.

"Over here." Jaehyun responded, and you quickly stepped inside, the squeaking of the hydrolic hinge echoing just as loud as the door latching behind you. Your shoes hit the ground as you stepped in further to find Jaehyun within the maze of lockers. 

And you did find him. He stood by a locker, a black Sentinels branded towel hanging low around his waist. It's clearly not like you haven't seen him shirtless, let alone half-naked. You saw both visuals this morning. But it was the fact his hair dripped drops of water down his back, over his shoulders, even down his face. The fact his back and arms were so muscular. And the very obvious fact that beside the towel, he wore nothing at all.

Jaehyun turned around briefly, chuckling, "Hey." He whispered softly.

"Hi."

He smiled to himself at your small voice, using his hand to keep the towel around his hips. He seemed... shy? More shy than you've grown accustomed to. You were thinking that it was definitely because of the circumstances of where his clothes were. He cleared his throat, "Hey, I just... uh," He started, grabbing your hand in his own and stepping a little closer to you, "I wanted to say thank you for coming to see the game." He squeezed your hand in his own, smiling shyly, "It's the first time I've actually had so many people come see me. Uh, in terms of VIP."

"I'm glad I could come, too." You smiled back, "I had fun. Plus, it was nice to see an actual baseball game in person, and not on a television." You tilted your head to the side as you thought, "Although, I didn't expect that many grown men to get excited when you waved."

Jaehyun laughed, "Yeah, they can get pretty excited." He smiled, "But, I think that kiss you gave me this morning gave me the good luck I thought it would."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He chuckled, glancing away for a quick second, "Does that mean I get that victory kiss you were talking about?" He asked softly, the hand that held his towel tightly was released, cupping your cheek with it. "You said you'd consider it."

You laughed, kissing his lips softly. 

Two days. Two days of electric tension bubbling between you guys was finally boiling over the top as you both kissed. You could tell Jaehyun was kind enough to act as the gentleman he always was for these two days, but from the way his hands wandered as you both moved your lips in sync was enough to tell you that he was desperate to touch you, to claim you as his own.

At first, he had one hand against your cheek, then both hands resting on your hips, then before you knew it, Jaehyun's hands trailed down your legs, and guided them around his waist as he lifted you up effortlessly and seated you on his lap as he sat on the bench in the middle of the floor. Jaehyun's lips never stopped moving against your own, his thumb rubbing your thigh through your pants as you straddled his hips.

Jaehyun parted from the kiss momentarily, glancing at your face as your lips grew swollen from the kiss. His hands moved from your thighs and found their way under your shirt, his thumb brushing against the skin of your stomach. "You look amazing." He whispered, placing open-mouthed kisses against your neck. 

You rested your hand against his neck as he kissed yours, your other brushing your fingers against his arm; over the veins you admired the night before, over the carpal boss of his wrist before he intertwined his fingers with your own again. Jaehyun's hips pressed against your own as his chest did the same with your own. 

"Jaehyun." You whispered softly, squeezing his hand in his own.

Despite the gentle whisper, Jaehyun had no intentions proceeding without anything more, pressing his lips to your shoulder through the fabric of your shirt, "Hm?" He hummed out, pulling away slightly to look at you, "What's wrong?"

"I just didn't think we'd share a moment like this in the locker room." You chuckled shyly, looking at him, "Not that I'm complaining, it's kinda hot, but..."

Jaehyun cupped your chin, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, "I understand." He whispered, "How about this? I'll get dressed and then we can head back to my place — or yours, I'm okay with either."

You nodded softly, climbing off his lap and sitting on the bench while he stood up to get dressed. He pulled on his briefs with the towel around his waist, loosening it to throw over his head and dry his hair. 

You looked around the locker room to avoid getting caught staring, admiring the red and black walls, the Sentinels logo in the center of the wall. You over analyzed every detail; how crooked the logo was, how some of the red bled into the black, even how there were smudges of paint left on the lockers. Maybe you were being a bit too critical; after all, you weren't an artist and sometimes mistakes happen. You began to beat yourself up because why would you criticize art if you couldn't even draw a stick figure, let alone a giant logo like the Sentinels had. Maybe you'd take an art class.

When you looked back at Jaehyun, he was dressed in his usual attire, the attire you were most accustomed to. The grey, baggy cargo pants, the black muscle tee, the backwards Sentinels baseball cap. He looks just how you were first introduced to him, and it was comforting. He grabbed his bags and wrapped his arm around your shoulder as he led you out of the locker room.

"Hey! There they are." Johnny called, a half eaten corn dog held in his hand, "We were looking everywhere for you two."

Yeri held the paper boat of nachos in her hand as she gave you a knowing look, biting into a cheese and jalapeño covered chip.

Mark breathed heavily, "I ran around the entire stadium looking."

Jaehyun chuckled, shaking his head, "You guys didn't have to do that." He smiled, "Well, we're gonna head out."

"Why don't we get something to drink as celebration?" Johnny suggested, taking a bite of the corn dog.

"Sorry. Have plans." Jaehyun shrugged, guiding you past the three of them. 

Yeri took another bite of her nachos, "Wear protection!" She called, more so to you than Jaehyun, or at least you think so.

"Dude, ew!" Mark's laugh echoed off the walls as you and Jaehyun walked off.

Jaehyun was on a mission trying to get you both to the car so you both could get out of there and relieve some sexual tension. Not only did he have to deal with some of the teammates of him stopping him, he also had to deal with team managers, coaches, and some fans of him that were begging for autographs and photos; which he gladly accepted, because he wouldn't be anything without the people who supported him. That continued the whole entire way as you both walked to the back of the stadium where he parked earlier in the morning. 

Jaehyun slowly peeked out of the door before he closed it as soon as he opened it, "Here." He whispered, swinging the backpack to his side and pulled out some sunglasses, "There's gonna be a lot of cameras flashing, so wear these and only look straight ahead." 

You nodded, pulling on the sunglasses. Jaehyun grabbed your hand in his own, and slowly opened the door again, guiding you out with him. And that's when you understood what Jaehyun meant; the flashes of the cameras were speeding in at one per second. Jaehyun was used to it, but you definitely weren't. He gave a nod, a wave, even a handshake to paparazzi, keeping you close to his side. There was a security guard that helped you both make way to the car. You wondered how so many people were able to obey one security guard, let alone with that many people.

The car was inches away from you both, Jaehyun's fingers grazing the handle to the passenger side door, helping you inside. 

"Jaehyun, is that your girlfriend?" A paparazzi shouted, continuing to take pictures, most likely blurry from the nudging and shoving from other paparazzi. Since when did athletes have the same amount of paparazzi as superstars. 

Jaehyun shut the door, giving you a smile as he shoved the bags into the backseat, "Yeah, she is." He responded to the paparazzi, shutting the door and let the security guard guide him to the driver's side. The security even went as far to check under, on top and inside the car's backseat. 

Once the security gave the go ahead, Jaehyun pulled out of the car lot, his hand immediately finding your own. 

"Sorry about that." He said, making his way back towards his place.

"Oh, it's okay." You took off the sunglasses he gave you, holding them by the nose bridge as you folded the arms, "I feel sorry you have to deal with that. No wonder you drive a Honda." You smiled.

Jaehyun laughed, "I meant saying you were my girlfriend." He glanced at you, pausing the music on his phone, "It's easier to say that than explaining we're in a talking stage, you know?"

"It's fine." You glanced at his side profile, "I know what you mean." You mumbled, "I don't mind. Being considered your girlfriend, I mean." You smiled to yourself.

Jaehyun smirked, squeezing your hand, "You sure about that?"

"Yeah."

Jaehyun nodded, playing the music to fill the silence. The music playing varied between The Weeknd, Lloyd, and even some underground artists you had no clue existed. But the one variation that they all had in common was that they were heavy intented with sexual innuendos and sexual tension. You have no idea if Jaehyun made a playlist with these types of songs or if they just happened to be playing on shuffle back to back. But either way, they were definitely setting the mood. 

Jaehyun pulled into the roundabout, grabbing his bags before passing his spare car keys to the valet and helped you out of the vehicle. 

"Why don't you park it yourself?" You questioned, reaching for the strap of Jaehyun's backpack and throwing it over your shoulders. You were genuinely curious, glancing up at him.

Jaehyun shrugged, "I don't know. They only allow employees out there. I guess it's the luxury part of the apartments." He guided you inside and to the elevator, clicking the floor button that you memorized from this morning.

You chuckled, "Do you like living here?"

"It's nice. But, I'm not much of a big house guy. I've never been interested in it." He leaned against the railing of the elevator, the duffle bag between his legs as you stood in front of him.

"So, why get a giant apartment?"

Jaehyun shrugged, "The commissioner of the team paid the lease if I agreed to join the Sents." He glanced down at his hands, "But, I'd much rather having a nice little apartment."

The elevator rung and stalled to a stop as you both reached the hallway, your hands never leaving one another's as he guided you to his door.

You felt the butterflies grow in your stomach, your heart beating in your throat and your hands clam up. Was now a bad time to say you can't remember the last time you've had sex? You really don't understand why you're feeling so nervous all of a sudden, you were both having a great conversation in the car and now, you felt like you were about to throw up.

Jaehyun pushed open the door, setting the duffel bag on the ground under the upholstered bench at the entryway, kicking off his shoes. You followed, setting the backpack down beside the bench and neatly placed your shoes next to his. You were trying to buy time to settle the butterflies in your chest by rearranging the shoes a little bit. And when you stood up, you gasped when you felt Jaehyun's hand on your own, once again. 

"If you're too nervous, we don't have to continue." He spoke in that soft voice, the same one you grew accustomed to since the night before. "I'm nervous myself."

You took a deep breath, sighing softly, "I'm nervous but... I want this."

"Are you sure?" 

"Yes."

Jaehyun stepped closer, your back pressed against the front door, he cupped your chin, his thumb brushing your bottom lip, "Can I kiss you? Is that okay?"

You nodded your head, "You don't have to ask."

Jaehyun kissed you — feverishly. Like a man starved, he pressed you against the door and kissed you like any man would with the woman they love. You felt his hands wandering again, squeezing your hips before wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him. 

His tongue found its way into your mouth, rubbing against yours. You could feel him through his pants, and he was hard. You so desperately wanted to touch him, but you didn't want to cross a boundary he might not like, so you settled for kissing him back as feverishly as he was.

A gentle groan escaped his lips as you pressed against him, a whispered "fuck" breathed into your mouth. He tapped his fingers against your thigh, silently telling you to jump up, which you obliged. He steadied you with the arm around your waist, and guided your legs around his hips as he held you effortlessly.

"You okay with moving this to the bedroom, baby?" He spoke with a gravelly voice, his lips swollen from the kiss. You felt the butterflies grow in your stomach again, your heart racing, and your panties growing wetter as he looked at you with those gentle, yet dominant eyes. You couldn't help yourself but nod.

Jaehyun smiled, carrying you over to the bedroom, crawling onto the bed and resting you on his lap as he continued to kiss at your skin, his lips trailing along your jaw, neck and shoulder. "Do you wanna continue?"

You nodded, your hand running through his hair, "I do."

Jaehyun smiled, pressing soft kisses across your face, "Okay, baby." He placed one soft kiss against your lips, adjusting his position so you were laying back on the bed, and he was between your legs. He reached over to the bedside table, pulling out a condom and looking at you softly, "Open it for me?" He chuckled.

You grabbed the packet and tore it open with your teeth, passing it to him, "Expecting a lot of play?" You teased, motioning to the box of condoms.

Jaehyun smiled, shaking his head, "Only if you want to." He nudged your leg playfully, "And I'm hoping after this, you're the only one I fuck."

You bit your bottom lip, smiling sweetly, "I haven't had any complaints yet." 

He set the condom off to the side, skillfully unbuttoning your bottoms and pulled them off your legs, throwing them off to the side.

"Oh, my—" You mumbled.

"I'll buy you a new one." He whispered, his hands pulling off his shirt, "Anything you need, I'll get it for you." His shirt was the second piece of fabric added to the growing pile of clothing, his hands pulling off your own shirt, "You're so pretty." He whispered breathlessly, "You don't understand how hard it was to keep my hands off you." 

"You shouldn't have." You smile softly, brushing your fingers through his hair as he kissed at your collarbone.

"I'll keep that in mind." Jaehyun's breath fanned against your chest, and he looked up at you, "You're so beautiful. I was hypnotized when I first saw you in person, I swear."

You laughed, "Did Mark push you to come pour my drink?"

"No, I took that initiative myself." He smiled, his fingers tangling in the waistband of your panties, "I was sick of waiting." He chuckled.

And you were sick of waiting. It's two days of complete sexual tension and it was almost painful waiting for anything more to happen. You can't remember the last time you had this much sexual tension with someone, let alone the last time someone desired you this bad.

"Jaehyun..." You whispered out, as he pressed kisses to your hip bone, "Please, I can't wait anymore."

He smiled, pressing a soft kiss to your hip once more, "You can't wait anymore?" He teased, "I spent months fantasizing about this, and you can't wait anymore?" He hummed.

"You know what I mean." You whined, feeling your cheeks blush as you leaned your head back against the pillows.

"Okay, okay, baby. I guess I shouldn't keep you waiting any longer." His dimples imprinted his cheeks, sitting up from between your legs and grabbed the condom from beside him, "You've been patient and I appreciate that." He dipped his hand into the waistband of his pants, his cock resting in his hand as he rolled the condom on, slowly pumping himself in his hand, "Fuck, look what you do to me, baby."

You wrapped your legs around his hips, using the heel of your foot to pull him closer to your heat.

Jaehyun's hand pressed against the pillow you laid on top of, guiding the tip of his cock into you, slowly pressing into you, "Oh, fuck..."

"Oh my god..." You whispered out, tangling your fingers through his hair as he pressed his chest against yours, pressing open mouthed kisses to your neck.

"I'm gonna start moving, baby."

"Mmhmm..."

Jaehyun slowly began thrusting into you, the tip of his cock pressing against your sweet spot, your toes curling and fingers tightening on the hair on the back of his head. Jaehyun's long eyelashes brushed against your jawline as he continued to press soft kisses on your neck, "So soft, so pretty." He whispers against you skin, his tongue wetting the plain, gently sucking.

Gasping, you rolled his hips up against his, "Jae," Your words come out shaky, the heat moving from your cunt up to your ears.

"Sensitive there?" He whispered, nibbling on the skin, his hand moving from your cheek to press between you two to rub his index and middle finger along your clit. 

"Fuck!" 

Jaehyun chuckled, "You're so wet, princess." He smiled, his hips continuing to press into your own, "God, I imagined how pretty you'd look underneath me for so long." His cock twitched against your walls, a moan escaping his lips, "Feels so good... Could keep fucking you forever."

The words you wanted to speak disappeared just as quickly as they appeared, listening to your thoughts echo Jaehyun as he continued to press into you. Silent babbles were occupied with whines and moans, clenching down on his dick as he moved. "Jae, Jae,"

"I gotcha, baby. I'm right here." He whispered softly, rubbing your legs, "Jae's right here."

You groaned as Jaehyun grabbed your hips, guiding you along his length, "So good..." You whined.

"I know, baby. Like you were made for me." Whispering in your ear, Jaehyun's fingers found their way to your clit once more, flicking it gently, "A pretty, soaking wet pussy just for my dick."

You jolt slightly as Jaehyun flicked you clit, a heat wave washing over your body as it blushed, simultaneously, goosebumps covered your skin from Jaehyun's words.

Jaehyun smiled softly, whispering sweet nothing against your ear, "So tight. It feels so good."

"Fuck, Jaehyun...." You whispered out, your throat straining as you attempted to speak.

Jaehyun's fingers worked against your clit, continuing the same pace of his hips, "Does it feel good, baby?" 

The words he whispered were enough to make your pussy jump, nodding your head. Glancing down at the bulge of your stomach, you couldn't help the moan escape your throat, "Oh, fuck." 

Jaehyun groaned, his hand lingering on your hip, "Look at you..." He whispered, more to himself, "Wanna fuck you everyday."

Jaehyun's voice was hoarse, his eyes staring into your own. He leaned closer, kissing your lips in contrast to the brutal pounding of his hips. He hummed against your lips, sliding his tongue between your lips and rubbed his own against yours. 

Jaehyun pulled away for a moment, looking at you, "Can I taste you, princess?"

It was a question you honestly couldn't refuse. You nodded your head, whining softly at his exit but allowed him to continue to kiss down your body, his breath fanning against your wet cunt.

Licking his lips, Jaehyun hummed softly at the white cream around your hole, "Shit..." He whispered out, pressing soft kisses against your sensitive clit.

"Jae!" You yelped as his lips pressed against you, blushing softly as another wave of heat covered your core.

Jaehyun smiled, the dimples on his cheeks making an appearance before he delved into you, his tongue licking your hole, savoring the flavor. 

You gasped softly and let your hands immediately slip through his hair, feeling the soft strands tickle the inside of your wrist. 

He was eating you out like a man starved, his fingers pressing into you as his lips and tongue danced with one another against your pussy. Jaehyun's eyes closed as he continued to thrust his fingers into you and taste you against his tongue, the cold of the ring around his finger soothing the burn of your body.

You could only handle so much more as he curled his fingers into you, gasping and whining as he teased the spongey spot inside you. Your pussy fluttered around his fingers, moaning softly, "Ri- Right there, Jae."

Jaehyun's fingers continued to rub against the spot, his tongue lapping up all your juices that dribbled onto his fingers like it was juice rolling down his hand. 

Your pussy sobbed as he continued tasting you and teasing you, feeling the warm coil break in your stomach, the creamy cum coating every line of his hand, covering the silver ring that pressed against your hole and leaving a white ring around the base of his fingers.

"Fuck," he whispered against you clit, moaning softly as he slowly moved his fingers inside you, "That was hot."

You whined shyly as he continued to press into your heat, his fingers never moving from the spot inside you, "Keep moving your fingers like that, and I'll cum again."

Jaehyun smiled, "I'm always up for a challenge." He teased, kissing your thigh, "Only if you are."

You blushed softly; how could resist such an invitation? You were so out of practice that you were out of breath only after cumming once, you had to at least repay the favor.

"Can I suck your cock?" You asked gently, sitting up on your elbows.

Jaehyun chuckled softly, moving his fingers out of your cunt, "Do you want to?"

You used this chance to adjust your position and lay across his lap, your mouth salivating at the sight of his cock, covered in the clear condom. You looked up at him with shy eyes, nodding your head.

"You gotta say it, baby." He whispered, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

"I wanna." You mumbled, entangling your fingers with his own.

Jaehyun smiled, leaning forward to peck your forehead, "Good girl." He whispered in your ear, "Go ahead." He guided you with his words, letting you roll the condom off his cock and kiss at the red cherry colored tip. A groan parted his lips as he settled his hand against your head. He didn't push, he just used it as silent praise, letting you take your own pace with what you were doing.

Yet, his hand on the back of your head almost gave you the motivation to do more; You wrapped your lips around his cock, slowly bobbing along the length, using your tongue to tease the slit of his cock. Your hand moved downward, rubbing against his sack, listening to his whines as you sucked him off.

Jaehyun glanced down at you, using his hands to move your hair away from your face and wrap it gently around his hand, "You're gorgeous." He whispered, as he admired your lips turning a swollen red, your flushed cheeks, your pretty fingers rubbing against him and your eyes lidded as you savored him on your tongue. 

Looking up at him through your lashes, you moaned at the praise, tasting the pre-cum leaking against your tongue. Pulling away with a thin string of saliva keeping you both connected as you took the moment to pump him in your hand, the pre-cum oozing from his slit.

"Fuck," Jaehyun leaned in closer, pressing his lips against yours to taste himself against your tongue, "You're so pretty." He moaned as your hand continued to move against his member.

You smiled softly, "You're not too bad looking yourself." You smiled, "Taste good too."

Jaehyun smiled softly, soft whimpers leaving his lips as you wrapped yours back around the cock head. Your finger traced the vein on the underside of his cock, drool dripping from your lips down his girth.

"Shit, f-fuck," He whined, "So close, baby. Keep going."

Listening to Jaehyun's sounds was enough to encourage you to continue until his muscles tensed, heavy pants escaping his throat. The taste of Jaehyun's cum against your tongue was like a hunger that you weren't aware you had sated. You had the taste linger on your tongue as you pulled away from his cock, swallowing the thick release.

"God, baby..." Heavy breaths, messy (but still insanely perfect) hair and flushed cheeks only suited him more, "That was perfect."

You smiled, laying back on the bed as you soak up the compliments.

Jaehyun lay beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist as he placed soft kisses against your neck, jawline, cheek.

You both continued to cuddle, letting Jaehyun fawn over you as you laid with one another until either of you fell asleep. You didn't mind being doted on. It was kinda nice.

copyright © 2024 thewonandonly. all rights reserved.

[caxycreations]

Okay, say you have 1k a day for life. You can spend a grand pretty quick and even if you're getting it every day for life, that's still only 365k per year.

It would take you 27 years to turn that into 10mil without a savings account or some type of investment.

Meanwhile, if you have 10mil in hand right then and there, you can:

Buy yourself a $250,000 home paid in full, a good, reliable car ($10k? $15k? We'll highball it at $20k), also paid in full.

You still have $9,730,000.

Put 2mil in a savings account. At the average return rate (0.47%), you get 940,000 per year, which comes out to earning over $2,500 per day. You more than double what the $1k per day for life would give you, AND you have enough to set yourself to live comfortably the rest of your life.

"But caxy! Then you have $7,730,000 left just sitting there collecting dust!"

Nope. Then you have money you can put towards friends, family, charity, projects you believe in, people you want to support and help and save and offer a chance at a new life to. Here, let me show you:

$250k home, say it's 3-bed, 2-bath, 2-story, whether that's "basement+ground" or ground+upstairs, or maybe 2-story allows for ground+upstairs+basement. Whatever the case, we'll say your electric bill is pretty high, $250 per month, and your internet is high too, $175 per month, and you spend $1500 on groceries per month.

And we'll say you pay $800 a month on your car insurance, too.

That brings total monthly spending to: $2,725

Need I remind you we're making $2,500 per DAY in that savings account? Even if your monthly spending was $5,000 or $10,000 or even $20,000 it would not matter. With 10mil, you'd have a paid-off house, paid-off car, and if you put even 2mil into savings you'd be making more than twice the "$1,000 per day" option.

So say you spend $20,000 per month on necessities (humor me)

That means you spend, per year on necessities, $240,000. But you've made $940,000 in savings accrual, for a net profit of $700,000.

My point, for those wondering, is that with 10mil in hand immediately, you have enough money to not only set yourself up for life (assuming you don't waste it on upper-crust luxuries day in and day out...) AND still be able to spend, quite literally, AS MUCH AS YOU WANT on ANYONE else, be they friends, family, artists, writers, crafters, causes you support, projects you want to see done, and no matter how much you spend on those things, as long as you kept your spending below your yearly savings accrual, you would NEVER see your bank even remotely close to "uh oh" for the rest of your life.

People choosing 1k per day aren't thinking about the fact you can get WAY more than that per day by just throwing a few million in savings.

People choosing 1k per day aren't seeing the sheer potential of being able to not only secure your own financial stability permanently, but having the money *in hand then and there* to secure a dozen other futures permanently as well.

Hell you could go a step further and make two savings accounts; one for personal savings and one for "spending on others", specifically to build up money for the sole purpose of spending that money on other people, and put the rest in a checking account for the sake of necessities and day-to-day purchases.

Explain your reasoning plzzz

[daycourtofficial]

Cursing my name, wishing I stayed

Pairing: Eris x Rhysand’s sister!reader | WC: 14.7k | warnings: depictions of violence, gore, blood, bodily harm

Summary: your relationship with Rhysand had been icy at best, but your attempts to reconcile are quick to be shot down. A rash decision leads you to endangering your life - can Eris find you in time? Can he save your infant son?

Author’s note: happy Gingerfucker Week to all who celebrate!! My first post has to be the most anticipated gingerfucker fic ever - otherwise I’m sure yall would kill me lmao

“Eris, we’ll be fine. Feyre wouldn’t let anything happen to us. But if it would make you feel better, you may winnow us there.”

The babe in your arms slept softly, the smallest crop of red hair peeking out from his swaddled head. Atlas was so tiny, yet had grown so much in his one month of living. The last babe you remember spending prolonged time with was your younger sister, and even though a baby’s basic needs were the same, caring for a wingless babe felt different, almost unnatural.

Being a young female in Illyria meant spending many hours and nights helping the other females with their young. Atlas was likely the first babe without wings you had ever seen. It still surprised you to rub your hand across his empty back or that you didn’t have to stretch his wings multiple times a day.

Only a quick winnow trip separated you from your nephew, leading your impatience to grow with each moment Eris spent rifling through trunks. You were dying to see the toddler, having missed several months of his life due to your brother’s refusal to see you. Things were still rough between the two of you (not from your lack of trying), but they seemed to be improving. It felt right to spend a few days there - to let your family see Atlas, hold him, spend some time with the three of you. It might be foolish, but a tiny babe is enough to have at least some of the pressure off of your mate.

Your words did little to slow him as he flitted about the room, a cloud of anxiety following him as he searched for something you weren’t entirely sure existed. He moved about the room, opening trunks and moving their contents around before closing the lid in a huff. If you weren’t getting annoyed at the delay, you would be amused by his antics. 

“Er, if it’ll really make you this upset, I can wait until tomorrow when you’re able to stay with us.” The possibility that Eris was purposely stalling wasn’t lost on you. He was less than thrilled about this visit, however he was unlikely to ever stop his mate from getting what she wanted.

“No, no, you were adamant about arriving tonight so you could see Nesta on her birthday and- aha!”

From one of the seemingly thousands of chests around your room, all full of gifts from every High Lord, advisor, and courtier the two of you had ever come into contact it seemed, Eris procured a tiny yellow blanket, one end of it full of stuffing to give the illusion of the head of a duck. He raised it quite proudly as if it were a trophy, gallivanting over to the two of you as if he were a prized mare.

“What is that?”

“It’s Atlas’ favorite blanket.”

You squinted your eyes at him, clutching the babe tighter to your chest. The blanket looked brand new, unmarred by the constant stream of dribble Atlas left everywhere he went. Eris ignored you in favor of situating the blanket into the crook of your elbow, situated next to his son. “He’s three months old, he doesn’t have a favorite blanket.”

“Surely pregnancy has not completely rotted your brain. This is his favorite blanket.” He ignored the glare you sent his way, furthering your annoyance. You gripped Atlas tight in one arm, using your free hand to smack Eris’s bicep. An incredulous look overcame his pale face as he turned back to you. “You’ll wake the babe - set him down before trying to get physical with me.”

“I’ll get real nice and physical when I throttle you.” Your threat was not received as you had intended. Instead of coiling in fear and cowardice, your mate moved about, putting everything back into all of the various chests. “Then you’d be late for dinner and breaking Madja’s rules, and I never took you for a tardy rulebreaker.”

“I can throttle you without breaking Madja’s rules.”

“My love do not pretend if you were to kill me you wouldn’t be riding my cock as you did it.” You gasped, moving to press Atlas further into your chest and covering his other ear with your hand. You hissed his name, sending a barbed spike down the bond in frustration. Eris’s hands met his hips, amusement quickly turning into exasperation. “He’s asleep.”

“He can hear you!”

“He is in a deep sleep from spending nearly an hour on your tit. He’s going to be out for the next hour or two.” Eris felt your frustration through the bond, placing his hands on your shoulders, causing you to look up at him. “Come now, I’ll escort you both to Night, see that you are safely in Feyre and Rhysand’s care, then I’ll come back here until tomorrow.” 

Eris moved past you, grabbing the bags you had packed before putting them across his shoulders. He reached an arm out, taking Atlas from your hands and securing him to his chest. You reached out, already missing the warmth of your babe, a hand pressed to his back to feel his slow breathing. Eris moved his free hand up to your face, fingers soft caressed your cheek.

The world changed around the three of you, Atlas shifting slightly beneath your hand as the orange curtains you recently had hung up on the brown paneled walls were exchanged for the light blues of the foyer of the River House. Atlas didn’t stir, but the sudden change in the world made you slightly dizzy. It had been months since you had last winnowed, a fact more pronounced by the stagger in your stance.

Eris had been writing to Rhysand, requesting special permission for him to winnow directly into their home. In true Rhysand fashion, he turned it into a much bigger spectacle than it was by placing special limitations on it, telling him he’d change the wards when everyone departed at the end of the week. His letter contained an additional note at the end, stating, “I will, however, allow Atlas in through the wards permanently in case he were to be a savant and learn to winnow and his first action be to leave you.” You had sent Rhys a responding scathing letter using words Eris was not entirely certain were real. 

Feyre and Rhysand were waiting in the foyer, Feyre quickly standing off of Rhys’s lap to embrace you. Feyre always treated you differently than the others did, perhaps because she knew how awful it could feel to be as no more than an extension of Rhysand. Or perhaps because she knew what it was like to go to the ends of the earth for your mate. 

You melted in her embrace, her lilac and pear scent a bit flowery but welcome. Her hug was gentle, careful not to squeeze too hard, something the High Lady had to work at perfecting after being turned high fae. It had taken years for her to master her grip strength. That time was not missed, however, the crushed door handles were always a source of amusement.

“Eris,” Feyre smiled, reaching her hands out after untangling herself, shifting to look at the High Lord, “hand over the baby and no one gets hurt.”

You giggled, pushing Eris toward her outstretched arms. She cooed at the bundle as it was put into her arms, her fingers moving the blanket so she could see his face. She made little faces, the Cursebreaker nowhere in sight as the babe reached out for her, gently grabbing her loose hair.

“He looks just like you, Eris.”

“How unfortunate.” Rhys ignored the pointed look he received from Feyre, picking lint from his jacket as he strolled forward. You stayed silent as he wrapped his arms around your body, and you couldn’t help but melt a little in his embrace. He was an asshole, gods was he an asshole, but he was still your brother and you loved him so dearly. You could feel the tension slough off of Rhys’s shoulders in your embrace, hoping this weekend could be a step forward for all of you.

Eris leaned down, kissing Atlas on the forehead before softly rubbing his head. He gurgled in response, causing Feyre to chuckle. 

“I just want to eat his little cheeks! Nyx doesn’t have his chubby cheeks anymore, it’s a real shame.” Her hand gently smoothed over Atlas’s cheeks as she spoke, her heart breaking over realizing just how much her little boy had grown.

“He’s not on the menu tonight, Feyre.” 

“I know, but I just want to eat him! He’s truly adorable.” Feyre continued making faces, certain she could get a tiny giggle from them. She puffed her cheeks and moved her lips a bit, deflating at the indifference Atlas showed her. 

“I trust that your wards are secure enough for the two of them.” Eris cut into the discussion, having noticed the sun moving through the windows. Stacks of papers sat on his desk waiting for his eyes to peruse them in preparation for the next day’s council.

Rhys rolled his eyes, nearly scoffing at the male’s tone. “If they weren’t sufficient, would I allow my mate and son to live in them?”

“Rhysand, I am not in the business of trying to make sense of every decision you make.” Rhys opened his mouth to respond, but Feyre’s voice cut through the growing tension, extinguishing the sparks the two High Lords were sending each other. “That’s enough, thank you Eris for winnowing them here. We’ll be seeing you tomorrow?” 

His amber gaze was glued to the tiny bundle before dropping the bags he was holding. The Autumn High Lord did not want to leave his son. He was still so small and so vulnerable. He remembered all of his brothers at such a size and it never ceased to amaze him how much newborns truly depend upon their parents. He looked back up to his mate, one last confirmation needed. A slight nod was all it took before he cupped her jaw, swiftly kissing her forehead.

“I will see you all tomorrow, then.”

-

Feyre had left quickly after Eris’s departure, returning Atlas to your arms before checking on Nyx. Truthfully your sister in law looked exhausted, and you were sure she was taking any opportunity that Nyx slept to take a nap of her own. She had written to you just last week that Nyx was in a sleep regression and she and Rhys were not having a great time. You had offered to reschedule your visit, but Feyre insisted you come and outright demanded to see the babe. She had said Nyx had lost his baby smell ages ago and she was convinced smelling it on Atlas could get her through this sleep regression.

You sat in Rhys’s study, Atlas sleeping on your chest after having just fed and changed him. Before running off, Feyre had given you one of Nyx’s old onesies, the pale babe in your arms looked so out of place in the black fabric. It felt so strange to be back in Rhys’s study - it must have been at least two years since you had last been in this room. It looked exactly the same - the massive portrait of Feyre looming over the two of you. So much had changed the past few years, and yet nothing had. Rhys looked exactly the same sitting across from you. If you placed Atlas down, it would be as if you had never left.

“Watch out for Cassian.”

Rhys’s words confused you. You waited for further explanation, looking up to find Rhys’s gaze on Atlas. Deciding he likely won’t tell you, you asked, “why?”

Rhys leaned back in his chair, the leather groaning from the shift in weight. “He followed Feyre around for months, asking to try some of her milk.” He laughed at your grimace but continued. “Someone told him the health benefits of breastmilk and he’s more than determined to get his grubby hands on some.”

“Eris will be thrilled to hear that.”

You could hear his retort clear as a bell in your mind. “A bastard so desperate for a mother’s love he’d suck random teets to get it.” You decided it was best kept to yourself.

You ignored Rhys’s scowl at the mention of your mate. “Do you think he’s trying to convince Nesta to have a babe so he can take the milk for himself?”

“I’m absolutely sure of it. Nesta kicked him out of the house for a few days because he wouldn’t stop trying to make everything into a deal to impregnate her.” Rhys was smiling at the memory of a downtrodden Cassian slipping into the River House one night, Feyre passing him as he grumbled about her sister. You laughed softly at Cassian’s antics. 

It felt strange to be back here - in the Night Court, in the River House. As if you hadn’t left, your family continued on. Their lives continued with or without you. Your heart felt a slight twinge at the realization. You would choose Eris again and again, but you did miss the everyday antics of your family.

“Have I told you that Eris’s hounds detest Lucien? He visited a week prior and two of them worked together, one in front and one in back, to table top him into some mud- what is that face for?” Rhysand tried to recover the earlier smile, his mouth slowly forming into a grimace. It was impossible not to notice - he looked as if he smelled something terrible.

“Nothing. Just remembering something I have to do.” A lie. Your blood was heating beneath your skin. It annoyed you to no end whenever Rhys lied to you, something you hadn’t been able to shake since childhood. It made you irrationally upset, hormones raging through you.

“No, it’s because I was talking to you about Autumn, wasn’t it? Can’t you at least pretend to care about my life?”

“I do care.” He leaned back in his chair, trying to give off an air of nonchalance, but his eyes remained sharp.

You stood slowly, ensuring your feet were steady as you rose with Atlas. “I won’t sit here and listen to you lie to me, Rhys. I thought we were past this, I thought things were different now.”

“They are different.” His curt responses caused your nostrils to flare, your jaw tightening with every word.

“Because I made them different?”

“Your words, not mine.” You groaned, feeling like a little girl before him. He looked like he were dealing with a petulant child, his gaze only adding more fuel to your anger.

“You are so..” you trailed off, not knowing where to start. Pigheaded, brainless, annoying, condescending.

Rhys’s mouth turned into a snarl. “Think any harder, why don’t you?”

“Oh, you’re such an asshole!” You cradled Atlas’s head closer to your chest, placing a hand over his ears. “You’re such a dick, Rhysand. You can’t stand that I have a life away from you and this court.”

“I tolerate it.”

Your jaw dropped as his words tried to take shape in your mind. “You tolerate it? What the fuck does that mean? I’m trying to open up to you about my life, Rhys. About my home. I’m trying to fix things.”

“Fix the things you broke? Why don’t you just go back to your new home, then, if Night is so inferior you have to cross courts for cock.”

You stilled, slowly turning towards your brother, head cocked. The tension had reached its boiling point but you weren’t shying away from it. “Is that all you think of me then? Someone who gave up her title, her name for love. That I did it all for a quick fuck?”

“Don’t act as if you gave it all up for him.”

“You forced me to!”

“I have never forced you to do anything you didn’t want to.” He rose to his feet, his hands slapping on his desk accenting his words. The air went cold at his words, the insinuation lingering.

“That’s rich, Rhysand. You spout off about choices, but really it’s always ‘option A: what Rhys wants’ or ‘option B: perilous death and despair’.”

“Maybe it’s because if I don’t guide you, you make stupid decisions.” His eyes flickered to Atlas, and your blood boiled beneath your skin. You took a step forward, jaw clenched as you snapped at him. 

“Are you insinuating that Atlas was a stupid decision?”

“I’d never insinuate what I can convey with words.”

Tears stung in your eyes, one landing on the tiny head in your arms. The room was too stifling, too suffocating. You had to go anywhere but here.

“Well, if insinuations are out the window, listen to me loud and clear: fuck. you. Fuck you, Rhys. Sorry I don’t fall into line with the path you planned out for me. Sorry for making my own choices. Sorry that the Mother made plans for me and didn’t ask for your input. And I am terribly sorry for Feyre because you are an asshole!” 

You couldn’t take it anymore. You winnowed into the void. If you heard Rhysand’s voice for one second longer, you’d say something horrible. Irredeemable. Anger simmered at his words, claws desperate to come out and stoop to his level. He never understood your choices, never tried. No matter how many times he had promised to listen, Rhys had never tried to fix the walls he had put up between the two of you. 

The world shifted as you thought about your home in Autumn, the brilliant leaves of the forests, the warm spices of the kitchen, your mate’s touch. A blur of colors passed and your throat tightened as shame washed over you. Eris was right - you shouldn’t have come. You needed more time. Rhys needed more time. You clutched Atlas tighter, taking comfort that you had him, at least. 

Mind hazy, you moved through the courts, the world flashing with sunshine, the rush of an ocean, and the patter of rain until your magic unraveled, and the two of you fell from the air onto your back into a wooded area. At the impact, Atlas sniffed and then whined as he rubbed his face against your shoulder.

You took in your surroundings, opening your eyes to the bright afternoon sun peeking through the trees. Your eyes darted the area, looking for any signs of life as you laid still. Atlas moved in your arms as you maneuvered the two of you, trying to sit up to lean against a tree for better sight. Once you were certain no one else was around, you pulled Atlas away from you, unwrapping him from his swaddle to assess him for any injuries. His wailing was piercing through the woods, a sure cry to any creatures that were here.

You shushed him as you checked him, content that his worst injury was being woken from a nap. His cries were lacerations on your heart, each tiny inhale causing so much distress. It nearly cracked you in half, deep breaths a half hearted attempt at self-soothing.

The land was unfamiliar, nothing about it gave you any information about where you could be. The two of you were surrounded by trees, none any species which were familiar. The green leaves blocked out most of the sun, occasional streaks of light passing through. This didn’t feel like any of the solar courts - did you winnow past the mountain? If you had, you would have landed in Winter, or if you veered off course in Summer. Maybe you overshot and ended up in Spring?

The two of you moved about the area, your feet crunching on dry leaves as you went. You hadn’t made it very far before stumbling over a large root, some how hidden beneath your skirts. You barely caught yourself, the jerking motion causing another round of screams to come from Atlas. His little face was so red from crying. You looked back to the spot you had landed, hoping to sit back against that tree once more, but the land behind you wasn’t what it had been. In its place was a swampy scape, several inches of water that would have made your trek impossible. You clutched Atlas tighter to your chest, tucking his head beneath your neck.

You swiveled your head around, breathing labored as you realized you were somewhere you haven’t been in centuries. Where the land was nonsensical and ever changing, where horror stories began and ended. The land above the mountain where atrocities occurred in the caverns and tunnels beneath it. 

The two of you were somewhere in The Middle. A land no court wanted for themselves, the tireless mazes too much for any fae to justify living in.

A land no one wanted to be lost in.

-

Pumpkin wandered into Eris’ room, the small pup clearly lost without Atlas to follow around. Eris ignored the whimpering from the hound, the beast having grown incredibly close to his son in a short span of time. It was sweet the way the hound trailed behind him when he was carrying Atlas, shushing and singing him to sleep. Eris was especially happy to see Pumpkin and Clover standing on high alert whenever Atlas was being fed. It soothed some part of him to know even in moments he had to step away from, his family was well guarded, even if just from his brothers.

Eris reviewed his notes, annoyance simmering beneath his skin at the distance between him and his family. He’d never deny you anything, but if you had had any doubts about spending a night without him, he wouldn’t complain about your presence in Autumn for one more night.

Pumpkin whined once more, Eris’s pen dropping at the sound. His chest felt hot with anger, something he’s unsurprised by. Any visit with Rhys often left the two of you fighting, your anger flaring through his veins as you fought. Your own feelings were compounding his own, utter annoyance at the meeting that kept him away from his mate. 

Eris felt a sharp tug in his chest, nearly pulling him from his seat. Everything inside of him was pinging, his chest felt heavy with fear and uncertainty. What was happening over there? He waited a moment, trying to parse out each emotion. The anger in his chest subsided, every instinct inside of him urging him to go. He abandoned his notes, watching the brown hues of his study swirl and churn into black and blues.

-

Feyre looked about the office, confusion crossing her blue gray eyes as she didn’t find who she was looking for. “Rhys, where’s your sister?” Feyre’s voice echoed across the room as Rhysand took another sip from his glass of whiskey, slumped in his chair.

“Autumn.”

Feyre looked around, as if he were lying, covering up her hiding somewhere in the room to surprise her. “What do you mean she’s in Autumn? She was supposed to stay here for a week so we could spend time with her and Atlas.” Rhys shrugged, his eyes unable to meet Feyre’s, “she left.”

Feyre’s eyes were skeptical, certain that her mate was leaving pieces out. Things had been tense, but surely it didn’t take her mate three hours to scare off his sister?

“Did Eris take her back? Change his mind about his mate being here?”

Rhys gritted his teeth at his brother in law’s name, sinking into his chair slightly, “no.”

Feyre ticked her jaw, determination flooding her to understand her mate’s standoffishness. “Was she upset by our accommodations?”

“No.”

“Did Cassian annoy her into leaving?”

“No.” It came out as a growl, causing Feyre’s eyebrows to raise. “Just cut to the chase, Feyre. Ask what you really want to know.”

“What did you do?”

He sucked in a breath, as if the question were shocking. “Words were exchanged.”

That was all Rhys was able to get out before the doors to the room burst open, the wood hitting the walls as all of the heat was sucked out of the room, everything going cold as the High Lord of the Autumn Court stormed in, his rage palpable. Cassian trailed behind him, trying and failing to hold him back, unable to stop his path.

The redhead looked around the room before he stalked over to Rhys, grabbing the collar of his tunic before his hand connected directly with his eye, spitting out, “where is my mate?”

Rhys wrapped his hands around Eris’ wrists, trying to get him to stop. Cassian’s hands wrapped around Eris’ biceps before quickly pulling them away, his hands smoldering.

“Stay back, pigeon, if I find out you had a hand in this I’ll burn more than just your hands.”

Eris was a blazing storm inside of the house - his flames were erupting over the surface, turning the room red with heat. Dark tendrils of shadow coated the flames, attempting to extinguish them. The flames burned a bright blue in response, whirling around the tendrils, burning them up.

“Did my sister come to her senses and leave you? Ran off with one of your more capable brothers?” Rhysand’s smirk dropped as Eris hauled him from the chair, pressing his back to the wall. Eris’ long fingers dug into the lapel of Rhys’ dark coat, the fabric singing as the redhead pressed him into the wall. 

“Watch your tongue, Rhysand. It would be a remarkable mount on my wall.”

The two males snarled at each other, Rhys moving his leg out to get Eris off balance. He faltered just enough for Rhys to get momentum, swinging his fist into Eris’s face.

Feyre and Cassian were scrambling as the two continued their brawl, both High Lords successfully bruising the other.

“Where is she, Rhys? Have you locked her away in a tower, thinking I wouldn’t notice?”

Rhys pushed Eris off of him, hands moving to straighten his jacket to find his lapels singed off. 

“Perhaps you need to hone your abilities at hide and seek before Atlas is older.” Rhysand’s nonchalance caused Eris’s anger to burn brighter, certain the day was going to end with the Night Court in ashes.

“Why can’t I find my fucking mate but I can feel her desperation and fear in my chest?” Eris’s words clanged through the room, everyone stopping to take in his words. Feyre moved closer to him, her voice soft. “What do you mean, Eris?”

“I mean,” he snarled in Rhys’s direction, “something's very wrong. She has never felt like this in my chest before. Not even during labor. She’s panicking, I have never- never felt this from her before.”

Feyre turned to Rhys, her eyes wild with concern. Eris was quick to interject, his voice echoing through the room. “No, don’t do this. Don’t be communicating where I can’t hear it. This is about my mate, I deserve to hear it.”

“You don’t deserve-” Feyre’s arm on Rhys’s bicep stops him. “Rhys, where is she? Where’s Atlas?”

The High Lord of the Night Court’s chest was heaving with each breath, certain a rib or two was broken. “They went back to Autumn.”

“They haven’t arrived in Autumn.”

Rhys went pale, concern taking over his features. “They must be. They winnowed away ages ago - did she go straight to bed?”

The words fueled his rage once more, his voice on the edge of despair. “She is nowhere in Autumn.”

-

Trudging through the forest, you weren’t certain which way you were headed. You tried to feel for that bond with Eris in your chest, trying to pull it taut to receive some direction but whatever cord it created merely tugged you in over a dozen directions, the strength of each pull ebbing and flowing with your breath. You felt Eris’ concern grow as you stood, looking in all directions.

The trees were too tall for you to see the sun - it would give you some indication of which direction to head. Autumn laid in the southeast of The Middle, but navigating through its woods would still be impossible even with the sun’s guidance.

You cursed your hothead, annoyed you couldn’t just run out of Rhys’s study and go hide in your room until Eris came back. Surely you could have tried to mend things with Rhys, not just going on the defensive?

You spun in a circle, nearly tripping over more roots before deciding to just pick a direction and go. Atlas remained calm in your arms, what little power you have going to soothe him. Your breaths were slow and deliberate, trying to keep yourself calm. It was working enough to soothe Atlas and to keep a level head, and that was all that mattered.

You would need a source of water soon. It felt like you were moving on a downward slope, keeping your eyes peeled for any creeks or streams nearby. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck, sticking to the hair that covered it. It was oppressively muggy, the air feeling heavy with humidity. 

Time was hard to track in the Middle, every moment stretching endlessly as you continued to walk a path that seemed to never change. Each tree looked the same as the last, no distinguishing characteristics to help you track any sort of progress. 

Perhaps you were stuck in an endless loop, circling the same bit of land over and over until you collapsed from exhaustion.

“Running from something?”

A high pitched voice caused you to stop mid stride. A sinister tilt to the question that caused you to secure Atlas to your chest before your feet went flying without turning to look at the source.

-

Eris paced across their floor, a thin layer of fire coating his skin and clothes, a small trail of flames followed his path on the floor. 

“I would prefer if you didn’t leave scorch marks on my floor.” Rhysand’s voice was buzzing in Eris’s ears, much like the annoying pests of Summer.

“And I would prefer my mate to have a better family, preferably one who doesn’t allow her to leave unattended so soon after giving birth.”

Eris was itching to unleash his anger, desperate for some fight to break out to let out a fraction of the rage that had nestled in his gut.

“My sister’s been strong-willed since she was born, anything she gets her mind on she does.” Rhys strode closer to Eris, looking down at the new High Lord. It hadn’t even been two full years since the magic had chosen him. The newfound power that thrummed within him was an adjustment, but he had quickly taken the reins of it. Now he felt like nothing more than a vessel for the well of magic inside him, set to erupt any moment.

“And yet, she’s not foolish enough to believe she could winnow across Prythian unless she felt she had no other option.”

“What are you insinuating, Eris?”

“I’m not insinuating anything, Rhysand. I’m speaking directly. I apologize if my language is too complex for your pigeon brain to understand.” Something in Eris snapped before he pushed Rhysand up against the wall, his head thumping against the wall as flames licked around Rhys’s skin, not burning, but restricting. “My mate felt so unsafe she took our babe and her chances of going anywhere but here.” 

Every other word was enunciated with Eris shoving him into the wall, “and now you better pray to the Mother we find them both unharmed or your mate will rule this court alone.”

Rhys snarled at the threat, a rebuttal dying on his tongue as someone pulled Eris off of him, shoving him into a chair. Eris’ snarl died as he met the eyes of the eldest Archeron, the only person in this court he truly tolerated. 

“Killing Rhysand can wait. Unfortunately, he may be helpful in finding her.” Nesta’s voice was a pleasant surprise for Rhys, probably for the first and last time. He took in a deep breath, the flames gone from his neck, before he straightened his jacket, moving toward the maps Azriel and Cassian had been looking over. The two Illyrians had been having a discussion of their own while Eris and Rhys fought, both too caught up in plotting to pay mind to the High Lords. Cassian’s thick fingers trailed a path from Velaris to where they knew the Forest House was located. 

“Eris would know the second she stepped foot in Autumn, Rhys would know if she were in Night.”

Azriel stood rigid, his wings tucked in tight behind him. A formidable strategist determining the right course of action. “She could be anywhere in Day, Dawn, or Winter.”

“Or in The Middle.” Just the name gave Nesta chills, the phantom feel of the Kelpie around her. She swallowed harshly, the action feeling more restricting than it should.

“Lucien’s in Day, I could fill him and Helion in there while Azriel goes to talk to Thesan. Mor can go to Winter. Rhys, Cassian, Nesta, and Eris can look around the Middle. Elain, you stay here, take care of Nyx. If she comes back, let the twins know and they’ll contact us.” Feyre looked around, wanting to see how everyone felt about the plan. Everyone was on edge, this relief team more likely to implode on itself than succeed. 

This was a tragedy and everyone had a finger they wanted to use to pinpoint the source. 

-

Trees were a blur, hitting the ground in swift footfalls, every breath not big enough. There was no cleared path to take, the brush and bramble catching on ankles. Blood dropped from the nicks and cuts of thorns, but the urgency to run never stopped.

Atlas continued crying, soft wails coming from him as you pulled him closer to your chest, trying to quiet his pain.

There was no way to know where you were going, paths changing as you moved down them, but you continued forward, deciding it was your best option. You knew whoever found you was still following you, their breathing so loud it felt like they were right behind you.

Sudden sharp, shooting pain caused you to fall, your ankle caught on something as you fell forward. Quick thinking had you turn on your side, taking the brunt of the fall, except some thorny vines sliced through the swaddle, cutting Atlas’s arm.

Brows cinched together, the pain from your foot almost unbearable. Eyes were pinched closed, not wanting to see what had caught your foot. Whatever it was was still there - and was crushing your leg too. It took everything not to wail out in pain, matching Atlas’s cries. You breathed in through your nose, lifting up your skirt enough to see the metal bear trap that had clamped shut around your left leg, blood rushing out in spurts.

The sight caused bile to catch in your throat, quickly moving your head to the side to expel it.

Trying to sit up and assess the situation was no longer an option when the hunter appeared, her strong hands wrapping around the trap and tugging your body toward her. A scream ripped from your throat as blood gushed out of the wound, hot pain causing your vision to darken with each tug of the chain. Atlas was wailing, the protective arms of his mother insecure for the first time. His grip loosened on the duck blanket he carried, the yellow fabric turning brown with mud.

-

The Inner Circle and Eris were divided into teams, each taking on their own travels. Once everything was agreed upon, Eris was the first to winnow away, grabbing Nesta by the arm to take with him. She struggled in his grip as the world blurred around them, the smell of the unforgiving forest burning Nesta’s nose. Eris held tight against her as the familiar smell of burnt umber filled his nose, the two reappearing in his study. 

Nesta searched the room, never having set foot in the Autumn Court, much less the Forest House Eris resided in. She looked at the papers scattered across Eris’s desk, eyes quickly scanning for anything of interest. A quick, high whistle startled her, bristling in his grip before a large hound came barreling through the door. A second, longer whistle came before the beautiful, sleek hound stopped before Eris.

He wrapped his hand around the hound’s collar before winnowing the three of them once more. Nesta’s head spun as the ground slipped from beneath her feet once more, the back to back winnowing causing her to stagger once they landed in a forested outcrop.

Eris quickly let go of her, his ears and nose twitching for anything he could pick out. Satisfied the area was secure enough, he gave the command to Clover, telling her to fan out. He was certain she knew Atlas and his mate by name, but nonetheless he provided a discarded shirt to her. She took large inhales, memorizing the scent before she ran off, her nose to the ground. She weaved between trees, dodging above ground roots with practiced ease. 

Eris didn’t wait before taking off in a brisk pace after Clover, boots stomping through the muddied ground, his boot prints replacing paw prints in the soil. Nesta tried to keep up, her form trailing behind Eris as they moved through the landscape. 

The Middle was unlike anywhere else in Prythian. It was what Nesta expected faelands to be when she was a mortal girl. Roots snarled over barely forged paths, an attempt to trip up any travelers. The landscape was hazy, almost dreamlike. There was an idea of what you were looking at, but the longer you looked, the more confusing it became. Hairs stood on end, a perpetual feeling of being watched followed travelers as they moved across paths.

Paths were nonsensical - rivers flowed up the mountain, ending wherever they wished rather than venturing out to the sea. Nesta’s limited experience here before was enough to know she did not care for the creatures that lurked here.

Nesta’s eyes were sharp, looking in every direction, desperate to pinpoint and remove the feeling of being watched. Eris trudged ahead, uncaring of Nesta’s plight behind him. He made no attempt at stealth - whatever they would find out here, Eris wanted the beast to know he was on the move. A bark up ahead quickened Eris’s pace, a catch in his throat at what his furry companion may have found.

The barking continued until Eris reached a break in the trees, finding Clover sat on her haunches. Tears sprang at his eyes at Clover’s discovery, crouching down to investigate further. He knew what it was, even covered in dirt and mud. He had handled the thing just hours prior.

Nesta caught up to the pair, pressing her hand to a tree, trying to catch her breath. Eris was hunched over something while Clover whined softly next to him, sitting perfectly still. His arm reached out, pulling something from the mud. He motioned Nesta over, pulling her water skein from her before pouring some out onto the muddied thing. The clear water ran brown, the dirt clinging to the object before running off it. Eris’s fingers rubbed at the spherical shape to reveal yellow fabric. He poured more water, draining the entire skein, to find a tiny yellow blanket with the face of a duck sewn onto it. 

-

Darkness swam at the edge of your vision, everything feeling so bright as you were dragged through the dirt. Your fingers pressed hard into Atlas’s blanket, a firm grip desperate to keep him as close as possible. His cries were causing pain to swell in your breasts, your body not knowing the difference between his hunger and his concern.

Your body ached, the pain ricocheting through every crevice. You grit your teeth, not wanting to give the female any satisfaction. 

There were rumors of fae who roamed The Middle. They were an interesting subspecies of fae - their movements were said to be jerky and strange, their bodies having adapted to the constant change of their homelands.

There was no known record of how many there were or anything about them. They were urban legend during Amarantha’s reign, thought to lurk the woods to drag anyone who fled her captivity back to the Evil Queen herself.

Rumor turned into a nightmare as she grabbed you by the bear trap, your cry of pain echoing through the trees, certain the blades were going to cut through the bone. A gutteral scream left you as she pulled you up by the ankle, shoving you into what seemed to be the back of the wagon. Somehow you still managed a tight grip on Atlas, his wails blocking out all sound. The wretched creature pushed the two of you up, your ankle catching on something too dark to see as she pushed you further in. It smelled awful, the stench of urine and vomit coating your nostrils.

Her rough, barklike hand let go, the pain subsiding enough to look around. You felt woozy from the blood loss, certain you were going mad when you heard barking somewhere in the distance. There wasn’t much in the back of the wagon - a wooden floor covered in various dark, unidentifiable stains. 

Your thoughts whirled with self-deprecation, this whole situation being preventable if you had just stopped and waited.

Patience was a virtue you certainly had not acquired.

It was getting harder to stay awake, the pain overbearing. Sweat made your clothes cling to you, nearly chafing from the dryness. The last thing you thought of before drifting off was that the barking sounded like home. It sounded like warm pumpkin bread and cold nights spent by the fire.

-

The wet blanket squished between his fingers, water evaporating off the surface as he boiled with anger. The air around him seemed to silence, waiting to know what the High Lord would do next.

“Clover, find.” His command was razor sharp, the smokehound racing off, her muzzle to the ground. Eris ended many of his days with Clover, the hound loose, the need to hunt satiated as she found whatever it was she had been looking for. The thrill of not knowing what the two would find.

It was the worst hunt of his life. The uncertainty of how it would end. Most hunts saw him thirst for blood, content at culling the populations of the prey animals around Autumn.

This hunt was nothing like that.

He waited for his trusted companion to return, not wanting his own scent to interfere. Clover was the most clever dog he had bred, but he wouldn’t leave anything up to chance now.

“Nesta!” The voice shouting for the Valkyrie wasn’t too far away, his deep, loud voice not causing Eris to look away from where Clover had descended to.

Nesta wasn’t surprised Cassian had found the pair - her mate had spent the entirety of her time in the Middle tugging and pulling at the cord connecting them. She could feel his concern through it, the concern deepening each time a sound spooked her. But Nesta kept him at an arm’s length. She knew that cold rage that still lingered inside her at Feyre’s near death.  

She knew exactly how Eris felt both now and about Rhysand in general. They both were members of the ‘resignedly having Rhysand as a brother in law’ club.

Nesta responded by pulling the bond, tugging Cassian in their direction. She could hear branches breaking and curses shouted before the two Illyrians made their way through the trees. They were both covered in dirt and sweat, the dried mud nearly up to their necks. Nesta couldn’t help the small smirk that formed at seeing Rhysand’s appearance so unpolished.

“Nes-” she quickly cut Cassian off, holding a finger up to him before turning back to Eris. He stood still, lingering on the path his hound had taken away from them. Rhysand observed him too, and Nesta was certain some barb laid on his tongue. Before he could, she brought the two up to speed about the blanket in a hushed tone. As she was finishing, a high pitched bark echoed through the wood. Eris took off in a sprint, the three quickly chasing off after him. They ran several miles, barely keeping up with Eris’s pursuit.

Eris met Clover’s barking, the hound circling a wagon, keeping the owner from getting into the front. The hair on the hound’s spine was raised, her teeth bared as she snarled and snapped at the fae. The horses attached to the wagon were startled by the hound, causing their own commotion. The pauses after their whinnying should have been silent, the space between brays a reprieve. Instead it was filled with the sound of a wailing baby. 

Clover’s teeth clacked at the stocky female, sinking into the fabric of her pants and letting go before she was swatted. The hound had repeated this over and over again, not having received a command to go in for the kill. This hadn’t kept the hound from drawing blood as she nipped, her own territorial act over his master’s family. Blood was dripping from the female’s leg, thick, green liquid falling in puddles on the ground. 

The other three fae weren’t far behind Eris, quickly approaching the scene not a moment after him. Cassian moved toward the wagon while the others approached the female Clover was on the verge of mauling. 

Rhysand flicked his wrist, the reins restraining the horses disappearing, the pair running off. Their hoofbeats got quieter as the fae were surrounded on all sides. She looked between the four sets of eyes, certain the dog was her best bet. The most unlikely of allies banded together as a pack offering no escape.

Cassian climbed into the wagon, his weight shaking the cart. The bounty hunter flicked her forked tongue out, her hand reaching for something on her belt. A shadow lashed out, wrapping around her forearm, causing her to let go of her belt. She shrieked in pain as the shadow twisted her arm behind her back.

The clearing was dark, the only sound came from the bounty hunter’s mouth, cries of pain swallowed them as arm cracked and bent in every direction. The wind caught beneath the bounty hunter’s legs, forcing her to her knees.

“Cassian?” It was perhaps the only time Eris had referred to the general by name. His tone was stern, a voice he had used for centuries as a general himself. But something desperate creeped at the edge of his voice, a reality he didn’t want to consider.

The one where he was too late. That this was the wrong wagon. That his mate was somewhere else and this was a waste of time.

Cassian’s silence forced Eris to move, his feet jumping off the ground without him telling them to. He lunged forward, catching the fae offguard as he landed on her. 

Eris laid on top of the bounty hunter, her long sharp nails scratching at him. One of her arms was still behind her, but she was determined. He didn’t register the fabric she ripped through, uncaring at the scratches on his arms. 

“Cassian, are they alive?” His question was accented with the sharp thud her head made as it hit the ground. She was snarling up at him, her lifeless eyes dark as she peered up at the High Lord.

“Have enough coin for the pair?” 

Eris’ fangs grew longer, the High Lord’s second form desperate to come out. His fingers quickly changed to talons, the nails biting through the fae’s skin, causing her to cry out. She began thrashing once more, Eris’ weight pinning her down. He was snarling, practically spitting as he couldn’t contain the rage boiling inside of him. He heard shuffling behind him, Nesta or Rhysand moving to help Cassian.

“They’re breathing!” He wasn’t sure who yelled it, the sounds blurring together. It sounded like Cassian, but all his mind could make out was they were alive. Alive, alive, alive. It was enough to tide him over for now.

“Take them to the Forest House, my healers are on standby.” He didn’t know if they responded, if they even looked his way, if they tried to argue. That thrumming need inside of him to protect his mate felt satiated enough knowing Nesta or Cassian was with her, that they were en route to Autumn. He wanted to be there, wanted to hold the loves of his life as they went back home. He was desperate to know how they were, to listen to the beating of their hearts.

His gaze narrowed back on the creature beneath him, her brown skin turning red beneath him. His heart was miles away, but it would eat him alive to see a fae with such audacity not receive their comeuppance. 

“And what was the price on her head? How much was she worth to you?” His tone was ice, his question not a rhetorical one. He wanted to know how much this lowlife wanted for the two most precious things in his life. His wonderful mate, his equal in every way. Atlas, his darling boy. To consider them nothing more than traded goods made his stomach churn.

The bounty hunter couldn’t answer, her throat drying and desperate for water with every breath. The air was unbearable hot, but she managed to whisper out, “five thousand gold marks.” Once the words escaped her lips, the hard metal of coins pelted her face. She winced from the pain. Eris ignored the resounding crack in the air, metal meeting bone.

“Here, take it all.”

He poured more coins onto her, winnowing them from somewhere. He could barely think straight, every fiber of his being thrumming with revenge and anger. 

A life for a life, an eye for an eye.

But really, what is the life of a trafficker? 

Every breath was difficult, her lungs ached with heat. Fire caught around the pair, the flames staying low to the ground. Eris still sat atop her, unmoved by the flames circling their bodies, slowly making their way closer to the tree like fae.

“Take them back.” Eris’s command was directed to the group behind him, if they were still even there. He had no idea - his world had become so small. It was just him and this fae now. “Take them back to Autumn. Now.”

Her tongue dissolved to ash in her mouth, unable to speak. The High Lord grabbed more coins, shoving them into her mouth. The gold coins began losing form in her mouth, a river of melted gold pouring down her throat. It burned as it moved through her body, all of her organs alight with heat and fire.

Eris watched as her eyes dried out, as she tried to scream but was unable to. He watched as she thrashed beneath him, begging for mercy as if he were a kind and just god. Eris didn’t believe in the old gods, but if he did, he knew they would approve. He watched for several moments before her body slowly began turning to ash, carried away in the wind.

He didn’t linger long after the remnants of her floated away, not even looking back before winnowing back to Autumn, rematerializing to find the Forest House in chaos. Servants moved quickly through the halls, hurried footsteps as they carried linens and rags toward the team of healers he could hear yelling down the hallway.

“Call off your guards.” The first words to greet him were from his brother in law. It was a voice he could never get used to, the smoothness grating.

Eris’s mate and Rhysand looked strikingly similar - same violet eyes, same feline-like face. But Rhysand didn’t look right in the Forest House. He didn’t carry with him the warmth that made his mate look so at home here, as if the entire court had been made in preparation for her. 

Rhysand seemed so out of place in his sister’s home. The once close siblings’ stark differences could not be ignored.

Eris waved his hand noncommittally, the guards lowering their swords from Cassian’s and Rhysand’s necks. 

“They let me bring her in before threatening me, at least.” Cassian’s joke doesn’t land, the silence bouncing through the hall before Eris moved forward, his path straight to his bedchambers. It was a guess - the correct one - as to where they’d put you to look over you. He stormed into the room, a fierce blaze on the wind as he moved inside. You had been placed on the bed, the healers circling you tending to every inch of you. 

The bond shook with anger, that golden string practically vibrating with urgency at the mangled mess that had been your ankle. 

Nesta was standing off to the side, holding Atlas as he cried. 

“I didn’t want to leave her alone. I haven’t taken my eyes off her this whole time.”

It felt like the cord around his heart had divided into two - one path to the bed, his bloodied mate, the other to Nesta and the tiny bundle that laid in her arms.

He knew which you’d prefer for him to go to. You had an army of healers around you as you laid unconscious, but all Atlas had was Nesta.

“Give him to me.” The tone of the High Lord. Nesta slipped the small babe into Eris’s arms, “they looked him over. He has a scratch on his arm, but otherwise fine.”

The worst feeling his son had experienced up until now had been the harshness of birth. The sensory overload of the world - how loud and bright it was after being evicted from his dark and cozy home. He had not known physical pain, had never been exposed to it. Every fae held him with such tenderness, it was impossible for Eris to rectify that his son, barely a month old, knew the atrocities of fae.

“Someone will check my son every half hour, ensuring he is in good health.” None of the healers answered, but Eris had known them long enough to know they heard him. He took a breath, holding the bundle tight to his chest. Atlas’s cries slowed, softening as he felt the familiar comforts of home.

Amidst all the chaos of the room, it seemed almost like they were alone. Eris’s ears twitched, listening intently to his son’s breathing.

A commotion was heard through the door, but Eris ignored it, opting to let himself feel the comfort of his son.

Shouting could now be heard, breaking the stillness he had artificially created. 

Eris wretched open the door, searching for the source of the yelling, only to find Cassian and Rhysand fighting with the guards at the door.

His jaw tightened, his mate’s family a permanent fixture beneath his skin.

“What are you doing?” Everyone stilled at his words, the hall clearing of commotion.

“Never mind. I do not care. You have done enough. Her family,” Eris nodded towards Nesta and Cassian, “are allowed to stay. You,” he pokes a finger into Rhys’s chest, the tip singeing his shirt, making the black shirt slowly turn ashen, “are not welcome here until she says so.”

The two males continued staring each other down. Eris didn’t blink as he addressed the crowd, “if any of your thoughts align with your High Lord’s words from earlier, I suggest you leave now before I have to disgrace myself with the sight of you once more. Otherwise we have accommodations you may stay in.”

The redhead went back inside to his mate, shutting the door on Rhysand. Eris slumped back in the chair he had pulled up next to the bed, uncertain what to do with himself. Small flames erupted from the hand not holding Atlas as he flexed his fingers, trying and failing to burn off some of his anger. It was all consuming - the death of the fae responsible doing little to quench the adrenaline pumping through him. 

Eris couldn’t stop the biting words coming from him, couldn’t stop the waves of anger coming off of him as the healers worked around him. Your hand stayed still in his, his grip firm as he let loose words he didn’t truly mean.

-

“Why are you out here?”

“I want to be in there, but that Night Court healer kicked me out.” The anger had lessened the longer Eris had sat in the hallway, his mind clear of the chaos anger brings to the forefront. 

Lucien raised an eyebrow, “you take commands from old bitties now?”

“I do when they tell me to come back when I won’t set the curtains on fire.” Lucien looked down at his eldest brother. A fixture in his life, someone so tall in his memories, now looking so inconceivably small as he sat on the floor. He was the High Lord of the Autumn Court, but at this moment he was nothing more than a concerned mate. “And now I feel no better than a kicked hound.”

“You’ve never been one to let being kicked keep you down.”

“I wasn’t the one who got kicked.” Eris’s words were cracked as they came out, finally verbalizing the guilt that had been gnawing at him for hours by this point. It wasn’t very freeing, but it felt surprisingly good to share the feeling with Lucien.

“I wasn’t there-” Lucien was quick to cut him off. The love of your life in danger indirectly because of you was one few understood. “And if you were, this would never have happened.”

Eris stayed quiet, a sight so unfamiliar to Lucien. He looked to the door, surprised at Eris’s lack of desire to have the last word.

“Where is Atlas?” 

“The Archerons are watching over him. Your mate arrived just before I was removed from my own bedchambers.” Lucien was certain it wouldn’t take much to procur that story from Elain. His smile was hard to contain imagining the healers tossing him out.

“Do you trust them?”

“They are three rooms down in a windowless, winnowless room.”

“So you trust the viper?” The fact Eris allowed them to take Atlas away from him was proof enough for Eris’s feelings about the pair. He didn’t want to mention how he wasn’t even trusted alone with Atlas yet.

“I suppose I do.”

A pregnant pause settled between the two, their gazes coming together to look at the door. They sat in silence for a while, neither looking from the door, their minds stuck on the possibilities that laid behind it. Eris tugged at the bond in his chest, desperate to feel his mate on the other side of it. He kept his face neutral at the silence that followed.

“It will likely be a while before she wakes.” A hard truth even harder to verbalize.

“I did not come here for her.”

Lucien’s voice came out strained and soft, so unlike his usual confidence. It betrayed his worries - his concern for not only his friend and new sister, but for the brother next to him. Eris was cruel, playing the part Beron had wanted for so long it was difficult for him to untangle every memory for the truth behind it. 

Lucien knew Jesminda wasn’t his mate, but the grief that nearly consumed him whole was real. He hated Eris for playing the part of dutiful son, but he had played the part of rebellious son. Were the roles they played assigned or did they have some choice in them? The rebellious son returned home to the legacy the prodigal son had dismantled.

“I mean, I did come for her. I want her to be alright.” Lucien leaned against the wall before sliding down it, sitting next to Eris, facing the door his brother’s mate lay behind. 

His unsaid words hung in the air and, shocking both of them, Eris reached out a hand, desperate for some familiar touch. Lucien took it with little hesitation, squeezing softly. Gods, he couldn’t remember the last time he just sat in his brother’s company like this or the last time he had touched Eris.

Despite the circumstances, it felt easy.

The two sat in silence for a while, the air heavy and stifling with uncertainty. 

“Lucien, I..”

Eris trailed off, not sure if the language existed to convey how much fear lingered in his chest. He felt your pain bouncing inside of him like a dull ache, but he couldn’t feel you any longer. He couldn’t take a moment to linger in the part of his chest that was normally bursting with everything you. He didn’t hear any music, the silence almost deafening. Lucien squeezed his hand again, “I know.”

“No you don’t.”

Lucien shrugged, his long hair swishing with the movement. “I don’t know.” He brushed some of his hair off his shoulder, “but I know you look like shit.”

Eris didn’t need to look down at himself to know that his brother was right - he hadn’t bathed since they all went off looking for you, certain there was debris and blood all over his clothes and hair. The sweat soaked shirt clung to his chest, his skin itchy from the contact. The larger of the two made a big show of sniffing the air, crinkling his nose in disgust. “Smell like it, too. But that’s nothing new.”

Eris growled, unable to ignore his brother’s taunts. “At  least I am not a smartass.”

“Ah,” Lucien tutted, a smug look on his face, “now we both know that is a lie. Autumn’s High Lord, starting your new tenure off on mistruths. What a look.”

Lucien’s feline smirk lessened a bit as he looked at his brother with something bordering on fondness. “I will take up the hallway guard if you go bathe. Really, you want your mate to smell you like this? If she doesn’t leave after that, I will be certain you’ve poisoned her mind somehow.”

“I am certain that would be the worst of my crimes.”

“I would believe so, forcing the mother of my babe to believe she was in love with you.”

Eris hissed in response, his knees popping as he stood up. Lucien ignored his brother, his barbs continuing.

“To think the mother of my child could be in love with an old, decrepit thing like you. Witchcraft, I say.”

“You’re not going to be speaking for long if you keep this up.”

“He does look rather like me, don’t you think?” Lucien grinned, something big and wolfish. The look only a little brother could have at getting beneath his brother’s skin.

“And why is your son so pale?”

Lucien shrugged, unbothered by Eris’s irritation. “Ran out of pigment. Who am I to question the Mother?”

“Ran out of my pigment my ass,” Eris muttered, finally moving down the hall to some bathing chambers.

“Do all High Lords speak with such vulgarity or just you?” 

Eris responded by slamming the door, blocking out Lucien’s laughter. He didn’t linger long in the bath, the extra two hundred feet of distance felt like too much space between him and his family. He didn’t want to admit it, but Lucien was right - having the grime removed from his skin made him feel more capable of handling things. Fresh clothes made him feel more like himself.

His brother was still in the hallway when he returned, his head shaking slightly when he saw Eris walking in his direction. The healer must still be tending to you. He stopped at the door next to yours, turning the knob before walking in. The two older Archerons were in the room, his brother’s mate carrying Atlas in her arms. Eris’s son appeared to be in good health - so far each check proved the same, and despite the physician's groaning, he continued them. Elain seemed happy to carry Atlas around, her soft voice explaining to him the recent travels she and Lucien had gone on. 

“Tulips of every color covered the fields. I’m sure one day Lucien and I can take you to see them.” Her vivid descriptions of the continent wasted on the babe’s ears. Nesta’s gray eyes looked toward the door, watching as Eris entered. 

“Elain, the High Lord’s going to have you killed for speaking of kidnapping his son.” He couldn’t help the slight tilt to his mouth, some deep part of him appreciating Nesta’s attempt at normalcy.

“Nonsense, Nesta. If I had Elain killed, Lucien would mope about the house for the rest of his life.” His hands reached out, gently taking Atlas from Elain’s hold. “You keep him entertained for me. I owe you a great debt for it.”

The middle Archeron never knew how to respond to Eris, having only truly interacted with him a handful of times up to this point. She swallowed, thinking of all the stories Lucien had told her about his eldest brother and how language was his preferred method of battle.

“Perhaps you could entertain him with the dog toys?”

Eris tilted his head, his thumb stroking down his son’s back as he bit back a laugh. He knew any Cauldron fated mate of Lucien’s and sister to Nesta was surely somebody of interest to him, but Elain had yet to show anything Eris found to be interesting - until now.

“Did you just make a joke?”

“Yes.”

Eris nodded, wondering if he had underestimated his brother’s mate. The weight of the day had exhausted him, his bones begging for respite. Now that Atlas was in his arms once more, the tiny bundle so warm, his mind drifted to his bed where his mate currently laid. Your fate was still questionable - the healers were certain a full recovery was the most likely outcome, but when had the most likely outcome ever happened with Eris? Had he forged a life for himself only for it to be ripped away from him - the mother wanting him to know what happiness could be so he could feel its absence?

The air held a hint of awkwardness as they all stared at each other, Eris doing nothing to improve the warmth of the room. The two sisters filed out quickly, their voices directed toward Lucien as they left. The click of the door behind them was a beautiful symphony to Eris’s ears. To be alone with his son at last. It had only been twelve hours, but it was more like weeks had passed since he had seen Atlas’s small face, kissing his forehead goodbye. Nothing had felt off - no sense of anxiety overcame him, no fear for his family. Just annoyance and sadness at being away from them. 

Eris gently cradled Atlas’s head as he made his way up the mattress, propping himself up against the headboard, back cushioned by pillows. His son had been restless in his arms when he took him from Elain, his little arms and legs trying to disturb the perfectly swaddled blanket around him. 

The room had no windows and technically connected to his private chambers. When he was a boy, he had a full time nursemaid stay in here. Once he outgrew her, the space became his own private sanctuary. Many nights were spent hidden in this room, no concept of the passage of time as he poured over books, back curved in desperation to stay awake so he could finish it.

The shelves still lined the walls, but he had some of the furniture removed should his mate eventually want her own chambers. 

His muscles ached less the longer he stayed still, and he softly piled up pillows on each side of him. Atlas was stirring in his arms, tiny coos that were endearingly pathetic. He broached a long finger close to Atlas, tiny hands wrapping around it as he settled back down. If he could, he’d strip his shirt to allow his son to rest on his skin, but thought better of it. The jostling would wake him for good, and he’d be doubly upset to know he was on someone’s chest who wasn’t his mother.

The sound of deep breaths was all that could be heard in the room as Eris used his magic to put out the lit candles littering every surface. The darkness of the shadows made his eyes heavier, but he fought to stay awake, not wanting to let his guard down.

“My beautiful son.” Hushed words filled the room, the warmth of his voice almost visible in the darkness. Atlas didn’t acknowledge the words, content in his slumber and being with his father. His body felt warm in Eris’s arms, Vanserra babies always running hot. 

“I will always find you.” Outside the moon rose high in the air, the cold bringing a slight frost to Autumn. The midnight hour was one Eris made most of his best kept promises, all relating to the mate from the Night Court he found centuries ago. A tradition he unknowingly passed on to doing with his son. He was so pale, cheeks flaming pink. 

Atlas didn’t know his father was High Lord or general of Autumn’s armies for centuries. He had yet to experience the parts of himself that Eris wanted to keep hidden. Eris’s eyes closed slowly, lulled by his son’s breathing, content to know that for now, his son only knew him as a father.

-

Eris startled awake, something prodding at his arm. A groan escaped his lips, his brother’s scent filling his nose enough to rouse him from slumber. He must have slept off the adrenaline, his heart rate a more regular rhythm.

“She’s asking for you.”

“Why didn’t you wake me?” Eris scolded before he shot up, nearly jumping off the bed.

Lucien rolled his eyes, Eris’s annoyance growing further at the action. “You had been awake for days, Eris. You needed the rest. Don’t they say to sleep when the baby sleeps?”

Eris ignored his brother as he remembered his last moments before he fell asleep.

“Where’s Atlas?” 

“Cassian has him.” Eris shot his brother a glare.

“That’s not funny.” Lucien’s hand went up in defense. “Atlas is asleep on Cassian, and Elain and Feyre are with him if he wants any help.” 

“When did you move him?”

Lucien shrugged. “An hour ago, maybe? You didn’t want to let go of him.”

Lucien’s words were nonchalant, an air of not knowing to them. Why would Eris ever let his son out of his arms again? He had already been exposed to the horrors that lay outside his father’s arms - he wouldn’t let it happen again. He left Lucien in the room, the hallway much quieter now. So much had happened in the past few days, and yet the halls of the Forest House were unchanged. 

Eris stood outside the door, taking a deep breath and squaring his shoulders. Heat danced at his fingertips, a small attempt at having any control over the situation. 

Big, violet eyes looked back at him as he opened the door, something settling in his soul. His mate had a plethora of pillows behind her, each one working to prop her up to be sitting. Long black hair flowed around her, lacking its usual shine. The dark hair highlighted just how pale she looked, but life was slowly returning to her face. A blanket covered her lower half - for the best, perhaps. The tight lid he was holding on his rage was sure to give if he were to see her injuries.

“Hi, Er.” Your voice cracked with trepidation. 

“How is the pain?” You looked down at your bandaged ankle, not moving it to check if the pain was still there. The wound only stopped pulsing with pain recently. Though you had been mostly unconscious, flashes of light and intense pain lingered in your memory.

He continued standing in front of the closed door, keeping his back to it. His eyes were focused on your face, watching every slight movement.

“It’s not so bad with the tonics Madja provided. She said the trap got to the bone of my ankle, so I should limit putting weight on it for a week.”

Eris nodded, the healer telling him much of the same. He had been trying to work through solutions to keeping his stubborn wife bedbound, not quite above shackling her to prevent further injury. A bassinette already sat next to their bed - maybe he could have it moved to his side so he could pick Atlas up and bring him to her. 

Eris nodded, staying uncharacteristically quiet. His feelings were dulled in your chest, muffled by a blanket of privacy neither of you used before.

“Say it.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He continued staying by the door, his tone growing slightly sharper. He was being petty and spiteful and you were having none of it.

“Tell me how you feel. You have never hidden your anger from me.”

“That is because I have never felt such anger at you.” The room was cloaked with Eris’ words, not quite stifling the roar of the fire.  “I cannot lose you. Either of you.”

His words were soft, nearly a whisper, but the crackle of the fireplace gave hint to how deep the anger ran.

“I know.”

He kept speaking, not acknowledging your words.“You are far too precious to me. Please, don’t ever risk yourself to escape Rhysand.” His words surprised you, a new wave of guilt overcoming you. Your actions had been done out of anger, winnowing when you knew well enough you shouldn’t. 

Everything could have ended so differently. And for what? To get back at your brother?

“Look at me.”

Eris had moved closer to the bed, as if his confession were a bridge that led him to you. His fingers moved slowly, gripping your chin. “There were a hundred better options, including asking the other bats to fly you home. Do not be so foolish with your life. With Atlas.”

Home. How that word had changed over the centuries. It was the cabin in Illyria, your mother and brother and sister inside, occasionally housing Cassian and Azriel. It was being four years old and scraping your knee and Rhys doing everything to dry your tears and make you laugh. It was flying with Cassian, determined to finally beat him in a race, chastisement over how knotted and wind whipped your hair had become.

And then it was Eris. Late night rendezvous turning into a permanent fixture. It was eating meals at the large, expansive table with two chairs right next to each other. Hounds lazing about the house, one practically laid out in every room in the massive dog beds you had insisted on. Warm colors making everything so vibrant.

And now it was Atlas. Two chairs soon becoming three. Two toothbrushes that would become three. A bassinet beside the bed. Teaching him everything he needed to know, his own neck unable to support the weight of his head. 

Tears clouded your eyes at wholly dependent upon you he was and how you wholly failed him today.

“I was a fool. I- I could have gotten Atlas killed or taken. I am- I will never allow my anger to cloud my judgment when it comes to Atlas.”

“Or you.” It felt like a gentle caress through your chest, so many unspoken words in those two.

“Or myself.”

The words felt like a truce, like you had both arrived to some understanding. To further prove it, you gently patted the bed next to you, eager to feel more of your mate’s warmth. He climbed on the bed, sliding in next to you. 

It was his preferred side to sleep - the left side, facing the door. It allowed him to come and go more easily without waking you, to keep himself between what laid in the world outside the confines of your marital bed.

Anger bubbled back up in your gut, remembering the bounty hunter’s wretched face, the immense delight she had found in your agony.

“Is she?” 

“Dead? Yes.”

The confirmation did little to ease the panic inside. She had been so close to hurting Atlas, so close to selling him away. It was an anger you were certain you would carry until you died.

“My only regret is I didn’t do it myself.”

“Rest assured, my mate. I took care of it.”

You leaned into his side, your head resting in the crook of his neck. He laid above the blankets, his feet crossed at the ankle. He looked so prim and proper, it delighted you a bit.

“And Atlas?” His arm wrapped around you, his hand stroking your cheek lazily.

“He is safe with Lucien as we speak.”

“I don’t think anything’s safe with Lucien.”

His grip on your head was soft but firm, keeping you close to him. His thumb started moving on its own, his body so content to be next to yours once more.

“I thought-“

“I know.” And you had known. His panic was all you had felt before being rescued. It would have been easy to drown in it if it weren’t for the instinct to protect Atlas.

“But we are okay.”

But for how long?

“There’s a note on the side table.”

Eris had to change the subject, unwilling and unwanting to face his emotions head on. Your eyes moved to find Rhysand’s delicate penmanship on the fold of the paper, the letters of your name in grand, swooping movements of the pen.

“Can I see it?”

You could feasibly reach it, but your arms felt so heavy. Your body was still so tired, movement a burden to worn out muscles. He reached over you, careful not to lay his weight on you, keeping the paper folded as he handed it to you.

“You’re not going to peek at it?”

“It is your correspondence.”

You rubbed the paper through your fingers, not certain if you were ready to know its contents. You wanted to read this alone, not have Eris coloring your feelings.

“Can you bring Atlas in here? Madja said I can hold him.”

Eris nodded, slowly untangling himself before leaving. The click of the door prompted you to open the note, some small part of you wanting this to be between siblings. Hope had bloomed at the sight of the note - a ceasefire, maybe. Or maybe it would contain the tenderness Rhysand had so adamantly kept locked away the past few years.

Eris had been adamant his relationship with Lucien was his to navigate. He wanted Lucien to feel Eris deserved his company, not coming around because Lucien likes Eris’s mate.

And so this letter was yours. Rhysand was your brother. Any tenderness or ire or passive aggression from him is yours to decide what to do with.

-

The letter sat next to you, your mind lost in thought when Eris returned with the small bundle in his arms. Your chest lightened at the sight, the tight grip of anxiety around your heart lessening with every step Eris moved forward until your son was tucked back into your arms.

“And he’s okay?”

“Yes, he’s been looked over at least a dozen times by now. His worst injury is a scrape on his arm that has already healed.” 

You gazed down at the impossibly tiny thing in your arms, taking in the features of his smooth, pale face. He was beautiful and he was yours.

“I am sure the extent of his injuries is in no small part due to your quick thinking.”

“Eris-“

“You are littered in cuts and scrapes, bruises everywhere. Do not think I can’t be both angry and proud of you at once.”

You preened a bit at the compliment, your mate’s pride in you always making your heart swell. “And if I did risk injury to myself for him?”

“Then you’d be the female the Mother mated me to, the one I had sworn myself to so long ago.”

It was quiet, two pairs of eyes looking down at the young boy between them. He was so small, so unaware of the danger that had surrounded him for several hours. To him the afternoon was different and scary in a new way: utter exhaustion had left her unable to stop her emotions from spreading and he felt his mother’s fear bubble in his belly. 

“I haven’t seen such injuries on you in so long.” Centuries ago, the blonde male had dropped off the Night Court princess in Autumn, her beautiful wings haphazardly cut off. The outpour of blood seemed endless, Eris not knowing how you still had any left. He could still smell the blood and vomit, the scent had stuck to his walls for years to come. 

“It would be the greatest disservice for Atlas to not know his mother.” Eris couldn’t say more, couldn’t verbalize the fear that was easing off his chest. It would gut him to not have anyone to share Atlas growing up with. He would go on without you for Atlas, but he wouldn’t be the same. How much pain can one bare before it consumes you whole? 

The room was silent, the small family huddled together, enjoying their reunion. Warmth radiated around the room as two sets of eyes watched Atlas smile.

-

A soft knock at the door woke you from the sleep you had dozed off into. You were alone - Eris’s scent still lingered, likely having left not even ten minutes ago. You took a deep breath, feeling around in your chest for him. All that was found at the rope that tethered you to him was a sense of calm and pride. He was definitely with Atlas, hopefully eating a meal as he cradled his son to his chest. 

“Come in.” 

The door opened, your brother’s head popping in through the door. Rhysand looked so out of place here in Autumn. His violet eyes screamed ‘wrong’ as he stood out from the background. You had the same eyes as him, but they seemed wrong here.

He kept his head low as he walked in, varying degrees of guilt and shame pouring off of him. The magic inside of you was slow to return, but Rhysand’s emotions wouldn’t be a mystery without them.

“Hello.”

“How cordial of you.”

“Well, when in Autumn.” He shifted on his feet, taking your silence for confusion. “Historically Autumn is a much more proper court than Night.”

An awkward tang filled your mouth with each word. “I am aware.” 

The two of you looked at each other, the silence in the room settling over the siblings. So far from their younger selves, so many atrocities laid between them. An observer would think they were strangers from the odd tension in the room.

Speaking was the hardest either had done.

“I am sorry.” His words were slow and deliberate, emphasizing each syllable to truly show he meant it. His shoulders hunched slightly, Cassian’s words from an earlier conversation swirling through his head.

We’d expect that kind of treatment from your father.

“When was the last time you said that to me?” Rhys was never good at apologies - every one had been followed up with “but-“. It would have been more sincere for him to apologize for his actions hurting your feelings.

“Far too long.” 

Silence. You waited, wanting more from him. You were tired of fighting with him, a constant battle for choices already made, each party wanting to be the victor. It was exhausting and with a new babe, something had to give.

“Rhys, this is my life, whether you like it or not. I can’t- I’m not playing games with you anymore. I don’t care if you like Eris or not, but you have to believe I can make my own decisions. You have to trust me.” Your earlier words seemed to finally get through to your brother, his shoulders slumping in some form of concession. “I can’t keep doing this merry go round of things seeming to be better just to blow up again.”

“I do trust you.”

“Do you?” The question flew from your mouth without thinking. “I kept this a secret for a century, Rhys, because you reacted exactly how I expected you to. You don’t - you used to trust me, let me make my own choices, but since that night you haven’t.”

You were growing wearisome from this argument, the fight draining you of what little energy was left. You pointed to the water cup on the nightstand, Rhys picking it up and giving it to you. He hovered next to you, staying at your bedside.

“I am sorry that I made you feel like I don’t trust you.” The water helped ease the slight headache that was building, and gave you something to do while you took a moment to think on Rhysand’s words.

“Do you?”

“Of course I do.” His voice broke as he spoke, a desperation lacing his words. “But how can I trust anyone else to care for you? How could I live with myself if I let you be with him only for him to hurt you?”

“He’s a good male, Rhys.”

“I want you safe. I want what’s best for you.”

“And he is. If I told you Feyre was no good for you, what would you do?” He quickly looked away, proving you right. His hand tugged at his hair, an action he hardly ever did.

“I was scared. When Eris came in and you were missing, I was scared. Cassian had to talk me down from blowing up the entirety of the Middle.”

The truth finally came from him. Every discussion, every argument, all Rhys would talk about was his anger, the betrayal. He kept his emotions so tight to his chest, they were suffocating him. You kept quiet, letting him continue.

“I was scared that it finally was happening. That another court was finally going to finish what Spring had started. I thought Eris had done this somehow, wanting us to discover his deeds. Wanting to basque in the glory of getting the upper hand over me.” He breathed in deeply through his nose, his hands shaking as he brought them to his face. Unshed tears lined his violet eyes, the depths of sadness keeping your gaze. “But it was me who led you to danger. It was me who couldn't keep you safe.”

A sob tore through him, the sound of the last wall between the two of you collapsing. You moved over on the bed, allowing space for Rhys before patting the bed. He stood before sitting on the edge of the bed, toeing off his shoes, and laying next to you. You leaned your head on his shoulder as he draped his arms around you, clinging tight. 

He clung to you as he sobbed into your shoulder, your own tears falling on top of his head. How had things become so twisted? How had your relationship crumpled this much? 

The High Lord’s embrace allowed the emotions of the day to crash into you, clutching his shirt tight in your fingers. The soft silk was such a contrast to the pain in your chest. 

Rhysand was your brother,  the only person alive who loved you before you were born. He didn’t have to know you to love you.

Rhys had always told you he loved you before you were born, something you had never grasped until Atlas. Seeing something so small and tiny and knowing you would go to the ends of the planet to help them. 

“You didn’t get to meet Atlas.”

He stayed in your arms, a less than dignified sniffle coming from him. When was the last time you had seen Rhysand cry? Those nights he would find you in Feyre’s absence when she was in Spring, letting you soothe him to sleep? Or was it when Nyx was born and Feyre nearly died? 

“Do I even deserve to at this point?”

The two of you were the sole survivors of a noble family. An entire family gone in one night. You leaned further into him, nose pressed against his bicep. He was warm, the citrusy scent coming off him made so many memories flash through your mind: learning to fly, lounging in his study as he worked, intense chess matches that left everyone mad. Centuries of baggage laid in the space between the two of you.

The second part of his scent was the soft undertone of sea salt that always reminded you of home. Your mother smelled like sea salt and caramel, a scent that always made your mouth water for sweets and feel safe. She was gone, had been for so long your memories of her were blurry from use, but so much of her lay in the male next to you.

There was no way back to her or the rest of your family, gone for centuries now, memories so replayed they were memories of memories by now. But you still thought of them often. You were thinking of your mother when you spoke once more, thinking of the excitement Rhys had to finally have a little sister.

“Yes, you do.”

Author’s note: AHHHHHHH wasn’t that great ❤️

Permanent taglist: @vanilla-seabass @cyrygher @lees-chaotic-brain @topaz125 @chessebookgirl @fides25 @lady-of-tearshed @ashbatz @fxckmiup @lilah-asteria @justvibbinghere @daughterofthemoons-stuff @mybestfriendmademe @heartless-tate @tsunami-of-tears @idrkwhatthisisimsorry @olive-main @azrielsmate3 @pit-and-the-pen @durgenyx @dee-writes-smut @chairofchaos @thelov3lybookworm @throneofsmut @kennedy-brooke @prythianpages @itsswritten @acotarxreader @milswrites @the-golden-jhope @hannzoaks @secretlyhers @tothestarsandwhateverend @sarawritestories @chxosangxl

Eris taglist: @magicstrengthandcourage @book-obsessed124

Gingerfucker taglist: @bookwormysblog

Thanks for reading ❣️

[pedrospatch]

strawberry

Daddy Dom! Joel Miller x Sub! Female Reader

summary: You feel ashamed for using your safe word with Joel during a session—he assures you you’re his good girl no matter what.

warnings/tags: 18+ only, MINORS DNI. (TW) daddy kink, lots of dd/lg lifestyle elements, reader is collared (day collar) age gap that is self indulgent, reader is mid to late 20’s and Joel is in his 50’s but tweak that to your imaginations if you like. SMUT; p in v sex, rough sex (that reader asks to try), spanking, possible overstimulation (if you squint??) Joel basically fucks reader too much and too hard. USE OF SAFE WORD. aftercare and lots of fluff, references to a pop culture film that i haven’t seen in forever but it’s fine. PLEASE BE MINDFUL OF TAGS AND WARNINGS. if this isn’t your thing, no worries just scroll on by.

MOODBOARD FOR AESTHETIC PURPOSES ONLY, READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION.

word count: 2.4k

a/n: this is totally self indulgent, all for me as someone who has dabbled in the lifestyle before. if this is not your thing, no problem at all but kindly keep any negative comments to yourself. huge shoutout to the lovely @swiftispunk for inspiring this with the snippets of her own upcoming series that i am oh so excited for, darling han thank you for not only inspiring this, but for listening to me talk about it and encouraging it! and also to sweet mya @cavillscurls because truth be told her own fic brought back so many memories of a time in my life where i was genuinely so happy, in love, and felt safe with a partner. okay, i am gonna run away to the gym now to listen to 1989 tv (again) and pretend posting this is not nerve wracking as hell.

He’s fucked you plenty of times before.

But never like this. No, never, ever like this.

He’s relentless.

His thrusts are coming quicker, sloppier, harsher.

It doesn’t hurt, but it’s intense. Too intense.

Joel Miller is truly testing your limits tonight.

No, he was pushing you past your limits.

Because that’s what you’d asked him to do.

“Alright, sweet girl. This is the last time I’m gonna ask you before we get started. Are you absolutely, one hundred—no, one thousand percent sure that you wanna try this out tonight?” he had asked you beforehand, skimming the strap of your light pink, lace lingerie with his index finger, his feathery soft touch sending a plesant little chill down the length of your spinal column. Of all the sets you owned, it had to be Joel’s absolute favorite. Normally, it was him who would pick out what you would wear, but tonight he’d decided to let you choose for yourself and oh, you did not disappoint. He fucking adored you in the color pink; loved how sickeningly sweet, precious, and innocent you appeared in the hue as you did the filthiest things to him, with him. When you nodded eagerly in reply to his question, a sigh fell from his lips, the doubt written all over his face as he remarked, “I really don’t think you’re ready. I think we should wait just a little a while longer.”

“I’m ready,” you’d insisted, stubbornly. “I promise. I wouldn’t be asking for it if I thought I wasn’t. But I am, I promise, promise, promise I am.”

“Daddy knows what’s best for you, sweetheart—”

Fingers curled around his bicep, you’d batted your eyelashes, giving him those eyes that brought him down to his knees for you a lot more often than he cared to admit, those eyes that made Joel feel like he was learning his role all over again, despite over two decades of experience under his belt. He used to pride himself for his ability to stand firm against pouting lips, fluttering lashes, and pleading gazes. And then you come along and suddenly it’s like he is in his thirties again and he’s navigating this kind of dynamic for the first time. Even after a year and a half with you, he’s still trying to figure out how to completely unwrap himself from your little finger.

“Please? Pretty please with a cherry on top?”

Christ, you made things so goddamn difficult.

“You really think you’re gonna be able to handle it? You think you’re gonna be able to handle me when I get real rough with you, baby? Hm?”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “Yes, Daddy. I can handle it. I know I can.”

You had been so certain that you could.

Confident, even. So confident that when he began going over the rules and reminded you to use your safe word if you needed him to stop, you’d giggled and stated, “I’ve never needed to use it before and I don’t plan on using it tonight.”

Oh, how very wrong you had been about it all.

You’d overestimated yourself, and underestimated Joel. Severely.

His hips snap roughly into yours without an ounce of mercy, over and over, again and again. Beads of perspiration start trailing their way down the sides of his face, the tip of his nose. His chest is flushed, red, and also slicked with a thin sheen of sweat.

You’ve already shattered, unraveled, come undone all over his cock several times—every time with his granted permission, of course. Because you knew better than to come without Daddy’s permission.

Your cunt is swollen, sensitive, too sensitive and at a point where it could start aching if he doesn’t let up soon. However, it seems like Joel’s only getting rougher and rougher as he chases another release.

“Joel—Daddy,” you manage to correct yourself at the very last second through a slew of frantic little gasps for air. “Daddy, please! Daddy please—”

His large hand tightens around both of your wrists pinned to the mattress above your head. Surely he must think you’re begging him for more, when the reality is you’re about to start begging him to stop because it’s just too much and you can’t handle it; but there’s a part of you that doesn’t want to stop, the part of you that doesn’t want to disappoint the man who means the whole, entire world to you.

The man you belonged to, the man you loved.

Even through the haze, you try telling yourself that it’s all mind over matter, mind over matter, mind—

“Stop,” you whine, squirming underneath him. “I—can’t take it anymore, Daddy, I can’t take it—!”

Releasing your wrists, Joel pulls himself out of you and you breathe out in relief, until he flips you over onto your stomach without warning. You let out an audibly loud gasp when his hands reach down and take your hips, pulling them up off his bed, putting you on your hands and knees. He brings down one of his hands on your ass in a stinging slap. “That is just too bad, ‘cause Daddy ain’t done with you yet, darlin’ girl. Not even close to bein’ done with you.” Wrapping his other hand around his base, he grins to himself as he glides the head of his cock up and down your slick folds. When it grazes your clit, you jerk forward, away from him, and he tuts, bringing you back to him, his fingers digging into the pillow soft flesh of your hips. “Oh no baby, you ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“But Daddy, I just can’t—”

You’re cut off by your own cry when you feel Joel’s length stretching your walls all over again. It’s just too much.

And you really, really can’t.

He leans over you and presses his lips to your ear. “You asked for this, didn’tcha? Asked to be fucked like a big girl, huh?” He bucks forward into you, eliciting another strangled cry followed by a string of pathetic whimpers. Bringing his palm down in a second strike, he demands, “Answer me when I’m takin’ to you. You wanted this, said that you could handle Daddy bein’ rough with you, ain’t that right now?”

“Strawberry.” You say the word so quietly, you can hardly hear it over the ringing in your ears.

Joel spanks you for a third time, in the exact same spot—so hard, there was simply no way you would wake up without a mark in the morning. “I need’ya to speak up. You’re such a big girl after all—”

“Strawberry!” You grasp fistfuls of bedsheets and the signal for it all to end tears itself from the back of your throat. “Strawberry, Joel! Strawberry!”

It’s only a millisecond that he freezes, if that.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Joel curses under his breath, pulling out of you. The bed shifts as he climbs off of it and scrambles to pull on his sweatpants before he’s at your side—you’re still on your hands and knees, an unmistakable look of panic on your face. He puts a gentle hand on your back. “Baby, are you alright?”

Your heart is pounding, your breathing labored but you manage a small, tight nod of your head. “I-I’m fine. I just—” Stopping, you grip the sheets tighter, warm tears brimming your eyes. Shame over what you’ve just done is already creeping in and sinking into your bones.

“Are you hurt, sweetheart? Did I hurt you?”

Joel’s voice is calm, but you can hear the concern that laces his tone.

“No.” Your own voice is small. “No. You didn’t hurt me.”

“Is it alright if I move you?” he asks. When you nod your head, he reaches out for you and helps you to sit on the side of the bed. Dropping to his knees in front of you, he takes your hands and his and feels his stomach sink when he realizes they’re ice cold; he begins rubbing them between his own to warm them up. “Baby if I hurt you, you need to tell m—”

“I promise, you didn’t hurt me,” you reassure him, swallowing the thickness rising in the back of your throat. You clock the skepticism in his dark brown eyes and a tear slips out, rolls down your face, and splatters onto your bare thigh. “I’m not lying, Joel. I swear.” Tugging one of your hands out of his, you reach up and instinctively clasp it around the blue sapphire pendant hanging from the delicate, gold chain around your neck—he’d presented you with his birthstone last year, not only as a symbol of his ownership of you, but also as a beautiful reminder of your commitment to one another. “You believe me, don’t you? You believe I’m telling the truth?”

Joel’s expression softens. “‘Course I do, baby.” He cups the side of your face gently, brushing away a second teardrop with his thumb. “But I’d really like to know what happened so I can figure out how to best help, okay? Can you tell me what happened?”

Embarrassed, you try turning your head away, but he holds your cheek in his hand, gentle but firm.

“S’okay. You can talk to me,” he encourages softly, his gaze meeting yours once again. “Tell me.”

“It was just too much,” you mumble, meekly. “And too intense.” Heat floods your face as you admit to him, “You were right. I just wasn’t—I wasn’t ready for that yet.”

In an effort to lighten your mood, Joel lightly gives your cheek a delicate pinch and chuckles.

“Daddy’s got that real annoyin’ habit of bein’ right ‘bout a lot of things, don’t he?”

“I’m sorry.” Your bottom lip quivers. “I’m so sorry.”

His smile falters. “Sorry for what?”

“For using the safe word—”

Joel’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Y’know you ain’t supposed to apologize for needin’ to use your safe word, right? That ain’t how it works, darlin’.”

Dropping your necklace, you place your hand over his on your cheek. “But I feel bad,” you confess. “It makes me feel like—like I let you down, you know? And that’s the last thing I want to do. I just wanted to be really good for you.”

“Oh baby.” Joel lifts himself from the floor. He sits on the bed and pulls you onto his lap, brushing his lips against your temple. “You are such a good girl for me, sweetheart.”

“But I couldn’t take it,” you sniff. “I had to stop.”

“And that’s okay,” he assures you. He wraps you in his arms and gives your body a gentle squeeze. “It ain’t nothin’ to be ashamed ‘bout. You’re still really new to a lot of this stuff, y’know? S’why I told you I didn’t think you were ready.”

“I should’ve listened to you.”

He winks. “You should always listen to Daddy.”

You offer him a tiny, watery smile. “I know.”

“And say we try this again one day and it’s just not somethin’ you like or that makes you feel good—or maybe you never wanna try it again at all,” he says with a nonchalant shrug. “That’s okay too. You are still my good girl no matter what—my perfect girl. Always. You understand me?”

“Really? You promise?”

Joel holds up his pinky.

“Oh, you’re being really serious,” you tease him.

“Sure as hell am, darlin’.”

You lock your finger around his and he pulls you in for a sweet kiss.

“I love you, Joel,” you murmur against his lips. You giggle again when he clears his throat and smacks your ass lightly, playfully. “I love you, Daddy.”

“I love you too, baby.” Joel pulls away and touches the tip of his nose to yours. “How’s ‘bout we get in the bath and get all cleaned up? Hm?”

“A bath?” You instantly perk up. “With bubbles?”

“With bubbles. And I’ll even let you throw in one of those smelly ball things you fuckin’ love so much.”

You swat at his chest. “Hey! My bath bombs smell really good, thank you very much!”

Joel doesn’t particularly like emerging from a bath smelling like a petunia, but for you, he’s more than happy to bathe in a sea of them, glitter and all.

You trace his collarbone with your index finger.

“Daddy? After our bath can we just cuddle in bed? Maybe watch a movie?” He raises an eyebrow and you smile sheepishly, adding, “Please?”

“‘Course. Pick any movie you want, sweetheart.”

“And can we have ice cream while we watch too?”

He pins you with a stern look. “Alright, now you’re just pushin’ it and takin’ advantage.”

You jut your lower lip. “Please, Daddy?”

There’s no arguing with that, not tonight.

Joel decides to let you have your way. “Alright.”

The two of you spend quite some time in the bath; normally a bath together ends with him inside you all over again, but tonight, all he’s doing is running a soapy wash cloth with your favorite shower gel—japanese cherry blossom—all over your body as he sits behind you, lips pressed against your ear. Joel washes you slowly, carefully, and all the while he’s whispering sweet, tender praise.

My good girl.

My perfect girl.

I’m s’proud of you.

I’m the luckiest man in the whole world.

After the bath, once you’re both dried and dressed in comfortable clothes—him in a clean pair of gray sweatpants and you in nothing but his t-shirt, Joel gives you the remote and instructs you to pick out a movie to watch.

“Make yourself real comfortable, baby,” he says to you, kissing the top of your head. “I’ll be back with that ice cream.”

You shoot him a hopeful glance. “Strawberry?”

“You tryin’ to be funny with me, darlin’?”

“No! That’s just my favorite flavor, silly.”

Joel grins to himself as he leaves the bedroom.

He knows that. Of course he knows that.

It’s why he always keeps a pint of it in his freezer.

You hop into bed and pull the blankets around you as your scan through the guide for a movie—you’d just decided on The Notebook when Joel appears again, a bowl and two spoons in his hands.

“You picked The Notebook again, didn’t you?” he asks without even looking at the flat screen that’s mounted on his wall over the fireplace.

“You said I could pick any movie I wanted.”

“Was just hopin’ you’d pick one we haven’t seen a thousand times,” he chuckled, sliding into his bed next to you. Joel places the bowl of strawberry ice cream in his lap and hands you a spoon. “C’mere, my sweet girl. Come closer.”

You snuggle up to him, and the two of you dig into the frozen dessert as the movie begins to play.

“Baby?” Joel speaks after a while, just as Allie and Noah share a passionate kiss in the pouring rain.

“Hm?” you ask, your fixed eyes on the flat screen, your mouth full of ice cream.

“You sure you’re okay?”

Swallowing, you look up at Joel, meeting his gaze.

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you answer honestly.

“‘Cause if there’s anythin’ else I can do for you…”

You purse your lips together and let out a tiny hum as you mull it over for a moment.

“You can hold me closer?” you finally suggest.

Joel shifts in his spot. “I can definitely do that—”

You stop him and point to the empty bowl.

“After you go and get us some more ice cream?”

He exhales an amused snort through his nose and shuffles out of bed, taking the bowl with him.

“Don’t get so used to bossin’ Daddy around,” Joel warns you playfully over his shoulder.

“Too late.”

divider credit to @saradika 🍓

[solxamber]

1800-Curse-Control || Lilia Vanrouge

You decide to open a hotline for curing curses with Lilia. It goes exactly how you imagined it would—maybe even a little better.

“Lilia,” you said, rubbing your temples as you leaned against the counter in Ramshackle’s disaster of a kitchen. “Grim’s eating me out of house and home, literally. If I can’t afford the repairs soon, the roof will cave in. But all he cares about is premium tuna! Do you know how much that stuff costs?”

Lilia, who was casually floating upside down for no apparent reason, looked entirely too entertained. “Ah, the plight of a homeowner,” he said, grinning. “Why not turn your misfortune into opportunity? I’ve been told I have exceptional customer service skills, and I’ve been dreadfully bored. Let’s open a hotline for removing curses!”

You blinked at him. “A hotline. For curing curses.”

“Yes, my dear beastie,” he said, flipping upright midair and landing gracefully. “Think about it! This school is crawling with fools who drink unlabeled potions, poke magical artifacts, and anger vengeful spirits just for sport. You’d be rich in a week!”

“…I hate how much sense that actually makes.”

“It’s a foolproof plan,” Lilia continued, already pulling a notepad from somewhere to scribble down ideas. “I’ll handle the exorcisms and the cackling, naturally. You, my dear entrepreneur, can be the charming face of the operation. We’ll call it—hmm—‘Curse-B-Gone.’”

“Absolutely not.”

“Fine, ‘Hex Hotline.’”

You considered it. On one hand, it sounded completely ridiculous. On the other hand, there was that third-year who accidentally swapped his voice with a frog’s last week and the freshmen who kept mysteriously sprouting feathers.

“…How much are we charging?”

“Ah-ha! I knew you’d come around!” Lilia said, clapping his hands together. “Let’s see, we’ll need tiers. Minor hex removal? Hundred thaumarks. Major curses—hair-growing hexes, spontaneous transformation curses—those will start at Five Hundred.”

“And what about something, like, really bad? What if someone’s whole body turns into a pumpkin or something?”

“That’s a premium package. One thousand thaumarks.”

You nodded slowly. “Okay. Okay, I’m in. But if this flops, you’re buying Grim’s tuna for the next month.”

Lilia smirked, his fangs glinting mischievously. “Deal.”

By the end of the day, you’d set up a magical hotline using some weird orb Lilia “borrowed” from the library, a vaguely threatening poster campaign across the campus (“Cursed? Hexed? A jackal-headed god show up at your dorm? Call us!”), and a suspiciously well-stocked supply of anti-curse materials Lilia claimed were “leftovers” from his youth.

You weren’t sure whether to feel excited or like you’d just signed up for the most bizarre mistake of your life. Either way, you couldn’t wait to see how this would go down.

The orb hotline rang for the first time, glowing ominously on the rickety desk in Ramshackle. You and Lilia exchanged glances.

“Answer it!” he whispered, like this was some spy mission and not a cursed customer service line.

With a deep breath, you picked it up. “Uh… Hello, this is the Cursed and Confused Hotline. How can we—”

“YOU HAVE TO HELP ME!” Ace’s voice screamed on the other end. “HE’S GOING TO KILL ME THIS TIME!”

You winced, holding the orb away from your ear. “Ace? What happened?”

“I DON’T KNOW! I WAS JUST TRYING TO MAKE TEA!”

“Okay, and?”

“And I might’ve…accidentally used that weird sugar in the Heartslabyul pantry, the one that glows in the dark? And now Riddle���s head is covered in, like…peonies. Big, pink peonies. They keep growing whenever he gets mad, which, uh, is always.”

You slapped your forehead. “You cursed your housewarden?!”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO!” Ace wailed. “I thought it was sugar, not cursed fertilizer! Look, can you just fix this before he declares ‘off with my head’ for real?”

“Ugh, fine. Where are you now?”

“Hiding in the rose bushes. He hasn’t found me yet, but I think I heard him sharpening a guillotine.”

“Classic Heartslabyul,” Lilia said cheerfully, already packing his so-called emergency kit.

When you and Lilia arrived at Heartslabyul, it was pure chaos. Riddle stood in the center of the garden, his face as red as his hair—and also half-obscured by an explosion of giant pink peonies blooming out of his head like some cursed bouquet.

“TREY!” Riddle bellowed. “GET THE GARDEN SHEARS!”

Ace was crouched in a rose bush nearby, whispering frantically. “Please tell me you brought an anti-cursed-flower spray or something!”

You ignored him and approached Riddle cautiously. “Uh, Riddle? You’ve got—”

“I KNOW WHAT I HAVE!” Riddle shrieked, a few more flowers blooming on his head. “I demand immediate remedy! Or else—”

“We’ll fix it,” Lilia cut in, grinning like this was the most fun he’d had in centuries. “Now, let’s see…” He pulled a vial of glowing liquid from his kit. “This should do the trick.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, eyeing the suspiciously fizzing vial.

“Of course not,” Lilia said, popping it open.

He dumped the liquid over Riddle’s head without warning. The flowers immediately shriveled up and disappeared.

Riddle blinked, touching his head in astonishment. “…It’s gone?”

“You’re welcome,” Lilia said with a dramatic bow.

Ace peeked out from the bushes. “So…he’s not mad anymore, right?”

Riddle’s death glare answered that question.

“RUN!” you yelled, dragging Ace out of the garden as Riddle shouted about punishment for “sugar crimes.”

Back at Ramshackle, you slumped against the desk. “We’re never doing house calls again.”

Lilia just laughed. “Oh, but the drama! I live for it!”

The hotline orb began glowing again, pulsing with a foreboding, bluish light.

You groaned. “If this is Ace again, I swear—”

Lilia waved his hand. “Come now, it’s probably another entertaining disaster! Answer it!”

You reluctantly picked up. “Cursed and Confused Hotline. What’s your—”

“FIX. THIS. NOW!” came Azul’s shrill, panicked voice.

You blinked. “Azul? What’s—”

“I CAN’T EVEN DESCRIBE WHAT HE’S DONE THIS TIME!”

“Oh, come on, Azul!” Floyd’s voice cut in, cackling in the background. “It’s a masterpiece!”

“Masterpiece?” Azul screeched. “You flooded the dining room and filled it with—WHY ARE THERE EELS IN THE SOUP POTS?”

“Because it’s hilarious!” Floyd howled, clearly having the time of his life.

Jade’s calm voice joined in, oozing politeness as always. “To be fair, Floyd has a point. The eels are thriving in there.”

Azul sputtered like a broken faucet. “THRIVING?! THEY’RE STEALING PEOPLE’S FOOD!”

“Sounds efficient to me,” Floyd said. You could practically hear him smirking. “Dinner and a show!”

Lilia perked up. “Eels in soup pots? How creative!”

“Don’t encourage him!” Azul barked. “Do you know how much it costs to repair the water damage he’s caused? The walls are dripping! The chandelier is dripping! I AM DRIPPING!”

“That’s not cursed,” you said, trying to hide your amusement. “That’s just Floyd being—well, Floyd.”

“Oh, no, it’s cursed,” Azul hissed. “Every time I try to remove the eels, the water level rises. They’re like aquatic squatters! Fix it or I swear I’ll—”

The sound of something massive splashing cut him off, followed by Floyd’s uncontrollable laughter.

“HAHAHA! He slipped into the soup pot! Jade, did you see that?”

“I did,” Jade replied, his voice as smooth as ever. “It was quite elegant.”

“AZUL’S AN EEL NOW!” Floyd cried. “Eel bros for life, baby!”

The orb started vibrating violently.

“Get. Over. Here. Now.” Azul’s voice was barely a whisper, the tone of someone seconds away from an aneurysm.

You sighed and grabbed your bag. “Let’s go before he implodes.”

When you arrived at Mostro Lounge, it was exactly what you expected—and somehow worse. The entire dining area was flooded, eels swam lazily in the soup pots, and Azul was perched on a chair, drenched from head to toe and glaring murderously at Floyd, who was happily paddling through the water like it was his personal playground.

“Finally!” Azul barked, waving his wet hand. “Do something! Anything!”

Floyd, half-submerged in a soup pot, waved at you. “Hey! You wanna join the eel party? First rule—no rules!”

Lilia clapped his hands. “This is magnificent chaos!”

Azul groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’ll double your pay if you fix this immediately.”

You glanced at Lilia, who was already pouring a suspiciously glowing liquid into the water.

“This should work,” he said cheerfully.

The water started to drain, the eels vanished in puffs of smoke, and the room returned to normal—except for Floyd, who now floated upside down in midair, spinning like a cursed top.

“Whoa, this is AWESOME!” Floyd laughed, twirling like a maniac. “I’m a flying eel!”

Azul sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as you said “I’m charging you extra for emotional damages.”

The hotline orb flared up again, casting a frantic purple glow. You groaned, mid-sip of tea.

“I don’t know if I can handle more insanity.”

Lilia, perched upside down on the couch, grinned. “Nonsense! Chaos keeps the heart young. Answer it!”

Reluctantly, you picked it up. “Cursed and Confused Hotline. What did you do, and how bad is it?”

“It’s me! It’s Epel!” came the desperate, whisper-shouted voice of the Pomefiore freshman. “I need your help—immediately! I’ve got the worst curse of all on me.”

“Worst curse?” you asked, frowning. “What’s going on?”

“Vil,” Epel said, voice shaking. “And Rook.”

“...Epel, those are people, not curses.”

“They are when Vil finds out I repurposed his limited-edition face mask jars as apple cider mugs for the guys in Savanaclaw!”

Lilia burst into a delighted cackle. “Oh, that’s fantastic!”

“Not fantastic! Vil’s gonna flay me alive!” Epel hissed. “And Rook’s hunting me down like a rabbit in the woods. Please, ya gotta help!”

You tried not to laugh. “How exactly do you want me to help? I can’t exactly—”

A loud thud echoed through the call, followed by Epel screaming, “He found me! NO! PUT THAT BOW DOWN!”

“Bonjour, my friend~!” Rook’s voice came through, as smooth as velvet and disturbingly cheerful. “Ah, how beautiful the chase! Like a fox cornered by the hounds, our petit pomme has finally been found!”

“ROOK, NO! DON’T HAND ME OVER!”

“Oh, petit lapin,” Rook said, unbothered, “the punishment will only make you stronger. Think of it as a trial by fire!”

“I DON’T WANT TO BE STRONGER, I WANNA BE ALIVE!” Epel shrieked.

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Rook, what exactly are you planning to do with him?”

“Ah, worry not,” Rook replied. “I am but a humble messenger delivering him to justice. Vil has been most patient.”

“HE CALLED ME A PEASANT AND THREW A HEEL AT ME, THAT’S PATIENT?” Epel howled.

Lilia leaned forward, thoroughly entertained. “Rook, at least let us have a word with Epel before he meets his doom.”

“But of course!”

“HELP ME!” Epel screamed the moment Rook handed him the phone. “Distract them, hex me, I dunno, CURSE ME INTO A TREE OR SOMETHING—”

“Epel,” you said firmly, trying not to laugh, “you’re going to have to face Vil eventually. What’s the worst he could do?”

“THE WORST? Oh, I dunno, exile me to a skincare bootcamp for the rest of my natural life?”

Rook’s voice floated in. “Imagine it, petit pomme: cleansing facials, detoxifying baths, and no more cider mugs. A new you!”

“YOU STAY OUTTA THIS!”

You sighed. “I can offer one thing.”

“Anything!”

“An apology. I suggest you start practicing now.”

“An apology?! I called Vil’s collection overhyped snake oil. I’m DOOMED!”

“Not if you run fast enough,” Rook chimed in cheerfully. “Shall we test your stamina?”

The call ended with Epel’s scream, followed by the distinct sound of someone bolting at full speed.

“Well,” Lilia said, smiling. “That was worth every second.”

Jamil’s voice crackled through the orb strained and absolutely done.

"Hi, yeah, it’s me again."

You rolled your eyes. "Let me guess. Kalim tried to throw a party?"

"And Cater," Jamil growled, the sound of something crashing in the background. "Do you have any idea how difficult it is to manage one chaos gremlin? Now imagine two. They’ve cursed half the dorm—random objects are coming to life, and singing. And I don’t mean pleasant singing. I mean like if a banshee and a kazoo had a love child."

Lilia leaned in beside you, eyes glittering with delight. "Oho, this sounds entertaining! What did they do this time?"

Jamil sighed deeply, as if he’d just aged ten years in the past ten minutes. "Kalim thought it would be fun to 'spice up' a party by enchanting the decorations. Cater encouraged him, saying it would make a great Magicam post. The result? The curtains are now tap-dancing, the chandelier won’t stop singing old sea shanties, and the punch bowl tried to bite me."

Lilia clapped his hands. "This sounds like an excellent way to spend the afternoon! Let’s go!"

You groaned. "Why do I have to go?"

"Because you’re the only one who can keep Lilia from making things worse," Jamil deadpanned.

Arriving at Scarabia was like stepping into a fever dream. The furniture was waltzing around the room, the ceiling fan was chanting, "Spin me right round, baby, right round," and the aforementioned punch bowl snarled at you as you walked in.

Kalim, of course, was having the time of his life, clapping to the rhythm of the furniture parade. Cater was filming everything, laughing as he tried to get the chandelier to do a TikTok dance.

"Do you see what I have to deal with?" Jamil hissed, his hair practically frazzled.

"Let’s fix this before someone dies," you muttered, pulling out the anti-curse toolkit Lilia had handed you on the way.

"Or before someone posts this to Magicam and the entire world sees it," Jamil added grimly, glaring at Cater.

It started smoothly enough—well, as smoothly as any curse-breaking session with Lilia could go. The two of you worked to unravel the enchantments while dodging flying pillows and shrieking party streamers.

Then, of course, you made the mistake of touching an enchanted lamp.

It burst into song—loud, off-key, and somehow extremely personal. The lyrics were all about your lack of a love life and questionable fashion choices. Before you could fight back, it tangled itself around your arms and legs, dragging you upward toward the chandelier.

"Hey, uh, Lilia? Little help!"

Lilia, ever the dramatic savior, leaped into action. With a mischievous grin, he sliced through the magical binds with a well-aimed spell and caught you mid-fall.

You blinked up at him, heart hammering in your chest. His crimson eyes glimmered with amusement, his fangs showing in a victorious smirk. He cradled you with an ease that shouldn’t have been possible given his stature.

"You alright there, my dear?" he asked, voice low and teasing.

"Yeah, I’m fine," you muttered, face heating up. "Just…you know…trying not to die."

But your brain wasn’t focusing on that. It was too busy processing the fact that Lilia was holding you like you weighed nothing, and you could feel your pulse quickening. Damn it, why is my heart beating so fast?

He tilted his head, studying you with an unreadable expression. "Are you sure? Your face is a bit flushed."

"Nope! Totally fine!" you squeaked, scrambling out of his arms as soon as your feet touched the ground.

Jamil, watching the whole thing from across the room, rolled his eyes. "Great. Now you’re cursed too."

"Shut up, Jamil."

It took another hour, but the dorm was finally back to normal—or as normal as Scarabia could be. Kalim apologized profusely, Cater promised to delete the footage (he didn’t), and Jamil looked like he might snap at any moment.

As you and Lilia walked out, you tried to calm your racing heart, but he leaned in with a knowing grin.

"Quite the adventure today, wasn’t it?"

"Sure," you replied quickly, hoping your face wasn’t still red.

He hummed thoughtfully. "I wonder what’s got your heart racing so much. You’re not catching feelings for your favorite partner-in-chaos, are you?"

"Not a chance," you lied, your heart betraying you with another treacherous thump.

Lilia just chuckled, and you couldn’t tell if he believed you—or if he was just letting you stew in your own embarrassment for fun.

The enchanted orb buzzed frantically, and you groaned as you reached for it. The second you accepted the call, you heard Deuce.

“HELP! WE MESSED UP BAD!”

“Deuce?” you asked, already dreading the answer. “What did you do this time?”

Jack’s voice came through, exasperated and growly. “It wasn’t just him. I was there too.”

“Great,” you deadpanned. “So, what kind of mess am I cleaning up now?”

Deuce gulped. “We, uh… were practicing some spellwork for exams—”

“Right by the Spelldrive practice field,” Jack added grimly.

Your eyes widened. “Please don’t tell me you—”

“Destroyed the field? Yeah,” Deuce admitted miserably. “But we didn’t mean to! The explosion was an accident!”

You heard a sharp, angry voice in the background: “AN ACCIDENT?! YOU DESTROYED HALF THE FIELD, YOU LITTLE—”

“Leona’s there?” you asked, already standing up.

Deuce nodded frantically. “He’s so mad. Please come before he kills us!”

“Stay put,” you said, grabbing your things. “And pray he doesn’t finish you off before we get there.”

The Spelldrive practice field was a warzone. One goalpost was completely obliterated, sand smoldered in random patches across the ground, and an entire section of the bleachers looked like it had been hit by a tornado.

Leona was standing in the middle of the chaos, arms crossed, glaring daggers at Deuce and Jack, who were huddled behind a tipped-over bench like it could save them. His team stood a safe distance away, clearly too smart to get involved.

You arrived with Lilia in tow, who was already grinning like he’d just stumbled upon the most entertaining show of the year.

“Oh, this is delightful,” Lilia mused, surveying the carnage. “It’s like an abstract painting of destruction.”

“Not helping,” you muttered, jogging toward the scene.

Leona’s sharp green eyes locked onto you. “Finally. You gonna fix this mess, or do I get to turn these two into sandbags?”

“Leona,” you said, stepping between him and the disaster twins, “We’ll handle it. Just… don’t murder them. Yet.”

Leona snorted. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Lilia hummed a jaunty tune as he began waving his hands over the destroyed sections of the field. Slowly, the sand settled, the goalpost reformed, and the bleachers stopped looking like they’d gone through a blender.

Meanwhile, you kept Leona from pouncing on Deuce and Jack, who were watching Lilia work with wide eyes.

“You two better hope I don’t find out about another ‘accident,’” Leona growled, looming over you.

“Relax,” you said, holding up a hand. “They’re idiots, not criminals. Save your energy for your team.”

Leona rolled his eyes but stepped back, muttering something about “babysitters.”

When everything was finally back in order, Lilia dusted off his hands with a satisfied smile. “That was quite fun. We should let those two cause chaos more often.”

You shot him a look. “Please don’t encourage them.”

Leona, arms crossed and clearly annoyed, stepped closer. “You’re done? Good. I’ll send Ruggie with something to pay you later.” Then he smirked, eyes flicking between you and Lilia. “Now keep your lovesick asses away from my practice field.”

Your brain short-circuited. “Wha—?! Lovesick?”

Leona just walked off with a lazy wave, leaving you standing there, half-mortified.

Lilia leaned in, clearly enjoying your flustered state. “Oh my. He really has a way with words, doesn’t he?”

“Don’t you start,” you muttered, your face burning.

But when you turned to walk away, Lilia was by your side, chuckling softly. He caught your wrist gently, pulling you to a stop for just a moment. “For what it’s worth,” he said, voice quieter and more serious, “you were quite impressive back there, keeping Leona from turning them into mincemeat.”

Your heart did a flip. “Uh… thanks?”

He let go with a grin, stepping back and returning to his usual playful tone. “Now, let’s see if we can avoid the next disaster, hmm?”

You weren’t sure if your face would ever cool down.

Potions class with the first-year gang was never uneventful. Today was no exception. The room smelled faintly of burnt caramel as Grim waved his tiny paws at Ace, who was leaning smugly on the table.

“I told you not to put that in!” Grim yelped.

“I barely touched it!” Ace shot back.

“It doesn’t matter who did it!” Sebek barked, slamming his hands on the table. “What matters is that our potion is—”

“About to blow,” Jack growled, pointing to the cauldron bubbling ominously.

“Wait—WHAT?!” you yelped, but it was too late.

The cauldron erupted, spraying a shimmering pink mist over everyone. The class erupted into chaos as Sebek shouted about “inferior techniques,” Epel coughed dramatically like he was dying, and Deuce tried (and failed) to douse the sparks with his coat.

You, unfortunately, caught the brunt of the potion to the face.

You thought the effects were mild at first—just a faint warmth in your chest and the echo of the sugary-sweet scent in your nose. But when you sat down at lunch with Lilia and Malleus, the symptoms became impossible to ignore.

Lilia was chatting animatedly, laughing at his own jokes and waving his fork in the air, while Malleus nodded thoughtfully. But you weren’t hearing a word.

Your brain had decided that the only thing worth focusing on was how kissable Lilia’s lips looked.

Wait, what?

You shook your head, trying to clear it, but it only got worse. Now you were noticing how nice his voice was. And his smile. And the way his hand brushed yours when he passed the salt—

Oh, no.

“Child of man,” Malleus said, pulling you from your internal meltdown, “you seem… distracted.”

You blinked rapidly. “Uh. Yeah. Distracted. Totally fine. Definitely not—uh—totally infatuated with Lilia or anything.”

Lilia looked up, smirking. “Oh? How flattering.”

You nearly choked on your drink. “IT’S THE POTION!”

Malleus watched you pace back and forth in the hallway, his expression somewhere between amused and curious.

“You have to fix me,” you begged, grabbing his shoulders. “This has to be the potion talking. There’s no way I just—randomly—started thinking about Lilia like that!”

Malleus tilted his head, his eyes studying you intently. “You truly believe you are under an enchantment?”

“Yes! Of course!” You gestured wildly. “I mean, it’s Lilia! He’s my partner in crime! He’s—he’s—”

“Kissable?” Malleus offered, a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Your hands dropped to your sides. “You are so not helping.”

He stepped closer, his presence calm but commanding, and placed a hand on your shoulder. “Very well, child of man. Allow me to assess your condition.”

Malleus leaned forward, his magic swirling faintly around him as he studied you with eerie precision.

After a moment, he straightened, folding his arms. “The potion you were exposed to was a failure. Its intended effects are nonexistent.”

You froze. “What are you saying?”

Malleus raised an eyebrow. “I am saying that you are not under a spell. Your feelings are entirely your own.”

You stared at Malleus in horror.

“So… you’re telling me… I’m not cursed?”

“Precisely.”

“And this… this whole… wanting to kiss Lilia thing…” You paused, voice dropping to a mortified whisper. “That’s just me?”

Malleus nodded sagely. “Indeed.”

You covered your face with your hands. “No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.”

Lilia’s voice drifted from the next room. “Are you done conspiring with Malleus, beastie? Lunch is getting cold!”

You peeked through your fingers at Malleus, who looked like he was thoroughly enjoying your suffering.

“Good luck, child of man,” he said, patting your shoulder.

You groaned. “I’m going to die.”

And yet, as you returned to the table and sat down next to Lilia, who greeted you with his usual teasing grin, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

You didn’t think it could get any worse than being late for class, but that was before Grim decided to experiment with potions unsupervised. Now, you and Lilia were sprinting through the halls of NRC, dodging a cursed army of flying spoons.

“I told Grim not to use the potions lab as a snack bar!” you gasped, barely ducking as a spoon zoomed past your head with terrifying precision.

Lilia, running beside you, was grinning like this was the most fun he’d had all week. “I must admit, this is an impressive level of chaos. Even I wouldn’t have thought to curse cutlery!”

“Glad you’re enjoying yourself,” you panted, grabbing his arm as another wave of spoons turned the corner. “Hide!”

The two of you dove behind a nearby tapestry, pressing against the wall as the spoons zipped past, their metallic clinking fading into the distance.

For a moment, it was quiet—except for the pounding of your heart.

Your breathing slowly steadied, but your heart didn’t. Not when Lilia was so close, his eyes gleaming with excitement and his cheeks flushed from the chase.

You couldn’t take it anymore.

“Lilia,” you blurted, voice trembling but determined, “I’m in love with you.”

Lilia blinked, his surprise evident for a split second before a soft smile curved his lips. “Ah, I see. Was it the spoons that gave me away, or my undeniable charm?”

You groaned, burying your face in your hands. “I’m serious!”

He chuckled, gently pulling your hands away to meet your eyes. “So am I. I’ve felt the same for quite some time.”

Your breath hitched. “Really?”

“Really,” he murmured, leaning closer. His lips brushed yours, soft and fleeting, but it sent your heart racing like you were being chased by a thousand cursed spoons.

He pulled back, his grin mischievous. “Now, let’s survive this first date, shall we?”

He grabbed your hand, pulling you from your hiding spot just as the spoons began circling back like a swarm of metallic bees.

“Run!”

You laughed despite yourself, sprinting hand-in-hand with Lilia as the chaos erupted around you once more.

And yet, as you glanced at him—his hair wild, his smile unshakable, his fingers warm around yours—you couldn’t help but think:

I want this forever.

Masterlist

[cherryredstars]

Pairing: Miguel O'Hara x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Age Gap, Fingering, Slapping, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex 

Summary: You didn't forget about her, did you?

A/N: The final part!!!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

You're fed up!

You're so tired of that miserable woman and her threats about getting you evicted from your apartment with no valid excuses whatsoever! She just gets you so frustrated! It's to the point you can't even think straight with all your anger blinding you. You just seem so angry at everyone lately with your shitty week! First it's your stupid professors and their shitty assignments, then it's Miguel fucking O'Hara and his tendencies to give you the best orgasms of your life and then run away, and now this cranky old bitch who doesn't want to hop off your-

It's just too much in too little time. So rationally, with the clearest thoughts you've had all week, you'll give her something to complain about. And you know exactly the person to help you. You help him, he helps you, after all. Plus, he wasn't paid you back for helping him put away his groceries three weeks ago (no, that orgasm he gave you did not count!)

Your hand throws a rapid succession of sharp knocks at his door, your brows furrowing in impatience when he doesn't answer right away. You huff, instead slapping your hand against the door. You almost fall when the door is roughly yanked open, a shirtless Miguel appearing with a scowl marring his face until his eyes land on you. The anger instantly dissipates into concern, his mind running thousands of different scenarios through his head about the reason why you would be beating down his door so desperately. He opens his mouth, ready to ask when your palm lands flat against his toned stomach, pushing him back into the apartment.

"Need your help." You say flatly as you slam the door behind you.

"My- what? With what?" Miguel asks, his eyes dropping to where your hand is still pressed into his warm skin. He has to fight the urge to grab you by the wrist and force your hand further down.

"Noise complaint."

Miguel is even more confused now, eyes shooting up to yours in surprise. Why would you need to file a noise complaint? He hasn't heard anything obnoxious on their floor or the ones below and above. "About who?"

"Me."

Miguel's head is reeling when your lips crash into his. There is no sweet, calm period, it's straight messy and desperate. Your lips move frantically over his, your hand reaching up to twist the hair at the nape of his neck as you pull his head down. One of you moan- he's not quite sure if it's you or him- when you tilt your head to the side, allowing your tongue to push through the seam of his lips. Miguel's hands blindly grab for your hips, his exhales filling your mouth as he squeezes his eyes shut. Your tongue feels so warm wrapping around his, and his mind floats to how it would feel on his cock. It would be absolute heaven he's sure. Heaven with a high risk of him cumming in seconds like a teenage boy. His mind briefly drifts to the dream he had of you sucking him off, and his dick fucking cries.

His hands shift down your hips, reaching back until your ass is in his large hands. This time he knows he's the one moaning as he kneads the flesh through your pants, pulling you closer against his body. The kiss is sloppy, tongues fighting and saliva coating both of your lips. Your hand, still resting on his stomach, travels up. His skin burns under your touch, enticing and begging to be marked with hickies and bite marks.

You yelp into his mouth when he picks you up, forcing your legs to wrap around his waist to keep yourself from falling. Your ass is right above his straining erection, and you can already tell he's bigger, maybe even thicker, than what you've fantasized about all those days ago when you tried to stuff yourself full with your fingers. The train of thought crosses over to something else as Miguel sets you on the nearest surface. He places you on the dining table, and you know that you would be able to see the counter where he first played with your cunt over his shoulder. Your cunt that still has that untouched spot deep within you and you can't fit more than your two fingers into. Your two fingers that are the equivalent of one of his fingers. The fingers that are sliding into your panties.

His mouth parts from yours as his fingers brush over you clit, your hips bucking into his hand. He trails his mouth along your jaw, sucking right below your ear.

"You want a noise complaint?" He asks, his fingers circling your already weeping hole. "Then I'll make sure everyone on this fucking floor reports you."

On cue, you let out a high pitched squeal as Miguel suddenly thrusts two thick fingers into your tight pussy, your walls stretching rapidly to accommodate the intrusion. Your mouth falls open as your hands grab desperately at his shoulders, your nails digging crescents into the skin as he begins pumping his shoulder rapidly. There isn't a single ounce of preparation, your mind splitting in two as it tries to process the rapid pleasure overcoming your senses. You barely register anything besides the way Miguel curls his fingers into your cunt, eyes rolling back as the anger slowly melts into euphoria.

Your moans are loud and candid as you slowly buck into his fingers, head falling back as you take your pleasure from him. It makes Miguel chuckles, it's so easy to make you sing for him. He rewards you with a bite to your neck, causing you to gasp as it ignites a fire in your soul. He laps at the mark, soothing the burn as your thighs begin to shake. His fingers are abusing your cunt with the way they're pushing in and out of your cunt, effortlessly finding that gummy spot that has your toes curling. Your orgasm rips through you as your body jolts and shivers, pretty moans leaving your mouth as your orgasm washes over you.

You're so lost in your high that you don't realize Miguel's fingers aren't inside of you anymore and your lower half is bare. Your shaking thighs closing when a loud slap resonates in the room as his palm makes contact with your sensitive pussy. The most pornographic sound he's ever heard leaves your lips as you register the pain and pleasure coursing through you, glassy eyes staring down at Miguel's new position on the floor as he kneels. He forces your thighs open, eyes dark as he studies your quivering cunt. It's so adorable that he can't resist pressing a tiny peck to your twitchy clit, moaning as he gets a preview of your sweet arousal. It's addicting, and he's finally getting a chance to taste it again. He hasn't stopped thinking about it since that day in your apartment, the taste lingering in his mouth as he jerked himself off.

He pulls away again, giving another slap to your cunt before diving into his meal. Your mouth falls open in a shocked moan as he desperately sucks at your folds, your hands falling to his hair to press him closer. His tongue swipes at every inch of your skin, getting drunk on your sweet nectar and your string of noises. It's so, so sweet. His grip on your thighs tighten, loving the sticky juices that begin to coat his chin as he shakes his head between your thighs. His nose swipes against your cunt as he takes long licks along your cunt, making your body jump. You push him closer into you as you try to pull away, caught between the sensitivity running through your body and the need for more. Not that he would allow you to escape, he isn't quite down with his fill yet.

You cry out when his tongue pushes through your hole, scooping the cum and shiny arousal out of your cunt and into his eager mouth. He moans against you, sending vibrations through your body. Your body is getting so weak, forcing you to slowly lower yourself onto your back on the table. Your legs slowly lift to hang off his shoulders, your fingers knotting in his hair as you slowly ride his tongue. Miguel hums in approval, sticky clicks of his tongue attacking your clit as your body shakes harder. Your back arches as you calm again, riding his face frantically as you squirt over his face. Miguel thinks he could die like this, drowning in your juices as high pitched keens leave your lips.

Your skin feels sticky and gross against his table, your limbs weak and slightly aching from how intense your two orgasms were. You're sure you'll get plenty of complaints now, just as he promised. Your chest heaves with the effort to catch your breath, and your chin presses into your chest to look down at him. Your cheeks flush when his droopy eyes meet yours, his face dripping with your release. You open your mouth in a shy attempt to thank him, but your mouth runs dry when he stands up and his heavy dick lays hard and eager in his hands.

Your eyes can't leave his red, leaking head. He really is big, impossibly thick too. He chuckles at the wide look in your eyes, his hips leaning forward to swipe his precum over your sensitive clit.

"Don't fool y'self into thinking I was done, nena." He grins, slapping his dick against your cunt to watch the way your clit jumps. "Can't let y'go without feeling you gush around my cock."

You whimper when he pushes his tip against your hole, stretching it wider than it has even been stretched before. Your body twists in an effort to get away as he pushes further in, his hands holding your thigh and hip to keep you in place. Your nails try to dig into the polished wood of his table, only a sharp screeching noise being the result of your effort. Miguel pushes you closer to him, enjoying the scream you let out as your cunt swallows his dick to the hilt. Your walls are already pulsating around him, trying to push him out and pull him in deeper at the same time.

Miguel grits his teeth as he slowly pulls his hips back, slowly sinking into your plush warmth. He bites his lip as he groans, eyes focusing on the way he disappears into you. This is far better than what he could have ever imagined, with the way you hiccup moans and your cunt flushes around his length. He's fucked after this, and he'll be damned if he ever lets you leave his bed, or kitchen table, after this.

Miguel leans forward, his forearms planting on either side of your head. His pelvis is flush with yours, and you can feel his muscles pressing down on your stomach. You whimper at the feeling, slightly breathless at how intense everything is. With the new position, Miguel begins drilling into you at a steady pace. Faintly, you register the scrapping of wooden legs against tile, and you only feel slightly bad for his downstairs neighbors. On the other hand, Miguel is too focused on the obscene squelches leaving your cunt as he bullies his cock into you, his mind fogging. Both of you are slightly delirious, lost in the feeling of his dick pressing against your cervix. Miguel is babbling in your ear, gruff promises about something involving a credit card and tuition and tying you to his bed forever that you barely register over your own moans. You think something about a baby might have been thrown into the mix, but you don't quite care outside the need to have him fill you.

Your hands rack raised, red lines down his back as your body jolts with each thrust. Your eyes are squeezed shut as your body burns to the point of being uncomfortable. You call out to Miguel, only to be answered with a rough grunt. Your eyes slowly peel open, taking in the slightly blurred frame of Miguel. If you thought you looked like a hot mess, then you have nothing on Miguel. His hair, damp from sweat, hangs over his glowing eyes, a dark flush covering his face. His lips are parted slightly, heavy exhales leaving his lips as he basks in the feeling of having your walls sucked around him. The sight alone triggers your orgasm, head being thrown back as your walls clamp around him. Miguel groans, his hips stuttering before he's pressing flush against you as he cock twitches with release.

Both of your heavy breathing fill the room, Miguel's body slumped against yours. Your hands slowly trail up and down his back as you both try to calm down, and you whine from both sensitivity and disappointment when Miguel slowly pulls out of you. His hand pushes his limp hair back, a slightly dazed smile on his face as he takes in your body. Your shirt clings to your body from the sweat the two of you have built up, your thighs still open to reveal your abused cunt. Miguel has to look away, too tempted to see how hard he would have to thrust into you to make the table break.

Even with your body feeling heavy, you push yourself up as Miguel moves to turn away. Your body gets a shot of adrenaline as panic courses through you. Your hand snaps to his wrist, keeping him in place. Your eyes are wide as you look at him, and the fear is clear as day. Miguel chuckles at your silly reaction, taking your chin and pressing a kiss to your lips. This one is slower than the last, but just as consuming.

"Relax, gonna clean y'up. That's all." He reassures, pushing your hair out of your face. "Not planning on leaving."

He doesn't plan on letting you leave either, you'll need a place to stay after you get all those noise complaints anyways.

Extra 1

THE END!!!!! Request what you will with these two, I wouldn't mind doing little side stories about them hehe.

[pedgito]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | Lucien De Leon x reader

↝ masterlist | requests? | ao3 | update blog | fic rec | ko-fi

summary | it was never a favor, allowing him to take up space in your apartment. but, time after time, he finds his way back and somehow, it brings an unexpected normalcy to your life.

author's note | in my heart, it's still flores. but canonically its de leon. i had the opportunity to watch the movie and hot take, it was...alright. but pedro's character made me just as feral as i expected. so here's this absolute monster for no reason other than, well, me ovulating.

content warning | 18+ mdni, the uninvited spoilers, set post-movie, roommates to lovers, enemies to lovers, reader works in the film industry, financial hardship, shitty living situations, lucien is a schmooze and a drunk, but also a sweetheart, angst, feelings, reader has shit luck with dating, there's also smut in here somewhere i swear (oral, couch sex, unprotected piv, all the good stuff)

word count — 11k (sorry lmfao)

“Lucien?” You grumble around the chewy granola bar you’ve snatched from the craft table, “Lucien De Leon?”

The agent, Lucien’s agent—James, also working for a few of the on-set cast, looked hopeless.

He nods, squeezing tight at the phone in his hand, one more inconvenience text from snapping it in half.

“No,” You refuse, chewing at the sweet and sticky granola, “why—why me? My tiny apartment?”

“He’s exhausted any other chance,” The agent explains vaguely—yeah, real convincing, this guy, “listen—I like you, you’ve helped me in plenty of binds. It’ll be two weeks before he’s leaving for work, I just need somewhere to keep him for a while.”

“You’re making it seem like I’d be dog sitting or something,” You retort, watching as the agent glanced down at his phone, notifications spilling in, “this is Lucien—controversy magnet, and he’s rude—”

“You’ve gotta get to know him—”

“The one set I’ve worked on with him he spilled my coffee on me and acted like I made him do it. Fuck him, tell him to sleep on a bench.”

“I’ll pay you,” He scrambles, “Just—please?”

You pause, narrowing your gaze. Being a production assistant hadn’t been the life of luxury, minimal pay in an overpriced city in a shitty apartment with barely decent and affordable rent was nothing short of miserable.

“How much?”

“A thousand,” He offers—a shrug of uncertainty follows.

Silence stretches.

“Two thousand? Come on–that’s a thousand for each week.”

“Make it three and you’ve got a deal.”

The agent is quiet for a few seconds before he caves, sighing heavily, “Fuck, fine. Three. Can I drop him off tonight?”

“Tonight?” You balk, “You know, you’re actually the worst.”

His hands grip your shoulders, shaking you with far too much force than needed, “You’re a lifesaver, thank you.”

He’s long gone and buried in a phone call before you grumble a disgruntled, “You’re welcome.”

-

You consider later that evening that disclosing the recent…activities around your apartment complex would have been a good idea, especially with someone as high profile as Lucien taking up space in your one bedroom apartment.

Three break-ins in the past two weeks, noisy and unruly neighbors both above and sandwiching you—it wasn’t exactly peaceful or safe, but it was something. 

You wait with a creeping anxiety as you tap your chopsticks against the homemade ramen you’ve made for yourself, one true moment of happiness in the day as you’re finally sitting down to relax, feet aching terribly.

It was coffee runs and constant back and forths over forgotten supplies or paperwork—it was the perfect job to keep you active and on your toes, never sure when someone might blow up on you for whatever reason it may be—you were nothing special, helpful, but when it came down to it, you were more or less in the way, so you often made yourself small out of habit. 

The knock that startles you is hurried, like a panic. It sends your heart rate skyrocketing but your name echoes on the other side of the door, scrambling to open the door, you’re faced with two men.

The agent, James, a decent man despite his unorganized and erratic personality—and Lucien, a piss poor disguise covering his face.

You snort, addressing the ball cap and sunglasses with an amused expression, it was doing nothing to cover the instantly recognizable wispy brown hair of his and aquiline nose—the upcoming king of stage and screen. It was a wonder he even made it here in one piece.

“A natural chameleon,” You joke, widening your door to let them inside—the apartment was clean, thankfully. You’d scramble to get home after work and pick up, given you didn’t have much time to actually prepare, “seriously—get inside before someone clocks you.”

The agent stays though, like his feet were planted.

“He’s all yours,” He tells you, “you’ve got my number—don’t let him leave. I’ll check in when I can. Keep an eye out for paps.”

“Hey, no—” You interject, watching as the agent turned on his heels and departed, “we didn’t agree to—”, turning the corner with a shout of a long, helpless, “that!”

You sigh with a deep frown, turning over your shoulder to find Lucien with a chopstick in hand, noodle dangling from the utensil with a curious face, sniffing it cautiously. 

“Hey!” You chastise, plucking the chopstick from his fingers, “Stop that.”

He looks at you curiously, obviously taken aback by your tone of voice and lack of intimidation by him, like a startled cat.

Jesus, okay.

You force a calming breath through your nose and look up at him, “Would you like some?”

“Is it gluten free?” Lucien inquires, peering over your shoulder at the still steaming hot bowl of soup.

“Actually, yeah,” Your brow furrows, “it—it is.”

“Sure,” He shrugs, beginning to remove his cap and glasses, along with his jacket, resting them haphazardly on the kitchen island as he takes a seat on the only other unoccupied barstool in your kitchen.

“Oh no,” You swiftly rectify his actions, “we’re not doing this—there’s a coat rack for a reason and a shelf by the door for things like,” You walk toward the front door, hand circling the object like a cherished belonging, “keys—sunglasses, hats,” You stress the final two words and point at the items before jutting your thumb frustratingly at the door, “—if you don’t mind, while I make your dinner.”

It was clear he’s spent most of the past several years with people ready and waiting on him, never questioning or ordering around, but it was basic human decency, you weren’t going to allow him to be amiss to it.

He obliges quietly, a surprise to you. You hide the satisfied smirk as you pour the broth into the bowl along with the noodles before placing the bowl on his side of the island, placing another dish near him, scattered with different toppings.

Lucien looks silently intrigued, the ends of his mouth curling down in interest as he sprinkles various toppings over his food, beginning to eat silently as you return to your own meal.

After a long enough silence and Lucien’s occasional slurping you decide to set a hard boundary, given the various personalities you’ve dealt with in the industry, it was you being proactive out of habit.

“Let me be clear, I’m not doing this out of the goodness of my heart,” You inform him, locking eyes with his intense stare, something you hadn’t forgotten, not since the on-set incident, “This is still my home. Don’t be an asshole about it.”

“James said you were a firecracker,” Lucien smirks slightly, resting his chopsticks along the top of the bowl, “and a little bit of a bitch, but—”

“Good, he hasn’t lost his mind then.”

“Don’t worry, I’m a professional at this shit now. You won’t even know I’m here.”

Highly unlikely, you think.

He even makes a point by grabbing his bowl and emptying it before placing it in the sink before extending his hand out to your own bowl. You watch him wash the dishes, something that looks unnatural, but you aren’t going to complain.

“You always cook like that?” Lucien asks curiously over the running water, head turning over his shoulder briefly.

“No, only Friday. I never have time otherwise, work is…busy,” A generous way to describe it, but Lucien doesn’t seem to care or question, drying off the last dish before extending his hands out by his side in a grand gesture.

Maybe he was expecting a roaring applause, but you don’t give him the satisfaction. You offer him a genuine thank you but it doesn’t extend beyond that before you’re trailing a few feet over toward the living room, a clean pillow and blanket draped over the couch, along with a fitted sheet if he felt like using it. It was all unmade, allowing him to set it up himself.

“Also,” You clasp your hands together at your front, “James didn’t mention this because I didn’t tell him but we’ve had a string of break-ins for a while now, so—always keep the deadbolt locked. Please.”

His eyes widen, looking around the apartment for the quickest escape. You were on the seventh floor, the only other escape option was a less than reliable balcony that you barely used.

“I have a bat,” You tell him, before pointing toward the door beside the entrance, “in the shoe closet, but I think we’re okay.”

“Think?”

You shrug, “It hasn’t happened yet, but the police have shit response time around here.”

Lucien looks overwhelmed, but nods.

“Oh, and the neighbors like to have really loud sex—walls are thin. Have fun.”

“No puedo creer esta mierda—” He mumbles under his breath as you turn your back, a sharp flap of a sheet, and a short laugh from you follows.

“Blame your agent, Lucien.”

He didn’t think you’d understand him, but your astute hearing proved otherwise. 

Lucien was putting on an act with his gesture, clearly. 

He doesn’t respond, pouting his way through the process of setting up his new bed for the next couple weeks in silence, ignoring the soft click to your door as you turn in for the night, the creeping and soft city noises filtering in through the thin apartment walls.

It wouldn’t be an easy night but he's never really liked big, empty houses anyways.

—

The weekend is uneventful; you fear it might be a dream, too good to be true, a complete fluke.

Maybe he had a change of heart overnight, but Lucien is overly polite.

He deconstructs his bed both mornings, packing it away in a corner of the living room, listening to the television at a reasonable volume with fresh coffee in the coffee pot, he cleans up his dishes and leaves a marginal mess. 

The real kicker—he has the ability to keep the toilet seat down with your now shared bathroom attached to your bedroom, a real…gentleman. 

You eyed him suspiciously most of the day, when he’s unaware and preoccupied, wondering when the facade would drop. Does he even remember the coffee incident? 

He had to, right?

He approaches with a silent gesture of his emptied cup as you fill your own.

Fine—you pull the cup from his grip and fill it to the brim, sliding it back over carefully.

He sips gingerly as he raises it to his lip before speaking, “S’good coffee.”

“Thanks,” You answer nonchalantly, pouring a generous amount of sugar and cream into your coffee and stirring, watching as the dark black lightened into a soft brown, “are you a coffee guy?”

“I’m an anything guy,” Lucien responds, “but—good, it’s good. I’m impressed.”

“Why?” You ask with a little more bark than needed, a flippant tone rounding out your morning irritation as you readied for work. “Are you—you really don’t remember, do you?”

Lucien raised his eyebrows in question, expectant.

“Your last job, up in Hollywood Hills. You spilled coffee all over me, blamed me, then got me suspended for a week, because of your outburst. I barely managed rent that month”

His eyes narrow, recollecting the thought like he’d been stricken with temporary amnesia.

“You’re all so much of the same, y’know?” You continue, sipping generously from your cup as his face relaxes, following your movements with a casual glance. “Cocky, egotistical, little dicked men. Without me you wouldn’t have that ridiculous fifteen dollar hyper whateverthefuck water you insisted you needed in your trailer, or your dry cleaning? God forbid. Seriously, fuck you.”

“Wait—” Lucien staunches, hold his hand up in pause, “hold on—”

You wait for approximately half a second before you roll your eyes, pushing beyond him to gather your bag and keys, “You know, I don’t need a disingenuous apology. I’m not doing this as a favor. I’m being paid.”

James had lied to him, that much he was figuring out as he processed the situation. You weren’t someone offering up free charity, a helping hand for a starving actor in need—except that wasn’t the case for him. Despite his team's careful guidance; he was a repeat offender of bad choices and money management, a part-time alcoholic, and a serial flirt. He knew how to play his hand and he was good at it, but with you—it was clear that you were a challenge.

But, it was only a couple weeks. He could survive that. He was a people person first and foremost and he’d charm the hell out of you if given the opportunity. 

“James said he’d be by in an hour to pick you up for your meetings today—lock the door when you leave. Please.”

Still speechless, he watches you leave with a stiff, crisp shut of the door.

He couldn’t remember, racking his brain for one incident after another. His own fair share made him cringe in hindsight, but he…couldn’t remember. He’d almost hoped you were a fresh face, leaving him free of judgment, but it was clear that this situation was about pure survival.

-

“You did do that,” James confirmed to him as they left the first brand meeting that morning, “It was the morning of the big awards show—you remember?” He doesn’t wait for Lucien’s response, continuing, “Poor kid got her ass chewed out and had to take a trip to the clinic for the burns. It was…a mess. Never cried, though. I’ll give her that.”

And, like a strike of a match, it floods back. You’re shocked expression, mouth slightly agape as the sting of pain settled in, bracing for the impact of Lucien’s wrath because you knew. A man allergic to accountability, oozing power, it was almost too easy.

“Shit.”

“Yeah. Apologies seem pointless now, but it could help. But…be genuine.”

“I’m genuine.”

James gives him a certain look, one that argues otherwise.

“I am.”

Only time would tell, really.

By the end of your work day, it was with great relief as you stepped through the door of your apartment until you remembered one fine detail you had told Lucien more than once.

Lock the door.

The eeriness hits you as the door clicks shut behind you, the place falling into a dead silence for a brief moment, your bag hitting the counter as you maneuvered your keys between your fingers, ready to take on what you could with what little strength you had to offer.

Just maul their face off, that seemed like the best option.

You count the seconds in your head, breath held tight and constricted in your chest. You quickly check the available pathways—living room, kitchen, before slipping down the hall, left with the only room to flee if not away from your apartment.

Bedroom light off, not a thing out of place, pristine even—but your eyes track toward the bathroom light seeping underneath the gap in the door. With careful, measured movements you approach the door although you haven’t thought through the actual process of what you wanted to do.

But, before you can react the door is swinging open as the bathroom is plunged into darkness, revealing a sopping wet Lucien, towel tied tight around his waist as he slings a smaller one over his shoulders, completely relaxed until he spots you.

Both of you scream—you out of anger and fear, Lucien at the incoming hand that he snatches by the wrist, your eyes landing on each other, your nostrils flaring in frustration.

“You’re insane!” Lucien shouts, shoving your hand away, “You nearly tore my face off.”

“I thought you were an intruder,” You seethe, “—what kind of maniac showers with the front door unlocked while home alone?”

“You said you had a bat,” Lucien excuses, “I could have defended myself.”

You sigh, plucking the keys from your grip before you toss them on your bed, stepping away from Lucien and away from the radiating heat of his body as it glistened, obnoxiously.

“Get out,” You snap, “get out—go—”

“I was just gonna…grab my clothes and come change in,” He weakly gestures toward the bathroom, earning a sharp look of distaste in his direction, “alright—alright, Jesus.”

He pauses for a moment, though. Before the lightbulb clicks on and he’s scrambling into the living room and back in record time, shoving a small white envelope into your hands.

“What is this?” You ask tensely, blindly ripping at the seal as you stare at him.

“It’s uh—what I owe you, for the coffee thing. I…I remember now. Figured I could pay you for the work I made you miss…is that about right?”

You peer at the wad of cash. It was indeed, enough.

“You’re unbelievable,” You reply, shaking your head.

It gives him false hope, wondering if it was all going to be brushed under the rug and that he could continue the rest of his stay in a somewhat semblance of peace, but then your expression flips and oh…that’s not…

“Are you physically incapable of saying the words “I’m sorry”—would it kill you? Allergic to accountability? God, you know what, I’m gonna call James and tell him I just can’t do—”

“No,” Lucien panics, hand around your bicep as you attempt to push past him, immediately recognizing the fierceness of his grip he loosens it, calms himself, “no—please, listen…I…I didn’t think you’d care enough to hear it. I do remember now and I was a dick, I was trying to offer a gesture of good faith. Peace, even?”

“Is this even your money?” You ask curiously, brow furrowed as you help up the envelope.

“Yeah, yeah—I pulled it out of my savings. Why? Do you…not want it?”

You quickly snatch the envelope away, “No, I’ll take it. But, words mean a lot. Like calling me an ignorant little bitch.”

“Okay, okay. I am sorry. I had a lot going on and I know that isn’t an excuse either, but I am.”

You tilt your head in examination, peering through the raw emotion on his face, whether he was putting on a masterclass in acting or not, it was believable enough. You could remain bitter, even if it meant suffering in silence, but you liked the peace just as much as he, so you compromise.

“You still have to get out,” You inform him, walking your fingers tauntingly toward the door, “and I swear, Lucien, if you used all the hot water—”

-

Lucien was insistent about rehearsing at least five hours a day, even on weekends. Luckily, most of those days you were spared, but when you’re barricaded away in your bedroom, sound travels. And Lucien doesn't care much to stifle his performance, maybe it was a weapon to backfire at your inconsiderate neighbors, but it was driving you insane.

He’s stuck on one scene, clearly a building tension that explodes and apparently he can’t nail, having heard the lines a hundred times over through the muffled walls—your first instinct was to complain, tell him take it elsewhere, but you remember your deal with James. Lucien just needed a place to stay for a while and this was his job.

Eventually, you poke your head through your bedroom door with a cautious expression, watching Lucien examine his face in the mirror, filing through various emotions before he finally gives up, tossing the script against the counter.

He spots you as he turns, already gearing up to apologize or maybe even excuse—but instead, you speak.

“Is it for an audition?”

“How’d you know?”

“The yelling, the emotion—I guess? I help on set with self tapes from time to time. I’ve learned to spot the difference between just memorizing lines and trying to feel the script.”

Lucien pushes his lips out in thought, tongue rolling over his teeth as his hands settle against his hips, pushing the sweatpants lower on his hips as he stands, deliberating.

“Just ask,” You tell him.

“You any good?”

It was a genuine question, not meant to attack your own ego. Besides, it makes you laugh.

“I’ll get your good side,” You promise him, surfacing from your room as you beckon for his phone with your hand, getting straight to work.

It only takes a few minutes to find a solid place to set up, against one of your cream colored walls, pictureless and plain, but with ample lighting from inside and out, it highlighted the wispy grays in Lucien’s untamed curls hanging over his forehead, the wrinkles creasing there as he looked down at the script and examined the text.

“Do you have them memorized?” 

Lucien nods absently, his finger trailing down the side of the paper until it was suddenly gone, snatched from his hands with a smile on your face as you pointed for him to slide into frame. You take a step back, watching the screen with a careful eye before motioning with a finger for him to move a few centimeters to the left, “There. Perfect.”

You flatten out the creased paper as you speak, “From the top?”

Lucien smiles halfheartedly—the stress washing from his face for a moment—and nods.

–

You could keep up, that much was obvious.

Lucien is used to the monotone voice on the other side of the camera during auditions, forced tones and half-cocked emotion, it was hard to act against and with, but he’s learned to push through for the sake of a role. 

It was an emotional scene, almost a requirement to have that intensity to act against and Lucien caught your eye line at one point, face buried in the script as you uttered the lines with teary eyes, letting your own emotion fill you to the brim and flow out, giving him a real and authentic reaction to act against.

He watched it back with a grin, mostly out of his own cocky admiration for himself but the secret you’ve been hoarding, a welcome surprise.

“Have you never considered acting?” Lucien asks curiously, emailing the video off to his agent.

“Cameras are daunting,” You shrug, folding and filing away some freshly washed towels as Lucien reclined on your couch, “I prefer being behind them.”

“You’re a natural,” He offers honestly, “that’s really rare.”

You shake your head in amusement as you riffled through the unfolded laundry, separating in different piles until you come across a no longer white blouse, stained a soft pink—and of course, Lucien. It was Lucien who offered to take laundry down the night prior, needing a moment away from being cooped up in the apartment, swearing he had it under control.

“I told you not to put this in the wash load with the colors! Look at this—” You held up the obviously stained blouse, crumpling up the fabric and tossing it to the couch with a frustrated huff.

“To be fair, it’s been years since I did my own laundry,” Lucien responds casually, “—don’t worry, I’ll have James buy you another.”

Your face twitches, actually twitches.

“No, no—it…it’s fine. It’s only a shirt,” You tuck a loose hair behind your ear as you heave the towels into your arm, “just—whites and colors, always separate them.”

And while living with Lucien had mellowed out some, it was still tumultuous at times.

Fighting over the bathroom was a regular occurrence, both of you guilty. But, that could be worked through, it wasn’t the end of the world. Occasionally it was the lights, a bad habit of Lucien’s to leave them lingering in his wait, lamps and fixtures, nothing was safe. Opened cabinets, items forgotten and out of place. It was all tedious and frustrating, picking and choosing your battles as they came, brushing far too much under the rub for the sake of peace.

You knew it was almost over, enjoying a quiet night to yourself while Lucien was apparently out at dinner—you weren’t sure, you didn’t really care, but you enjoyed the glimpse of what was to return to you, tucked away on the couch while half-dressed, hand stuffed into a freshly popped bowl of popcorn.

It was Friday and your neighbors never failed to come home from a rowdy night of partying with everything but sleeping on their mind, getting straight to business and your grab for the remote was immediate, turning up the volume to drown out the obnoxious moans and groans of drunk sex happening on the other side of the wall.

Lucien arrives back somewhere near the middle of the movie, the soft laughs from you pulling his attention to the couch as he clocked the nineties rom-com on the television, your cheek resting against your balled up fist, placing his wallet against the counter to signal his entrance.

“Loud enough for you?” Lucien jokes, approaching the singular piece of furniture in your living room, fingertips pressing against the arm of the couch as he takes in your appearance, shirt barely reaching beyond mid-thigh, thick socks keeping you warm as you curled in on yourself, careless that Lucien was definitely looking you make a noise in question, the words processing in a delayed manner.

You reach for the remote, pausing the movie briefly to reveal the reason; the insistent thump of wood against cheap sheetrock and moans, squealy and high-pitched, forcing a raised eyebrow from Lucien that needed no words.

“Nevermind,” He concedes,hands thrown up in defeat with a chuckle hidden behind his teeth, walking closer to examine the screen, filing through his internal rolodex of films and drawing a blank.

“Are you going to keep standing there like a total weirdo or are you going to watch the movie?” You ask with a joking tone, tucking your feet underneath you as you made room, glancing down at your phone as a notification brought the screen to life.

Lucien catches the faint tug of a smile on your face as you type away, clicking the phone into sleep mode a few moments later before continuing the movie without a word.

You’re not sure which one of you succumbs to sleep first, but it didn’t matter, finding that you both aligned together easily as you slept, covered with a blanket that Lucien must have snatched somewhere near without disturbing you—and when you wake in the middle of the night, complex quiet throughout, you can’t even find it in you to move.

–

Lucien’s length of stay was diminishing quickly and you were relieved, only a few more days and things would be back to normal, you’d be three thousand dollars richer, and you wouldn’t have to confront the fact that Lucien wasn’t entirely as bad as he seemed, temper aside.

You’re both on your way out the door on a weekday morning when you spot him, navy blue hoodie draping his body, one you favored because of its size and comfortability.

“That’s mine,” You utter as you’re fisting your keys into your hand and tucking a makeup applicator away in your bag, “that’s…mine—why is it on your body?”

Lucien looks down, perplexed. He could’ve swore…

“It’s mine, I swear,” You’re peering over his shoulder and pulling at the collar, examining the tag by his neck, or lack thereof—you always cut them out, hated the feeling against your skin.

“It’s mine,” You say with finality, “But, it’s fine. I’ve been meaning to replace it anyways. And now that you’ve worn it, definitely.”

“Ouch,” Lucien chuckles, shaking his head at your bluntness, “I guess I deserve that. I did think it was mine, though. Swear. Must’ve gotten mixed up somehow.”

 “Oh, well, just burn it now—oh, shit, before I forget,” You point your finger at his chest, stopping him in his tracks, “I’ve got a date tonight. I’ll more than likely be gone when you get back here. I’m leaving a key under the mat, you know the deal. Respect it…protect it like you give a shit if anything happens, it’s all I have.”

“Date?” Lucien teases, “Sounds—”

“We’re not doing this,” You cut him short, finger raising higher in reprimand, “don’t do that.”

Again, Lucien values his well-being, so he admits defeat. 

It was difficult for him, his eagerness to please and charm, to command the conversation and impress—but with you, it was impossible. Truly, it was mesmerizing to him.

It was several hours later when Lucien arrived at the apartment, pointedly locking the door behind him as you had reminded him several times—he wasn’t completely aloof.

His orders takeout on a whim, disguised under a fake name and the careful directions to leave at the door, having practiced the art of subtly when it came to laying low, enjoying a couple beers from a pack James had bought him as a small celebration for a week of good, decent meetings. 

Things had been looking up recently and it made Lucien unsettled in a way, but thankful nonetheless, sipping at the beer generously and relaxing well into the night, dusk turning to black skies and few twinkling star lights, drowned out by the thick smog of city pollution. It started raining eventually, a soft pattern picking up gradually and he, for natural reasoning, is slightly concerned. So, he stays up despite some lingering exhaustion, barely hitting a quarter beyond eight o’clock when the door handle rattles, soft curses on the other side of the door that send him to his feet, peering through the peephole to spot a sufficiently blurry outline of you.

And what he opens the door to is not what he’s expecting, although, he wasn’t even sure what he was expecting in the first place, but this…it wasn’t it.

You were wet, clothes dripping and rain water pooling at your feet, everything sticking to you like an uncomfortable glue, cold and shivering, your bottom lip trembling.

Without thinking, Lucien shifts into action. 

He doesn’t ask a single question, not at first. Silently pulling the items off of you as you allow him; keys and purse first, clanging against the counter before he’s pulling your coat of, blouse, even kneeling down to remove your shoes before he’s carrying the clothes to the bathroom with you in tow, turning on the shower until it was steaming up the mirrors, heat radiating through the room as you pulled at the button of your jeans weakly, fumbling with cold and feeble hands.

He holds his hands up, careful not to approach in a way that would startle you or force you into attack mode, which seemed unlikely with the disheartened look on your face and he asks quietly, “Do you need help?”

You’re quiet for a long, tense moment before you nod, trying to quell the full body shivers as he assists you in stripping down to your underwear, also soaked. He pulls the curtain back and helps you over the side of the tub with the solid weight of his hand and speaks again despite your silence, “I’ll wait in your room—do you need anything?”

It doesn’t take a genius to piece things together as Lucien settles against the edge of the bed and it angers him for some forlorn reason, a feeling he hasn’t experienced in a long time. When the shower cuts off, he straightens, hesitates—should he leave? 

You’d want privacy, right? Yeah. No, definitely.

He rises to his feet without another thought, his awful timing sending you straight into his chest as you swung the door open, towel snug around your body and smelling sharply of fresh, citrus body wash.

“S-sorry,” You stammer out, “you don’t—you don’t have to wait around, Lucien. Or give a shit, either. I don’t expect you to and I don’t care—”

It was unusually cold. He’s become familiar with your snark, that sharp and cunning personality, but this was different. This was a push, a defense of hard and impenetrable walls building up before his eyes and he speaks without thinking, hoping that it slips through the cracks.

“Regardless, I’ll listen,” Lucien provides—it wasn’t an overwhelming expression of fake, forced care or, god forbid, love. But, it was a raw enough response that it grabs your attention, “—if you want me to.”

—

He cranked up the heat while you dressed, flipped open his leftover takeout, and listened. You weren’t used to this and for a while, you were half-expecting him to find a way to turn the situation on himself, a sob story for a sob story. But, he doesn’t.

“This sushi…” You savor the taste, eyes falling closed.

“Good, isn’t it?” Lucien smirks, popping another into his mouth with careful precision, chopsticks in hand.

You could cry, it was such a strong and startling feeling that it caught you off-guard, “Yeah, really good.”

You clear your throat, tears shoved aside, “Have you ever ditched a date before?”

Lucien shakes his head with a subtle frown.

“Right, Lucien De Leon,” You respond jokingly, that magical emphasis around his name, “any woman would be dying for all of….this,” You gesture to him lazily with a faux disgust that couldn’t even be forced, both of you divulging into a laugh.

“Hey, you said it,” Lucien shrugs with a pointed wink that you shouldn’t find so attractive, but the natural charm he emits makes it impossible, “—but, no. Can’t say I have.”

“Even the ones who wouldn’t put out?”

“At the risk of sounding like an asshole—“ Lucien begins, but you follow the rhythm of the conversation and it isn’t long before the lightbulb strikes on and you’re nodding.

“Right, you probably don’t have an issue in that department. Stupid question, sorry.”

You pluck the last piece of sushi off the styrofoam and chew, speaking behind your hand, “I should’ve known that dude was a prick, only stared at my tits the entire date.”

Out of reflex, his eyes drag to your chest and you click the movement in an instant, “Not helping,” You warn him lightly, “I guess I was too blunt, he kept…touching me. I told him I didn’t feel comfortable going back to his place, he made some excuse to go to the bathroom and I waited for a half hour. Until the server came by with the bill—so, not only did he ditch me, I paid a hundred dollar tab and I didn’t even eat my food.”

Even in Lucien’s wild days, he couldn’t imagine doing that. Not when he was drinking more heavily, partying, hooking up on a daily basis—before his first failed marriage, it was foreign to him. 

“You could’ve called me, or James, shit—an uber.”

“Phone died,” You shrug lamely, “it doesn’t matter, anyways. And don’t get me wrong, casual sex—it’s fine, but I got too hopeful, I guess. All men are the same.”

“Come on,” Lucien jests, “that’s not fair.”

“Fine, enlighten me, then.”

“You can’t expect fairytale shit—I mean, I’m one failed marriage and plenty of missteps in my life. Do you think I’m a bad guy?”

“Do you want me to answer that honestly?” 

Lucien sighs in defeat, scratching at his mused hair as he tosses the empty food container aside.

“I’m fucking with you,” You offer in a quieter tone—even if you weren’t friends with him, he didn’t have to put in the effort to help or listen, but he was, “I’m—just, thank you.”

“I’m in good graces now?” Lucien asks curiously, that playful mischief gracing his face with a smile.

You make a motion with your hand from your head as you grab, like pulling a thought and throwing it away, “Coffee incident? Forgotten—unless you pull some heinous shit.”

“You know, I might actually miss this,” His finger does a swirling motion, encompassing your living room, “you—eh,” a shaky hand motion that earns a jab to his thigh from your foot, “shit, ouch—that was a joke.”

“I know,” You concede with a smirk, “—I won’t, though. I want my couch back. And my bathroom.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think you’re a catch,” He tells you, “although, I do like the ones that bite, so—“

You reach forward this time, swatting playful at his chest with the back of your hand, but his fast reflexes beat you, your fingers smacking into solid rings.

He snickers softly and examines the grimace on your face as you pull back, “Pobrecita,” He coos mockingly, reaching for your hand and pressing a gentle kiss against the skin, “see what I mean?”

You ignore the heat that strikes through your body like a freshly lit match, pulling your hand away with a distinct eye roll. 

He’d be gone soon and this would all be a ridiculous memory to think back on. 

There was no room for newly evolving feelings, or worse, infatuation. 

—

The three months you spend falling back into your normal routine is monotonous, safe, but the kind of security that has you itching for change. You find yourself checking on Lucien more often than you should, regular social media checks, the occasional subtle question to James when you happened to catch him on set. It wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help yourself. 

He did seem more erratic, often coming across other quick clips and social media stories of him at the club during waking hours, pure reckless abandon, he was having the time of his life—you couldn’t blame him, but it was…slightly alarming.

It was a Saturday night when all hell broke loose, police sirens raining down the street as you raced to your open window, peering down at the obscured face of a man in cuffs as he was roughly shoved into a police car before there’s a pounding knock at the door, your heart nearly bursting out of your chest at the sound.

Turning on your heels and swinging the door open, you can’t help but find yourself speechless at the sight.

“Think they caught your burglar,” Lucien notes under his baseball cap, eyes catching the cascading red and blue lights outside your window, duffel bag at his feet and a regretful look on James’ face.

You tilt your head at the discovery, your brain working overtime before your eyes widen.

“Just hear him out,” He pleads with prayer like hands, phone sandwiched between two begging palms, “Lucien—go,”

Lucien seems to stutter-step in his mind, not expecting to be the one leading this proposition as he side-eyes James, “I…need a place to stay…again,” Lucien squints his eyes and stares up at the ceiling, looking almost embarrassed, “for the next six months.”

“No,” You nearly shout out incredulously, “the first time wasn’t a trial run.”

There’s a long moment of tense eye contact and uncertainty.

An underlying worry in your gut at the sight of Lucien, a little worse for wear but still mostly himself, gripping tightly at his carry-on bag in his hand, thumb rubbing nervously at the leather strap.

Goddammit.

–

He’s paying the entire six months of rent he planned on staying there while he filmed for a movie they were shooting a short ten minute drive from your complex, a quaint little studio gracious enough to let the crew film free of charge—he’d given you the whole spiel, in one ear and out the other still wondering how you’ve tangled yourself in this web again.

“Can I just ask you one thing?” You inquire, helping him file away some of his clothes in a drawer you had emptied out for him like this was normal. He makes a soft noise of acknowledgment with his lips pursed together, tired sunken eyes staring back at you, “Why not get your own apartment? A house? I mean, you’ve got the money?”

Lucien clears his throat, scratching at his neck where it jostles his chains, fingers slipping under the silk fabric of his shirt, “I, uh—feel weird…livingalone,” He rushes out, quickly turning to grab more clothes as you stand, hand placed against the top of your dresser as your brow furrows, feeling like you’d just fallen deaf.

“Come again?”

A small huff as Lucien passes a stack of expensive shirts, material that had to be ethically sourced or…some bullshit like that, he’s told you the story before in passing.

“I don’t like living alone, ‘s why I float,” He offers lamely, tossing the empty duffel into the corner of your room—you’d pick it up later, it didn’t matter, “I left all my old stuff to my ex-wife, it was easier that way.”

Often you had to remind yourself that Lucien was older, nearing his late forties while you were still managing through your late twenties, a big thirty on the horizon.

It dawns on you then that you don’t know much about Lucien at all outside of tabloids and gossip sites, the rumor mills running through Hollywood—you often find yourself reminding you of the fact he was still a person, with troubles, clearer now more than ever.

“It wasn’t always like this,” He assures you, “I’m a fuckin’ mess, I already know.”

“I think we’re beyond judgment, Lucien,” You assure him, “You saw me sobbing and nearly naked—just keep this place clean, like you give a shit about it, alright?”

Lucien nods dutifully, “Yes, ma’am.”

–

You learn quickly that his long term stay meant that little quirks were beginning to surface—always organizing your things out on the sink opposite of his own, a small gesture that didn’t go unnoticed when you were rushing out the door on days he wasn’t given a call time. Or how he always made sure there was food waiting when he arrived before you—takeout or not. He wasn’t a great cook, but he could manage.

In turn, you tried to cook more often. And he loved to hover, but not with a homey, warm feeling that made you feel safe, rather like a curious dog nipping at your ankles. And more so, he would finish his own plate before looking cautiously at your own before you nod, allowing him to pick from your plate with a greediness that made you giggle under your breath.

“My ex-wife never cooked,” He had told you once, “I mean, she tried—but she was terrible. And this,” His tongue pokes at the inside of his cheek as he steps at the homemade ravioli, “is there anything you can’t do?”

“Say no, apparently,” You gave him a solid once-over, a look from head to toe—he’s never offended anymore, taking the playful jest in stride, it had already been a month and it was beginning to feel like normal, again, having him there.

Your conflicting schedules meant a lot of time away from each other, which wasn’t bad. It almost helped more than you expected and while your apartment wasn’t well-fit for a roommate, Lucien made the place feel less empty.

You couldn’t say it out loud, but you were starting to understand the charm. You could see beyond the facade and the persona—a troubled man with ambition, purpose, but a mountain of struggles. The drinking wasn’t a surprise, nor his uptick in smoking. He always smoked out the window so the smell wouldn’t permeate, but the drinking started to become…an issue. 

It wasn’t that Lucien couldn’t handle himself when he drank, but he often did it to fill the dead time—so he said—when you were still at work, fighting with his own demons in his mind. He always ended up on your bed those nights, curled up in a fetal position at the wrong end and you couldn’t find it in yourself to move him, draping a blanket over him before you decided to spend the night on the couch. It was a weekly occurrence after a while, slowly growing in frequency.

He always apologizes, tells you he won’t do it again, but eventually you find yourself melding around him, sleeping in a way that keeps you comfortable and doesn’t disturb him. You don’t judge him, don’t think any lower of him—but there was concern and Lucien could see it growing with every passing conversation as the weeks dragged along. 

By the third month, the dam breaks.

You don’t sugarcoat anything for him either.

“Do you need rehab?” You ask bluntly, watching him peel the gold-flaked under eye patches from his face, shoulder leaned against the doorframe, “Or, like, therapy?”

“I’m not an alcoholic,” He defends, washing his hands under the warm water, “I can get sober if I wanna, but it helps with the stress, you know?”

“No,” You respond honestly, but softly, “I don’t. Unless this is just some big excuse for you to sleep in my bed, which if it is—”

Lucien chuckles, toweling his hands dry, “You caught me.”

“You would tell me if it was getting bad, wouldn’t you?”

It seemed like the least he could do, considering how greatly you were carrying the burden for him by allowing him to stay in the comfort of your own home, treating him like a human. You ignored the tabloids anymore, always negative and nefarious toward him, like he wasn’t allowed to make a few mistakes along the way. He had to be perfect, given his troubling start in the industry. DUIs, cheating, eventually settling down to marry but that didn’t work out great for him either—you’d done some research lately, out of pure curiosity to understand what he wasn’t always willing to share, but you preferred to hear it from him.

Lucien squeezes at your chin in a comforting manner that makes you grimace in feigned disgust, forcing a gentle laugh through your nose as he answers, “Yes, I would.”

–

When he should, he doesn’t. 

Award season was approaching and work was hectic, Lucien had wrapped on his next project and his previous one was gearing for a big release and line of promos, which meant Lucien had to be on his game.

The lamp in your living was broken, a shattered glass bottle on the floor beside it, a trail of clothes following to your room and a heat in the apartment that was sweltering in a way that had you stripping down immediately to the thinnest layer you could manage without getting to your underwear, jeans and a thin strapped top as you walked barefoot toward your room.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting or hoping for, but it isn’t this.

He’s naked, completely bare, save for the blanket draping his groin to save his modesty, out cold but skin obviously clammy, reeking of alcohol and sweat and you can’t help scrambling to the floor, unable to form any type of tangible sound. You check for a pulse, fearing that you might have just found yourself in an inescapable scandal, but it was there. That soft thump, thump, thump under your fingertips before you press the back of your hand to his skin and despite the sweat, he’s cold. He must have sweat out most of the alcohol in his system, your eyes dragging to the forgotten bottle on the ground.

You sigh, eyes falling closed as you gather your thoughts. You devise a plan, slow and methodical—first was to clean, grabbing the clothes and broken glass from the ground, leaving no trace of his mayhew before you’re returning to your room and straight for the bathroom, immediately turning on the cold water, the stream forceful as it pushed through the showerhead.

“Fuck,” You curse to yourself as you glance at Lucien who is mostly dead-weight, struggling to understand how you can get him from one point to another—with another quiet huff you approach him, shifting until you can get your arms under his armpits and heave him up, blanket falling from his waist as you yelp, eyes shooting toward the ceiling as you continue to drag his slumped body toward the tub, “okay—god, Lucien, you fucking owe me.”

It takes some maneuvering and the unbelievability that you are so incredibly close to his bare ass and dick in a way that most would fall over backwards for, regardless of the situation—it felt wrong, seeing him in such a manner and so completely helpless, but you shove the thought aside as you finally get him in the tub, the cold water waking him almost immediately.

It starts with a gasp, a sharp tug of the curtain and coarse, “Shit,” that assures you he was alive and well, coherent, even. A small smile tugs at your lips as you hear him let out a string of curses before he finally settles.

“There’s a bottle of water and some Advil on the counter—take it,” You instruct behind the curtain, “I’m going to grab dinner—try not to hurt yourself, please.”

He doesn’t acknowledge you, not that you expected it. And it doesn’t take long to grab the food either, calling it in and driving there and back in about twenty minutes, finding Lucien freshly showered and sitting on the stool near the counter, eyes telling a story of exhaustion but his insistently bouncing leg telling another.

“Chicken or steak?” You ask nonchalantly, holding the styrofoam containers in both hands.

He takes a moment to answer, unsettled by your calmness, “...steak.”

You hand it over without a question, grabbing a couple drinks before you’re digging in, standing opposite of him rather than sitting, eating in a silence that grows, thickens.

“It’s quiet,” You note the obvious before you scroll through your phone, searching for a soft tune to play through your speakers, something to fill the air, “better—how’s the food?”

“I like it,” Lucien responds with a full mouth, somehow endearing as he swallows and sips at the second water you offered him, attempting to help keep him hydrated, even if it was still annoyingly hot in your apartment, “—I…I think I broke your AC.”

“You did. I’ll put in a work order for it to get fixed,” You answer, a solution to the problem, “are you okay?”

If Lucien was being honest with himself, he can’t remember the last time anyone has asked him that—not genuinely, anyways. He falls silently, biting at his bottom lip in deep thought as his eyes squint, poking quietly at his food.

Talking was hard, you understood that. But, you hoped there was some trust built between you in the past few months, that you hadn’t laid your vulnerabilities out bare the night you came home rain soaked without the ability for him to share too. Plus, he’d broken your favorite lamp.

“It’s complicated,” Lucien diverts, but that doesn’t stop you, eyes lying in wait as you laid your utensil down to listen, “—I’ve got two kids. One, he’s eighteen…awesome, awesome kid. His name is Raynor. I didn’t meet him until a few years back, I’ve been tryin’ take make up for that. We even went on a roadtrip a couple summers back.”

Lucien fiddles with the cap on the water bottle idly, speaking further, “I, the other, my daughter, she’s a couple years old—it was a crazy night with a co-star,” You clock the information immediately, knowing who he was talking about without the confession, and he knew too—it wasn’t exactly a well kept secret in Hollywood as Delia was now married, to another co-star, raising that child, “a long story for another time, but we’re going through this nasty court battle.”

It would explain his financial situation a little, his willingness to take roles as he could, but the growing stress on his face as weeks passed, the tendency to hide or ignore the situation rather than face it—you understood, to a degree. 

“So, all the drinking? The transiency?”

“It just helps,” He shrugs—helps him forget, temporarily, before it all comes barreling back at him, “she wants to revoke shared custody—she’s got her more anyways, with my work and everything, but she wants to deem me unfit, make it—” Lucien’s throat tightens, exactly why he wanted to avoid this conversation entirely, “she wants to erase me and the moment the press gets wind—”

All hell would break loose. 

“Lucien, I don’t think it works that way,” You assure him, even if your knowledge was slim, “there’s…that's your right, she’s your child.”

“Given my history, the judge could consider it,” Lucien replies lackluster, ashamed, “look—I’m sorry to dump this shit on you, I fucked up your apartment, I can find another place to stay and I’ll pay out the rest of the rent like I promised.”

You look at him with a gentle expression, tilting your head until his eyes finally rise, “I asked,” You remind him, “and I hated that lamp anyways, so you did me a favor,” It was a lie, but given his emotional state it was acceptable, watching as he forced a weak laugh, “I’m not kicking you out either, if the media publishes anything about it, you hunker down here. I can deal with a few paps, you know? We do work in the same industry, after all. I may not understand the full scope but I do understand, Lucien.”

He returns a look with sad, red-rimmed eyes as you reach to clean up your shared dinner, before approaching him with a careful few steps, a hand gliding over his bicep and your fingers rubbing at the small dip in the back of neck, your first real initiation of genuine touch. He was a touchy person himself and seemed at ease by the feeling, your lips coming to press a soft kiss against his cheek. Kind, friendly, you pat at his back.

Something changes between that touch and the look he gives you as he turns, eyes flicking toward your lips out of desire, silently he pushes logic aside and leans forward, pulling your chin into his hand like he has before, a familiar touch followed by a foreign one, plush lips against your own that has you swimming in a mix of emotions, eyes falling shut briefly before you realize what was happening, lips parting slightly as the tip of his tongue touches your own before you’re ripping away, eyes wide.

“Oh my god,” You utter out, wishing the words had stayed inside of your head, “I, uh–I’m—”

You stutter relentlessly before you’re scrambling toward your room, door falling shut with a soft click as you sink into your sheets, heart racing uncontrollably and your hands covering your face, unable to face what you had just escaped from as a knock comes a few minutes later on your bedroom door.

You couldn’t face him. You couldn’t.

Eventually, he leaves. Slow footsteps that eventually lead toward another door that closes too, unsure of where he was wandering off to, but you couldn’t think about that, not with the conflicting, battling emotions in your head and chest, a startling yearning coming from just a simple touch.

He was everything you despised—somehow finding level ground, adoring him, caring about him, it was never supposed to go this far. He started as an inconvenience, a disruption to your life…and now, you weren’t sure you could imagine it without him there, in some form.

It takes a couple hours, already deep into your slumber, but the dip of weight in your bed startles you for a moment before the movements stop, the strong press of a back against yours, and an unspoken security that pulls you both under quickly.

He’d gone out drinking again, but at this point, you couldn’t blame him.

–

He awakes to a sweet smell, distinct and fresh. And air, cool air. It can’t be dawn, the sun is too far in the sky to be early morning. Lucien rises with a heavy grogginess, rubbing at his eyes as he finds his footing and walks toward the living room of your apartment, finding your back turned to him as you fiddled with the buttons on your AC as you bid someone goodbye, a man carrying a toolbox descending toward the hallway.

He gears up for an apology, the words balancing on the tip of his tongue.

Suddenly, you’re in front of him, two filled mugs in hand, coffee just the way he liked.

 And Lucien doesn’t know when or why the feeling overtakes him, but he kisses you again. It isn’t a simple peck. It was full, all-consuming, feet lifting off the ground type of kiss.

No, literally—you rise to your tiptoes as the cups jostle in your grip as two large, warm hands curl around your back and his lips melt against your own, earning a starling gasp that slips through slightly parted lips, followed by his name after a moment too long.

“Coffee, coffee,” You mumbled quickly, “hot—burning, my toes,” Lucien pulled away quickly at the words, watching as the tan liquid pooled at your feet before he rushed to clean up the mess.

You watch with an amused expression before you finally hand the cup of coffee over, “Good morning to you too, I guess,” You smirk, biting down on your cheek to stifle the laugh that was fighting it’s way out, “please don’t tell me you’re still drunk.”

“I need to apologize,” Lucien tells you, “...again—I’m—I’m sorry for kissing you—again, like that, assuming that was something you wanted. I got pulled into the moment—”

You’ve had all night and morning to think it over, mulling over the emotions and feelings, still not quite sure, but you couldn’t help the swirling feeling of nervousness that had grown more frequent in Lucien’s presence, his looks, his flirtatious nature and touches. You were under his spell completely.

And if you didn’t want to kiss him, you would have stopped him.

Besides, you didn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news after his terrible night, having been let go from your job position that morning, no notice—you were still reeling, but didn’t want to burden Lucien with the news.

You needed something else to occupy your mind.

“Drink,” You instruct, taking a seat on the couch as you sip at your coffee in silence, watching as Lucien mirrored your actions and sat at the opposite end, legs out-stretched and his chest on display, tanned skin with neatly trimmed chest hair, soft tummy leading into the charcoaled, stretchy lounge pants leaving little to imagination as he fidgeted in his seat.

“Where’d you go last night?”

Lucien’s face immediately flushes with guilt, “The—a bar. I didn’t drink. I swear, I—”

He makes a small noise of frustration and closes his eyes, “I did something stupid, I needed a distraction, alright? I shouldn’t have kissed you, that’s not what you wanted, I know that.”

With a silent reservation, you press the coffee cup into the table in front of you before slowly make your way toward him on your knees before you pluck the half-empty mug from his grip and return it to a similar spot, feeling a surge of bravery as you climb onto his lap—there’s some underlying stupidity there, you think. But, fuck it.

“You don’t know what I want,” You assure him, fingers dragging along the top of his head before you’re tugging at the stands to tilt his head back, kissing him soundly, sweet dark roast on your shared breaths as you lick into his mouth, the opposite hand pressed flat against his bare chest. It takes a while, but eventually his brain catches up, along with his movements, and his hands curl around your bare thighs, fingertips grazing the silk shorts you wore to bed the night prior, like butter against your soft skin as his fingers climb and dig, pressing into your skin as you continue to discover every inch of him he had to offer—mouth, tongue, neck, chest.

It was a dormant hunger that had awoken after careful thought and pure primal need, tired of waiting things out for perfection when you had something tangible in front of you.

He’s mumbling your name softly as you lean into him, the bottom of your lip dragging against the tip of his nose as he pulls you away, strong hands encompassing your face as he looks at you, searching your glazed over eyes, “What are you doing?” He asks, apparent concern.

“Distracting you,” You tell him, immediately diving back in to kiss him, nipping at his chin playfully, a shaking sigh falling from his lips, “are you distracted?”

He chuckles weakly, “What happened to me being a cocky, egotistical, little dicked man?”

“I can go back to hating you if you want,” You respond, nipping at his ear before you pull back to look at him, so close you can feel his breath against your lips, “If you’re into that sorta thing.”

He could see in your eyes that you needed this too, a way to shut your brain off for a while, months of failed dates you’ve told him all about, in detail, he can’t help but chuckle at your eagerness, stifling a groan as you core grinds against him, cock stiffening with the movement.

“Maybe,” He’s undecided, “we’ll see how this goes.”

You smile wide, feeling a surge of pride as he returns the kiss more fully, a hand twisting around the back of your neck as he kisses you fully, all wet and uncoordinated but it makes your heart flutter in excitement.

“Let me taste you,” He begs, clawing at your top in an attempt to get his hands on your skin, pushing up the fabric as you follow his movements, top off, stripping your shorts down along with your underwear, an eager Lucien gripping at your hips to maneuver you down into the cushion as he hastily shoves the table away with his feet to make room for him on the floor, no reprieve as he hooks your legs over his shoulder and splits his tongue through your folds, licking up the center.

A man of his word, he tastes. Noisily he licks and prods, tongue dipping inside of along with wandering fingers, sucking gently at your clit until you’re yanking at his hair, hand curling over the back of his scalp, fingernails digging into the top of his back, moans spilling from your lips like a flowing river, the rapids rushing through, walls clenching around nothing but cool air as Lucien parts from you, admires. 

He’s got two hands on your thighs to keep you open, “Wider,” He coaxes, your breath quickening as he squeezes at your thighs, “right there, don’t move.”

He shoves his pants down his hips, the heel of his palm rubbing down his shaft as he wraps his fingers around his cock, jerking himself off at the sight of you, glistening and eager, your fingers digging into the cushion fabric—you’ve seen him before, naked, in starkly different context. 

But, he had nothing to be ashamed of, your eyes counting the faint splattering of freckles on his chest as his hand glides over his cock, tugs, thumb sliding over the tip to spread the precum down his shaft and you don’t hear him calling your name until his hand touches your skin, gliding over your knee as he taps, coming to with a weak, “Huh?”

Lucien laughs under his breath before he’s beckoning you closer, pushing up with your palms as he cups his hand under your chin and asks—no, demands, “Spit,” He tells you, following his order without missing a beat, the saliva dripping into his hands as you push it past your lips and he moves closer, knees settled on the plush rug in your living room, guiding you until your ass was nearly hanging off the couch and using your saliva to aid the tug of his cock.

“No condom,” You quickly interject, slightly out of breath. His mouth opens like he wants to respond but you quickly shush him, “we can avoid the spiel, I’m on the pill.”

Lucien shrugs with a cocked smile, “Just checking. You alright?”

You nod eagerly, dying for a reason to shut your mind off.

It was the perfect angle, his hips just level enough with your hips that he slid in with ease, adding his own string of spit into the mix as rubbed it down your cunt and pushed his cock inside—deeper, deeper, the head of his cock sliding against your folds teasingly as he rocks his hips until he’s fully flush inside of you.

Your anxious hands are taken hold by him, curling around his wrists instinctively before they’re being shoved over your head and against the back of the couch, his towering frame leaning over you as his hips piston you at a bruising pace, deep enough that it aches. It’s been long, so long and you feel pathetic for already wanting it so bad, core pulsating with an insatiable need.

His breath is hot, wet against your skin as his teeth graze against your breast, sucking the skin between his teeth as you gasp, “Louder,” Lucien coaxes, “let ‘em hear you. Think they deserve it after all they’ve put us through.”

You laugh at that, full-body and airy, eyes falling shut as Lucien plants a foot against the floor, changing up the angle to an intense degree, his cock slipping out briefly as he adjusts, catching glimpse of the string of shiny slick that connects you both before the thick head of his cock pushes back in, a soft squelch of admittance, a tell-tale sign of your obvious enjoyment.

If he knew this would shut you up, he would’ve tried seducing you months ago—though, he had a feeling the attempts would be futile, he was floating on his own cloud of disbelief that after all his wrong-doings, his missteps, it hadn’t pushed you away.

“Show me—huh, show me what you like,” Lucien pleads through baited breath, hair sticking to his forehead from the sheen of sweat, his own hands leaving yours with the silent promise that you wouldn’t move them, finding purchase underneath your thighs and pushing them up toward your chest, your fingers gripping around the back of the couch in desperation, “touch—touch yourself, show me.”

The drag of your hand is slow, but eventually your fingers hover over your cunt, pressing against your sensitive clit as you circle, slow and intentional movement that rips a loud moan from your chest matched with his pointed thrusts, feeling his stamina weaning as he watches, hips stuttering.

“You’re a fucking dream,” Lucien admires, “makin’ a damn mess, too. You hear that?”

He slows down on purpose, partially for his own benefit but he’s proving his point, that sticky squelch of arousal, his faint grunts mixed with your quickly rising moans.

“Does it make you nervous when I stare?” He asks curiously, eyes locked on your pussy, watching his cock split you open, gripping him and pulling him back in eagerly with every thrust, “Look at me—answer me, baby.”

There’s something so distinct in the way he says it, laced with an addictive drug.

Your eyes peel open, bleary behind near tears and you shake your head.

“Do you wish it did?” You counter, earning a subtle head shake from Lucien as he pulls out.

A moan of disappointment leaves your mouth before he’s quickly jostling your around, chest against the couch, his hand spreading wide over your back as he bends you over, fisting his cock as he feeds it back into your greedy cunt, the swollen head making you gasp as it pushes through your over-sensitive folds.

He uses the leverage as his hand climbs, gripping at your shoulder to pull you up, bracketing your body into the couch with a knee at your side, pressing you tight into his chest, his hand sliding around to your chin and turning your face to his, lips parting as he fucks you with a newfound ferocity, eyes rolling back so deep you aren’t expecting the fingers that find your clit, circling the senstive nerves until you’re tipping over the edge, soft encouraging words pulling you through your orgasm like a gentle wave, his fingers slowing down as you resurface.

He comes soon after, his hips stuttering out of pace again as you lean forward, feeling him pull out at the last possible moment before he’s painting thick strips of come against your lower back, the fingers of his left hand digging into your skin as he grabs you tight, the tip of his cock sliding against your ass.

You collapse with a content laugh, oblivious to Lucien searching frantically for something to clean you up before settling on one of the kitchen towels, your body slumped lazily against the couch and sighing when you feel his warm touch, the words slipping out on their own accord, “I got fired.”

“What?”

He tosses the dirty towel aside and passes over your clothes, pulling his own lounge pants back up his hips, sans underwear—and it makes you curious how often he does that normally, comfortable as he takes a seat, legs spread wide as he settles into the cushion.

“They called this morning,” You explain easily, pulling your top over your head and maneuvering your panties and shorts back on, “wouldn’t give me a reason, but it doesn’t matter.”

Lucien’s brow furrows in thought, rubbing his thumb against his fingertips out of habit.

“Is this one of those situations where you’re gonna ask if I’ll sign an NDA?” You half-joke.

He shakes his head almost immediately. He doesn’t seem to find it amusing, almost slightly concerned—or wounded?

“Come work for me,” He insists, “I’ve been needing an assistant.”

“Isn’t that a conflict of interest?” You ask him, staring at his flush chest and mused hair, evidence of rigorous sex all over his face, it was almost enough to have you confessing some unspoken feelings, but you weren’t that easily broken down.

“It doesn’t have to be.”

“Are you just trying to find a reason to stick around longer?” You tease him, a smile peeking out behind your tired expression, “Because it won’t work.”

“No—I’m serious about getting my shit together,” Lucien promises, “I might need a little help…but I want to.”

“Can I think about it?” 

Lucien nods, hands dropping to his lap as he fiddles with a ring on his finger, eventually trailing toward the chains around his neck before his head is popping up, a quizzical look on his face.

“Wait—was that because you were having a bad morning?”

The sex, he means.

A smile breaks out on your face, “Nothing an orgasm won’t fix.”

He can sense it isn’t the full truth, but he doesn’t pry.

“Damn straight,” He chuckles, both of you falling into a comfortable silence.

–

Your answer doesn’t come for a solid week, thinking over the pros and cons. It was complicated, indeed bound to be messy if you allowed it, but Lucien was promising to double your pay, no undermining, no hovering—it seemed too good to be true.

But, you were taking the risk.

Lucien was still awaiting the imminent release of the court documents, the storm of press, but when you were secured in the safety of your apartment, hidden under the blankets as Lucien clung to you, head buried in your chest and his cock still buried inside of you, a slow and lazy day was what he needed, but he also craved you—and he was addicting, impossible to deny.

“We can’t keep doing this when I start working for you,” You remind him.

“Who says we can’t?” Lucien asks curiously, adjusting his hips as he slides deep inside of your cunt, peering up at you with soft eyes, “We keep it casual, if we decide we wanna stop. We stop. It won’t affect your job. I’m not that much of a dick, baby.”

“Well, for starters, you can’t call me baby at work.”

Lucien nods dutifully, listening to you divulge into a long lists of hardset rules, eventually pulling your focus back to him, his hips moving at a slow but gradual pace until you can’t focus any longer, giggling loudly as he buries his face into your neck, a sufficient end to the conversation.

The rest could be figured out later.

-

dividers: @/saradika-graphics

[bvidzsoo]

Thousand Miles, just to get you back

 𖥧 District 7 ꒷ this beautiful district is lush with trees, from which these citizens supply our lumber and paper, victors: Blight, Johanna Mason

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: victor!Jeong Yunho x victor!female reader

 𖥧 Warning: suggestive, sexual tension, cursing, ptsd, violence, blood, gore, use of weapons, murder, decapitation but not too graphic, mental manipulation and trauma, alluding to forced sex work and sexual assault, if I missed any, lmk!  𖥧 Word count: 28.7k  𖥧 Rating: mature, nc-17  𖥧 Genre: Hunger Games!au, rivals to lovers!au, set during the Quarter Quell, Catching Fire book  𖥧 Summary: You didn't want this, but then again, you were sure nobody wanted to face the repercussions of being a victor. You hated your life and you hated everyone around you, never trusting a soul again. Whatever President Snow has put you through after your Games was unforgivable and your only solace lay in Finnick Odair, who understood you and your pain. But it didn't end there, no, it never would with Jeong Yunho, another victor, always breathing down your neck and hogging you as if his life depended on it. You didn't like him and you didn't trust him after what he'd done to you despite being your mentor in your Games. And when the 75th Hunger Games come around and President Snow announces that the tributes this year will be the reaped victors, your world comes crashing down, forcing you to do things you never thought you'd do again. But if it meant Panem would be free, you'd do it again.

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! This part took longer but the word count is also...higher. The story is set during the Catching Fire book, but of course, I took creative liberty and changed up some things, I hope you'll enjoy them! I apologize if the action packed scenes are lackluster, I really tried my best while not making it too graphic. I think Yunho's part is my favourite from my HG series, although Mingi's has a special place in my heart. President Snow can die in a ditch for what he did to Katniss and Peeta, no matter how much I like his character, I'll always hate him! This part is really angsty imo so buckle up, you'll be going through it with our MC. I don't think I have anything else to say other than I hope you enjoy and that I love hearing your feedback, so don't be shy! <3 Thank you for reading! divider

            For the past two days, the sky had been covered in dark rainclouds, lightning flashing across the sky every few minutes, the thunder shaking the earth as I stood perched on the windowsill with a cup of warm chamomile tea with plenty of honey in it to make anyone nauseous, even those who enjoyed sweet things. My eyes followed the raindrops as they rapidly slid down against the window, forehead pressing against the cool surface as I could see the reflection of my eyes in it. The house was quiet, so quiet that those who didn’t know would’ve thought the mansion was vacant. Because the victors' houses could easily pass as mansions, bigger than even the mayor's house, it was quiet and cold inside too, the harsh rain welcomed as it cooled the relentless summer heat with which everyone seemed to be struggling. It was truly a blessing to be forced to stay inside my house, with no one to bother me for days on end as nobody from the district was brave enough to venture out in such a harsh downpour. Not that I had anyone in the district who cared for me, I was on my own.

Everyone I once loved was gone. It was solely my fault. I had naively refused President Snow’s little bargain when I looked him in the eyes with an arrogant look and told him to ‘get fucked’. My family, gone for almost five years now, were dead before the train could even take me back to District 7 from the Capitol. Our house, small but spacious enough to house my parents, my two siblings and me, was empty when the train had dropped me off. At first, when no one from my family awaited me on the platform, I had a feeling they might’ve been planning a surprise for me, I wouldn’t put it past them. But when I returned to an empty and cold house with a single note lying on the kitchen table, I knew. It was my fault that all of my loved ones were six feet under, their lives taken away by my foolishness. I would never stop blaming myself, I didn’t want to stop blaming myself. The constant numbness that was wrapped around my heart was a harsh wake-up call to the horrors of the world I was forced to live in.

The Hunger Games had seemed like a nightmare, they were a nightmare, but what came after was the real nightmare. The terror, the pain, the uncertainty and the coldness that followed after having returned home, forced me to face the reality that I was no more than a pawn President Snow could play with however he wished, it hurt. I had been an independent person my whole life. I didn’t need anyone and I knew I would survive on my own if the circumstances forced me to, hence the reason I remained confident that I would return alive from the Games, and the arrogance to put my ego aside and keep my family safe, at last, weren’t worth it. If sleeping with countless men was what would’ve kept my family alive, if only I had known this back when Snow proposed it to me, I would’ve accepted it. I would’ve ignored the disgust I felt and done it without trying to rebel against the only man who could cut off my wings. And he did, he did cut off my wings, right from the root, ripping them out without mercy. At last, my family’s death was in vain. They were gone and I still bedded a different man each night spent at the Capitol, each one of them sent by Snow as a constant punishment to remind me that just because my loved ones weren’t here anymore to be held over my head, he could still do it, Snow could still torture me.

And so, turning my back on everyone and living in solace had been completely my choice. I didn’t want to speak to anyone, I didn’t want to see anyone, I didn’t want to be touched by anyone. I was disgusted by my own body and could never look at myself for too long. Whether my hair was long or as short as a boy's, men would still want me. Whether I ruined my face with makeup or kept it neat, they would still ravish me. In the end, nothing I did mattered. Beauty was pain sometimes, but I was too scared to maim myself, to ruin the pretty face every man in the Capitol lusted after. Snow knew too that I couldn’t do, and he enjoyed my silent pain mixed with rage, grinning at me whenever we crossed paths, taunting me with words against which I couldn’t fight back. It would be a never-ending cycle until my last day on earth and I had accepted it, numbing myself to all emotion to the point that I was just a soulless walking body, uncaring, unfeeling.

My body jolted from its slouched-over form as rapid knocks disturbed my peace, becoming louder and louder the longer I ignored them. The rain was pouring harder, lightning more frequent across the sky as thunder shook the ground, making me flinch when instead of knocking, my doorbell was being rung relentlessly. I knew who it was, I knew because today was a big day. President Snow would make his annual announcement about the Hunger Games, the same old speech, the same old rules. But something felt different, ever since Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark became victors, there were whispers in the districts, feeble words of a different future which felt closer and closer to us. Something was changing and I, as usual, wasn’t included in the grand scheme. I was a mere spectator, twirling around Snow’s fingers however he wished me to. When the doorbell’s rings turned into aggressive bangs against the front door, I released an irritated sigh and stood from my spot, storming towards the one that dared disturb my solace.

“What!” I snapped as I yanked the door open, not surprised that I had forgotten to lock it once again. Of course it was him, it was always him. I hated his face, I hated his voice, I hated his presence. I hated his whole being, and so I didn’t wait for an answer as I went to slam the door in his face, but he was fast, arm already pushing against the door as if he could read my mind.

“The muffins will get soaked, just let me in.” His boyish voice was loud as he spoke over the raging storm, his voice deep but somehow still soft. It was annoying, the ease he carried himself with, the constant serene expression on his face was infuriating. He never looked like he struggled and I was sure he just simply didn’t. He just floated through life, taking whatever it threw his way, just to laugh it off at the end of the day and start over the next one. I hated him.

“Get lost.” I hissed and pressed my full body against the door, wrestling against the desperate man on the other side of the door.

“Are you for real right now?!” He exclaimed, voice incredulous as I let one eye peek over the edge of the door, taking in his form. His hair was damp and his cardigan was slightly soaked by the rain, but as long as he stood in front of my door, he’d be protected by the balcony above his head.

“Yes!” I exclaimed and suddenly yanked the door towards myself, hoping it would throw him off balance and I could shut it in his face, but he was smarter, and thus, he swiftly slipped inside, grinning at me victoriously. I scowled as I slammed the door closed behind him, pressing myself up against the sturdy wood as he uncaringly shook his hair, like a dog, and then stepped out of his shoes.

“I made blueberry muffins,” He beamed as he held up the tray covered by a napkin, which was halfway soaked through, “Your favourite!”

He was right, blueberry muffins were my favourite, but they were from him and I’d rather not eat them.

“I don’t want them.” But by the time I was finished talking, he was headed for the kitchen as if this were his house. Albeit, the layout for the victor houses was the same, but this wasn’t his house and he shouldn’t just walk around as if he owned it. I hated it when he disregarded me, remaining his authentic self of a joy ball, pretending like he didn’t see my sharp glare nor hear my muttered insults. And I hated him, eyes glued onto his tall body as I followed after him to the kitchen. He was tall enough that he could see well the contents of the cupboards on the top shelves as he opened them, looking for a smaller plate. I could’ve told him where they were, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to talk to him unless it was a complete must. He made a sound when he finally found the right cabinet, back muscles straining even through the cardigan he wore as he moved around my kitchen as he belonged in it. His build was massive, not too muscular but certainly not as lean as it used to be, and he towered over most men of our district. People were tall here, we had to climb trees, yielding an axe as we worked with lumber, but Jeong Yunho seemed to exceed what was the norm. And despite his intimidating build, his face was gentle and soft, eyes twinkling with life in them and pink lips pulled constantly into a radiant smile. His cheeks were almost always rosy, not because he blushed easily, but because he was fair-skinned and even the smallest bruise would be visible on his body.

“But I baked them for you—”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want them.”

Yunho and I had been a mentor pair for a good five years now, sent off to the Capitol during the Hunger Games, forced to watch two children die each year. Children that we knew, that we swore to train and protect as best as we could, children that ultimately were just children and would die at the hands of bigger and stronger children. Because that’s what the Games were, a sick and twisted way of punishing the districts for daring to disobey the Capitol, for trying to overthrow it due to the mistreatment they constantly faced. So, they took children between the ages of thirteen and eighteen and sent them off to their deaths each year, except for the ones like Yunho and myself, who returned as victors. Yunho was barely two years older than me but the passing of time seemed to miss him each year as his face remained youthful, and only morphed into more handsome features, unlike myself, who struggled with bags under my eyes on the daily and did everything to look less pale but ultimately, I failed, looking older than my age or Yunho. It was unfair, even in this, he was better than me.

Yunho paused as his eyes met mine and he gulped, a flicker of uncertainty flashing through his features, only to be replaced by that annoying soft smile which was always present on his face, “My mother would be really disappointed if you refused them, Y/N. She helped too.”

His mother, Yunho’s family, were still alive. His older brother worked hard despite them being rich now due to Yunho’s income as a victor, and his father had retired to pursue a much simpler career. He liked fixing cars, so, now those used by the woodsmen were all brought to Mr. Jeong for fixing or maintenance. Occasionally, I even saw Peacemakers stop by, keen on keeping it hushed that they asked a simple mechanic from the district to fix their vehicles. It was cheaper this way, Mr. Jeong didn’t charge much, it was just a hobby, after all.

“Fine,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest as Yunho’s smile widened into a pleased grin, “Just leave them on the counter.”

He nodded and placed the blueberry muffins on the small plate before he threw the crumbs into the trash, rinsing the tray at the sink. I remained standing, keeping the table and even counter between us, never keen on standing close to Yunho. His scent was too strong, it irked my nose, and it made me sneeze too easily. Perhaps I was allergic to his cologne—to his whole being, perhaps. Once he was done, the tray left by the sink to dry, his eyes slowly shifted, landing on my tense face. I wasn’t happy to have him over, he knew it. Yunho knew I didn’t like him, yet he never stopped imposing on my peace of mind—it was truly disgruntling.

“You weren’t going to watch it, right?” His voice was quiet. Unfortunately, Yunho also knew me too well, much to my displeasure. I stopped watching the announcements three years ago, tired of hearing the same thing over and over again. I didn’t answer as I averted my eyes, jaw clenching at the warm ambers that swum in Yunho’s eyes that had the colour of warm chocolate, “I—I think you should, this year. I’ll stay, it starts in five minutes—”

“I don’t want you to stay.” I said, voice cold as my eyebrows furrowed, looking back at Yunho, “And I won’t watch it, Yunho.”

He gulped, but suddenly his happy demeanour dropped as he placed his hands on the counter, “You know the districts had been stirred with Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark’s win, I think we should watch it this year, together.”

“Just go, Yunho, before the nightfall.” Due to the big storms, electricity would be cut off at twilight and people weren’t allowed to leave their homes. The forest was eerily quiet, with the absence of the lumberjacks, the wolves became too brave, too daring, and they would venture past the District’s boundaries and inside the town, devouring whoever they came across. The Victor’s Village of District 7 was right by the forest, it wasn’t smart to go outside at night. But, in all true Yunho fashion, he shook his head with pursed lips.

“Snow’s speech barely lasts three minutes, maybe he’ll make it five now that he’s mad at Katniss Everdeen.” Then he grabbed a muffin and grinned, “I’ll have one if you don’t mind.”

My jaw clenched when he turned on his heels and headed for the living room, the anthem loudly flooding my otherwise quiet house as I heard the sofa creak, Yunho’s big body settling on it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, telling myself that he would be gone before I could blink. Even if the wolves ate him, I wouldn’t let him stay the night, not tonight, not ever. Jeong Yunho wasn’t someone I could trust, his faux kindness and softness were all but a mask which hid his true intentions. I had seen beyond the cracks of his good manners and big heart, and I knew he wasn’t all that different from those from the Capitol. All those years ago, almost six now, he had been my mentor, the only person who was supposed to help me and protect me from the outside as much as he could while I fought for my life in the Games, instead, Jeong Yunho, everyone’s favourite golden boy, went ahead and turned on me.

My legs carried me over to the living room before I could register what I was doing, body tense despite knowing the same old shenanigans would happen this year too. Except that this year a Quarter Quell was happening, this year it was the 75th year of the Hunger Games, and that meant something unusual would happen. It was the third Quarter Quell and the last I’d heard of was horrible, the number of tributes had been doubled, meaning forty-eight children fought for survival and it was Haymitch Abernathy who became the victor, the now drunkard mentor from District 12. Katniss Everdeen was a smart girl, I watched her closely while she fought in that arena, but Haymitch also did his best when he realized the potential she had. Something Yunho never bothered doing for me while he was my mentor, it still left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. Caesar Flickerman went on about the wedding of Katniss and Peeta before he announced that President Snow would take the lead now.

The sofa creaked under my weight too as I settled as far away from Yunho as possible, his chewing quiet as he cast me a quick glance, a small smile playing at his lips. I ignored him, my body shivering when President Snow’s face was the only thing I could see on the TV. Even after all these years, he still made me feel repulsed whenever I saw him, muscles tensing and my body wanting to coil up in a ball as if that could protect me from his cruelty.

“And now we honour our third Quarter Quell,” President Snow’s tone was determined, confident, and almost coy as a boy stepped forward, holding a box which President Snow opened. He reached inside it, moving envelopes around until his fingers gripped the one with a clear 75 on it. I gulped, feeling irrationally nervous all of a sudden as if I would be reaped next, as if I was back in time standing in the crowd of girls, awaiting the name of the female tribute who’d have to head to the Capitol this year. Yunho could never sit still for too long, always fidgeting or fussing around, but now, even his body was frozen, eyebrows furrowed as I stole a glance at him. He had finished eating the muffin and the little foil it had been in was now crumpled into his fist, “On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

The lights of the TV became a blur as I remained seated, staring ahead, ears ringing as President Snow’s words echoed in my mind. For a split second, the world stopped turning, my lungs failed to inhale the much-needed oxygen. And for another split second, I felt my body tremble, my mouth falling open as Caesar Flickerman’s shrieks of surprise and excitement echoed through the eerily silent house, Yunho’s body unmoving on the other end of the sofa. I couldn’t hear his otherwise loud breaths, I couldn’t even feel my own body. And when reality dawned more upon me, the very high chance that I was going back inside that wrenched Arena almost six years later, nothing else really mattered. The TV went silent with a sickeningly loud crack as the remote control flew into it, shattering it into pieces. My lungs were heaving for air as I sprung up from the sofa, a scream tearing through my throat as I stared at my reflection in the broken TV. I looked mad, my eyes were wide, my cheeks red, my body visibly shaking as my thoughts were clouded with suppressed memories, all the pain, suffering, mourning, the great feeling of loss of sanity, of control over myself.

I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t go back inside that Arena.

And before I could rationalize my thoughts, control my urges and blink away the red haze that’s settled over my vision, my fingers were gripping a heavy ornament from the side table, swinging it across the room as it crashed loudly against the display window of the massive cupboard on the other side of the room. It felt satisfying to hear something break, something of material that reflected my inner world perfectly, and made the fall less painful as my legs carried me over the bookcase, yanking off every book I could grab. My body wanted to destroy, desperate to release all the turmoil that clouded my senses, the trauma that bit and licked at my flesh almost mockingly, President Snow’s snake-like eyes burned in the back of my mind, always taunting, always elated as he watched others suffer.

My hand burned when I touched the sharp edge of the vase I had broken solely with my grip, but I couldn’t stop. The pain I felt muted the screams that threatened to tear past my throat, the tears that stung my eyes but never rolled down, and the hollowness inside my chest that only seemed to grow bigger, swallowing more and more of my being. I had no one to lose anymore, just myself. But I hadn’t been myself since I had won the Games, so was I really losing someone? I had no one to return to even if I won, President Snow has made sure of that a long time ago. There weren’t many victors in District 7, not that I was on good terms with anyone. I’d either return without the male tribute or neither one of us would. My lungs burned as I gripped another ornament off the bookshelf, less heavy but very breakable as I raised my arm high, freezing at the nimble call of my name.

My chest was rising and falling rapidly as if I had run a marathon, muscles tensing more when I remembered I wasn’t alone. No, someone was here with me, in the living room, someone who knew what it meant to go back into the Arena, someone whose cheeks were tear-streaked. I gulped, eyebrows furrowing as I looked at Yunho, fingers curling tighter around the porcelain doll. It had been my younger sister’s, was I truly going to break it?

“Y/N.” Yunho’s tone was low, harsh, and shaking. I gulped, my breaths ragged as they puffed through my nose loudly, and my jaw clenched when Yunho’s face contorted in pain, reflecting what I felt on the inside. But he couldn’t stop me, my bones shook with rage and fear and before I could think more about it, I threw the porcelain doll at Yunho, who easily caught it as if he had been anticipating it. It only angered me more as I grabbed another one, my younger sister used to have a collection, and flung it at Yunho again.

“Get out!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, throwing a third porcelain doll he caught again easily, my voice raw as I wanted to sob, but my throat felt tight, unable to release any shrill sounds. When Yunho failed to move from his spot, I screamed again and pushed everything off the coffee table with one strong shove, ready to flip the heavy table over.

“Stop, Y/N, just stop.” Yunho’s voice had lost its softness, it sounded panicked and pained at the same time, begging me as I refused to acknowledge him. No, he couldn’t stop me, nobody could. I wasn’t going back there, I wasn’t going to fight for my life again, he couldn’t make me—President Snow couldn’t send me back there, not again. Not after I lost everything in vain, I didn’t want to do it again, I didn’t want to relive the terror, the struggle, and I didn’t want to feel so alone when I returned, I was scared of facing the dark on my own again. I had barely learned how to cope with the night terrors on my own, with the numbness that chilled my limbs, with the desperate yearning for connections, for a gentle touch, for words that warmed my heart, I barely learned how to live without those. I couldn’t do it again, I couldn’t—I gasped when I felt strong arms wrap around my torso, immobilising my hands and body as the embrace was tight, “No! Let me go, Yunho, no!”

I pushed, I yanked, I even bit his shoulder until he was groaning, but he didn’t budge. He was sniffing, loudly and unashamedly, but his embrace only became stronger and tighter, more and more suffocating. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think straight as his musky scent entered my nostrils, wrapping around me like a cocoon, his big body like a shield from the cruel world. My skin burned where he touched, and my limbs trembled as I tried to put space between our bodies again, but Yunho wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

“I’m here,” He muttered and I felt him raise his arm, freeing my left side, as his hand held the back of my head, pressing my face further into his neck. His skin was hot, but it was soft and it’s been too long since I came in contact with any other person, it made my knees weak as my mouth parted to hurl more insults at him, but I wasn’t able to voice them, “I’m here, Y/N, we’re in this together. I won’t let anything happen to you, we’ll get through this. Together. Like we always do.”

“No, no, no.” I muttered as my fingers twisted into his knitted cardigan, my heart racing in my chest painfully, “Leave, Yunho, just go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He snapped, but his arms weren’t holding me so tightly anymore. His long fingers felt cold against my scalp as they tangled against my long locks, slowly running them through my ginger hair, resting his chin against the top of my head. I loathed this, the warmth of his body, the willingness to offer me comfort, I hated him.

“I hate you, get away from me.” Yet despite my mouth speaking one thing, my body screamed another as my arms swiftly circled his torso, yanking Yunho’s body into mine. I wasn’t fighting my lungs for air anymore, I was able to breathe regularly once again, but everything felt so cold still, so numb. It wasn’t enough, Yunho’s big body pressing against mine so firmly, so eagerly as a reminder that he was here wasn’t enough anymore, and I felt weak when a whimper left my mouth, my head turning until I could hide it in the crook of his neck, nose pressing where his shoulder and neck met. His cologne was familiar, it was something I knew too well, it helped my mind relax as I felt Yunho shift his head away, warm lips pressing against the top of my head once, then twice, and then once again. His other hand dropped lower until his large palm pressed against the small of my back, and I shuddered when I felt his cold fingers slip underneath my blouse, skin on skin.

It was hard to think straight when Yunho was all over me, when his fingers explored and his mouth quivered with quiet sighs, his presence overbearing and insistent. It chased away the ever-present cold that settled into my bones, replacing it with a small flicker of something that made me hate myself. I couldn’t trust him, not after he so unashamedly tried to kill me, yet he was the only one who knew me. Yunho was the only person in this whole world who saw the real me, who saw past my coldness and walls I built to protect myself, he was the only one willing to stick around despite how off-putting I was. And it hurt, it burned, it consumed my thoughts in the dead of the night when a night terror awoke me, when all I could do was yearn for a body to hold, for soft words to be whispered into my ears, for lips that healed instead of ruined, for a touch that put me back together instead of breaking me further apart. And I wanted to take and take, to consume until nothing was left of him, until he couldn’t offer me anything more of himself because I had already taken all.

I felt tears streaming down my face when Yunho’s fingers gently traced my spine, driving my fingers to grip his cardigan harder, muscles cramping, but too afraid to let go. His hot breath fanned over my cheek as he lowered his head and I felt his insistent chocolate brown eyes on me, neither full of pity or regret, just understanding and yearning. Much without thinking, but because I didn’t want him to see me at my weakest, I turned my head further into his neck until my lips brushed against his flushed skin, making him shudder. And because my lips yearned just as much as the rest of my body, I let them explore his soft skin, gently pressing them against Yunho’s neck as he gasped quietly. His fingers tangled into my hair when I raised my head slightly, placing another kiss higher on his neck, and he was still gentle, he didn’t yank on the long strands despite being able to. My breath fanned against his hot skin as I let my mouth open, peppering his skin with gentle kisses until I reached his jaw, teeth nipping at the sharp bone. Yunho’s body was trembling and his head was angled lower, his breaths audible as he breathed through his nose.

The familiarity of his embrace was dizzying, the churning of my stomach nothing new as I detached myself from his warm soft skin, pulling my head back until I could stare into his eyes. They were darker, pupils bigger, and his lips looked slightly swollen like he had been biting the bottom one. Yunho’s full cheeks were flushed and his Adam’s Apple bobbed when he gulped, his eyes searching my face as his fingers untangled from my hair and instead gently traced my jaw, holding onto my chin as he tilted my head further up. My eyes fluttered for a second when our lips were angled perfectly against each other, Yunho’s breath fanning over my mouth making me shudder. Releasing my tight hold on his cardigan, I cupped his cheeks, almost keening as I pressed up on my tiptoes, my eyebrows furrowing as our noses pressed together, slowly nuzzling against each other. Yunho gulped again as his lips parted for his tongue to poke out, wetting the red flesh, and I blinked, dread settling deep in my stomach.

When Yunho leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss against my forehead, my body froze, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribcage. Something was wrong, the numbness was back, the pain, the terror. I couldn’t breathe anymore, Yunho’s musky cologne irking my nose as I could feel an oncoming sneeze, and I gasped when his lips tenderly kissed down the slope of my nose, making my fingers dig into his cheeks painfully. I was scared, I was scared because all of a sudden I realized I had something to lose. I have always had something to lose, even when President Snow thought he had taken everything and everyone away from me, he forgot about one person.

He forgot about Jeong Yunho.

As if his touch burned, I pushed him away, watching as confusion and hurt flashed in Yunho’s eyes upon my rude rejection. I could feel myself trembling, Yunho’s addicting warmth disappearing with him, making me shake my head as I felt my bottom lip tremble, “Get out.”

My voice was hoarse and filled with pain, and Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed as thunder cracked loudly in the distance, making me jump. It had become darker outside, way too dark for anyone to step out, but Yunho’s house was the one opposite mine. The wolves couldn’t have him, even if they wanted to. With a lasting stare, his eyes searching my face for a hint of whatever he had seen just seconds ago, Yunho sighed deeply, hanging his head low.

“Try to rest, please.” He muttered before he turned on his heels, and marched out of the living room, the door slamming shut louder than any thunder that’s ever shaken the house's foundation. Coated in darkness and loneliness, nobody witness of the sobs that wracked my body, I crumbled to the floor, curling in on myself as tears blinded me, making my muscles hurt as I gasped for air.

Everyone would suffer again, innocent and rebels alike.

            The floodlights of the open-air stadium were blinding and the air was relatively warmer compared to the constant rainy mood back in District 7. There was a breeze in the air, a whisper of unease and death brushing against our ears as every tribute seemed tense, but tried to hide it with wide and pleased smiles. Neither one of us was happy to be back and we would try to do something to change it, not that President Snow cared. The cheers of the crowd were deafening as the two horses pulling our chariot neighed loudly, ruffling their manes. My left hand was clutching the railing tightly for balance and to root me into the present moment, my right hand clammy against another warm palm. Yunho’s fingers were long and bony, his palm big and calloused, and somehow always cold. My skin crawled when our fingers had intertwined, a flicker of yearning awakening in my chest, but I was quick to drown it in the permeating numbness. I couldn’t feel anything for anyone, not now—especially not now.

The crowd only seemed to roar louder, probably enjoying the show, when all victors joined hands with their respective tribute partners. To us, to the ones who would have to risk their lives again, it wasn’t just a show, it was a last attempt to show that we stood here, together, unwilling to become jesters for the Capitol. But they wouldn’t understand, they never did. The districts, however, could see us and they would understand that we were united even if President Snow tried to tear us apart. We wouldn’t give up, not today and not tomorrow, never again. His tyranny had run on for too long, and his fragile reign was now threatened by the presence of the Mockingjay. The whispers of a riot in the districts had only gotten louder, more persistent, not just simple rumour anymore. The Peacekeepers had been more on edge ever since the 74th Hunger Games, under close surveillance by their comrades at the Capitol.

The chariot was finally taking us back beneath the stadium, away from the eyes of the Capitol and the cameras. My heart was racing against my chest, my veins filled with adrenaline, but dread as well, as every tribute returned backstage, our chariots coming to slow stops as Avoxes came forward to tend to the horses. My grip had been so tight against the railing that my fingers ached when I finally let go, all too aware of Yunho’s firm grip on my hand. With my jaw clenched, I turned my head to look at him, surprised to find him with an impassive expression on his face, lips downturned, and his eyes shaking. Yunho was always smiling, no matter the circumstances. I gulped and flexed my fingers, trying to pry them away, but Yunho didn’t want to release his own grip yet. It made me huff as I turned my body to face him, feeling anger lick at my skin.

“Let go.” I hissed lowly, mindful of the people around us who could overhear us. Nobody could know that I’d rather gut Yunho than be on his side, to everyone around us, we seemed like the perfect mentor pair, him being a sunshine and me the broody one. Nobody knew that behind cameras I would ignore Yunho’s existence, turn down his attempts at a conversation, and lock myself in my room whenever he’d come looking for me with another far-fetched excuse just to speak to me.

When he still hadn’t made a move, fed up, I yanked my hand out of his and leaned close enough for my breath to hit his cheek, my eyebrows deeply furrowed, “Get your shit together, Yunho. And stay away, everything is for show. I hope you haven’t forgotten—”

“How could I?” His chuckle was sarcastic, jaw clenched when he faced me, and for a second I froze, my eyes widening. It wasn’t even the sudden proximity that threw me off, it was the animosity on his face and the small snare on his lips, “You remind me each year of the same old things, you sound like President Snow at times.”

Appalled that he’d compare me to that man, I huffed and gripped the skirt of my dress, lifting it above my ankles as I stepped off the chariot, storming off. I was headed for the elevator so that I could return to our flat, and in my angry strut, I failed to notice a familiar face race after me. My heels were loud as I walked with purpose, glaring at anyone who blocked my path, and I didn’t greet back anyone as I knew they’d want to speak to me. I wasn’t here to mingle, I was here because Snow forced us to play another one of his games, and I was here to win. Before I could be-line it for the open elevator doors, fingers wrapped around my bicep and halted me, making me release a frustrated sigh as I whirled around intending to tell the person off, only for the words to freeze in my throat. The man holding me back wasn’t just anyone, it was Finnick Odair. And for the first time in a while, I felt my body fill with joy as my face relaxed, lips spreading into a wide smile, “Finnick!”

He chuckled as my arms flew around his neck, pulling his body into mine with little care if it was too aggressive or not, Finnick could take it. His torso was exposed due to his stylist’s poor taste, but it didn’t bother me as Finnick was warm and smelled of the sea and somehow the rain too. He felt like family, in his arms I knew I was safe, no matter what. It was funny, really, how easy it was to trust him, to let my walls down around him and just feel everything. I didn’t have to hide my fears when it came to Finnick, I didn’t have to hide my pain and struggles, because he knew. Finnick knew everything and he was often there to pick up the pieces when nobody else was. He understood and he knew what I needed because he needed the same thing. When in the Capitol, forced to be Snow’s muppets, Finnick was my pillar and I was his, the glimmer of light in the darkness, the embrace of a warm body that demanded nothing in exchange, just simple companionship and a shoulder to cry on.

“I thought I’d get a punch for touching you,” Finnick’s honey-like voice was teasing as he hugged me back just as affectionately, “I’m glad I was spared of a right hook, I’d look horrible for our interviews.”

I chuckled, mouth hurting from smiling so widely, “Even with a black, you’d still look dashing, Finnick.”

“Oh, my,” Finnick chuckled again, his arms loosening around my torso, but I was reluctant to let go. It felt nice to be in the arms of someone I trusted, loved even. It’s been too long since my mind could be at ease in anyone’s presence, in someone’s warm and loving hold. Finnick was like the older brother I had lost, always eager to help me out, and there whenever the burden of living alone got too hard. Living in different districts, the distance made it hard to cope with his absence at times, but at least I had one thing to look forward to whenever I was forced to visit the Capitol. I knew Finnick would be here, and I knew he would be just as excited to see me, “I fear my stylist wants to keep me naked for the interviews.”

I grimaced as I definitely didn’t want the mental image of a naked Finnick in my head, and finally let my arms fall from his body, stepping back to leave distance between our bodies, but not too far back. I enjoyed Finnick’s warmth, it felt like I was around the sun, “You should switch him with someone who doesn’t view you as just a pretty piece of meat to put on display. Wooyoung would be more than happy to design your clothes, he’s literally in love with you. He never stops gushing about your looks and body proportions whenever he sees you, it’s gotten sickening actually.”

“Wooyoung is spoiled and Snow loves objectifying me, so he’d never allow it.” Snow loved objectifying Finnick and me too, but thankfully, no matter how spoiled, my stylist, Wooyoung was, he’d never make me wear anything revealing or uncomfortable. He enjoyed working with raw materials, more specifically with tree bark as he claimed it let him explore creative ideas. With the disappearance of Choi San last year, the most sought-after stylist in the Capitol, Jung Wooyoung was the next hot topic. He certainly enjoyed the limelight, glad that San was finally gone and he could have his spot. The two had always been rivals, trying to claim The Best Stylist title, at least based on Wooyoung’s claims. You couldn’t fully believe whatever he said, he loved to spice things up just for the fun of it and spread rumours like wildfire. He was worse than the grannies back in District 7.

“Snow can go and die in his sorry excuse of a mansion, Finnick, at this point, he can’t do shit to me.” I hissed through my teeth, sharp eyes surveying the place as it was buzzing with jittery tributes, stylists and Avoxes, everyone doing their own thing. Most tributes were mingling before they would retreat to their own flats, and I averted my eyes out of fear that he’d come over when I saw Wooyoung storming towards Yunho, probably, you never knew with his sudden mood changes.

“Careful,” Finnick muttered, lips pulled into a sly grin, “the walls have ears everywhere here, darling, we can’t give Snow free material to hang over our heads.”

“As if he can’t just do that without having an actual reason.” I rolled my eyes and Finnick hummed as he grabbed a sugar cube out of the little pouch he had on his waist, turning around as he searched for his and Mags’ chariot. He smiled when his eyes fell on the old lady, and he nodded with his head for me to follow him. I fell in step with him as Finnick and I walked back to his chariot, and he fed the horses with sugar cubes before he popped one in his mouth. I smiled softly when Mags finally noticed me, her face always gentle and understanding. I bowed my head and kissed her on the cheeks, a lump forming in my throat when she pulled me in her arms with a tight squeeze, reminding me of a motherly hug. Anytime I saw Mags, I’d miss my family just a little bit more. She was a reminder that I’d never get to see my mother grow old, my father, nor my siblings. It was painful, but I gulped before more emotions could surface and cleared my throat, looking back at Finnick who was gazing somewhere behind me.

“Lover boy and his bestie are staring at us,” Finnick mused with amusement lacing his tone, “I don’t think your lover boy is too happy that you’re here with me, instead of being with him.”

I scoffed, turning my head to look where Yunho and Mingi stood, catching their gazes as Mingi flinched and quickly looked down at the ground, but Yunho held my gaze, jaw clenched and eyes slightly narrowed. I rolled my eyes and turned my back to them, grabbing Finnick’s bicep as I leaned closer to him, “I wish we could switch tributes—no offence Mags, but I don’t think I’ll be able to not kill him before the Games can even start.”

Mags snickered and shook her head at me as her stylist approached us, giving the old lady an exasperated look before she guided Mags away, making Finnick wave at her as I bowed my head slightly, “He can’t be that bad, honestly, I never understood why you hate him so much. He’s a genuinely nice guy, I bet he’d even sacrifice himself for you—”

“Enough, Finnick.” I snapped as my jaw clenched, emotions twisting in my chest at the mere prospect of Yunho jumping in front of me to take an arrow or a throwing knife to the heart. Yunho might’ve been genuine and loving in other’s eyes, but I knew who he was. He wouldn’t save me, jump in front of an arrow or a throwing knife, no, he’d send me poison disguised as bread just to take me out, his own tribute.

“Right, sorry,” Finnick mumbled as he grabbed another sugar cube, eyes falling on someone to my left. His smile turned into a sly one as he nudged my arm, pointing towards a tall girl with dark braided hair and a gorgeous black costume. She was the girl on fire, the Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen, “Wanna go say hi? We should show her we mean no harm before she decides we are her enemy.”

“But we are her enemy, Finnick,” I mumbled but followed the man, making him wink at me with a knowing look on his face. If we put it that way, Katniss wasn’t our only enemy, we were each other’s enemies too, it was only natural when it came to the Games. No previous friendships mattered once we stepped inside the Arena and the canon went off, signalling the start of the Games. I remained standing behind Finnick as Katniss’ attention was on us, her hand slowly petting the horse.

“Do you want a sugar cube?” Finnick asked with his honey-like voice even warmer now, grinning charmingly. Katniss’ eyes narrowed as they glanced briefly at me before she focused on Finnick again, jaw clenching. She completely ignored Finnick’s hand, which was extended towards her and held a sugar cube in his palm.

“No.” She deadpanned and I snorted, masking it with a gulp when Finnick threw me a displeased look. It was hilarious each time a female turned Finnick’s advances down, it didn’t happen often and that’s exactly why I enjoyed it even more.

“Well, girl on fire, you certainly dress to impress.”

“As always.” I couldn’t help but mutter as Katniss and Mingi’s clothes had caught on fire before the parade was over, the roars of the people were so loud that they managed to make my ears ring. Katniss and Finnick ignored my comment and I let my eyes study the girl’s face more, she was way too young to be here. I was an adult, most of us were, but she was sixteen, just a child.

“Thanks, your costume is…lacking.” Katniss grimaced before she quickly averted her eyes from Finnick’s exposed chest and I chuckled again, surprised to hear her addressing me as well, “But yours looks nice—raw, almost.”

“It’s because it is raw, it’s real tree bark,” I explained as I let my fingers trace the corset, sturdy and protective around my torso. I extended my hand towards her, showing her that I meant no harm, just yet, “My name’s Im Y/N.”

“I know,” Katniss muttered as she shook my hand, her grip strong but not lasting, “I’m Katniss Everdeen.”

I hummed and nudged Finnick to suggest that he should introduce himself too, but he just popped the sugar cube in his mouth and smirked at Katniss, who looked clearly uncomfortable, “And he’s Finnick Odair, don’t let his cocky attitude make you feel uncomfortable. He’s just half the jerk he seems to be.”

Finnick scoffed and gave me a sharp look which I ignored as I studied Katniss’ face more, watching her fight a small smile off her lips as her eyes hardened instead, stance determined as she pulled her shoulders back, “Well, it’s not like I’m here to make friends.”

“Not friends, but maybe having a few people on your side wouldn’t help, girl on fire, not everyone is fond of you.” Finnick’s voice dropped as he took a step towards her, making her tense up. My jaw clenched and I averted my eyes because I knew he was right, “We are here because of you and the little stunt you pulled last year, Katniss. Don’t lower your guard.”

“Thanks for the advice, Finnick, but I don’t need it.” Katniss snapped, turning around to take off towards her mentor who seemed to appear out of nowhere. Finnick was about to say something, but I gripped his arm to stop him, my eyes meeting Haymitch’s blue ones. His eyebrows were furrowed as he took both Finnick and me in, a gaze filled with questions flashing over his face before he nodded at us in acknowledgement.

“Well, let’s get Mingi and then we can go.”

“Please, I can’t stay a second longer here.”

I watched as Haymitch and Katniss walked around us, making Finnick grimace as I turned my head to watch them walk towards Yunho, who was unsurprisingly beaming as he was surrounded by a few other tributes as well. Mingi, despite being just as tall as him, was hunched forward and hiding behind Yunho, his head lowered and jaw clenched. Song Mingi had stopped doing well after his Games, always so fidgety and scared of the world around him. But Yunho seemed determined to befriend him and he has never left Mingi’s side ever since his Victor’s Party. I couldn’t help but scowl at the two men before Finnick sighed loudly, grabbing my hand to grab my attention.

“There’ll be a bloodbath this year, Y/N, and I’m not going down so easily.” Finnick’s tone lowered and his eyes shook with conviction, and a flicker of anger, “Keep your ears and eyes open, study those around you, and stay close to the Mockingjay, you’ll know who’s your friend and foe then.”

With his cryptic words, he leaned forward to press a kiss against my cheek before he excused himself and headed for the elevator, his face tired as I watched him hug his torso when the female tributes from Districts 1 and 2 went and approached him like some hyenas, eyes filled with lust as they gazed upon him. People from Districts 1 and 2 were just as bad as those from the Capitol and I hated all of them. Sick of being surrounded by so many people I disliked, I grabbed the skirt of my heavy dress and raised it above my ankles as I stormed off towards one of the many elevators, waiting for one to open its doors as I ignored the insisted stares and whispers from the other tributes. Nobody really liked me, and I intended to keep it that way.

At least fewer feelings would be involved when I’d have to kill them, it wasn’t anything personal, after all.

            The days seemed to blur together when I was at the Capitol, yet at the same time, it felt like no time had even passed at all. As a mentor, all I had to do was focus on guiding the child I was given, making them the strongest and smartest possible. I had to strategize with them and help them build up their confidence if they lacked it, and I had to build them a persona that was easily likeable and cherished by the Capitol. But for that to happen, it also required me to network, to become someone liked by the Capitol. If it wasn’t for Yunho, I was sure not many would’ve liked me. We balanced each other out, where he was too soft and forgiving, I was rigid and hardly able to let go of a grudge. Nobody would willingly become a person disliked by many, but I had long stopped caring about other’s expectations and thoughts. I lived for myself and I lived the way I wanted—as long as President Snow allowed me to, of course. Nothing was made out of sunshine and rainbows in Panem, and if you wanted to have something that was only yours, you’d have to work hard for it, and even then it wouldn’t be enough. It was sickening, really, when I realized that I was at a great disadvantage this year.

I wasn’t a mentor any more, I was a tribute, a person not many would root for. People in the Capitol had twisted and sick fantasies and enjoyed brutality, but if one’s character wasn’t likeable, they would turn a blind eye to their efforts to win them over with their skills. And this meant that there wouldn’t be many rooting for me or sending me gifts and the bare minimum of necessities. I had to play it smart, who I’d team up with, who I’d betray, who I’d trust and who I wouldn’t. I couldn’t let just anyone into my circle of allies, and thus, when people who had no idea what the Games were about tried to give me advice, it only naturally made my blood boil. My stylists, who otherwise were rather acceptable people despite being from the Capitol, had seemed to think they knew better who was good and wasn’t to have in your team. They thought just because they watched us through a screen each year they could give us advice. I have held my tongue the whole week, not wanting to create an even more tense environment. It was already enough that I fled the room whenever Yunho entered it and didn’t speak nor look at him even at the other’s futile attempts.

Tonight was no different as we sat at the big table filled with tasty food to the brim, loud chatter filling the vast dining room. Yunho was to my left, unfortunately, and his musky cologne seemed to be stronger tonight than any time else, making my nose itch as I fought another sneeze away. I raised my hand holding the fork and rubbed at my nose, trying to get rid of the constant itching, it was irritating. But what was even more irritating were Yunho’s futile attempts at grabbing my attention or trying to stir up a conversation with me, it wasn’t happening. We were headed inside the Arena in less than two days and I wasn’t about to frolic around with him. I managed to avoid him so far, I had to remain focused on my own strategy. I wasn’t dying in that Arena, if President Snow thought it would be smart to send victors back, I would make sure to give him a headache lasting for centuries. Did he want a parade? I would gladly create a scene for him.

“Ah, just look at it!” Momo exclaimed, her full attention on the TV’s screen as they were replaying images of yesterday night’s interviews. It didn’t go as planned, of course, it didn’t. Everyone was revolted for having to return inside the Arena, and in a last desperate attempt, we had tried to show our unity to the districts that even if Snow tried to turn us against each other, at the core, we fought together for a better tomorrow, for a better Panem. My lips twitched into a satisfied smirk when I watched ourselves on the screen holding hands, raising them high up in the air as Caesar Flickerman’s panicked voice cut through the microphone, and then the lights went out. Snow hated it, I knew he hated it, and the knowledge of that alone made my whole evening more enjoyable. That is, of course, until Momo’s big and gleaming eyes were focused back on us.

“You are so brave,” She said, lips quivering. Out of the team that worked with us to make us look good, Momo was the least likeable. She was the typical Capitol resident, entitled and sheltered, a bit dumb, and overall annoying, “I wouldn’t be able to stand there, you even held hands to share a last moment together. It’s beautiful.”

Wooyoung, always the little shit, snorted under his breath as he raised his fork and bit the meat off of it. Wooyoung wasn’t dumb, he was far from it, and he seemed to dislike most of the people surrounding him despite not being that different from them. He said nothing as Minghao hummed from across me, his features blank as always. He rarely spoke, but when he did, he’d either say something that would scar you for life or make you wish he never opened his mouth. He was merciless, with everyone.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” My voice was laced with sarcasm and Yunho stopped moving around for a second, I could feel his wide eyes on the side of my face. It was the first time I had spoken tonight, “Sending us to our imminent deaths? Yeah, there’s just something so romantic about it, don’t you think so?”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table despite the amused smile on Minghao’s face, who took hold of his wine glass and tilted it in my direction as a silent toast. I wasn’t fond of him, unsurprisingly, but he seemed to be the only person besides Yunho and myself who was aware of all the horror the Capitol inflicted on the districts. He was quiet about it, but his mask sometimes slipped and I could see the hatred in his eyes, the rage boiling underneath his blood whenever Snow was shown on the screen, giving one of his lame speeches.

“Well,” Yeri, a person full of life and passion, tried to diffuse the palpable tension, “how did your evaluations go? What did you do? You never told us about it.”

“Yeah, you didn’t!” Wooyoung exclaimed with a full mouth, making Yeri grimace as she averted her eyes onto her plate. We didn’t have the time to tell them about it, not that I was in the mood to talk about how I had showcased my skills. I did it in a certainly memorable way, I was sure the Gamemakers weren’t satisfied with it, but I wasn’t here to please anyone. Yunho cleared his throat as he leaned forward to grab his cup of water, eyes falling on me briefly. I ignored him and took another bite of my dinner, the rich aromas never ceasing to amaze me. If there was just one good thing about the existence of the Capitol, it was their food.

As Yunho realized I wouldn’t speak up, he cleared his throat again and intertwined his fingers as he placed them on the table, “I did what I did all those years ago but made it more interesting, I suppose. I’m good with an axe, so…I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, really. That’s not my goal—”

“But, Yunho!” Momo’s exclamation cut Yunho off as her eyes grew wide, “You are supposed to impress them! What if they give you a bad score? That would be terrible.”

I snorted under my breath, rolling my eyes, “The Capitol giving a bad score to their golden boy? Yeah, sure, and I’m President Snow’s wife.”

“You’d kill yourself first before they’d even pronounce you as his wife.” Minghao’s reply came fast, cutting through the growing tension due to my blatant jar directed at Yunho. But, yes, Minghao was right. I’d rather kill myself than marry Snow, it was a stupid and absurd example, just like Momo’s stupid assumption.

“You’d be surprised to find out they aren’t as head over heels for me as you think, Y/N.” Yunho rarely snapped back, but as I glanced at him, I noticed his jaw clenching and unclenching. I couldn’t say that I was satisfied to see him triggered, but it certainly made me feel a little bit smug. Watching Yunho’s perfect mask crumble always satisfied me, it was proof of who he really was. It’s a pity not many were able to witness it.

“Maybe, but—” Wooyoung paused for no reason, just to be dramatic, as his twinkling eyes fell on me, “they certainly like you more than they like Y/N.”

“Say something new, Wooyoung.” I huffed and grabbed my own glass of orange juice, my stomach heavy from how much I had eaten. I had to enjoy full meals before going inside the Arena, I knew there I wouldn’t have the chance to eat much. I hated it.

“Since it seems like the cat finally returned your tongue, tell us about your evaluation.” Wooyoung grinned, lips ghosting over the edge of his wine glass. My jaw tensed as I leaned back in my chair, pushing the plate just slightly away from me as a way of letting everyone know I wasn’t eating anymore. The Avoxes lingering just around us noticed and quickly came closer, taking the plates and silverware away before they disappeared to the kitchen. I didn’t want to entertain those who sat at the table with me, but I knew I couldn’t just stand and go to my room, that would’ve been too rude, and I knew Minghao would very shamelessly drag me back. But just to prolong my moment of silence and peace of mind, knowing the reactions that would soon follow, I took a big gulp of the orange juice and made sure to savour it. Wooyoung scoffed as he rolled his eyes and Minghao, surprisingly, seemed rather interested as his eyebrows raised. Momo had her mouth hanging open as she sat on the edge of her chair and Yeri seemed nonchalant, but I knew she was just as curious as everyone else.

As for Yunho, his torso had turned to face me and his warm chocolate-like eyes were insistent, as if he was trying to penetrate my mind and read my every thought. Irritated, I held the glass in both hands and took a deep breath, “I destroyed the training room.”

The gasps that followed were satisfying, gratifying. I chuckled, staring at nothing in particular smugly, “I walked inside with my head held high, I introduced myself and then grabbed the tables first, pushing everything off of them just to flip them over. Then I went and turned everything I could over, hurling the weapons I could towards the Gamemakers, but sadly, there was a forcefield around them this time. And then, when I felt satisfied with my work, I told them to get fucked in the ass and left the room with a bright smile on my face.”

The mouths hanging open made me chuckle, which turned into quiet giggles as I stared down into my lap, feeling as if I had accomplished something big. This was the best way I could show defiance, and so I took the opportunity and rolled with it. I couldn’t have been prouder, but my joyful moment didn’t last for long when I felt a warm palm pressing against my left thigh. Before I could react, push the hand off or anything, long fingers grabbed onto my flesh through my pants and I gulped, my heartbeat spiking at the inappropriate touch. I whipped my head around, Yunho’s eyes boring into mine as his eyebrows were furrowed.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” His voice was deep, low, and scrutinizing. I scoffed but didn’t say anything as his grip only turned tighter, making goosebumps erupt under my sweater. Yunho didn’t look mad, but he didn’t look calm either, it was peculiar, I couldn’t read his expression.

“That’s…” Minghao took a deep breath, face suddenly lighting up in elation, “simply brilliant!”

“No, it isn’t.” Yunho snapped, his head turning around as he looked at Wooyoung, who looked concerned. It made my eyebrows furrow, but before I could speak up, Yeri beat me to it.

“You just put a target on your head, Y/N,” Her voice was hesitant as she glanced around the table, stare lingering on Wooyoung as if she was asking for permission to speak, “You know the President isn’t fond of you, you shouldn’t have angered him further. These Games, they—they are happening to take you down, the strongest, the ones who had proven they were strong enough to fight a battle lest it happens, you should play it smart, Y/N, not make a fool out of yourself.”

My eyebrows raised as I chuckled, unamused, leaning forward to look at Yeri better, “Really? I’m a fool now? You think I want to be here, again?! You think I want to go back inside that fucking Arena and kill those people? To relive all the repressed memories and emotions? Fuck off, Yeri, when all you’ve known is a lavished lifestyle without death constantly looming over your head.”

“Watch your language.” Wooyoung was rarely serious, but when his fox-like eyes narrowed and his lips twitched, he looked scary. He could be scary when he wanted to be, perhaps that is why he laughed so often and tried to always look mischievous, “Yeri is right, stop being so fucking proud that you can’t admit when you’ve just made a mistake. If your score is low the people won’t even bat an eyelash your way, considering there’s someone who likes you.”

“I don’t give a shit who likes me and who doesn’t, Wooyoung.” I scoffed, my thigh burning where Yunho’s fingers gripped it. It was becoming too hot in the dining room, Yunho’s strong cologne was making my head dizzy and I could feel my lungs tightening up. I didn’t want to stay here, I didn’t like being put on the spot, and I didn’t like it when people treated me for less than I was.

“Well, you should.” Wooyoung said, tone cold, “Because your life depends on your sponsors and your allies, you stupid girl.”

Before I could snap back at Wooyoung, Momo, who had been surprisingly quiet, chirped up, “Speaking of that, who are you taking as your allies? I was thinking Enobaria, from District 2, and—”

“Mingi.” Yunho’s tone was determined, eyes hardened as he looked at everyone sitting at the table, his gaze slipping onto mine, “I’m not leaving him alone, he’s coming with us.”

“With us?” I muttered under my breath and flinched when Yunho’s fingers felt like they were digging through my pants, “I’m with Finnick and Mags, I don’t care what you do and who you go off with.”

“You’re a team.” Minghao said, his lips pursed, “You two have to stick together, it’s what everyone else will do too, it’s only logical.”

“And if I don’t want to?” I fired rapidly, eyebrows raising.

“I just told you to stop being fucking arrogant, Y/N.” Wooyoung hissed, slamming his fist onto the table and making me flinch as my heart started thumping faster, “You’d be suicidal to not form a team with Yunho, he’s amongst the last ones the other tributes will go for. He’s strong and you know he’s got your back, you can’t go frolicking with Finnick and Mags, what if they turn on you?”

“They won’t,” I said through a clenched jaw and having had enough of Yunho’s touch, I gripped his wrist and ignored the looks we got. My nails dug into his skin painfully, but he wasn’t budging, it made my blood boil, “Finnick is like my brother, he won’t turn on me.”

“Mingi is like my brother too, I’m not leaving him alone—”

“So, are you saying you want us to team up with the Mockingjay?” I whipped my head around, eyes bleeding into Yunho’s, “You want to put a target on our heads right from the get-go? Everyone hates her guts, everyone will want to kill her first. I’m not teaming up with Mingi and Katniss, Yunho—”

“It wasn’t a question,” Yunho snapped, suddenly flipping his palm up as he grabbed my wrist instead and yanked me towards himself. I gasped as I felt forward, gripping the edge of the chair with my right hand, heart racing against my chest, “Mingi is coming with us, and wherever he goes, Katniss goes too. And you’re coming with us too, whether you like it or not. I don’t care if Finnick and Mags join us, I know they won’t turn against us until there’s just us left behind.”

I scoffed and yanked my wrist out of his hold, snarling at him, “You won’t tell me what to do, I’m not going to be in a team with you. Yet better, get out of my fucking way when that canon goes off because you will be the first person I’ll kill, Yunho.”

My words stung, they were honest but I hadn’t meant them like that. I hadn’t realized their weight until it was too late and I couldn’t take them back anymore. I tried to gulp but my throat was tight, cheeks burning from both anger and the sudden regret and embarrassment I felt. For the first time, I didn’t feel satisfaction as I watched Yunho’s face fall, a very clearly pained expression crossing his face. His eyebrows furrowed as if he didn’t understand why I would say something like that, but his eyes filled with tears and suddenly I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore. It didn’t help that everyone was staring at me with wide-open mouths, just as shocked as Yunho by my words. When I heard Momo starting to sob, I knew I couldn’t sit there anymore. I stood abruptly, pushing my chair back forcefully as I took off towards my room, breaking out into a sprint when I felt my bottom lip shake, tears flooding my eyes.

Why was I on the verge of breaking down? Why did my own words hurt me when they were the truth, when they were supposed to let Yunho know that I didn’t want him around? Not here, not home, and certainly not in the Games. I couldn’t trust him, he’d tried to kill me once before, and he wasn’t even in the Arena with me, what would guarantee that he wouldn’t do it again? And now it would be so much easier done, I couldn’t trust him. In my desperate daze to get back to my room, I didn’t hear the quick footsteps chasing after me, and I gasped when my door was slammed open before it could even close. I knew who it was even before I turned around, and my hands balled into fists, throat tight as I tried to gulp again.

“Why are you like this?”

“Get out.”

We spoke over each other, Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion while mine in irritation, “Get out, Yunho, get out!”

“I’m not going fucking anywhere until you tell me how I wronged you!” Yunho had never raised his voice before, it made me flinch as his chest fell and rose rapidly, his lips downturned. He was mad and confused, and he wasn’t budging as I tried to push him out of my room. No, instead, he gripped my biceps painfully hard and shook my body as if that would shake some sense into me, his eyes shaking as they bore into mine. I couldn’t breathe as my heart raced painfully hard in my chest, my face flushed from the adrenaline. I couldn’t even tell what was wrong with me anymore, I didn’t know if I was scared, mad, desperate, or just insane. But I knew that if Yunho continued looking at me with that hurt expression on his face, I would completely break, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not when we were so close to going inside the Games where I had to be focused and committed to the thought that only I was making it back.

“You should think back on your actions, Yunho, it’s very easy actually.” I chuckled, trying to feign nonchalance, but I knew I was failing by how shaky my voice sounded, “I don’t trust you.”

“I know that, but no matter how hard I think about it, I just—” He gulped, averting his eyes, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I did wrong and I can’t—I just can’t have you pushing me away when we are so close, please, Y/N. I care for you just as much as I care for Mingi, we can’t separate in the Arena.”

I gulped as Yunho’s painful grip softened on my biceps, his shaking eyes searching my face as I tried to gather my thoughts, to give him a rational answer, “You think you won’t turn on me when the timing comes?”

I was surprised by how dejected and sad I sounded. I chuckled, fed up even with myself as the silence stretched on between us, Yunho’s lack of an answer being the answer. He knew it and I knew it too, the alliances would last as long as there were still many of us alive in the Arena. After that? Everyone was on their own, everyone. Even those who loved each other would have no choice but to choose. Me or them. And the answer was clear, it always had been. Humans were selfish, we were desperate to survive, and it was obvious who we’d choose.

“But I don’t want to turn on you.” Yunho’s voice was just a whisper as suddenly his hands moved, tracing up to my shoulders as he stepped closer, making me inhale deeply. His musky scent was nauseating, but it was the only thing in this wrenched place that smelled like home, that reminded me of home, that felt like home. Yunho’s closeness was familiar despite my dislike for it, and I found myself gripping his sweater at his hips, tilting my head back to look at him better. Yunho’s eyes were coated with an emotion that ran deep in his bones, an emotion that was so clear it made me freeze. He didn’t hate me, not even when I had been nothing but horrible to him, it was so obvious he didn’t and that was dangerous. It was dangerous because I could feel my walls crumble as I closed the distance between us, pressing my body against his bigger and stronger one. Yunho’s jaw clenched as he gently cupped my jaw, licking his lips as his eyes shifted between my eyes and lips.

“We won’t have to turn against each other, Y/N.” He whispered, leaning down so close that our lips brushed together. I gasped, quietly, as my eyes widened, freezing in his hold as I didn’t expect him to make such a bold move. But there was something hidden in his gaze, which quickly darted over the room as if searching for something, his voice really low and deep as he spoke again, “This will be the last time, to us, to them, to the children. Whatever happens in that Arena, it will happen with the intention to fix what’s been broken for so many years, to bring about a new beginning. So we mustn’t forget who our true enemy is, Y/N.”

My mind was reeling as Yunho’s words sank in, heart beating in a frenzy as I couldn’t completely focus due to the mess I was feeling inside. I wanted to push him away, slap him, berate him, but I also wanted to grab his collar and seal our lips together, to devour him, to breathe him in, to feel his body against mine, to give in to the burn situated low in my stomach. I hated him, but I wanted him. Snow took everyone from me, but he left me with Yunho as if he knew I’d torture myself over it, hate him with moments of relapse where all I could do was want him. I shuddered when Yunho shifted his head, his soft and wet lips pressing against the corner of my mouth. I wanted to chase after it, I wanted to taste him, but he turned his head when I tried to finally close the small distance. My lips pressed against his jaw instead and I couldn’t stop myself as I pressed an open-mouth kiss against his hot skin, fingers digging into his sweater, settling on his narrow hips. I couldn’t control myself anymore, it was too much. And maybe I didn’t want to let my logical brain lead me, maybe I wanted to give in to my deepest, darkest, desires led by my heart.

“If we do this together, Yunho,” My voice was hoarse as I spoke, our eyes meeting again as Yunho faced me once again, “The second I realize you’ve lied to me, I will kill you. I will kill anyone because I’m not dying in that Arena.”

“You are not.” Yunho emphasised as he gulped, reaching a hand up as he pushed my hair back, tangling his long fingers into the smooth strands, “But we must protect the Mockingjay.”

“Why?” I hissed, eyebrows furrowed as I turned my head just slightly, pressing my cheek into his, for once, warm palm. Yunho smiled, letting his other hand drop from my jaw as he shrugged, eyes shaking as his face morphed into tiredness. He seemed tired, but not just due to today’s events, he was tired of everything.

“To be free.” My eyes fluttered closed when he leaned forward, pressing a lasting kiss against my forehead. It made my chest ache and my hands almost chased after him when he untangled himself from my body, leaving me alone and cold in the room that would be my bedroom for the last time. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew one thing.

I wasn’t dying in that Arena, and perhaps neither was Yunho.

            Dread, so deep that it rattled your bones, was an emotion one could never get used to. I forgot what it truly meant to fear for your life, to do everything you could to keep yourself alive. President Snow wanted the utmost entertainment as Panem watched their most beloved victors fight for their lives, and he certainly got what he wanted. We didn’t have to run to the Cornucopia this year to get our weapons, no, the Cornucopia was where we stood the second the platforms raised us into the Arena. I couldn’t even focus on my chaotic heartbeat, eyes looking around for Finnick, only to spot Yunho instead straight across from me. He had given me a firm nod, and then his eyes fixed on something past me. When I turned to see what it was, I could see two axes lined up against the leg of a table. They were put there for us. I turned in my spot, muscles tight as the countdown began—may the odds be ever in your favour. Words I never thought I’d hear so vividly again, just through the screen of a TV while I watched my tributes fight until death.

And despite knowing what it meant to be in the Games and knowing it would be no easy feat to get away from the Cornucopia in one piece, it still shocked me how hard I had to fight to gain the upper hand. It seemed like Yunho and I weren’t the only ones yielding an axe, and thus, my first kill had been claimed right after the countdown, it didn’t surprise me. But there was no time for grief or hesitation, everyone was out there to get the other. I had to find my allies before someone could kill me, and upon seeing Finnick’s blonde hair disappear underwater, I knew I had to get away too. The Cornucopia was situated on an island in the middle of a lake, surrounded by lush green and dense pine trees. The breeze was chilly, the air humid. It felt like I was back in District 7 on an early autumn day when the days were starting to get shorter and the nights longer. The scenery felt familiar yet it made my skin crawl, I hated it here.

My ears still rang from the canons that had gone off right after the countdown, and my lungs burned when I resurfaced. The water was colder than I had expected and as I wasn’t an experimented swimmer, I struggled until I reached the shore, the axe I had to somehow carry to land also made my mission more difficult. As I gasped for air, water droplets obscuring my view, hand feeling around for my abandoned axe, I realized with great terror that something was actively sneaking around my ankles, slithering up my legs. In a frenzy, I decided to look back and I was mortified when I realized the weeds inside the water were moving up my leg, trying to yank me back inside the water. I tried to reach for my axe but it was out of reach, and just as I started trashing my legs around in hopes of making the weeds retract, I heard the sound of splashing water not too far from me. Then, the sharp edge of an axe came down and I gasped as I quickly flipped onto my back, my hand gripping the handle of my own axe as I was finally able to reach it.

Yunho’s suit was snug against his fit body, leaving very little to the imagination as it acted as a second skin. Our suits offered warmth but they were uncomfortable, the jacket that came with it only holding us back when we had to swim through the lake to reach the shore. Yunho was breathing hard as his eyes were pointed at me, and then he reached his hand out and I grabbed it without thinking much. I was hoisted up and I made sure no weed remained on my legs as Yunho hadn’t released my hand just yet, guiding us towards another tall person, who stood far away from the wet ground. My teeth clattered against each other as the lake’s coldness seemed to cling onto my every crevice, and I whipped my head left and right as I was trying to spot Finnick and Mags. I could see people rushing inside the trees at a distance, but neither had blonde hair like Finnick’s. Then, realizing that despite him being strong and capable of getting through the bloodbath, one of the canons that went off could’ve signalled his death.

My breath caught in my throat as I yanked my hand out of Yunho’s, making him pause as we finally reached Mingi, who was looking around himself nervously, bow and arrow clutched tightly in his hands. A hunting knife was strapped to his hips as well, and despite the always solemn look on his face, he seemed alert and present. But I couldn’t focus on Mingi or Yunho, all I could think about was the absence of Finnick, Mags, and even Katniss. Weren’t Mingi and her supposed to stick together no matter what?

“Where’s Katniss?” I found myself asking before I could think this through. I didn’t trust Mingi, hell, I didn’t even fully trust Yunho. I didn’t want to be with them, but Yunho’s long fingers found my arm again and he was suddenly walking off, dragging me after himself. I tried to stop, looking back at Mingi with a panicked expression on my face as he followed after us wordlessly, but neither one of them was saying anything. It only made my heart race faster, reminded me of the time when I was betrayed by my own district’s male tribute, flashbacks making my body shudder when Yunho just ignored me, fingernails digging through the fabric of my jacket as he led the way deeper inside the pine forest, “Stop—stop!”

I knew I was supposed to stay silent, but I was panicking, my mind was hazy and my lungs were heavy, I couldn’t continue like this. The Games had just started, I couldn’t freak out so early on, I needed to stay level-headed and in control of my thoughts and actions, “Yunho, I said fucking stop!”

“We can’t stop, Y/N!” He exclaimed, suddenly halting and making me run into his broad back. I gasped as my face collided with it and he whirled around, eyebrows furrowed, “We are too exposed right now, we have to keep going, the others are lurking around still.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Finnick, Yunho, I’ve already told you this—”

“I didn’t see Finnick anywhere,” I could barely speak before Yunho cut me off, as if he didn’t even care about what I had to say. The lump in my throat made it hard to swallow all of a sudden, “We can’t wait around for him, we have to keep moving for a while, at least. And if—he—he might’ve died already, Y/N, we can’t wait around for—”

“What about Katniss?” I hissed, turning my head around as I glared at Mingi, who looked tense and lowered his eyes when my glare burned into his shaken eyes, “Weren’t you two supposed to stay together?”

“We were, but I—she pushed me in the water to save me from a knife and I—” Mingi gulped, sharing a quick glance with Yunho. It made me look back at Yunho, feeling more suspicious than before. Something was wrong, they had to be lying. But why would they want us to separate from Finnick and Katniss? It made no sense, “I lost sight of her, I’m sorry. But she’s strong and she can swim, I know she made it out. The forest is like a second home to her, she’ll find her way back—I hope.”

“Hope,” I scoffed, shaking Yunho’s grip off as I held my axe even tighter, jaw clenching, “is not good enough here, Mingi. Are you sure you didn’t do this on purpose? Why did you want to separate me from Finnick—”

“Nobody wanted us to separate.” Yunho’s sharp tone cut me off and I gasped when I felt him cup my cheek and turn my head around, his chocolate brown eyes hard and glaring, “Things rarely go as planned inside the Games, Y/N, you know that, so we can’t just stand here and argue and draw even more attention onto us. We’ll search until we find them, okay?”

“I know you did this on purpose, Yunho.” I hissed, slapping his warm hand away, my jaw clenching as Yunho closed his eyes and released a long exhale, “I don’t know what sick and twisted game you’re playing at, but I will slit your—”

A twig snapping to our right made the rest of my words die in the back of my throat, making both Yunho and Mingi tense up as they whipped their heads towards where the sound had come from. My grip tightened around the handle of my axe until my joints ached, and I tilted my head, waiting and listening for another sound. It was minuscule, but it was there, someone was hiding behind the tree. It didn’t look like Mingi or Yunho had noticed, though, because Mingi turned his head and Yunho opened his mouth to say something, but I paid them no mind as I raised my arm and flung my axe towards the tree just as someone with a sword jumped around it. The sickening crack of bones was loud as the tribute gasped, flung back into the tree as the axe was lodged almost perfectly in the middle of his chest. Mingi gasped and seemed to freeze as Yunho gulped, his hand tightening around his own axe.

I threw him a glare before I went towards the tribute who was pinned against the tree by my axe, blood flowing out of his mouth as the life slowly slipped away from the man’s eyes. It was the male tribute from District 6, a man I didn’t know well but had heard talk shit about me behind my back. He was still alive but just barely hanging onto life, so without thinking, I grabbed the back of the axe and pushed it even deeper into the man’s chest, making him let out a gurgled groan. It only took three seconds for his head to drop and for the canon to go off. I scoffed and grabbed the back of the axe, yanking it out of his lifeless body as he crumbled to the ground, folding over itself as I wiped the blood on the back of his jacket, grinning to myself. I would’ve apologized if he would’ve deserved it, but a man who’d tried sexually assaulting me before did not deserve my mercy. Satisfied with my work, and slightly hopeful that the Capitol was thrilled by my kill, I turned with a grin on my lips. The feeling of victory didn’t last for long as I froze, taken aback by the sight in front of me.

Mingi’s whole body was shaking, his bow and arrow were on the ground and his head was hidden in the crook of Yunho’s neck, who held his friend close, muttering reassuring words into the younger’s ear. My jaw clenched, and suddenly the adrenaline rush crashed inside my body, bringing back the clattering of my teeth as my body was still way too cold. I wanted to think of Mingi as someone weak, as someone who had lost his mind already, as someone who had no place in the Hunger Games, an easy prey to whom death was certain. But deep down, in a hidden chamber of my heart, I felt sympathy for Mingi because all I wanted to do was crumble into a ball and sob until no emotion was left inside my chest. I was beyond frightened and all I wanted was to be held in Yunho’s warm and comforting arms, in the arms that felt like home. But I couldn’t, if I let my emotions take the lead, I would die and that was a luxury I couldn’t afford—not yet, at least.

“We need to move,” I spoke up, voice surprisingly gentle as I realized Mingi’s reaction had been triggered by my kill. I didn’t want to set him off more, it wouldn’t just be bad for him, it would set Yunho and me back too, I couldn’t have that happen, “We’re too close to the shore still.”

“Mingi,” Yunho’s voice was gentle as he pressed his nose against his best friend’s temple, rubbing his back up and down with both hands as his axe lay on the ground next to his leg, “It’s okay, we’re fine. Y/N took care of him, you’re safe with us. Let’s go, okay? We need to keep moving to avoid situations like this one, hm?”

I heard a sniff as I approached them, crouching down to fetch Mingi’s bow and arrow as he nodded his head, throwing his arms around Yunho’s neck as he gave him a tight squeeze. Yunho chuckled but returned the hug, a warm smile appearing on his face when the two separated. I gulped, feeling uncomfortable at their intimacy, at the ease they showed affection to each other. Even if my body and soul craved closeness to another human being, my mind wouldn’t let me bring the walls built around my heart down, I just couldn’t. It was too late now, softness didn’t get you anywhere in the Arena, only barbarity did.

“Here,” I muttered as Mingi faced me, his body still trembling when his eyes landed on his previously abandoned weapons. He gulped and very slowly reached forward, “I understand that it’s hard, Mingi, but if you let your trauma and fear consume you, you won’t get far in the Games.”

He nodded once and then grabbed his weapons out of my hands, staring at them with a ferocious glare. Yunho grabbed his axe too and then sighed, rubbing his face before he glanced around us, “Let’s head uphill, maybe we find something that we can use as a resource.”

I nodded, letting the two fall in step in front of me as I opted to look out for our backs, making sure we weren’t exposed on either side. My muscles hurt by how tense they were, and my ears were trained well to catch even the slightest shifts, the quietest of sounds. I knew how to survive situations worse than this, but I couldn’t let my guard down, the Games had barely started.

But if there was one thing I was certain of, it was that I couldn’t trust Yunho or Mingi. Finnick was my only ally in these Games and I was going to find him, whether on my own or with the help of two tall men walking in front of me, I didn’t care. I was going home once this was over.

            The first night in the Arena had been silent, uneventful. This was good only because we got a good night’s rest, otherwise, it meant the Gamemakers were planning something big. I couldn’t tell what, not yet at least, but the lightning striking a tree in the distance, far more uphill, managed to raise my suspicions. I couldn’t tell just yet what that was supposed to mean, but I had counted twelve strikes. I had been on the lookout when it happened, preferring to be the first to keep watch as the two men I was with slept soundly, huddled closely together. Before the artificial sun could set, we made a small bonfire to try to warm ourselves up, grilling a frog we had found by the creak. It got really cold by the nighttime, but I preferred my teeth clattering to cozying up with either Yunho or Mingi. I didn’t trust them, not in the least, and I had twirled the hunting knife between my fingers as I watched them sleep, so unassumingly, so easy to kill. But I wouldn’t do it just yet, not until I have found Finnick and we’d figure something out together. The Arena was big and I knew we had little chance of finding each other, but for once in my life I could only pray the odds would be in my favor.

Morning came fast and once we refreshed ourselves by the creak, which was surprisingly lukewarm, we took off once again, headed more uphill. We were looking for a good hiding spot, something we could treat as our base, but we were also just keen on exploring the Arena. It felt like the pine forest was endless, and to someone who didn’t grow up in a District that was surrounded by forests, it must’ve felt like an endless maze of trees that looked the same no matter which way you looked. But to Yunho and I it was rather easy to navigate through its density, the scenery was never the same to us. The occasional fallen log, the change of the bush type, or even the way birds flew overhead were a good tale-tell sign of where we were. Mingi seemed to be at ease too, moving around as if the forest was his second home. I knew District 12 was just by the forest, but I had no idea they could go inside it too. Maybe Mingi was hiding things about himself even towards Yunho, it wouldn’t surprise me.

As the day had dragged on and the temperatures rose once again, our stomachs churned loudly as we were getting tired from endlessly climbing uphill, the pathway slippery due to the small rocks we had to walk on. Yunho had exchanged spots with Mingi, and I was keen on remaining at the back as we trekked around some more trees, avoiding bushes that looked like something was wrong with them. We had only stopped when the sound of a drone caught our attention, the beeping of it high-pitched and loud as if it were a child’s toy. It was headed towards us, more specifically towards Yunho, and it looked like a box—a big box when Yunho caught it, his eyebrows furrowed. We had stopped then and once Yunho had opened it up, our mouths started watering. Someone from the Capitol had sent us breakfast and left us a letter telling us to feast on it as they’d send us some more tomorrow morning as well. Yunho, the ever-lovely person he was, faced a camera and thanked the sender with a bright smile and some sweet words, Mingi and I could barely contain ourselves from ravishing the bagels, cheese, grapes, and slices that looked and tasted like ham.

Once our bellies were full, we were off again hoping to find a cave as we had followed the stream until it started disappearing into an unknown direction. Mingi was at the front of the group leading us, his bow and arrow gripped in his hands as we had finally spotted a cave up-front, right by the pathway. He seemed excited upon our finding and quickened his pace, making Yunho and I run after him as Yunho glanced back to throw me an excited smile. I didn’t react as I fixed my grip on my axe, ready to face other tributes if they were hiding inside the cave that we’d claim as ours soon. But it was dark and silent inside as we reached its opening and Mingi halted, looking back at Yunho and I.

“I’ll go check, wait here.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Yunho muttered, his eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s fine, I won’t go in deep,” Mingi reassured him and then stalked inside, his bow and arrow drawn in case he was forced to use it. With a gulp, I settled back on my heels and looked around, trying to evade Yunho’s burning gaze. He didn’t say anything, but he continued to stare as I tried harder and harder to ignore him. My heart was slowly starting to thump faster in my chest, and I could feel myself starting to sweat from still wearing my jacket over the body-tight suit. Just as Yunho opened his mouth to say something, Mingi’s shriek made us tense up and share a concerned glance, and then Yunho was off before I could even tell him to wait.

“Mingi!” He screamed, running inside the cave with his axe raised. I remained in my spot, my breaths audible as I whipped my head around, looking out for anyone who could be prowling on us. My heartbeat was deafening as I tried to tune in to the sounds of the forest, but the pounding feet coming from inside the cave caught my attention rapidly, and I couldn’t even make out what was happening as Yunho and Mingi’s panicked faces came into view, Yunho’s hand gripping my arm hard as he yanked me after himself, sprinting downhill all of a sudden.

“Run!” Mingi screamed as he took the lead once again, his bow around his shoulder and arrow in its holster, my heart started pounding faster as I twisted my head around, trying to make out what we were running from. Going downhill was certainly easier than uphill, but the small rocky path was tricky as it was slippery and made it harder for us to flee safely. If it weren’t for Yunho’s relenting grip on my bicep, I was sure I would’ve tumbled to the ground already.

“What are we running from?!” I asked as my lungs heaved for air, Yunho and I jumped over a fallen log as Mingi was well in front of us, not looking back even once.

“Snakes!” Yunho screamed, and I felt my whole body shudder, fear gripping my insides. I wasn’t afraid of snakes, but I was afraid of whatever mutants these were, certain to kill us. I gulped and twisted my head around again to try and see the reptilians, which turned out to be my downfall— quite literally.

“Yunho, come on!” I heard Mingi scream before my feet got caught in the vines that slithered across the forest floor and I gasped as my feet were cut from underneath me, Yunho’s grip disappearing as he continued to run while I rolled to the side, curling into myself to try and protect my head as I hit the side of a boulder. I groaned, my back numb as it caught most of my fall, and my axe was somewhere on the ground. I tried to look for it, getting on my knees as I heard the slithering snakes getting closer, their hisses menacing. My heart felt like it was in my throat as I could hear my pulse clearly and loudly in my ears, looking up as the fallen leaves rattled not too far from me.

“Yunho?!” I heard Mingi’s raw voice call out in the distance, laced with panic, “What are you—no!”

I could see my axe from here, a colourful snake was twisting around its handle, hissing as its eyes fell on me. I gritted my teeth and fumbled around for my hunting knife, unlatching it from around my thigh as I gripped it in my hand, staring the snake down. The only problem was that it wasn’t just one snake that was coming after us, it was multiple, a dozen, thousands even as the otherwise silent forest was filled with their hissing. My mouth parted as my breathing got heavier, and my eyes widened when I felt something crawling up my left calf. It only took me one second to realize a snake had gotten to me without me noticing its approach, and an involuntary shriek escaped my mouth as I tried to kick it off. I tried to stay as calm as possible and fight with a level head, but the dread gripping at my insides, whispering that I was going to die, made me panic as I tried to stab the snake, but it dodged my knife each time as if it was intelligent enough to do so.

“Yunho!” Mingi’s desperate shout almost felt like it shook the ground, and I hissed at the snake as another one got too close, trying to stab that one too. It was hard to accept the fact that I would die such a pathetic death, but I bet the Capitol would love it. They were always entertained by whatever the Gamemakers had prepared for us, and I felt my lips tremble as a pathetic whine left my lips when the snake’s body got tighter around my leg, opening its mouth in a menacing snarl. But the pain spreading from of its poison never came as Yunho suddenly appeared from around the trees, slicing snakes in half as he stepped hard on others, his eyes finding mine. He looked terrified once he noticed the snake around my leg, and without consideration for his life, he leapt forward and grabbed the snake with his bare hand, yanking it so hard that it tore its body in two. The snake hissed, but before it could try to do more harm, it was decapitated by Yunho’s axe, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Fuck, come on!” He snapped, and it helped me quench my terror as I scrambled onto my feet, almost tripping again but this time due to nothing. My whole body was shaking as Yunho’s fingers intertwined with mine, his palm calloused and sweaty as he was breathing hard.

“Yunho?!” Mingi sounded on the verge of hysteria as Yunho and I ran towards the pathway again, and I retrieved my axe quickly, stomping on a snake vengefully before we sprinted down the rocky pathway again. This time I made sure to not glance back even though the snakes were right by our feet, trying to bite at our calves, and Achilles tendon, some even trying to jump and latch onto our torsos.

“Keep running, Mingi!” Yunho screamed back as we could see him now since we were closer to him. He was standing with his bow and arrow drawn back, hands visibly shaking and his eyes red. But once he had spotted us, he took off again, going off the pathway and jumping over bushes.

“Where are we going?!” I panted out, swinging at a snake as it tried jumping at my body from the right side.

“I have no idea,” Yunho answered breathlessly but veered us off the pathway, following Mingi’s lead. Even though he was well ahead of us, Yunho seemed to constantly know his friend’s location, and which way we needed to go to catch up with him. And it seemed like Mingi had stopped running once we reached the small clearing, his calves soaked in the creak.

“Get in!” He was beckoning us over frantically, marching over to the side of the creak when we were finally close enough, and then he grabbed Yunho’s axe and yanked us aggressively inside the water. Yunho slipped and fell to his knees, his axe remaining in Mingi’s grip as Yunho panted, head hanging low. My legs threatened to give out too but I was mostly confused as I looked at Mingi, and then back at the approaching snakes.

“Why did we stop?!” I asked, fear coating my voice, “We’re going to die, I can’t—”

“The snakes won’t come into the water,” Mingi said, his jaw set tight as he looked at the approaching reptilians.

“How do you know?!” I gave him an incredulous look, my attention shifting onto Yunho when he rolled around, sitting on his bum despite getting his suit soaked once again.

“They aren’t water snakes, just—trust me.” Mingi’s deep tone was raw and tense as his eyes remained on the reptilians. I watched too, gripping my axe and ready to kill as many as needed, heart thundering in my chest. But just as one snake tried to get inside the water, it hissed out loudly and retreated, the others following suit. No snake got inside the water, it tried though, but it jumped back as if they were electrocuted by it. I felt all power leave my body as I crumbled to my knees, steadying myself on my hands as my stomach felt like turning upside down, about to empty its contents. Our pants were loud in the small clearing, the water flow calming despite the retreating hisses of the snakes. It was eery to hear them in the distance, and my body shuddered as I remembered it slithering up my leg.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered under my breath, looking up at Mingi and Yunho. Yunho was still sitting, his eyes staring out into nothing as Mingi had moved to sit on a rock, his plump lips swollen and his eyes filled with tears. It made my eyebrows furrow as I tried to calm my body and mind, but it was hard when dread seemed to have taken its residence inside my body, inside my mind. My jaw clenched as I shakily stood again, eyebrows furrowing, “How did you know?”

Mingi and Yunho looked at me, probably surprised by my feeble voice. I hated it, but I ignored it as my glare burned into Mingi’s face. His eyebrows furrowed, but he shrugged, “I guess I just—I’ve heard it somewhere? I just—it just felt like the right thing to do.”

“So, you didn’t know.” I huffed, closing my eyes as my body continued trembling from the lingering adrenaline in my system.

“Yeah, maybe—but we’re alive, we’re—fine.” Mingi’s voice got quiet as my eyes snapped open, fixating on him. I scoffed, snarling at him.

“We’re fine?” I questioned, feeling the heat rise into my cheeks due to anger, “We’re alive?”

“Yeah, we—”

“No,” I hissed, grabbing my axe tightly for stability, to ground myself, “I am alive because Yunho came back, because he saved me. What were you doing, huh, Mingi? Saving yourself, that’s what you were doing, I’ll tell you.”

Mingi gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as he glanced at Yunho briefly, “I was just…trying to find the creak. I knew you’d follow me, I—”

“So much for being a team, huh?” I chuckled but it was humourless, “Is this what you did with Katniss, too?”

Mingi froze, eyes slightly widening as a hurt expression crossed his face. I heard Yunho exhale sharply but I was focused on Mingi, my eyes narrowing as he continued avoiding eye contact. My heart was still racing but for different reasons now, I could hear the gears in my head turn, twisting my thoughts and whispering at me that I was right all along. Mingi and Yunho weren’t my allies, they were my enemies and they were trying to lure me further and further away from other possible tributes that could maybe help me if I needed it. I scoffed, feeling my skin burn underneath my suit.

“Tell me, Mingi, did Katniss really push you into the lake?” I raised my eyebrows, watching as the guy’s eyebrows furrowed some more, “Or did you jump in because you were planning on betraying her at some point, huh?”

“Y/N,” Yunho hissed, abruptly standing up, “stop talking to him like that, what are you even saying? Do you hear yourself right now? How delusional do you sound?”

I chuckled, turning around to face Yunho as Mingi remained unmoving, frozen, dark eyes staring into the water as his hands clenched and unclenched, “Really, now, Yunho? I am delusional? I didn’t even want to team up with you two, you forced me into an alliance with you and Mingi and look where it got us! We both could’ve died out there while Mingi ran for his life! Did you forget what he’s done to his allies in the past—”

“Shut up.” Mingi snapped, standing up from his rock, jaw clenched and eyes ablaze with anger. He was breathing hard and his height was intimidating, looming over my shorter build as he approached me rapidly, “You don’t know shit about why I did that, Y/N. They were going to kill me that night, I heard them talking about it. I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for it to happen!”

I paused, licking my lips as I shook my head in disbelief, “And do you think at some point Yunho and I won’t turn against you? Do you think we won’t try to kill you?”

“We won’t.” Yunho hissed as he came closer too, his cheeks flushed and his expression conveying the simmering rage he must’ve felt underneath his skin. Yunho was rarely angry, but when he was, his voice thundered and his eyes turned sharp, lips pulled back in a snarl that was both frightening and almost comical, “Because I didn’t come here to kill anyone. We are getting out alive, but we have to find the others first.”

My jaw clenched as I looked between the two, shaking my head as I felt disappointment lick at my insides, somehow disheartened by their naivety. We weren’t going home, not all of us would survive, why could they not understand that finally?

“Are you fucking making fun of me, right now?” I said, voice hard as I looked at Yunho, “What games are you two playing, huh?! You’re insane if you think I’ll stay here with the two of you for one more second—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Yunho hissed, stepping so close I had to crane my neck back to be able to look him in the eyes. My jaw clenched as I felt the axe slip from my fingers and I scoffed, raising my eyebrows tauntingly. The heavy weapon made a splashing sound once it collided with the water, and I could feel Mingi’s anxiety radiating off himself, his eyes watching us carefully, fingers curling around the edge of his hunting knife. I gulped, very aware that I was at a great disadvantage if the two decided to attack me right now, there were few chances I’d make it out alive. But even so, I would fight until my last breath, they couldn’t take me down that easily.

“Mingi is very clearly trying to kill me, why else would he separate me from Finnick? And the fact that you’re standing here and defending your good old buddy just proves to me that you are in on it too, Yunho. You didn’t even let me try and look for Finnick, you just dragged me away.” My heart was beating fast as my voice had started rising. Yunho looked a mixture of hurt and confused as his jaw clenched, not once looking away. I couldn’t see Mingi from my spot, but I could feel his gaze burn into the side of my head, “And the fact that he would’ve left me there for the snakes proves my point that he gives zero shit about me—and maybe about you too, Yunho, because he didn’t even think about coming to help you out. So maybe next time reconsider who your true friends are before making allegiances. If you want to kill me, come at me now.”

“Nobody is trying to kill you—” It was Mingi who spoke, sounding exasperated, “We are a team, I didn’t stop because I didn’t realize you two weren’t following me anymore. And when I finally did, I fucking turned back around and came running to help, but you had already figured it out! Do you think I wanted to separate from Katniss? The only person besides Yunho that I know and trust?! No, I didn’t fucking want to! She pushed me into the lake to save me and I freaking lost sight of her! Do you think I’m not trying to find her? Do you think I want to win these fucking Games again just to be tormented some more and more by Snow, by the memories and all the trauma?! I want to fucking die, Y/N, I hate my life and I hate myself. So killing you is the last thing on my mind, okay?!”

Something broke in my heart at how broken Mingi sounded, the way his tear-filled eyes just spilt down his cheeks, wetting them and making his eyes even redder. He was sniffing as he rubbed at his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, looking hurt and betrayed. I gulped, feeling torn between my own thoughts. I wanted to trust them, I really did, but what if they were just trying to soften me up with sob stories? What if it was all a ploy to get me to trust them, only for them to kill me? I wouldn’t put it past Mingi, and neither Yunho, we were in the Hunger Games after all and it wasn’t about forming bonds and long-lasting relationships, it was about survival, it was about killing until the strongest one was last standing. I shook my head, chewing on my bottom lip as I averted my eyes, looking up at Yunho with conflict, but knowing that I had already made my decision. I couldn’t stay with them, not when I distrusted them so much.

“It makes no sense to turn against each other,” Yunho spoke softly despite the anger still displayed on his features. He gulped and licked his lips, wanting to touch my cheek but he must’ve seen something on my face because he dropped his hand last minute, “Y/N, please just think rationally for a second and trust us. I don’t—I could never harm you, I just—I want all of us to go home and—I don’t know, but don’t do this. We will find both Katniss and Finnick, that’s what I’m trying to do, okay? But it’s hard tracking them down in this forest, we—”

“I’m not going with you anymore.” I cut Yunho’s rambling off, my jaw set tight as I released a sigh, stepping back to put distance between our bodies. Yunho and Mingi looked confused for a second, glancing at each other uncertainly, “And you have harmed me before, Yunho, but it seems like you wiped it all from your memory. It’s sweet really, I wish I could’ve too.”

Yunho’s mouth parted in shock, hand reached out but I raised mine, shaking my head, “I’ll find Finnick on my own, you two find Katniss and play besties with her, I guess. Just don’t—don’t cross my path because I won’t spare you, I can promise you that.”

Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed and he tried to reach for me again but Mingi held his shoulder, his jaw set tight. I grabbed my axe out of the water and took a deep breath, looking at the two for a long second before turning my back to them and rushing away from the creak, down the pathway we had explored earlier today. My jaw was tight and my muscles tense as I kept walking and walking, mind spinning as I concentrated hard to catch even the slightest shift around myself.

I had to put distance between myself and the other two, otherwise it wouldn’t be safe.

            Three days had passed since I left Yunho and Mingi behind. I had no success finding Finnick thus far and being alone in the Arena was getting to me. I couldn’t sleep as nobody had my back while I did so, hunting was slightly harder as it took more time than with others to help, and I also had to be constantly on the lookout for the traps the Gamemakers would send my way. I was struggling, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel more relaxed on my own than I did with Yunho and Mingi by my side. I couldn’t trust them and it was driving me crazy. Yunho was supposed to be the last one to keep watch but he had accidentally fallen asleep, leaving us defenceless. He was incompetent and I could put my life into the hands of a person who couldn’t as much as stay awake to make sure no one killed us in our sleep. Alone, without anyone to keep watch, I couldn’t exactly sleep, but I had fallen into a light slumber more than once. Climbing the trees to shelter myself from others for the night seemed like a reasonable thing to do, having learned it from Katniss as she had done the same last year in her Games.

The small fire I managed to conjure up by the spot I had claimed as my campsite was small and it crackled as I had waited for the frog to grill so that I could have dinner. Walking away from Yunho and Mingi also meant no support from the Capitol, and I wasn’t surprised when nobody sent me any gifts, not even a soothing balm after I had accidentally fallen into poison ivy. My skin was itchy and I tried to stop myself from scratching it raw, but it was hard when I had nothing to do but stay attuned to the sounds of the forests and watch out for anything that seemed misplaced. Yesterday, I was forced to kill two more tributes when they tried to take over my campsite, taunting me and laughing in my face, until I had decapitated the male tribute with just two swings. The two were the siblings from District 1, the Capitol’s most beloved victors after Finnick Odair, of course. It didn’t surprise me that nobody sent me gifts, given that I had just killed two people they seemed to really love. Without dwelling too much on what was already done, I continued searching for Finnick.

The forest felt huge and never-ending, and it felt like we were on different ends of Panem despite being enclosed inside a limited space. I was doing what I had been doing for the past three days when I suddenly heard leaves rustling behind me. I didn’t pause nor walk faster, I continued as if I hadn’t heard anything, trying to see if someone was following me—or something—or whether it was just the breeze that would blow through the Arena at times. I had opted not to go uphill anymore as I had a suspicion that Yunho and Mingi would continue searching for another cave to claim as theirs, unless it was infested with poisonous snakes once again. I gripped my axe tighter as I heard twigs snapping to my left, just behind some bushes. My steps halted and my head turned to look towards where the sound came from. I didn’t move, I didn’t breathe as my eyes bore into the trunk of a tree, narrowing when I saw something shift. I gulped and squared my shoulders back, ready to fight another tribute if needed. To be fair, I preferred the tributes over whatever mutants the Gamemakers had prepared for us, they were easier to kill and predictable, unlike the animals that shouldn’t even exist.

I took a step towards where the noise came from, but another twig snapped just behind me, making me whirl around. I couldn’t panic right now or else I’d lose my cool and make mistakes, which weren’t affordable here, especially since I was completely on my own. I gulped and narrowed my eyes, listening closely to the quietest of shifts, my eyes widening when I saw a head duck back behind the tree to my right. Was I surrounded? Who were these people? Did Yunho and Mingi find me? Did they have another ally to replace me?

I gulped, raising my axe to my chest as my jaw clenched, eyes trained on the tree where someone was hiding behind. But when I felt someone move past behind me, I was forced to whirl around and hurl my axe at—nothing. My heart was beating fast in my chest as my eyebrows furrowed, muscles tense as my axe fell to the forest floor, whoever passed behind me faster than my axe. I gulped and swiftly ran to get my axe, but paused just as my fingertips were about to reach it. Someone was breathing heavily to my right, behind a large tree, and with shaky fingers I grabbed the axe and stood up straight, pulling my arm back to swing it at whoever was taunting me.

“Come out!” I screamed, my jaw clenched as I firmly planted my feet on the ground. My chest fell and rose quickly as my eyes narrowed when I saw movement from behind the tree again.

“Y/N?” And just like that, I froze. My muscles didn’t turn more tense, instead, it felt like my whole body was a puddle as my mouth fell open, and my heart almost stopped in my chest, “I’m scared.”

I gasped loudly, my axe slipping from my grasp as my knees shook, mind reeling in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening, she—my little sister was dead. But her fragile voice called out again, shaking with fear, and I didn’t think as I sprinted towards the tree, desperate to catch a glimpse of her. How was she here? Had President Snow tricked me into believing my family was dead? I had never seen their bodies, after all, only their headstones upon my arrival to District 7, and I felt like fainting the more I thought about them being alive all this time.

“Ye-Yena?” My voice cracked as my fingers trembled just as I was about to round the tree. But my little sister whispered again, from a different spot this time, and I turned towards her voice again, hurrying over, “Where are you, Yena, please come out!”

My voice was breathy as tears obscured my vision, and I was on the verge of hysteria as I tried to find her, but she was always in some other spot, “Yena!”

I was panting from both adrenaline and fear as I tried to grab after my sister when she dashed from behind another tree, crying out in frustration. But I froze when a tall frame materialized in front of me, eyes dark and sharp, a contrast to Yena’s soft features.

“Jaebom?” My older brother didn’t move nor say anything as we stared into each other’s eyes, the first tears spilling down my cheeks as I sprung forward helplessly, my arms circling his torso, which was cold to the touch, “Jaebom, what’s happening?!”

But he didn’t answer me as more tears streamed down my cheeks, fingers grabbing onto his t-shirt tightly, shaking his unmoving body when he remained unresponsive, “Jaebom!”

And then, I heard a sinister cackle come from behind Jaebom, eerily similar to Yena’s childlike giggles. I untangled myself from Jaebom and looked past his shoulders, eyes widening when I saw Yena twirl my axe around in her hands as if it were made out of plastic. Her face looked ashen as she smirked, pouting her lips at me mockingly as my eyes shook. Her expression looked nothing like my little sister's. I didn’t understand what was happening anymore. Why were my siblings here, and why were they acting unlike themselves?

“Look at you,” Yena’s voice wasn’t light anymore, instead it was an angry snarl, “Living your happy life, rubbing it in our faces right now. What are you crying for, huh? Are you crying because you have to kill people again, like you’ve killed us?”

“What?” I whispered in confusion, flinching when Jaebom suddenly grabbed my bicep, his touch hot and burning, “I don’t understand—”

“You never do,” Jaebom snapped, and I whined as he started gripping my bicep painfully, “You always thought you were better than all of us, look where that got you. You’re just a pathetic excuse of a human being, everyone is ashamed of you. Mom and dad think you should’ve died instead of us, and now, you will die!”

In my confusion, too focused on the ache in my heart, I almost missed the huge knife Jaebom grabbed out of his belt, aiming it towards my heart. I gasped and punched him in the jaw, jumping away from him, “What are you doing—”

“Die, bitch.” Yena hissed as she took off towards me, making me scream in fright when she tried to lodge my own axe into my body. I was panting as I realized my siblings were trying to kill me, and without wasting another second, I pushed Yena to the ground and took off in a sprint, running away mindlessly as I could hear them pursuing me. My heart was beating like crazy in my chest as my siblings made weird noises, they were almost howling, and they sounded like animals. I couldn’t look back, too afraid that I’d lose my footing again, so I was forced to blindly run from them, making sharp twists and turns in hopes of losing them. But my worst nightmare seemed to materialize in front of me, as suddenly, I started seeing my mother's and father’s faces from behind trees, peeking at me with sinister smiles on their faces, cackling loudly as Jaebom hurled his long knife at me. I was lucky enough to take a right turn as he did so, the knife lodging itself into a tree as I gasped, eyes filling with tears again.

“Why are you doing this?!” I screamed as something suddenly burned my arm, and as I looked to my right, I was horrified to see my mother running alongside me, her hand burning into my arm as she had a wicked smile on her lips, “Stop!”

“You’re coming with us this time, daughter.” It was my father who was suddenly standing by the creak, holding a sword in both of his hands as I tried to steer clear of his path, but my mother’s grip was unnaturally strong and she kept dragging me towards it. I screamed and trashed around, feeling suffocated as my mother continued to cackle, my father’s eyes filled with hatred as he angled his sword so that he could gut me alive. I was a sobbing mess as I struggled to free myself, trashing around, and even trying to punch my mother but nothing seemed to work. I could feel Jaebom looming over me from behind, the heel of my own axe pressing into my back as I cried harder, whimpering when Yena appeared next to my father, twirling a knife in her hands.

“Poor Y/N.” Her voice dropped low, almost as if it was a man talking, and it made me realize that whatever was happening right now wasn’t real. It was something created by the Arena, it wasn’t their ghosts nor their vengeful spirits here to take me away, and yet, I still couldn’t fight my mother’s grip off as I clawed at her hand, biting her cold flesh in hopes that she’d release me.

“Let me go!” I screamed again, twisting my body away when my father’s sword came dangerously close, Jaebom’s burning grip tight on my nape as he angled my body to be strung on the sword, “No!”

I didn’t want to die, not like this. I was shaking from head to toe as I tried one last time to get out of the grip of my mother and brother, but nothing was working as I felt the tip of the sword press against my belly. The four cackled loudly as my ears rang, and I gasped when the sword pressed deeper into my tummy, drawing blood, but all the external pain disappeared abruptly as I felt my body pushed to the side aggressively, wrenching me out of the tight grips of the mutants that posed as my family. I screamed again when I felt hands on my shoulders trying to turn me around, and I drew my fists back, the only thought in my mind being to harm anyone who touched me.

“Y/N!” Despite being so lost in my mind, I registered the familiar ring of the voice, the panic and fear in them as I threw the first punch, breathing hard and loudly as if I were a rabid dog. I wouldn’t fall victim to the Capitol, not like this, they couldn’t kill me by using mutants. I couldn’t give Snow the satisfaction, I had to fight until my last breath, until a tribute killed me. I couldn’t go like this, I wasn’t ready. I was scared. I was alone and nobody would be there with me when I took my last breath, nobody would reassure me that it would be okay, and nobody would smile at me for the last time. I would be alone, and that thought alone was scarier than the fact that I would be dying. So I didn’t stop as I screamed and punched blindly, my sight hazy and my mind a jumbled mess as someone continued calling out my name like a mantra, the sounds around me slowly registering inside my brain, “Y/N! Please, please, it’s us. Y/N, it’s Finnick.”

I gasped, my eyes widening as if I was seeing for the first time. My lungs burned, my muscles ached, and my heart was beating so fast I was having palpitations as suddenly I could see the person standing in front of me, his face pained as tears streaked down his rosy cheeks. He had me in a deathly grip, my biceps sore from it, but it wasn’t to harm me, it was to stop me from doing anything to myself or him, to the others, “Finnick?”

A beat of silence passed as I stared into chocolate-warm eyes, so utterly confused and pent. Then, an arrow wheezed past my head and I jumped with a gasp, wide eyes falling onto the body of my brother, no blood flowing out of his body as he crumbled to the ground. He looked lifeless as he turned into nothing and I felt my bottom lip starting to quiver as I looked back at the person holding me. I had no fight left in me as I attempted to push them off of me, but I was tackled to the ground before I could make another move. The wind was knocked from my lungs as my head thumped painfully, eyes hazy as a weight settled on top of my body, pinning my hips to the cold forest floor, hands above my head as long, cold, fingers intertwined with mine.

“It’s not real.” The man holding me down whispered, his voice shaky as he gulped, “They weren’t real, Y/N. But I am real, I’m here now.”

“Yun-Yunho?” I stuttered, my throat hoarse from having screamed so much. I felt a fresh wave of tears spring into my eyes as Yunho’s filled with tears too, and without thinking, I untangled our fingers and threw my arms around his neck, yanking him down into a tight hug, “Yunho.”

My whole body shook as sobs wracked it, tears wetting Yunho’s jacket’s collar as his warm body slowly melted into mine, offering me the warmth I had been craving so much all this time. His musky scent was comforting and felt like home as I buried my head into his neck, inhaling until my lungs burned and I had to exhale once again. Yunho was safe, he was the pillar I needed all this time unknowingly, he was the one to chase the darkness away and protect me from my own dark and twisted mind. I only cried harder when Yunho started shushing me, pressing kisses against my temple, rubbing my back once he sat back and brought me with himself, letting me settle in his lap as I clung to him. I had been terrified these past three days, scared for my own life, but also wondering whether Yunho had made it past another day every time the canon shattered the quietness of the Arena.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice raw as I gulped, hoping it would help, “Yunho, I’m—I—”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Yunho whispered, gently prying my tight grip off himself as he pushed me back to gaze into my eyes, “I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again, Y/N, I don’t care what you say—”

“Please don’t leave me, Yunho.” I gasped, words tumbling past my lips before I could stop them, “I can’t live without you, Yunho.”

I was vulnerable, I wasn’t in the right headspace, but I knew my confession was true. I had always suspected it, but I was too afraid to admit it to myself. I was afraid President Snow would kill Yunho like he had killed my family. I didn’t want him around because I was scared to love again, to offer my heart to someone who could crush it so easily both with words and actions. Yunho knew me best and vice versa, I couldn’t live another day not knowing whether he was safe or not. I didn’t want him out of my sight ever again, I just couldn’t lose him too.

“I’m—” Yunho gulped, his voice deep as his eyes shook, jaw clenched tightly, “here.”

I released a shaky breath and leaned forward, pressing our foreheads together, feeling the safest in the past three days. The rustling of leaves made me tense up again and my head whipped around, eyes widening when I realized multiple people were watching us. I felt my cheeks heat up as I tried to scramble out of Yunho’s lap, but his fingers only tightened into the fabric of my jacket and he held my waist tightly, shaking his head at me when I gave him a sharp look. It seemed like he wouldn’t let go of me anytime soon, so I was forced to swallow my shame as I looked back at the other tributes, who seemed to be looking at me with pity. I ignored it, it made me feel weak.

“Those things are vile,” Mingi muttered, his jaw clenched, “But you should be fine the next time you see them if you ignore them.”

“And if you don’t, don’t let them grab you.” Katniss said, her tone harsh but features soft, “Kill them before they can.”

I nodded, eyes falling on the male tribute from District 3, Beetee. He wasn’t looking at me, his eyes trained on the sky as he muttered something to himself, apparently unphased by the whole ordeal. However, when my eyes landed on the fourth person, my heart skipped a beat, and even if Yunho didn’t want to release me, I pried myself out of his arms and ran to Finnick, jumping into his arms as he laughed while twirling me around.

“Finnick.” I whispered into his neck as his laughter subsided into a chuckle, his smile bright as ever as I pulled back, gazing into his beautiful blue eyes, “I found you.”

“Technically, I found you.” Cheeky as ever, he winked before he pressed a wet kiss against my forehead, lowering me back onto the ground. Our fingers intertwined as I couldn’t help but beam at him, my heart still heavy due to everything that’s happened though, “I’m glad you’re fine.”

“Well, I’ve been better.” I muttered as Finnick and I chuckled, swinging around hands as I glanced around, eyebrows furrowing, “Where’s…Mags?”

Finnick’s expression fell and I knew as I felt tears flood my eyes once again. A shaky breath left his lips as I pressed on my tiptoes to pull him into a tight and warm hug, rubbing his back as he hugged me back just as tightly, “I’m sorry, Finnick.”

“She’s in a better place now,” Finnick whispered, sniffing when we pulled apart, his eyes trained on the ground. My jaw clenched but I knew I couldn’t do anything now, just carry the grief with myself and bury it deep down until the Games would be over. Katniss, looking like she wasn’t keen on all the affection, averted her eyes and looked around the forest, pointing towards the creak.

“We should probably set camp here after we have scoped the area out.” Mingi nodded as he went and helped Yunho stand, his eyes trained on Finnick and me. I gulped and only looked away, body tense. I didn’t want to talk to him, I had nothing else to say, not now. I couldn’t believe I had admitted something so personal, something that was supposed to be buried deep down in my heart and mind. I wasn’t ready to face the fact that without Yunho I would be nowhere right now.

“Let’s go.” Yunho sighed, taking the lead with Katniss as I remained glued to Finnick’s side, eager to catch up with him if it meant I could ignore Yunho and his burning stare. I was most certainly grateful that he had saved me, but he was still not someone I could fully trust. Maybe it was all a ploy, an act to earn my trust, only to backstab me later into the Games.

My only true ally was Finnick.

            Something felt different, weird, almost. Beetee was a genius, everyone already knew that, and yet the way his mind works still amazed me. Apparently, the lightning that struck the largest tree in the Arena each time at midnight, could be used to our advantage. Beetee had the resources to create a sort of electrical fire that would leave the Gamemakers no choice but to rescue the remaining victors if they didn’t want the Capitol to riot for not having a victor for the 75th Hunger Games. President Snow wanted a year of epic games? Beetee was right here to deliver and I was more than willing to help him out. Everyone from our small group was in on his plan, and we were planning to strike tonight as everyone remained unassuming about our great plan. There was something else, however, that nobody was telling me about. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, The Mockingjay, seemed to be the nucleus of it all. She had to be protected at all costs and she was supposed to remain on Beetee’s side as long as someone who could fight remained with them. We had to look out for each other and remain close, but I didn’t fully understand why protecting Katniss seemed to be our most important mission.

Nobody tried clearing up my confusion, and when Finnick reassured me that everything would be alright and that he’d have my back no matter what, I decided to stop asking or wondering. Two days had passed since I joined the small group and things had been quiet—a bit too quiet. Nobody had died in the past two days and there was a simmering tension in the Arena, as if the Gamemakers knew we were about to ruin their so-called ‘perfect’ Games. There was nothing perfect about it, it was purely terrifying and torturous, a barbaric form of entertainment as this just proved that the Capitol didn’t see the people from the districts as human beings. That was nothing new, but being forced back into the Arena made me realize once again that I couldn’t let President Snow control me anymore, I was done playing his games.

I wanted the Capitol to burn, I wanted President Snow to die and suffer like so many of us had under his reign. He could’ve been a better president, a better person, but he chose violence, he chose to punish us for something that we, the ones born after the revolution, had nothing to do with. The cycle of life wasn’t always fair, the trauma parents carried with themselves would pass onto their children, who would carry it with them for generations—unless there was just one person who decided to put an end to it. To change, to prosper, to start a new cycle.

That new cycle started with us, with Katniss, Mingi, Yunho, Finnick, Beetee, and me, here, in the Arena, as a form of riot against the oppression we were forced to endure, the pain and grief buried deep in our souls. I have heard about the riots, people in District 7 were loud and proud about taking the Capitol down if given a chance, and it only took me two days to realize why it was only happening now. A spark had been sensed, turning into a catching fire that would reach us all, either burn us or help us return from the ashes as a new person, as a new nation. The pain and anguish would never be forgotten, instead celebrated and honoured in respect to those who have lost their lives to such atrocities. And we would all thank one girl, Katniss Everdeen, who unknowingly gave the nation the spark of hope they desperately needed. I had no idea whether I’d survive whatever was about to go down tonight, but I was sure of one thing, I wouldn’t regret it. Not now, not tomorrow. I was doing it for myself, for my siblings, for my parents, and for everyone else who has suffered as much, or more, than I have. If Panem had to burn, President Snow would burn with us.

The morning passed by in the blink of an eye as we went over our plan once again, assigning partners and positions. I was supposed to stay with Katniss and Beetee, close to Finnick who’d be watching Mingi from afar. Yunho, who refused to separate from me at first, was supposed to go with Mingi until a certain point, and then he’d have to secure the area, map it out and alert us if anything seemed amiss. He’d be the last one, the one furthest from me, and despite the unsettling feeling creeping deep in my guts, I ignored my anxiety and focused on my task at hand. I had to protect Katniss and Beetee if anything were to happen. I was strong and merciless, everyone knew I could handle myself, but if I needed help somehow, then Katniss would be there and even Mingi. They weren’t people I trusted, but something told me nobody in our small group was out there to kill me…not yet, at least, and I could live with that for the time being.

Knowing that we’d need to be at our best, Finnick, Katniss, and Yunho went out to hunt something for lunch so that our bellies would be full for the rest of the day. Because Yunho and Finnick were so liked by many, thankfully we were also provided with various canned foods from the Capitol, their fans were desperately sending in supplies, and letters too, confessing their love and dread that they might not return. It made me chuckle whenever one of them had to read the letters out loud, looking at a camera with a sad, but grateful, expression in order to keep up the façade. We really needed these provisions, they couldn’t ruin their A-game just now. Finnick had returned with plenty of fish from the lake, meanwhile, Katniss and Yunho had opted to hunt for wild ducks and frogs. The meat had been cooked by Mingi and me while Beetee revised the plan over and over again, asking us questions to make sure that we had memorized what we were supposed to do.

Once the food was done and everyone settled down for lunch, the tense air surrounding us seemed to dissipate as we silently ate our meal, relishing in the comradery that’s formed between us. Finnick was by my side as we sat leaning against a tree, sharing a loaf of bread he had gotten from a fan, as he preferred to eat the fish he caught while I continued to eat the frog Yunho had caught for us. Mingi, very surprisingly, had gotten a package filled with nutrients that we hadn’t even heard of before, and while we were wary of consuming them, Beetee reassured us that he knew what these were and that they were safe for consumption as they used the same nutrients in District 3. As my stomach was finally full and I finished eating everything I had claimed, I continued sitting next to Finnick, leaning against his body.

He was warm and smelled like the ocean despite having been away from it for so long, and I had always found solace in the silence that felt comfortable between us. Finnick knew when not to push someone, and I knew when to speak up to cut through the tranquillity, “Do you think we’ll survive this?”

“Yes,” Finnick’s voice was a mere whisper as he scoped up a good chunk of meat and handed it over to me, “I must, for Annie. She lost Mags, I can’t let her lose me too.”

I gulped, all too aware of Annie’s situation as I accepted the fish despite feeling full. It tasted salty almost, so very different from the frog meat, but I think I could get used to it after having it for more meals.

“I have no one to return to,” I muttered under my breath, bringing my knees up to my chest as I let my arms circle them. I gulped, looking down at the dirty ground as the sounds of the other’s conversing became background noise, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of dying, of being alone, of never having been enough.

“That’s simply not true.” Finnick’s voice sounded strained as I felt him shift, gorgeous blue eyes boring into the side of my head, “You have me, and if I make it out alive, I can’t lose you. You’re just as important to me as Annie is, as Mags was. I never had a little sister, but thanks to you I know what it means to have one.”

I chuckled, turning my head so my cheek pressed against my knees, eyes falling on the frown on Finnick’s face, “Technically, I’m older than you. But I understand you, you’re, well, you’ve always been like a brother to me. And I love you, Finnick, I hope you know that. I have no idea what the outcome of our plan will be, but if we both make it out alive, I want to visit District 4. I want to meet Annie and maybe—maybe I’d like living in a house next to yours, maybe I’d like to see the ocean for real and not just through pictures.”

Finnick’s features softened as he placed his palm over my cheek, warm and calloused, offering me much-needed assurance, “I’d love that, and Annie would too. She has always wanted to meet you, but President Snow never allowed it. Which is for the better, honestly, I would’ve hated the thought of Annie at the Capitol. I fear I would’ve done something unforgivable.”

I hummed and nodded as Finnick’s warm palm fell from my face, his head turning as he gazed ahead. He sniffed and then cleared his throat, glancing at me for a brief moment, “But you’re not alone, Y/N. Even if I’m not there, you’re never alone. He’s—Yunho is always there, even when you don’t see it, Y/N. I think—I think you should let him in, he’s not a bad man.”

I gulped, stomach dropping at the mention of Yunho, and I sighed as I sat up straight again, jaw clenching when I averted my eyes from Finnick’s. Just to my luck, however, I spotted Yunho sitting not too far from us. Mingi was sharpening the axe for him as Yunho’s chocolate brown eyes were fixed on Finnick and me, his eyebrows deeply set and his jaw tense. I gulped and then averted my eyes once again, shaking my head with a huff, “He doesn’t know me, not the real me, at least. He only wants the good and pretty, he only sees those qualities in people. Once the perfect image is shattered, he’ll be gone, he’ll abandon me. I don’t want him to lodge himself into my heart when I know just how quickly you can lose someone.”

“You’re scared of loving him,” Finnick’s tone was full of compassion as I felt him look at me, Yunho’s gaze still burning into the side of my head as I gazed off into the distance, feeling nervous all of a sudden, “And you’re drowning in guilt and unspoken questions and feelings, Y/N. I know you don’t trust him, but you already love him, you just refuse to acknowledge the fact, and it’s doing you no good, trust me. I’m afraid too that I’ll lose Annie, I’m terrified of Snow snatching her away from me, but if I refuse to love and live the life I want, then that would mean I am letting Snow dictate my everything, it would mean that I am robbing myself of the pleasures of life. And you know Yunho would never do anything that you are uncomfortable with, no, he’d bring down the stars for you if he could, Y/N. Stop being foolish and—”

“Excuse me.” My body grew rigid as Yunho’s stern voice interrupted Finnick’s heartfelt speech, “Do you mind if I talk to Y/N?”

“Not at all.” Finnick’s smile was friendly as he nudged me, making me clench my jaw as I glanced at Yunho. He stood in front of me, looking down at me with a glare, rather standoffish for a person who was always smiling, happy and oh-so bright. I crossed my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, talk if you—”

“In private.” Yunho snapped, and before I could react, his firm grip around my bicep was pulling me up to my feet, not even letting me argue as I was tugged away from our camp, but not too far so that we’d be in hearing range if anything were to happen to either them or to us. I pulled my arm out of his grip and glared at him, feeling nervous for no reason as Yunho continued to glare back at me. It was unusual, out of character for him.

“What’s your problem with me?” I did not expect that question, and neither what he said next, “What’s so fucking horrible about me that you go willingly into the arms of the biggest playboy known to Panem, that you find solace and trust in that man when I’ve always been by your side, there for you, offering you a shoulder to lean on, a man you can trust and—and love. What does Finnick have that I don’t, Y/N?! Why do you continuously brush me off and treat me like shit, but then you laugh at anything Finnick says and you look at him with so much adoration, I-I just don’t understand, Y/N. I was there, I was always there, I helped you when you saw no outcome, I was there when you grieved your family, I was there when you struggled with the consequences of winning the Games, I was there even when you continued to push me away! I never stopped trying to make you feel safe, to comfort you and to—show you that it’s okay to open up and that you can love again without being scared of death. Why can’t you just—give back even just a little fraction of my affection?!”

To say that I was stunned was understandable. My face fell in shock and my mouth hung open as Yunho became erratic, his expression a mixture of frustration and helplessness as his eyes shook, his hands curled into fists. I gulped, letting his words settle so that I could answer, but I felt utterly speechless. How was I supposed to respond to something that felt like a confession but a complete scolding as well?

“You don’t understand me like Finnick does,” I gulped, licking my lips as Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed, “And you never will, Yunho, because you were never forced to sell your body unwillingly to men that only saw you as a piece of meat. Physical closeness, intimacy—it scares me because I’ve only suffered from it. I’ve never felt the loving touch of a man, no loving words were ever uttered to me, and I was told more often than not that I didn’t deserve love, that I was too rough and scary, too intimidating and manly for a man to love me despite being beautiful. Finnick, he knows what it feels like to be used, to do things you don’t want to out of fear of losing someone. And even if this wasn’t the issue, Yunho, how could I trust you when you’ve tried to kill me?”

“What?” Yunho seemed shaken, his voice breathy as he reached out just to let his hand drop before he could grip my wrist, “What are you talking about—I have never tried to kill you, why would I—”

“Seriously?” I snapped, sudden anger flaring deep in my bones, “You’re still going to act clueless when I call you out on it? Think, Yunho, think for one second for fucks sake! You were supposed to be my mentor, the person that looks out for me, that protects me and helps me win these fucking Games, yet you send in food that’s poisoned?!”

Yunho looked like he had no idea what I was talking about and I scoffed, stepping closer to him as my jaw clenched, “District 6, the female tribute, I was cornered three days before my Games came to an end, and I was hungry. You sent me a package but I couldn’t reach it and it landed between the tributes that were hounding me. The girl decided to eat what was sent for me—she died in four minutes, Yunho.”

And just then, recognition finally flashed in Yunho’s eyes, but it didn’t last for long as suddenly he seemed to look desperate, grabbing my wrists as he shook his head, “It wasn’t food, it was never food, Y/N. If you had seen the small letter, you would’ve known it was poison from the get-go. It said, ‘sweet like honey’, and you know what we use that for in District 7, you would’ve known. I was trying to help you, I knew you’d survive, I was never trying to kill, why would I—I’m in love with you, Y/N. I wasn’t back then yet, but I-I knew I couldn’t watch you die in that Arena.”

My mind was reeling. I gulped, suddenly feeling my lungs constrict as Yunho’s grip felt like it was burning my wrists. I pried them away and took a step back, gulping as my hands started shaking. I have been living in a lie this whole time. I have made myself believe that Yunho was the enemy, that Yunho wanted me gone. I took a shaky breath and gulped again, watching as sadness spread over Yunho’s features like wildfire. His features softened as I felt my heart ache more, disbelief written all over my face. Why had I been so stupid? Why did I let Snow make me believe anything he said?

Why was I so afraid to lose Yunho?

            Nightfall came sooner than before. The tension was back and I felt sick to my stomach. Something felt wrong the longer we trekked, the closer we came to the tree. Everyone was silent, focused on our surroundings and making sure we weren’t being followed by any other tributes. But something was very wrong and I just couldn’t ignore the feeling anymore as I released a shaky breath, my eyes settling on Yunho who was walking in front of me with Mingi by his side, huddled closely together as they conversed quietly. Finnick’s pinkie was laced with mine as he swung our hands between our bodies, I ignored his playful smile when he pretended to stumble on a rock. I needed to speak to Yunho, nothing made sense anymore. I haven’t said anything since he told me he never tried killing me, and Yunho was keen on offering me space as he remained by Mingi’s side, occasionally giving me a soft smile if he noticed me looking his way.

Bothered by the incessant tension in my body, the gut feeling that something would go very wrong, I marched forward and grabbed Yunho’s wrist, making him halt in surprise. Finnick glanced at us as he passed by us and then grabbed Mingi’s shoulder when he stopped to wait for us, whispering something to the taller one before Mingi walked with Finnick again. My heart was thundering in my chest as I gulped, my eyes boring into Yunho’s as it was dark in the arena, yet his chocolate brown eyes were unmistakable.

“Are you okay?” Yunho asked with a gentle tone, letting his axe drop to the ground as he stepped closer, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“No.” I gulped, tone shaky as I glanced past Yunho, at the others who hadn’t noticed our absence yet, “Something is wrong, Yunho, I don’t have a good feeling about this. What—what if we die? Yet worse, what if the Capitol captures us and we—we never see each other again? Yunho, I—I don’t want to do this. Let’s find another way, let’s run away, let’s—”

“Y/N.” Yunho's smile was gentle as he stepped even closer, cupping my cheek with his big palm, leaning slightly down, “We can’t run away, and it’s completely normal to be scared of the unknown. I’m nervous too, but remember, we are doing this to make a statement, to show them that they can’t mess with us anymore. If Katniss manages to pull this off, we’ll be free. We’ll go home and we…we’ll see what happens next, okay?”

No, he didn’t understand. We wouldn’t go home, something just didn’t feel right. It was too dangerous, too risky, what were the odds our plan would be successful when there were other tributes still in the Arena with us?

“It just doesn’t feel right.”

“But we’re doing the right thing.”

I exhaled, jaw tense as I looked up into Yunho’s eyes, stepping closer until our chests were almost brushing together, “Then don’t let them separate us.”

“What?” Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed, his gulp audible as his fingers flexed around my wrist. I released a shaky breath and licked my lips, hesitant to touch Yunho, but I managed to grab the side of his neck, his skin soft and warm to the touch.

“Yunho, I’m asking you to stay by my side no matter what happens.” My tone was firm as he gulped, his eyes searching my face, “I can’t—I’ve been afraid, all this fucking time unknowingly, of losing you. And when we are so close to being free, of exploring whatever could be between us, I—I’m scared that Snow will find a way to snatch you away from me, so please, don’t let go of me. Don’t let me out of your sight, don’t walk away, I know I’m a horrible person, but I’m asking you to hold on just a little more and—”

“Y/N.” Yunho’s sharp tone cut my rambling off, and I gulped, on the verge of tears as I realized just how afraid I was. He didn’t say anything else as our eyes bore into each other’s, he just gulped, jaw clenched and then, he started leaning down, closer and closer, until—our lips touched.

And I don’t think I have felt euphoria like this one in my whole life before. The sounds around us seemed to become mute as my legs felt weak, my body melting into Yunho’s as I didn’t waste any more seconds and pressed up on my tiptoes, circling my arms around his shoulders to pull him incredibly close. Yunho’s lips were warm and soft despite our circumstances and I felt a shudder rake my body when his hand slowly slipped into my hair, holding the back of my head firmly as we parted for a second. His other hand grabbed my waist and as my eyes opened, I realized I wanted this. I wanted Yunho to hold me, to touch me, to kiss me. I wanted to be in his embrace and I wanted to feel his scent on me, I wanted his warmth to envelope my body, and I wanted him to shield me from this cruel world forever. Words that were heavy threatened to tumble past my lips, so instead, I closed the gap again and this time I made sure my intentions weren’t questionable, or hesitant, but full of passion and unspoken words.

Yunho was intense in everything he did, he laughed with his whole body, and he loved with his whole heart, whenever he did something, he put his all into it and his kiss was no different. His lips were demanding as they moved against mine, a little bit frantic as we were pressed by time, and even more desperate when I let my lips part for him, a silent request for him to deepen the kiss. I wanted him to know that I desired him, that it was completely fine to touch me and enjoy our actions. Yunho whimpered as he took my bottom lip between his teeth, and I felt warmth crawl all over my body, settling in my cheeks as my whole face felt like it was burning up. I had never enjoyed a kiss before in my life, but I prayed this would never end. When Yunho’s tongue finally slipped past my lips and reached my own tongue, I wished there was something to support my weight, to ground me into reality as I lost all senses, body and mind alive in a way I had never experienced before. It was careful, but it was intense and demanding, yet I didn’t feel pressured nor disgusted as saliva pooled in the corner of my mouth, fingers tangling into Yunho’s hair at his nape.

As his tongue played with mine and Yunho’s loud puffs of air hit my face, I moaned, unable to keep the sound down when I felt his fingers digging through my tight suit, fingernails leaving dents in my body. I wanted him to mark me up, I wanted him to show the whole Capitol that I was his, that no trashy man could ever again touch me, that President Snow couldn’t do to us anything anymore because we’d always have each other’s backs. I wanted Yunho’s mouth on mine for an eternity, never growing tired of him and his passionate kisses. Our noses bumped together when I tilted my head slightly more, giving Yunho more access as my heart thundered in my chest, so powerful that I could hear it in my ears. It was consuming, Yunho’s love was scary as it swallowed me whole, but I was greedy and I needed more. I had been a fool, such a fool, to deny us this feeling, this moment, this experience. It was too late to go further, even if I threw all dignity away, I knew we couldn’t, but I hoped it wasn’t too late for us. For us to have this in the future, to love and to be loved.

I gasped as we parted again. Yunho was loudly panting as his eyebrows furrowed, cupping my cheeks with both hands as his fingers dug into my skin painfully. A shuddered breath left my lips as I blinked my eyes open, gulping as I copied him, holding his cheeks tenderly as Yunho’s bottom lip quivered, nuzzling his cheek against my hold. He looked at peace, but the furrow of his eyebrows told me that he wasn’t satisfied, that he was bothered by something. In a hopeless attempt to offer him just a fraction of the comfort he’d given me throughout the years, I pressed a kiss to each eye, then to his nose, and a swift peck to his lips. It made Yunho smile as his eyes opened, shining in the dark affectionately as I felt a lump in my throat. It was scary to allow him in, but I was done hiding, I was done fearing the unknown.

“When we’re out of here,” Yunho gulped, determined as his eyes melted into mine, “I’m going to marry you.”

I would’ve gasped if I could’ve, but I was too stunned to even react as he kissed me again before we heard Mingi call out our names. We didn’t have time for this right now, but we’d have plenty in the future. I wasn’t ready to marry Yunho just yet, but with time, I was sure I’d be able to fully trust him, to give my all to him.

“Just don’t let me go,” I whispered as Yunho very reluctantly released me, our hands finding each other as our fingers intertwined, a motion I was used to but found something new in it now. It wasn’t just for show, it wasn’t just to show me that I had someone next to me, it was to seal our promise and tell me that Yunho wasn’t going anywhere.

            Beetee’s plan failed. Someone had sabotaged us, the wire had been cut, and the lightning wouldn’t bring the Arena down. We were stuck here, forced to kill each other, forced to choose between two people I loved and myself. Katniss looked frantic from my spot, I was watching her from the bush just as planned. Electricity was gathering in the air, tension filling the Arena as the lightning prepared to strike. Katniss was too close to the tree, hell, even I was too close to it, but Katniss was in danger right now and she wasn’t moving away. I could hear rustling coming from behind but it was supposed to be Finnick, I wasn’t worried about it. Just as the sky became lighter, energy crackling above our heads, Katniss did something I never thought anyone would do. She grabbed the wire and tied it to her arrow, standing up strong and tall as she pulled it back, her eyes set on the lightning that was just about to strike her. As I was about to shout her name and tackle her to save her from her insane plan, it was too late. The lightning struck as the arrow shot straight at it, the wire frying off and sizzling as a deafening boom shook the arena.

The blast was so strong that I couldn’t react before the explosion sent me flying feet away from my initial spot, my back cracking when I hit a tree. My spine tingled in pain as I fell to the ground, groaning and wheezing for air as my body trembled from the shock of the hit, panic rising in my disoriented state. I couldn’t hear as my ears were ringing, and my vision was so hazy it made me sick and unable to stand as I tried to find my footing, instantly tumbling back to the ground. Then, something even worse happened. The darkness of the Arena was slowly disappearing as the sky cracked and tore into heavy metal pieces that were plummeting straight at us. I knew I was in danger, and I knew both Yunho and Finnick were too. I pushed myself up and ignored the aching of my body as I heaved for air again, crawling on my fours towards where I knew Finnick was at. But I didn’t get any far when I was tackled back onto the ground, Mingi’s blurry face appearing above me. I panicked, trying to find my axe, but I was so powerless that it was easy for him to get on top of me and press a hand against my mouth as I tried to scream for help. His forehead was bloody and the top of his suit torn, jacket long lost somewhere in the Arena. His bow and arrow were missing and were replaced with a knife he held menacingly.

I gasped against his sweaty palm when I felt a sharp pain in my lower arm, close to my veins, somewhere close to where the tracker had been injected. I screamed against Mingi’s palm when the knife was twisted into my skin, feeling warm blood trickle down to my wrist and hands, a burning feeling spreading up my arm, to my shoulders. And then, as fast as he came, Mingi was gone, running off into the distance as my body convulsed, shaking even more as I turned onto my back, pieces of the Arena’s roof shaking the ground as they fell around the forest. I was petrified, I was disoriented and my throat wouldn’t work as I tried to call for Yunho, frantically getting up to my feet to look for him. I stumbled into every possible tree and almost slipped on the weeds as I went downhill, searching for the one man who’s always been there for me. I couldn’t abandon him, not now, not ever. But when I finally found him, it wasn’t the way I hoped to be.

Yunho lay on the ground, unmoving and sickly pale as blood trickled down the corner of his mouth, coating the collar of his jacket and suit a deep red. I could faintly hear myself call out his name again and again, feet carrying me over quickly, only to tumble to the ground and bruise my body more, but at least Yunho seemed to stir awake. His eyebrows were furrowed as his eyes opened and he clutched at his chest with a pained expression. I scrambled to get to him, but the ground shook and my legs were so weak I couldn’t stand again. I felt tears in my eyes and dread grip my heart as Yunho turned onto his side, coughing and spitting up some more blood.

“Yunho!” A scream so shrill my ears rang left my lips, and he finally seemed to realize he wasn’t alone as his eyes snapped up, rounding when he noticed me. I couldn’t hear him as I tried to drag myself over, feeling nauseous and on the verge of passing out, but it looked like he was saying something, like he was calling out to me. And then, the ground shook another time and I lunged myself forward as the light in Yunho’s eyes dimmed, his hand extended towards me as I fell not far from him, reaching out desperately towards him. Our fingers touched as dark spots started coating my vision and I gasped for air, fighting against the urge to give in to the darkness, waiting to aid Yunho, but I couldn’t. As blinding light flooded the whole Arena, the roof completely caving in, all I could do was mutter a prayer to see Yunho once I woke up again. If I’d wake up.

The next time I was conscious again, however, what I heard despite the unbearable headache and the dull ache of my spine, didn’t sound at all good, nor reassuring, “Katniss, there is no District Twelve.” And all I could think about was, where is Yunho?

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[thehauntedetheral]

JUST AN WRITING IDEA.

I just had a weird writing idea. Imagine you are a daughter from a very influential and wealthy business family. Your parents want to set you up for an arrange marriage with a powerful family just like yours. So to escape from this arranged marriage you came up with a plan. You told your parents you like yandere and want to marry him only. And your parents loved this. Because after all yandere has everything power, status, reputation, money, everything. But how come you are ready to marry him? What's the sudden change of heart? After throwing so many tantrums and rejecting numerous grooms.

Well few days ago your best friend told you that yandere likes only men and might be in a secret relationship with his male secretary. And he doesn't tell about his sexuality to anyone because his family who has most of the shares of company is homophobic.

So you made a plan. You told your parents you want to marry yandere only and no one else and yandere doesn't like women so he will obviously reject you and you will cry over the rejection and postpone your arrange marriage for some months in the facade of heartbreak.

Your plan began. To show your family and people that you are badly down for yandere you did many things. You flirted with him like a shameless every chance you got.

Would tell everyone how you are madly in love with him and will marry him one day. While people thinking that you are the most delusional person on this earth.

You would crash into his office uninvited and act like a cute girlfriend which you totally are not.

Would call him the most weird and chessy names like "My marshmallow, my sweet pea, love of my life, my future husband" in front of everyone while yandere ignores you like it's a daily occurrence which actually now has become a daily occurence.

"Won't you give your girlfriend a hug or a kiss?"

"I know your way of telling me that you love me is ignoring me"

One day you brought a huge ass size flower bouquet for him while saying "Since you don't give me flowers one of us have to do this babe"

You quite enjoyed teasing him. And did I mention you also teased his secreaty with yandere's name. By saying "Yandere is quite good looking good choice secretary. Have a nice night" while winking at him.

You are hundred percent sure that yandere thinks you are one of his crazy delulu fangirls just like thousands of many. But is only tolerating you because you are daughter of one of his important person.

Until one day he drags you into a corner at an event. Traping your back infront of a wall with his arms from side towering above you.

"Are you really that desperate to marry me, huh?" He asked.

"Well of course after all you are the love of my life " you Said smiling staying in your crazy fangirl character.

"Then marry me this weekend " he said with the most straight expression.

"Wait. Aren't you gay?" You said being totally surprised.

"I have always liked women y/n. "

Little do you know yandere ignored you in start but as the time passed now you have got him stuck with your thoughts 24/7. And there is no way backing out now. He is going to have you no matter what.

This is just a idea I got into my mind and shared it with you. Hope you liked it. If you want a longer version let me know through comments.

For More Yandere Reading:

[senseandaccountability]

the narrative that could have been

Having mulled over the game for a couple of days I have realised that the main problem for me is that Veilguard is good based on the premises they ultimately choose, but not based on the set up and promise of what was there before. I know this isn’t a unique take by any means and yes it’s all about the Evanuris and the Veil and Solas. 

Replaying really emphasises how incredibly little the game convinces me of its original main quest - to prevent Solas from doing his ritual. This is a problem as a long-term player because for three games we’ve had build up for a great crescendo tackling the overarching themes of the (restrictions and oppression of) magic, of tears in the Veil, of religious tyranny and oppression based on myths about the Black City and the temptations of flawed humans, we’ve seen and deconstructed the elves quite a bit, we got started on the dwarves and in DAI your Inquisitor can openly ask Solas if it wouldn’t be better if the Veil came down because then spirits wouldn’t be separated from the living and risk becoming demons. Cole, whose function is to reflect the plot, talks endlessly about the old songs wanting to be sung again, about how it hurts to be cut off from part of yourself, how the templars feel it, how the mages feel it, how the elves and the dwarves feel it. The Veil as a prerequisite for life has been deconstructed, the Fade demystified, the gods have mostly fallen. The Veil as an actual wound inflicted on this earth has been presented as a theory and not been convincingly rejected by the narrative. 

The game actually gives no explanation whatsoever as to why the Veil coming down would be worse than what Rook causes in the beginning and what the escaped gods then do to the entire Thedas. The entire south falls to the Blight because Elgar’nan and Ghilan'nain are let loose. The Wardens are more or less wiped out. There’s enormous political turmoil. The game gives us Solas saying “thousands” would die when he brought the Veil down, but that he had a host of spirits there to help. (Yes, I know, his sole function in this game is to Trick and Deceive so who is to say if he’s lying, HUH, but even so, THE ENTIRE SOUTH FALLS TO THE BLIGHT IN ROOK’S VERSION OF THINGS.)

The game puts emphasis on Solas's questionable methods and past horrors but it doesn't ever explain why his goals are despicable here and now. It doesn't convince us that tearing down the Veil with lots of safety measures in place and after considerations is a bad result, all things considered - save for Varric’s initial yelling about demons. (We even learned in DAI that the Veil itself creates demons because it restricts the passage of spirits, come on.) Because three games have suggested it's not, not ultimately. Trespasser especially nuances this, just as it nuances Solas’s view of this current world state. Right after his long nap he would have nuked it all, I’m sure, but the whole point of character arcs is that things happen in them and what happened to him is that he was shown layers and angles he had not considered and adjusted his mindset and ultimately his plan accordingly. That is where DAV should have picked it up. That's where the build up was headed. But, now he must serve the narrative solely as the God of Treachery and Lies which means that previous build up is washed away for the most part. (In no way do I think he is OOC in DAV, I just want to point that out so nobody thinks I’m a sappy fangirl or whatever. I think he is perfectly in tune with his inner Dread Wolf, but that is also all he gets to be, because of the narrative, and I’m always much more interested in when roles and personas clash.) Again. The main problem is that the narrative cannot explain why bringing down the Veil would be the worse option than the shit we see unfold on screen. Instead it gets a bit lost in the past.  And I have Issues with that, as well.  Like, the dumbing down of the war against the Evanuris. The war that started because the leaders of the rebellion - who previously had to carry out terrible orders so the Evanuris, the upper crust of the Elvhenan, could play gods - decided that the Evanuris was a threat to them all. And the game gives us what, a depiction of how the rebellion ended up crossing lines, too? No shit.

Like, I am fully on board with the individual theme of regret on Solas’s part and he ought to be wrecked with guilt but I wish the game could be less all over the place with what sort of things he ought to be wrecked with guilt over. Saying fuck you to the Evanuris is the best and brightest of his character, I suppose I just don't want it dragged down to the same level as him breaking the Titans. I suppose I would have wished for a narrative that also worked on a systemic level when depicting things like, you know, war and revolutions and subjugation. But we don't have that, because DAV is only about personal choices. The Lighthouse crew flippantly writing the hierarchical and violent power struggle off as being about love and betrayal is on my shitlist forever. 

No, Taash et al, it was not about pussy, it was about feeling compelled by superiors to commit heinous war crimes and being lied to about the actual purposes of your damn war in the first place. The elves shouting at Elgar’nan and Mythal in this painting aren’t driven by love and sex they have been lied to by their ruling class. It was never about freedom or ending the wars, it was always about Elgar’nan jerking off to ultimate godhood. The writing even suggests betrayal here is to be understood as Netflix drama betrayal, maybe some juicy porny plot but it’s ABOUT THE BETRAYAL OF THE ELVES BY THEIR OWN KIN.  ((ETA: I would have wanted my Dalish mage to be allowed to be furious, NOT WITH SOLAS, but with the fucking Evanuris for betraying her people and being so fucking vile that the only option that remained was to create a world where she's a second-class citizen. I would have wanted the game to recognize that not all causes are equal and that Elgar'nan's cause for godhood was objectively more vile than Solas's cause for freedom because as it stands now, there are some really iffy vibes of "both sides are equally bad" and other things authorities tend to say when comparing destructive regimes with uprisings.)) I’m sorry, this shit hits me on a personal and political rage level. 

I also can’t help but mourn a game where the Trickster God fulfilled his trope’s duty and shook the stagnation apart with his actions - for good or ill, the way trickster gods are wont to do - and where Rook was tricked into helping and then, a more complex game about its consequences could have unfolded. The Evanuris could still have been the bad guys, if they wanted big villains frothing at the mouth. There could still have been numerous unplanned consequences, like all of Solas's plans have. Maybe other ancients awake as well. Maybe ancient evils who aren’t elves, who knows. Point is - the Veil should have come down, at least in some form, at least in some outcome. THAT is what they've been building up to. In this game that never was, Rook could be an actual interesting character where we could mold her as either accepting of this trickster role (which fits perfectly for a blank slate with no ties) or set to overturn it and enforce status quo, with some vanilla option in the middle. Maybe the Veil doesn’t come down until the very end of the game, ancient magic takes time after all, maybe a lot has happened by then. But ultimately, Rook’s choice in the end should not have been about siding against Solas because he’s lying to you or because he did horrible things in the past or siding with him because you want him redeemed. The narrative should have provided those options either way. The narrative should have been brave enough to suggest that hey, maybe Solas isn't wrong at all - his methods maybe, but his goal, no. If they truly wanted mirrors between Rook and Solas, Rook should have tackled the issue of actively bringing down the Veil herself, not because it's a roses and sunshine-outcome but because it might very well be the lesser of two evils. Gods, that would have been interesting. It should have been a choice about what sort of world Rook and the Veilguard wants to see in the future. It should have been about the people, the world, not how angry Rook is that an ancient elf has tricked her. 

That would have been the game I wanted to play.  This story doesn't really give anything new to the world of Thedas, which a world without the Veil would have. It accomplishes closure for our favourite trickster god and bless them for that, but as for the plot and the world-building it ends on a meh because the narrative isn't about the people unless they're brought up as being endangered. This is why I can feel satisfaction regarding the thematic conclusion to certain character arcs, the trickster becomes the healer with the bloodiest hands, the wolf submits willingly to his trap and so on and so forth, and I can have fun with the characters and their arcs but also really mourn the game that was there, in subtext and build up over three previous games and in several tie-ins.

[januaryembrs]

THERE'S NO SIGN OF LIFE | Spencer Reid x Prentiss!Reader [3]

Description: The one where you grieve Emily together (+ the one where you kiss him)

word count: 7.9k

trigger warnings: okay so this chapter is exactly how it sounds, heavy in themes of grief, depression, anger, slight ideation of the world being better without bugsy (as if), DRUG USE (once and not addictively and not by Spencer!), mention of Spencer being horny, mention on blood and drinking.

authors note: this was just supposed to be a little filler chapter for the next one where the real juicy shit happens and long story short it became nearly 8k words of pure angst until the last minute when I decided to stop hurting you all. please don't hate me, promise a big boy chapter is coming up.

previous chpt | next chpt

'Doctor, look into my eyes.

I've been breathing air, but there's no sign of life.'

The team had fallen into chaos since Emily died. Hotch thought that just five little stages of grief weren’t quite enough to summarise what they were going through.

Morgan was pissed off by the smallest things, had flipped shit just that morning because the printer had jammed. He'd gone through two mugs and a keyboard in just two weeks in his tempers that had certainly seen better days.

Penelope’s eyes gleamed with unshed tears she was trying her hardest to choke down, to wipe away so fast she could pretend to still see her computer screen, but Hotch didn’t need to be a profiler to see the way her sleeves were smudged with mascara, sodden through 24/7. 

Rossi seemed resigned, tired, his breath smelled faintly of the strong whiskey he saved for special occasions, his hair unkempt, as though he hadn’t slept until the early hours, or if he had it had been unrestful. He took more frequent breaks, came back smelling like the cigars he kept in his desk drawer for the bad days, and he sighed as if the world beat down on his back, like he’d been asked to choose between stopping world hunger or saving the environment. His chest was heavy. His face was tired of losing so many friends he loved.  

Spencer was working himself to the bone, his desk piled with books (even more so than usual), his fingers twitching by his side more often, as if his brain cells had been dialled up to a thousand percent, which was saying something when it came to Reid. In fact the only thing out of ordinary was the fact he was constantly checking his phone, the sight of which had Pen dropping her coffee on the rough carpet, which she had promptly then excused herself with watery eyes over. Yes, he actually knew how to use technology, which he had been so vehemently against for years, until the team realised it was because one very important member of the team had been using her sick days for three weeks now. 

They knew he was looking after her, that he would bring her dinner and make sure the cats were fed, but they had no idea she had all but moved in with him, Niko and Sergio included. 

Yet he found himself checking the screen every twenty minutes or so for signs of an update, even just a thumbs up or a little sign that said seen under his good morning texts. He was scared he’d wandered too far into boyfriend territory, it certainly felt that way when he would come home to see her bundled on the couch, nose deep in one of the books he would leave out for her, how her eyes would light up just the tiniest amount to see him home. She rarely cooked, he knew she didn’t even touch the food in his fridge no matter how much he reminded her she needed to eat when he wasn’t there, to which she usually just nodded at him and buried her head in his arm to escape the scoldings. 

Things were different with her here. He knew she was vulnerable, lost, he saw it every time she came crawling into his bed from where he’d set her up in the spare room, or when Sergio made himself home on her lap and she squeezed the cat to her chest in quiet tears. Usually he would have squirmed out of her grip, he had always preferred Emily, but these days he just let her sob with a docile blink at where Spencer watched her from the other end of the couch, and pretended not to notice when his fur was sodden and messed up. 

Spencer had felt something for her before, the weeks, months even leading up to Emily dying, but with her here, needing him all the time, holding him tightly when he needed to grieve himself, making herself at home in his personal space, he was sure she knew it too. There was no way she didn’t know how he felt. 

But the topic was too heavy, too complex to bring up with her mourning her sister, it would rip the carpet out from beneath her feet, and no matter how heavily, besottedly, how deeply Spencer felt he loved her, he would never do that to her. He couldn’t. 

He had always loved mind games, but loving someone so much you couldn’t not tell them, only to not tell them because you loved them so much felt like a whole paradox even he couldn’t wrap his big brain around. 

So they stayed where they were. She had good days, though they usually looked like said reading on the sofa with nothing but a strong cup of coffee in her stomach. And then she had bad ones. And the bad ones made him scared, so scared he had no choice but to get help. 

Penelope came over the Friday evening with Spencer after work, kitted out entirely with nail polishes and gems, the box set of Barbie movies, a hot chocolate mix she swore by, three tubs of ice cream, face masks, Teen vogue with a Never have I ever section ‘Begging to be answered’ and of course, her Pièce de résistance, her makeup kit and joke fluffy handcuffs for them to tie down Reid and give him a makeover. 

“Hello my handsome gentlemen,” She greeted Niko and Sergio who rushed to the door on instinct, knowing Spencer always gave them each a big handful of treats upon arriving home, “Auntie Penny is here for a super girly evening, no boys allowed,” 

“Am I not invited?” Spencer asked, faux hurt flashing on his face as he shut the door behind them, though his eyes were quick to scan around his living room for any sign of her. There wasn’t, not even a single pillow was out of place, and he knew it had been another day of skipped lunch and breakfast.

“You are, of course you are, I just didn’t want them to get jealous,” She whispered, her brown eyes taking in the too perfect apartment and the lack of the Prentiss girl, “Is she sleeping?”

“No,” He said without checking, because he knew she rarely slept nowadays unless she was in his bed with him, “I’ll go get her,” 

“Okay,” Some of the joy died out of her tone when she heard his voice soften sadly as she set her bags down on the kitchen counter, “I’ll get the hot chocolates ready!” Penelope tried to recover in that perky tone she used to cover up when something hurt her. 

He just hoped this had been the right decision, that he wasn’t pushing her too hard. 

Knocking softly on her door, he let himself in when he heard a small murmur on the other side, and as he suspected, she was curled into a small ball under one of his blankets, her hair wet, her pyjamas in the laundry basket. She had one of his shirts on and some boxers he had noticed had gone missing, but he would never hold it against her. 

She had showered while he was gone at least, and her breath was minty fresh as he crept over the woolly rug and kneeled one leg on the bedside. 

“Hey,” He started softly, sweeter than honey, his cadence somewhat hopeful as he leaned over her and stroked her hair that was still damp. “You got up! Did you eat anything?” 

She looked up at him with tired eyes, but she reached out with both her arms to embrace him gently, like she’d been waiting all day to have him near again. 

“I had a couple biscuits and some coffee,” Her voice was raspy, and it was the first he’d heard her speak in a few days. “I’ll try better tomorrow, I just was a bit tired today-”

“No, no, that’s great,” He rushed to comfort her, to stop the apology that was coming his way whenever she didn’t take care of herself the way he wanted her to, “Penny’s here to see you. She’s here for a girl’s night, if that’s okay?”

Bugsy attempted a smile, though she seemed hesitant, but he thought that was probably just the way her expression was these days, like everything hopeful had been sucked out of her. 

“I’ve missed Penny,” She said, and he knew she meant it. She nodded finally, and he leaned over her to give her a proper hug for putting on a brave face, feeling her nuzzle into his chest at the contact. She sniffed the air for a second, before whispering into his ear, “Is that chocolate?”

He chuckled, stroking down her back and pulling her up into a sit. He’d gotten used to her being pliant under his touch, and he only wished her being so receptive to his advances would be under other circumstances. 

The urge to grab her face and kiss every bit of hurt out of her was growing harder and harder to shove down with every day he saw her so soft and wounded. He wasn’t good at knowing what to say, but for her, he was trying to be. The only alternative was kissing her silly, until the pit she’d crawled into was warm, just warm all over, and she came back to him in one piece. 

“Yes, it’s chocolate. Now come on, before she starts the movie without us,” He breathed gently, helping her out of bed, pretending he didn’t hear the way her joints cracked with the first sign of movement in hours. “Wait a second, pants,” He reminded her, tossing her some sweatpants from the floor, which she shoved on blindly. He didn’t mind her walking around like that if it meant she were comfortable, but he didn’t want her to give Pen a scare. 

A ghost of a smile teased on her lips as he led her out the room with two hands on her shoulders, seeing the blonde woman light up like the fourth of July at the sound of the two of them approaching. 

“Bug!” Penelope called, mid way through distributing a hefty amount of whipped cream and marshmallows on top of three mugs. Spencer watched the second her eyes widened slightly as she took in the girl’s appearance, trying frantically to cover it with an even wider smile, rushing to hug her tightly. He saw the minute she realised she felt so different in her arms; lifeless, heavy, rooted to the spot, like any contact with someone other than the gentle Spencer-touches she was used to made her lock up. 

She looked sick, like she hadn’t known fresh air in weeks, or like she’d pulled three all nighters in a row, or like she would be able to watch a ten car pile up and not bat an eye. She looked dead. She felt dead in Penny’s arms. 

The thought of it made her squeeze her tighter, until she felt two arms cuddle her back firmly. 

“I see Spencer has been treating you well,” Pen said, because she was avoiding the subject of Emily, and the way Bugsy looked exhausted, and the way she saw how scared Spencer was when he’d come into ‘the bat cave’ that afternoon to ask for her help. 

Bugsy attempted another smile, nodding slightly as the blonde drew back from their hug, and she saw the worry she tried so desperately to hide as she took in her face. 

The girl’s skin was dull in a way they’d never seen her before, her expression tired, her bones creaky, like someone had reached down her gullet and plucked her soul right from out of her chest, snatched it there and then. Penelope saw why Spencer looked so worried. 

“He’s been great,” Bugsy replied simply, her eyes finding Spencer’s where he shadowed behind her, worried she would faint on the spot from all the movement. She’d not been eating anything other than what he encouraged down her throat, but he supposed a handful of biscuits were better than nothing. 

She felt the bottomless pit that used to be her heart rip open just that bit further, the way it had done slowly the past few days, eating away at her skin. She knew she could never ever repay Spencer for everything he was doing, knew the odd few times she’d managed to collect herself enough to be there for him when he cried could never amount to how he hovered over her every second he was home. 

But where she should have felt guilt, there was nothing, there was just nothing left of her. 

He seemed to notice the slip, the way he always did, and she never did tell him how perceptive he was as he stroked over the back of her hair, leading her with a warm hand on her upper back to the sofa where Pen had already laid out the movie selection, had already grabbed the hot chocolates that were quickly melting onto the coffee table, where Niko was waiting with an eager pink tongue to collect his share, where he settled her down and wrapped her in a blanket as if he was swaddling a baby, where he let her take the middle and him and Pen on either side as Fairytopia lit up his living room with hot pinks and rainbows and flowers and magic. 

And even though she had yet to crack a smile, a real one at least, she seemed content, not entirely uncomfortable with the evening as Penelope commandeered one of her hands to paint her nails a shiny blush colour  ‘to match the evening’. Spencer thought for a minute she might have just needed some girl time, something no matter how many cuddles and sweet words he whispered could never give her. Maybe that was all she’d needed. 

Maybe she would get through this without entirely crumbling.

It wasn’t until the next day when even showering was too big a feat for her, when she had only two mouthfuls of the blueberry pancakes he’d made her before she apologised with watery eyes that he realised how stupid he was for believing it. 

It wasn’t until she said she wanted to move back home by herself that he really started panicking. 

JJ took her out for a picnic in the park the following weekend. The guilt was eating her up alive about hiding Emily’s secret, and from what Pen had told her, she wasn’t doing good. She wasn’t even doing bad; she was barely hanging on by a thread. Hotch had said she would be a flight risk with her sister gone, had said they would need to keep an eye on her as much as they would the rest of the team, but for Emily’s safety she couldn’t tell her the truth. JJ could only stand back and watch as the girl they all knew crawled into something dark inside herself and barricaded the door closed. 

Spencer had taken the nice approach with her, never forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to or asking too directly, as had Penelope. They’d both tried letting her open up by herself, which had only resulted in the girl taking about five steps back and even starting to shut out Reid, something which they all saw tore him up even more than seeing her wasting away in his spare room. He spent more days at hers, crying harder than she had seen him even when he was struggling with opioids. Crying for Emily some of the time, but mostly crying for the fact he was entirely helpless now she had moved out, like the one thing that had held him upright until then had left in a guilty mess of ‘sorry’s and dead eyes.

So she instead took the approach of telling Bugsy she needed help. Because if there was one thing that had always been able to bend her will, it was someone else needing her. 

JJ thought about reminding Spencer that Bug would come back if he took the same route, if he just told her how badly he needed her instead of her feeling like she was simply a burden on his life. But she knew he wouldn’t hear it, he would only blame himself more. 

So she’d told Bug she was struggling with looking after Henry alone while Will was working away, that he’d been asking for her since she’d come to his second birthday party with the biggest stuffed whale toy he’d ever seen. It was a white lie, Will was home more days than she was, but Henry had been asking for ‘the bug lady’ every time he played with his teddy. And it worked like a charm. 

So they sat in the warm April breeze, Bugsy reading on her stomach as JJ carefully nudged a punnet of fat, red grapes her way, hoping she would take the hint and swallow a few. 

It wasn’t until Henry came diving over to them from where he was collecting snails by their shells that Bug even showed any sign of pulling herself out of the book. 

“Buggy!” The little boy called, his tongue struggling with the complexity of the ‘gsy’ sound, and she looked up at him with a tired smile on her face that JJ saw right through immediately. “Buggy, look,” 

She held out her hand, and he gently placed a common land snail in the palm of her hand, no bigger than a quarter, who happily slid over her fingertip with a squishy sensation. 

“Thankyou, Henry,” She replied, her eyes trailing over the shiny slime he left behind over her palm, his tiny antenna eyes googling up at her. “What should we call him?” 

“Sid’d’snail,” Henry replied like it was the most obvious thing in the world, crouching next to her to watch him crawling over her chipped pink fingernails.

“Hi Sid,” She chimed, and JJ watched her face drop into a completely emotionless expression the second Henry’s back was turned to find Sid a friend. 

She felt it clawing at her throat to come out, Emily’s alive, Emily’s alive, come back to us please, please come back to us because Emily’s still alive. JJ was watching her rot in front of her very eyes, and better yet she had the power to stop it with those very few words. 

She could put an end to all of this, she knew how badly it had hurt when Ros died, her older sister, her whole world ripped from her the way Emily’s ‘death’ was doing to Bugsy. She would have given anything for someone to have turned to her and said ‘Jennifer, your sister is still alive. Jennifer, it was all a trick, a hoax, a ploy to keep you safe. Jennifer, Ros is still here, alive and breathing and living her best life in Paris of all places.’

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t betray Emily like that, and knowing, no matter how much of a relief it would come, would put Bugsy in more danger with Ian Doyle and whatever other enemies her sister had made at interpol than she could have ever realised. 

So instead, JJ just ran a gentle hand over her hair that warmed in the sun, and started braiding parts of it absent-mindedly, like they were two girls in a playground waiting for hometime.

JJ stayed quiet, and watched Bugsy get worse. 

Aaron came over to her apartment at 8am sharp. He’d found JJ and Penny in floods of tears in the women’s bathroom when they were due to start the presentation of the latest case and they were nowhere to be seen. Spencer had become detached, quieter with every day that he checked his phone and saw no reply, but had mentioned he’d seen them go into the bathroom together as he got his morning coffee, only for their boss to see the two of them clinging to one another with wet cheeks and before he could even ask, Penelope splurged that Bugsy hadn’t messaged in four days and was refusing to open the door, and that even Spencer asking so sweetly, something that was usually her kryptonite, had failed to draw her out. 

Aaron was convinced if this didn’t work he was kicking down the door himself, even if it meant filing paperwork for a necessary home visit. 

Aaron Hotchner, surprising to no one, was soft on the youngest Prentiss girl. He’d watched her grow for four years straight, had come to her of all people in his hour of desperate need, and felt every second of her grief as if it was his own because he, like JJ, knew he had the power to stop it all but couldn’t. 

He called her name through the door first, her real name, loud yet anxious, along with a firm knock. When he heard nothing back, he rapped on the wood louder, “Bugsy, I know you’re in there. The team are worried about you, they’re worried you’re hurt,” 

Nothing. 

And it wasn’t just the team that was worried, it was him too, if his heavy fists banging even harder were anything to go off of. 

“Bugsy, if you don’t answer I’m sending for the SWAT team and asking them to ram this door down,” He said, with not a trace of a lie in his tone. Because he wasn’t lying, not by a long shot. 

He heard footsteps then, and she appeared through a small crack in the doorway, not open enough for him to see the mess in her living room, but enough to see the way her entire face looked like a cadaver. 

He fought back against the guilt choking him from the inside out.  

“Stop yelling,” She murmured, almost bitterly, “You’re scaring the cats,” 

“You’re scaring us,” He countered back, in a tone that was a little too mean, but from what he heard, soft and gentle wasn’t working, “Please, just let us help you, stop pushing everyone away,”

“That’s a little pot calling the kettle black there, Hotch,” She said in an equally harsh tone, her face scrunching into a frown, and she nearly slammed the door on him right there and then. 

“Get your work out clothes on, we’re going for a run,” He ordered, and it was only then she notices his sport shorts and trainers. She scoffed in his face. He was quick to shove a foot in the door before she actually could swing it shut on him, ignoring the way he nearly yelped as it trapped between the wood, “I’m not asking,” 

“Fuck off,” She spat, and he bristled at her choice language, but he saw the way her eyes told him everything he needed to know. She was a roadkill on a sidewalk waiting to be put out of her misery; she didn’t want to be prodded and poked at and ordered around, she wanted out. 

She wanted to go quietly, without a fight. And it was for that reason, he put up more of a struggle. 

“You are coming outside with me, even if I have to drag you down the street myself because this is not how it ends for you.” Aaron barked back, forcing the door open with one of his large hands as if it was nothing.

“Of all people, I would have thought you would understand, Aaron,” It was like she had slapped him in the face, though he thinks maybe that would have hurt less, and it was only then he saw her eyes had welled up, and her bottom lip was quivering. It was a horrible sight, it twisted his guts like he’d been stabbed by Foyet all over again, but it was better than the nothingness that was there before. 

“Ofcourse, I understand,” His voice softened, his hands coming up to gently rest on her shoulder like she was breakable china beneath his palm, “You think I don’t know what it’s like to want to hide away and never face a world without Haley ever again? I can’t, even now, imagine the rest of my life with her gone,” His throat clogged with emotion he fought off, because he refused to have both of them crying in her living room when he was meant to be the one pulling her out of it, “But I do it because Jack needs me-”

“No body needs me,” She said emptily, ignoring the way Sergio wrapped his tail around her leg and meowed loudly as if to tell her otherwise. 

“Yes we do,” Hotch insisted, seriously, damn near ready to shake her on the spot to knock some sense into her, “We need you, and better yet we love you. You may have lost your sister, but you still have a family waiting for you, Bugsy,” 

And that was it, the single crack that broke the dam. Before he knew it she had launched herself into his arms in a fit of tears, clinging to him tighter than he thought she could for someone who looked so weak and perished. 

He just held her close, feeling his own stray tears drip down his nose as his shirt got wet through. In another life, maybe he and Haley would have had a daughter, and maybe she would have reminded him of Bugsy, maybe his heart would soften to putty just the same way it did with her. The same way it did for Jack. 

And eventually, when she dried her face, and quietened Sergio down, she went to put on her gym gear and one of Spencer's hoodies she’d stolen and felt too guilty to give back, and they went for a run.

If there was one thing Rossi knew better than his whiskeys, it was how to cook a good carbonara. And if there was one thing Bugsy needed more than anything at the moment it was a buttload of carbs and cheese. 

Aaron had been taking her running every morning since that day, and even she had to admit the fresh air and exercise did her good, made her feel stronger and less like the women they find in body bags at the beginning of a case, made her feel like maybe, just maybe, she could get through the rest of this. 

It wasn’t going away overnight, not by any means, but she looked healthier, and her exhaustion meant she got more sleep too, but what remained was a hunger that she was filling with cereal and instant noodles that Rossi knew he had to put a stop to immediately. Instant noodles should have been outlawed with crack and underaged drinking, he would proudly tell her. 

So he invited her over for a cooking lesson, or as he would put it, she could watch him cook and eat as much as she wanted at the end, if she promised to never buy those awful microwave ramen ever again. And she’d agreed, because she felt her appetite coming back every day (and she knew where he kept the good white wine).

“Now as entertaining as this is watching you drain my stash of Sémillon, why don’t you chop up that pork and I’ll get started on the sauce.” He handed her a sharpened butcher’s knife, and the thin slices of seasoned ham, turning to use the stove for just a few moments, “You’re gonna add the cream in until it becomes thick, like cough mixture running off your spoon,” 

“Thick and creamy, you got it,” She chimed in, her fingers slicing the meat into strips, “Did you want this as diced or Julian?”

“Do you mean julienne?” 

“That’s what I just said,” He chuckled into the pot, his chest warming to hear some of that old bratty teenaged sass returning to her tone. He bet she would have run rings around him if she was his kid. 

“Diced, if you would,” David said, using a wooden spoon to stir in the thick cream little by little until the container ran empty. 

“Yes, Chef,” She hummed in response, flipping the chopping board around to begin slicing them the other side, “So, I’m guessing if I asked to try some of that Sauvignon I saw in the fridge, your response would be- oh motherfucker-”

David frowned, “Maybe not so harsh on the tongue but-” He turned around when he heard a hiss, and he quickly understood why she’d thrown the expletive out there. 

Her hand ran red with thick blood, dripping quickly down her arm, ruining her shirt. He didnt even care that his hand carved indian wood chopping board was permanently stained, or that the meat was contaminated, or that the blood trickled a little too quick over his floor, only that her eyes seemed suddenly far away as she did nothing to stop the cut gaping. It had caught her in a trance, one she was not even aware she had been sucked into until he grabbed a towel and headed for her. 

“Emily, no! Emily please, I need medical in here, we have an agent down! Emily, please, please don’t, please- Someone get medical, she’s bleeding-”

David’s hands grabbed a hold of her bloodied palm, wrapping it tightly in the cloth, so harshly it knocked her out of the daze she was in, dragged her out from the last time there was blood all over her hand, when it had been Emily’s blood, when she could do nothing but freeze like she had now. 

“I’m fine,” She said on a reflex, even though he hadn’t asked, he had just acted, pulling her towards the cupboard where he kept the first aid kit, “David, I’m totally fine, it’s just a little scratch,”

“You have to let me go,” Emily had gasped. "Let me go, Bug,"

“David, I’m fine, stop worrying,” She said again when she saw him fussing, hoping he couldn't see the way she’d started shaking, and if he had, she wondered if she could play it off as the adrenaline rushing to fix the wound. 

She knew she was on thin ice with the lot of them after her talk with Aaron. Like he said, they were her family, and family’s took care of one another. She couldn’t live with herself if she kept burdening them so much, kept them from grieving their partner just as much as she was; she loved them too. 

Bugsy was trying to get better, she really was. Sometimes it was just a little difficult, like now when she could still see Emily’s butchered body infront of her as if she were little more than that joint of pork she’d been julienning. 

“It’s okay to get hurt sometimes, kid. You don’t have to lie and pretend it doesn’t hurt if it does,” David said, sitting her back on the breakfast table, holding the bloodied cloth up where he was unravelling a spool of bandage and some rubbing alcohol. 

She shut up then, and she wondered if she was really that see through or if David was just that good at his job. They stayed silent, except for the moan of pain she let out when he doused her hand in the solution, pulling the skin closed tightly and wrapping it taut enough for her to feel her heartbeat in her fingertips. 

“It’s okay if you need a little help once in a while,” He continued, his movements gentle and careful, worried he’d spook her with the first real conversation they’d had in a long time. Rossi had always been closer to Emily than he had her, and maybe it was the fact he lost the few chances he had to be a father, or just the fact she reminded him so much of her older sister, but being with her felt like part of the wound in his chest was the one being treated. “Rather than being afraid to ask for help, remember this: When you ask someone to help you, you are actually doing them a tremendous favour by giving them an opportunity to feel needed.” 

“Is that a David Rossi original, or did you get that from one of your self help books?” She sniffed, hoping he didn’t see the way her expression had fallen, or her throat caught with an apology, or how she hid it with a small smile. 

“Richard Carlson.” He replied, pinning the end of the bandage in tight enough it wouldn’t snag. He sighed, looking at the girl who started guiltily at her fingers, reaching behind her for the corkscrew, “I’ll go get the Sauvignon, you order us a pizza. Just please god, no pineapple, that’s just as bad as instant noodles in my books. That’s like asking Da Vinci about bitcoin, it’s madness,” 

And that was the first time she properly laughed in weeks. 

While Derek was more than equipped to schmoozing the ladies when he wanted a date with them, he had not been ready for this when he’d asked Bugsy to go to the club with him.

She had been doing better, Rossi had said. She had seemed stronger, that was what Hotch had told him. Spencer said they’d even gone for coffee together. He left out the part where it felt awkward and almost like they were seeing an ex, though that of course would be impossible, because they were never dating. At least as far as he knew anyway. 

It had been going fine, they’d gotten two rounds of drinks, had been chatting and she’d even been giggling the more the alcohol hit her. She was looking more like she used to, and it almost all felt like a horrible dream hearing from the rest of the team the state she was in. 

He’d turned his back for a second, for two damn seconds, and she’d been whisked away by some frat boy, and come back to him with a crazy happy look in her eye that he didn’t notice until an hour later. 

“Where did you go, kid?” He’d asked, and she’d shrugged like it was nothing. 

“Needed the bathroom,” She said, and he hadn’t even noticed it was a lie until the light struck her eye for more than a couple seconds and he saw just how dilated her pupils were, like the blackness swallowed her iris whole, and the way she buzzed on the spot with more energy than she’d had in months. 

She was supposed to be getting better, and she was trying, really she was. 

But she couldn’t stop seeing the blood on her hand, couldn’t stop seeing Emily’s face now she could actually sleep again. 

Spencer was half way through his fourth re-read of War and Peace, in its original Russian translation, when he got the knock on the door. 

It was 10pm, he muttered to himself, who was bothering him at this time. 

But of course, as luck would have it, it was the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about, the one person who he hadn’t stopped thinking about for the past three years. 

“Spencerrrrrrr!” She chirped, and immediately alarm bells were ringing in his head, her fingers linked with Morgan’s as if he’d all but pulled her to his apartment from the cab. 

She wasn’t stumbling, and she smelled a little like alcohol, but not so much that her inhibitions would be completely destroyed, so he knew it wasn’t that. And Derek looked guilty, a serious kind of guilty like he’d suggested they take a drive on a motorbike with no helmet, or go chasing unsubs unarmed. 

It wasn’t until she flung her arms over his shoulders, and he’d pulled her inside, Morgan following behind with a nervous clear of his throat that he realised what it was. 

“Spencerrrr, I missed you! I missed you so much, Spencer!” And usually he’d love the way she said his name, but this time it was tainted, too false, too electrified. It barely even sounded like her, he hated the way his heart still pounded out of his chest at the fact she pressed herself so close in that little clubbing top of hers, those tight jeans. 

“What did she take?” He ignored her little hums of a song he couldn’t hear, the way she pushed herself even further into his body in a way he knew too well felt like a warm hug throughout her entire being. “Morgan!” 

Spencer had never snapped at him, not since his own days on whatever it was he was doing, and Morgan ran a hand over his face as she nuzzled her nose into his neck. 

“I don’t know, I swear. I turned my back for two seconds to get us another drink, and next thing I know this senior is hitting on her and she’s shoving gum in her mouth and coming back towards the bar- I don’t know what it was, I swear I thought it was gum, man,” Derek rushed, hating the look of desperation in Spencer’s eyes as he yanked her away from him with a small mewl of protest from her mouth. 

“Hey, hey, sweetheart, look at me,” He murmured, and she did, and he saw almost immediately the way her pupils were the size of saucers when she stared at him, crazed and intoxicated, “Do you remember what you took? I need to know so I can keep you safe,”

“You always keep me safe, so safe with Spencer,” She giggled to herself, trying to pull him back to her, but he wouldn’t budge, not until he got a real answer, “Come on, I’m going to be fine, it was just a little Molly, nothing to worry about. Kid even gave me a half for like ten dollars because he said I was reeeeeal pretty. Do you think I’m pretty Spence? I think you’re pretty, I think you’re super pretty,”

They felt themselves sigh in relief, because while still a drug, half of one pill shouldn’t really do much, especially if it was the cheap stuff going around frat houses that the DEA was having a field day with. 

Morgan looked at Spencer, where he let her shove her face against him once more, wrapping his arms around her back and feeling her sigh in relief that she was back there under his warm touch, and they shared the same thought. 

This never happened. 

Because if it did, it meant opening a can of worms Spencer had tried for years to shut tight. It meant acknowledging that the reason Morgan came to him and no one else was because he knew Spencer would know how to handle her when she was coming down in an hour or so. It meant acknowledging why Spencer would know that, and why they hadn’t acknowledged it the first time around. It meant their jobs would be on the line, and so was hers, and as much as she was struggling at the moment, they knew she just slipped up, and that this wasn’t who she was. They knew she could be better, that Spencer would force her to get better, because if the only other option was having her turn into who he used to be, then he was handing in his notice first thing Monday morning. 

That wasn’t an option in Spencer’s books, nor was it in Morgan’s. 

So Morgan left with a little pat on the back of her head, claiming she was a little troublemaker, though he hadn’t quite sounded as teasing as he’d intended and more bitter, and leaving Spencer with her to minimise the damage. 

Bugsy let him lead her to the spare room that once was hers, but she didn’t quite care enough to say anything other than, “I missed you so much,” As she pushed her face into his neck more. 

He sighed, sitting her down on the bed, knowing where she’d left some of her makeup wipes in his bathroom. 

“Stay right here, I’ll be right back,” But she whined again, making a grab for his hand, which he quickly avoided, feeling mean for it the moment he saw her face scrunch in hurt. He stroked her hair behind her ear, watching her melt under his touch, and it almost felt like nothing had changed, like she had never moved out, and like she hadn’t just burst back into his life after popping a bit of molly and turning his evening upside down, “I missed you so much, too, Bug,”

And he wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit. 

She looked up at him with those dazed pupils, as big as dimes as they batted up at him dreamily, and some awful part of him always wanted her to be looking at him like that, like everything he ever did in his life was perfect and he was a god among men. Like she was seeing her favourite movie for the first time on the big screen, when in reality he was just wiping her makeup off her face and handing her spare clothes to change into so she could sleep off the come down. 

It wasn’t until he tried to leave again to go get her some water that she put up a real fight, one that couldn’t be fought off with a gentle touch (he tried), and she was quick to grab his wrist, tug him closer to her. 

“Bug, I’m getting you-”

“Come lay down with me, let’s talk. I love talking to you, why haven’t we talked in so long?” She said like every barrier she ever put up had come tumbling down and her mouth was a free for all for her every thought. 

Spencer smiled despite himself, his honeycomb eyes soft as he shuffled to lay beside her, and they stared at one another, heads against the same pillow, and she looked soft than an angel laying on his bed waiting for a response. She looked happy for the first time in a long time, and he hated how much it suited her. 

“You moved out, remember, bug? You said you wanted to go home and I didn’t want to stop you,” He said gently, like he didn’t want to upset her. But she just giggled and shook her head like he’d told her a joke. 

“Oh, yeah. But I didn’t really want to go home. I wanted to be with you. I want to be with you forever,” Bugsy giggled to herself, wiggling her toes inside her socks and running a finger up his arm gently as she lay on her side, “I missed you so much,”

His brow furrowed, “What do you mean you didn’t want to go home?” But she wasn’t listening, she was tracing over his face with her fingertip, running over his nose gently, past his full lips that quivered under her touch, “Bug,” 

“Hm?” 

“What do you mean you didn’t want to go home? Why did you leave?” He asked again, and she looked back up at him with a shrug, shuffling closer to him, so close he could feel her breath fan over his cheeks. 

“I thought here with you was my home. I wanted it to be.” She said, her fingers finding their way into his nightshirt, “But I felt too guilty being so sad all the time, like I was getting my sad all over you and you couldn’t do anything about it because I was the loser girl with the dead sister you had to look after,” 

His eyes burned with emotion, and he willed himself not to cry, because suddenly it made sense why she had pulled away so fast. She looked at him like he’d hung the damn cosmos in the sky; had he not even paid attention to the letter she’d written Emily. She felt like she was dragging him down, the way she felt about everyone in her life, and decided to cut herself free before she took him with her. And look where that had landed her. 

He felt like a fool. 

“No, no,” Spencer whispered, pulling her into his arms, because he was scared that come morning she would take a million steps back and up and leave him all over again, “That’s not true, that could never happen, you hear me? I liked taking care of you, I wanted to take care of you.” 

“Really?” She asked hopefully, her face soft and dream-like, “I liked taking care of you too, when you would let me,” 

It was true he had tried to push his own feelings on the back burner, besides the few times the dam had cracked and he wound up with his head in her lap receiving the brunt of the affection that evening. He didn’t know why he ever doubted she would have wanted to do that; when he had his migraines she had done nothing but love on him until he felt full to the brim of her warmth. 

He felt himself chuckle, and she shuffled entirely into his arms then squashing out any last molecule of space left between them, and his hand slid over the back of her head, fingers rubbing softly into the nape of her neck which only made her moan loudly, entirely unaware of how sensitive her skin was from the molly. 

“That feels nice, Spencer,” She hummed, her thighs straddling his own as she squished herself against him more, “You feel so nice, I love you so much.” 

He would be lying if he  said the sounds she was making didn’t shoot straight to his dick, and hoped more than anything that she couldn’t feel how it pressed against his stomach angrily. His heart beat rattled loudly, and he swore she had to be able to hear it.

“I love you too,” Spencer sighed, wishing he could have said this to her sober. Wishing she wouldn’t shut him out so easily, wishing he’d pushed her walls a little harder. 

Then she did something he wasn’t expecting. It took all of two seconds for him to close his eyes and hum in content, where her hands were playing with the soft of his waist, and his fingertips stroked her jaw gently, but in a quick movement she planted her lips on his in a soft, sweet peck that he barely had time to register was happening before he pulled away in shock. 

She kissed him. She had kissed him. 

And he wanted her so badly, wanted her in every way it was possible to have someone, wanted to kiss her so hard his face went blue and his lips went numb and his throat burned with lack of oxygen. But he would never dare do anything when she was like this; vulnerable, intoxicated, unaware that the pill she’d taken had acted like a truth serum.

“We’re so silly,” Bugsy giggled, and for a moment she looked twenty two again, like the girl that had answered the door to him in college in nothing but her boxers and a shirt, with her metal music playing so loud he could hear it ringing in his ears minutes after she’d switched it off. She looked like his Bugsy again. 

Spencer chuckled with her incredulously, feeling his face on fire from her action, feeling like a weight had been lifted off his chest that had been immovable for months, because as hard as her come down would hit her, things seemed different now, like they actually had a kicking chance of getting through the grief together. 

But before he could say anything else, her eyes had fluttered shut under the warmth of his palm, and she had drifted off to sleep. 

He guessed he’d have to tell her tomorrow. 

–

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[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

˖✧ Through my eyes

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: Karen explains Mary and Arthur's story to you. Saddened, you're convinced you could never compete with her until the man in question proves you wrong. ✦ Warnings/Tags: Self-depreciation from both sides, kissing, comfort, fluff. Reader has been with the gang for a year. Use of Y/N. ✦ Words: 3k ✦ a/n: This is the answer to this ask by the lovely @crystalofmoon19. I really hope you'll like it, dear! And thank you for your support, you've been really sweet to me and my work! As always, I got carried away and wrote way too much. And as always, please reach out to me if you spot any misspellings. Also idk why I made this in Colter, guess I just feel way too hot rn and want some fresh snow + Arthur's coat is perfect for comfort. Credits. Arthur's pic is from my playthrough. Other pics are not mine found them on Pinterest. AO3

“And in the end, she rejected his proposal, then a few months later, sent him a letter telling she was marrying some wealthier gentleman!”

Your mouth hangs open in the air. Karen’s words enter through your ears and create a nice little nest for themselves in your brain. You had no idea. No idea Arthur had been this close to being married. That their relationship had been so strong, that, according to hearsays, he had reached his lowest after their break up, drunk most part of the day, fighting the rest of the time, obnoxious to everyone, even Dutch and Hosea.

“Y/N? You’re okay, there?” Karen asked you, disappointed her big reveal had left you reactionless.

You focused your gaze back on her. Her blonde hair is softly litten up by the setting sun, her breath exhaling a puff of steam as she breathes. Colter is a cold place, and it probably felt even colder because of the morose mood of the gang. You suddenly remember you’re supposed to be shocked. You are, of course, but in a very bad way. Not in an “Oh my God, I can’t believe this Karen, so much gossip!” kind of way.

How could you ever compete with that?

“Yeah, I’m alright. God, I had no idea so much happened between them.”

“Oh, trust me, it was definitely his biggest love story. Never saw him get into someone else after her. Not even Mary-Beth! Could you believe that?”

No, you couldn’t. You weren’t sure why but every word from Karen felt like an enormous stone falling into your belly and dragging you deeper and deeper into the sea. Your silly little crush on Arthur, when you first joined the gang a year ago, had turned into a way stronger attraction. Denying it at first, you had little by little let your emotions win, cherishing every moment with him, thanking Dutch for assigning both of you to the same missions, loving the quiet evenings where he would just sit next to you around the campfire to scribble in his journal while you would do your little hobby on your own. Silent most, but enjoying each other’s company, and so, so peaceful.

More than your emotions, you even had let your imagination take the lead, dreaming about a selfish future with him, seeing it every time he would give you a smile, or laugh at one of your jokes. A happy Arthur, relieved from his obligations, enjoys life's simplest joys. A house, a garden. Maybe a dog, considering he had loved having Copper. A marriage even. And why not a child? If he would feel ready. Something in you was telling you he would be a good father.

But now, you felt like this dream was rotten, condemned.  Like a broken match. The fire, the very thing it’s designed for,  not being able to be lit. Would never be lit. A wasted potential.

You tried to continue your gossiping chat with Karen, voice light but gaze elusive as you peeled the potatoes you were supposed to prepare while discussing, tedious tasks often ended up less difficult this way when you were working with the other girls. But behind your seemingly normal smile and hollow words, a haunting thought was hanging on to you as strongly as a rock trapped in a thousand-year-old iceberg. 

Arthur never fell in love again after Mary Linton.

Night had definitely fallen on the frozen mountains. After your endless vegetables centered-chores, you had helped Mr. Pearson turning them into a decent meal, his incessant blattering about the Navy giving you some sort of distraction. During dinner and after though, once you didn’t have any goal or job left to do for the day, your conversation with Karen came back into your wandering mind, her speech playing again and again like a used gramophone record.

Never fell in love again...

Sitting at one of the corners of the big cabin you had been sleeping in for the past few days along with the girls and some other gang members which mainly served as a common space, you were looking outside by a dilapidated window. A frozen World spread out before your eyes, every inch of surface covered in snow and ice, the landscape ending up looking like it was coated with a thick strange substance —dark blue colors Queen of this gloomy, misty horizon.

Arthur had returned from a very busy hunting day with Charles. Thanks to them, meat had been added to the vegetable paradise of a meal, resulting in a better-than-usual supper. He should have felt cheerful, but his mood wouldn't lighten. 

He had spotted you from across the room, noticing the hurtful absence of your smile on these sweet lips of yours. Smile he secretly loved. Lips he secretly fancied. 

Hesitating for a long moment, debating with himself, a self-depreciative rambling turning in his head like a well-oiled motor, he had ultimately decided to join you and investigate. Something pretty important must been bothering you, because loosing your usual little grin and eating your plate all by yourself really wasn't in your habits.

Approaching you, his boots and spurs clicking and stomping before you could see him, he plants them in front of you, standing there while his eyes lock on your face.

“Miss Y/L/N? Is everythin’ okay?”

“Oh, Mr Morgan. Yeah, don’t worry. Everything is great.”

He doesn’t believe you and honestly, you wouldn’t have convinced yourself either. And Arthur is a stubborn man. A stubborn, and caring one. He leans against the cabin's old creaky walls, on the other side of the window.

“Come on, don’t lie t’me girl. Everyone noticed you’re not in your right mind.” He honestly doesn’t know about everyone, but he surely did. His words are accompanied by a small, polite smile.

“I don’t think… I don’t think you’re the right person to talk about it.”

Arthur’s entire body froze. The hands he had on his belt as always when he was comfortable, flew to his chest as he crossed his arms, his thick winter coat folding with difficulty. His encouraging smile flattened, his brows pleating in a harsh frown.

“Erm… Alright, I get it. I won’t bother you, I guess.” 

Without loosening his arms, he pushed himself from the wall, taking a step to leave you some space. You couldn’t have missed it. This change of behavior, the hurtful expression he had displayed, as if he was truly pained by your words. Disappointed, maybe even shameful to have thought he could help you at all. He was just a sad, ugly bastard, after all.

You felt like you could hear all of it from where you were, and see it in the shadow that had taken his face and the gigantic mass that seemed to have fallen on his shoulders.

No, you didn’t want this. Didn’t want him to feel like that because of you and your stupid feelings, or your own dark thoughts.

“Wait, Arthur!”

He turned around the second you talked again.

“I’m sorry it’s just…” You sigh and look at him with an uncertain expression, knowing your next words were going to be risky. “It’s about you and Mary Linton…”

His eyes turn into two literal plates, his mouth slightly opening in outer astonishment. This was really not what he had in mind. You could have been sad because of a hundred logical reasons, the death of Davey and the loss of Sean and Mac, the complete fiasco of Blackwater, the hundred of dollars lost, the terrible and tough conditions of the Grizzlies plunging everyone into an unbearable cold and a threatening famine.  Not mentioning Hosea’s alarming coughing, Dutch’s mysterious decisions, and Micah as a whole.

But you, out of all these things, were worried about Mary.

Once his eyes had grown as round as they could, they got back into an interrogative expression, the wave of surprise over.

“Wha’…?! How d’ya even know ‘bout her?”

“Karen speaks a lot when she’s bored…” You briefly explained, trying to sound detached.

Arthur rolls his eyes to the Heavens. Of course, folks talked, and you had to know about it all at some point. But this wasn’t ideal at all. He would have preferred to tell it to you himself, at a time he would have felt comfortable doing so, with his own words. He didn’t want this to change anything between the two of you.

“And erm… What exactly bothers ya?”

You open your mouth to speak, but your words are jammed. Explaining that you feel jealous of what the both of them had shared would just come down to confessing your feelings for him plain and simple. 

You felt completely stuck. 

He’s right there before your eyes, the very source of all your worries and your every joy. Looking at you with those confused blue eyes, wondering what is happening in this pretty head of yours. But the words still won’t come out.  You feel more and more powerless, and instead of a sound, your eyes take over to get something out of your body, slow and sad tears filling them like a lonely glacier fills a mountain lake on its own.

Arthur’s usual frown furrows, his wrinkles more visible, contrasted by the shadows from the warm lights of the fire. Suddenly, his internal melancholic speech shuts down, as if the view of a single tear streaming down your cheek were absolutely intolerable to him. No worries nor anxious self-restraints crosses his mind —it’s now only instinct. He sees you crying. He has to help you. This is as easy as that.

His right hand reaches to you by itself.

It feels warm but coarse. This big, big hand on the side of your face.

“Oh, Y/N. Don’t waste those pretty tears for a sour-faced idiot like me.” His thumb gently wipes the drops of sadness that had overflowed from your two delicate lakes. “Come on, les’ jus’ talk about this somewhere quiet.”

Arthur gently uses the hand he had on your cheek to wrap it around your shoulders, solid arm gently pushing you up. He then leads you through the door, other members throwing curious gazes at the both of you.

But he doesn’t care. His priority, right now, is your well-being, and some privacy to allow him to finally whisper things in your ears he should have a long time ago. Not in front of everyone. Not with the other men looking at your sparkling eyes, and listening to the change in his voice he knew would crack, his usual intimidating persona crushed into a million pieces with only the sound of your own. Or with the other girls hearing the oh-so-important words he had to say. No. You would be the only one to witness this. 

He had brought you to the barn where the horses were kept. The snow was falling lazily, a few flakes passing through the holes in the dilapidated roof. The place is enveloped in a heavy silence, as if it was muffling every sound coming from the outside.

Once Arthur had closed the big wooden doors behind you and before he could do anything else, you finally burst.

“I shouldn't cry, I’m so sorry Arthur, I just… She looked like an incredible woman, so beautiful a-and distinguished, and me well… I'm just… me.” Your eyes fell to your feet. You like everything was coming out of you all at once and you couldn't contain it anymore.

“Stop it.” 

“How could I ever mean something to you? You've been with her for so long and even proposed to her and… and never fell in love again after her and…”

“Stop it, Y/N!”

Arthur cut your blabbering panic by pulling you against him. He held you so tightly you were almost crushed by his powerful arms, but it felt so good. Like he was holding together all the little pieces of you that had cracked, melting them with his warmth and molding yourself again with it.

“Now you l’sten to me, sweetheart. I don’t want ya to say things like this ever again.”

The sudden use of the pet name soothed your heart immediately. You buried your face into the furred collar of his big winter coat, the hairs tickling your nose. There, you can feel a little bit of his bare skin, your cheek finding shelter against it.

You stopped talking.

You just wanted him to continue to. His deep voice seemed to come directly from the inside of his chest, and you could feel it vibrating before actually hearing it.

“Ya know I’m no… Am no poet or, or good with words like Dutch…” He started, visibly unsure of what he was going to say. He’s relieved he had initiated the hug, this way, with your face in there, you couldn’t see his. The worried expression it was carrying, like a burden. “But lemme tell ya just how much I care about ya. Oh, my sweet girl.” 

This is it. He tries not to but his low tone begins to tremble. It’s so strange. It feels like forever since that happened for the last time.

“Yeah, Mary has been a real’ important part of my life, I won’t lie to ya. But it was so long ago, gorgeous. So long ago.” 

He knows he won’t shed a tear. He never cries. But his hands shake. His vocal cords vibrate in a vulnerable, softer, and higher-pitched quaver. His body tenses, heart as fast as if racing with a million wild horses galloping in the Great Plains. Even if his words couldn’t explain just how much you meant to him, you could have guessed by how you were affecting his entire flesh.

“Ya know what? It’s true. Our story ended badly. I never fell in love again after her.”

You sigh, more tears wetting your face and his blue coat, this truth so hard to swallow.

“Until that morning, when I saw you brushing Boadicea’s mane; your hair all covered in hay, the brightest smile I ever had the chance to witness on that sweet face o’ yours. That day, I knew my stupid foolish heart had done it all over again.”

You let out a single chuckle mixed with tears and emotions, so relieved. Even when you felt like you were at your lowest, he succeeded at making you smile.

“Grimshaw had forced me to groom all the gang’s horses to “get used to camp’s work”. Must have looked terrible.” You remembered with a smile, details of your first encounter with Arthur flooding your mind.

“You looked like a goddamn Angel, honey. T’was like the sun was shining jus’ for ya. Jesus, I knew it was too late for me.”

You pulled back from him just a little, enough for you to look at him in the eyes, but not for him to let go of you. Now that they had found you, his hands, still slightly quivering, refused to let go, their place on your back and behind your head feeling so natural and right. Your eyes behave the same way as them but with his face. He looks so moved that you have to pinch yourself internally to make sure you’re not dreaming this whole thing; never in your life you had seen him like this.

“I love you too, Arthur.” You confessed back to him, fingers cupping his cheeks in a delicate touch.

You had to stand on your tiptoes to reach his face, but his arm helped you, your lips gently discovering themselves, brushing against each other in a soft and shy caress. Even if both your mouths were chapped by the biting cold, it was the most gentle kiss you had shared in your life, a satiny embrace that left you completely dreamy and light-headed.

The snowflakes silently swirl around the both of you, Nature the only witness of your souls melting into each other.

Opening your eyes again after this moment out of time, you're met with the happiest smile Arthur ever had on his face. He looked like and idiot in love, and you were sure you looked exactly the same.

“Please darlin’, don’t ever compare yourself to her ever again. What’s in the past stays there. And I wanna have a future with you.”

Your dreams sprang back straight from your heart to your mind. The visions you had about the both of you were more alive than ever, reinforced by his own needs shared with yours.

“You’re sweet, you’re funny, you’re so smart and stunningly gorgeous. And, you wan’ a proof?” He playfully asks you, taking his hat off his head, a thin layer of snow falling from it.

Turning it over, he carefully pull a piece of paper out, hidden between two leathered segments in the inner part of his hat. His cut and reddened fingers unfold it and he gives it to you, his big smile turning into an embarrassed and sheepish one.

It’s a sketch of you.

You’re mesmerized by the details of it, the blades of hay messily tangled in your hair, the sparkling in your eyes, the exact clothes you were wearing that day. This smile, you’re more than certain he drew it way more beautiful than it really is. Arthur even had added some lines traced from your head to the end of the paper, as if you were the Sun itself and were emitting your own light.

This was impossible this was the same person as you, her beauty was too radiant and fascinating.

But no matter what you thought about yourself, seeing his work curled your lips in the exact same way as yourself on the drawing. With snowflakes replacing the twigs, you had turned into the living recreation of it. Arthur laughed when he noticed, and realized just how much he had loved you and continued to since that morning from a year ago. He bent towards you to put a small kiss on your forehead.

“Arthur it’s… It’s beautiful.” You find it difficult to find another word, speechless once again. 

You also had no idea of how talented at drawing nor attracted to you he was. This day definitely was full of surprises. You chuckled fondly before taking a last look at your portrait and giving it back to your lover. But Arthur’s large palm wrapped around your hand.

“No, please, keep it. This way, you’ll always remember how you look through my eyes.”

More tears threaten to escape your own, even though those were a direct extract from the immeasurable happiness you were experiencing.

“And... Now that I don’t have to hide myself while sketching ya, I’m going to draw lots of new ones.”

tagging: @a-court-of-valkyries Thank you for reading all of this! Also, I didn't know this was a thing but if ever you want to be tagged in my works too, let me know! It would be my pleasure.

[neo-nomatrix]

Thinking about Sugar Daddy Miguel O’hara

Sugar daddy Miguel who: spoils you like you’re the only person in the world. When he’s around you you’re the only thing that matters and the only thing ever on his mind. His only goal in life is to make sure you’re happy and he makes it very obvious. He sets out different cards for you to take on your latest shopping spree, but of course when he takes you out he has one rule. Always let him pick out a few outfits for you. It doesn’t matter what he picks out, whether it’s a cute dress for your next date or a few pieces of string sewn together to make lingerie, you are instructed not to complain. “But it’s so uncomfy, and it doesn’t even look nice,” you whine to him about the new set he bought you. “What did I tell you about complaining? I bought all of this for you so what I say goes. Don’t make me return everything,” he threatens. Your eyes go wide at the thought of him giving back your newest Hermès bag or your Dolce & Gabbana perfumes. You immediately throw yourself onto him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and apologizing for what you said. You know Miguel, if he really felt like throwing away the thousands he just spent on you he would without hesitation.

Sugar Daddy Miguel who: Despite your somewhat imbalanced relationship loves you more than anything. He might pay for all of your necessities and insure you won’t have to work another day in your life but he will always treat you as an equal. Even when it seems like your relationship is him giving and you taking he will always come home to see you by the stove cooking his favorite meals. At the end of the day you are nothing but a happy couple. He loves opening the front door and wrapping his arms around you from behind, kissing your head and taking solace in your love. “I don’t know what I would do without you,” he says, sighing. “Mm, I love you so much Miguel,” you hum in response. “amo más que nada, mi amor.”

Sugar daddy Miguel who: Fucks you with such meaning and passion. He fucks you like it’s the last thing he will ever do. He kisses you and eats you out like he was starved for 100 days. He takes glory in watching you wither beneath him. He begs you to claw at his broad shoulders, the only time he ever likes seeing you cry is when he’s inside of you. His absolute favorite thing to do is making love to you on a bed scattered with dollar bills. He was out all day and barely texted you, of course you were upset! The only way he knew to make up for it was to take about $2000 out of his account in twenties, fives, and hundreds and lay it on your bed along with rose petals. “Come to the bedroom with me, amor. I have a surprise for you.” You take his hand as he leads you to the bed. You’re in shock when you see the grand gesture. He spends all night loving you and taking care of you. “You mean everything to me, I love you so much. Please don’t be mad at me, it hurts when you’re like this,” he moans in your ear. So of course, you can’t be mad at him after this. You’d be insane to still be upset after he treats you like you’re the most delicate and precious diamond in the world.

After all, relationships are supposed to be equal. He buys you everything you want and you love him like no one else could.