#anyway song was 'tonight you belong to me'

[omgeto]

☆ ONE OF HIS GIRLS — TOJI FUSHIGURO

summary: you were used to your on again, off again routine with your ex. content in being just one of his girls. until things begin to shift and he starts to make you reconsider having a relationship... with all strings attached.

w/c: 3.9k

cw: afab!reader, angst to fluff, exes to fwb to lovers, tojis a bit of a meanie but you’re a meanie too and you both love each other for that. plot with a small dash of smut so mdni!

an: listen to the weeknds “one of the girls” to see the vision. hope you enjoy!

the bass thumps through the air, reverberating in sync with the pulse of the dimly lit club. bodies move in a synchronised chaos on the dance floor, lost in the music and the allure of the night. neon lights paint the room in shades of electric blue and vibrant pink, casting an otherworldly glow on the scene.

amid the crowd, you move with an easy grace, your body swaying to the rhythm as you dance. the atmosphere is charged, and you relish the freedom it offers, the way the music seems to wash away all your worries. tonight, the world belongs to you, and you intend to make the most of it.

but not far away, toji's gaze is fixed on you. his normally composed demeanour replaced with a simmering intensity. he watches as you interact with another guy, laughter shared, bodies drawing closer as you shamelessly grind your ass against him. his fingers clench around his drink, the glass nearly cracking under the pressure of his grip.

toji has always been good at controlling his emotions, an expert at keeping his feelings hidden beneath a mask of indifference. but tonight, seeing you with someone else, it's a different kind of test. the anger that bubbles within him is a stark reminder of the feelings he's been trying to suppress.

as the song changes, the stranger's hand slides lower on your waist, and toji sees red. he downs his drink in one gulp and pushes his way through the crowd, his jaw clenched and his heart pounding in his chest. he reaches you just as the guy's fingers brush against your hip, his presence looming over the scene.

“fuck off” he demands at the guy you were dancing with, towering over the both of you. the guy looks to you for guidance, hoping that you’ll tell toji to fuck himself. but you give the stranger an appreciative smile, knowing that there was no way you could get toji to back down.

“what the fuck was that?” you interrogate toji, as the stranger stalks off.

“what the fuck was that?” toji mocks with a sneer, “what the fuck was this,”  he gestures to your outfit, and throws his arm in the direction of the stranger you were dancing with.

“it’s called having fun toji,” you argue, confused at his outburst, “what are you even doing here anyways?” you’ve barely seen toji since you broke up, and whenever you did see him it wasn’t in public.

“don’t play dumb princess,” he scoffs,, “don’t act like you didn’t know that this was my spot, that you didn’t come here just so i could see you act like a slut,”

“toji i-” technically he wasn’t wrong, you knew this was where he spent most of his time, but he hadn’t even crossed your mind since you didn’t spend time with him, outside of your bedroom.

“i don't wanna hear it.” suddenly he was tugging on your arm, dragging you somewhere. he was pissed. you could tell by the way his veins popped as he gripped onto you. 

“where the fuck are you taking me?” you ask, pulling back defiantly, “i’m not something you can just drag around.” 

“tonight you are.” he practically growls at you, “now move your ass.” 

your night was taking an unexpected turn, this wasn’t something you did with toji – not in public anyways. your relationship was complicated. you dated for a while but you both knew that it wasn’t working, but you just couldn’t let all of each other go. 

so you created a new routine, one where you could ditch your feelings and use one another for what you were good for. if one of you needed each other it was simple. you’d call, fuck, and go straight home. but tonight, he was off, the way he was bodying people through the crowd his hand still firmly placed on your wrist as he drags you along.

the air feels charged with an unspoken challenge, a silent dare to resist him. yet, despite your defiance, there's something thrilling about his possessive hold, about the way he refuses to let you slip away.

he brings you to the bathroom of the club, practically flinging you against the sink,  hiking up your dress and landing a fat smack on your ass. his hand was stretched across your neck, using it to force you to see your face in the mirror in front of you.

his fingers run over your folds, you were already soaked “no panties, you really were planning on being a whore tonight huh.”

“no i-” 

“i’ve let you get away with a lot of shit, y’know that right?” he mutters, spreading your legs wide so he could fit right behind you, he pulls out his dick and rubs it across your wet slit.

“t-toji, someones… gonna see,” you force out, trying to glance at the bathroom door but toji had your head stuck in place, keeping your eyes trained on the mirror.

“and? do you think i fucking care…” he taunts, continuing to tease you with his dick only entering with just the tip, his precum mixing into your pussy, “don’t know why you’re becoming shy now, you were happy to be a slut out there.”

he rams his dick into you, thrusting hard, making sure that you could really feel him. toji was thick, you both knew that, he’d usually stretch you out with his fingers or his tongue before you fuck, but tonight he was merciless. the pain you felt when he entered brought tears in your eyes, you felt dazed, drunk on the dick that was ploughing straight into your pussy. you couldn’t help but fuck him back, throwing your ass back on his dick as he pushes in and out of you. you were desperate. wanting to feel him even deeper than he already was.

“see look at you,” his mouth is at your ear, your eyes meet directly through the mirror, “all fucked out on my dick, and you say you aren’t a slut.”

“I’m not i-” you try and catch your breath but toji hips slam into yours in quick succession, making it hard to gather your thoughts. 

“fuck princess,” he curses, loving the way your cunt clenches around him, “you’re taking me in so well.” 

“Its t-too much toji…” 

“I don’t care. you can take it,” he was too much, stuffing you full. you couldn’t think straight. his relentless fucking had you clenching your eyes shut, holding down on on the sink for dear life. he was practically punishing you, drilling into you with no remorse as he presses his fingers on your clit. “don’t cum until i say so.”

“but toji, ‘m close, im gonna…” you moan, you could feel yourself about to cum, your body trembling as you grind against his dick. 

“this pussy’s mine y’know. i say when you come. i say who gets to fuck you. i-” toji twitches inside of you, cupping your tits as he brings you closer towards him. his cum sprays inside of your walls, with you creaming on his dick. his cum leaks down your thighs, and he thrusts back into you, as if to keep you filled. 

“fuck,” he murmurs, he swiftly pulls out of you, shoving his dick back into his pants, leaving you there a dripping mess. there was something unspoken between the two of you, you were used to fucking rough, but this time was different. the way toji stared at you, treated you, was different. 

“are you just gonna leave?” you interrogate, all worn out as you see him heading to the exit of the bathroom.

“well, you got what you wanted.” he shrugs, “do you need a ride home or somethin?”

“what is with you tonight?” you question, caught off guard by his nonchalance, “what was that?” you couldn’t deny that you were happily fucked but you and toji have been in the same space on many occasions without their being any form of jealous outburst from him.

“don’t try and act like you didn’t come here tonight wanting this outcome,” he chastises, “what did you really expect?”

“i didn’t expect you to do this whole ‘im gonna fuck you in the bahtroom and claim you as mine,’ jealousy act,” you argue, pulling your dress down as you step closer to him, your face inches from his as you whisper, “oh my god, you were jealous.”

“jealous? of what exactly?” he counters defensively, “if i recall correctly, you weren’t even focused on guy, your eyes were looking around the room for me. you wanted me.”

“believe whatever you want toji,” you chuckle, you could see it now, his reaction to the guy you were dancing with, the way he quickly snatched you up to claim you, how his eyes can't even meet yours. “i think you’re just mad that you’ve finally realised that you’re not the only one with options.”

“well go see how those options of yours like you with my cum stuffed inside of you,” he scoffs, smirking at you with his arms folded as he storms at the bathroom, leaving you speechless.

weeks have passed since you’ve last seen toji, you had no desire to see him after his random act of craziness at the club. yes toji was attractive, and he was the best lay you’ve ever had but you did not have the time for a guy trying to control you.

you step into your apartment, the soft glow of streetlights filtering through the curtains. It's been a long day, and all you want is to sink into the comfort of your own space. but as you close the door behind you, a sense of unease prickles at the back of your mind. something's off.

there wasn’t much surprise when you see him, lounging casually on your couch as if he owns the place. a mixture of irritation and surprise courses through you as he flashes you a smirk.

"what the hell are you doing here?" you demand, your voice sharper than you intended.

toji looks up, his gaze meeting yours with that familiar intensity. "nice to see you too, princess."

you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "cut the crap, toji. why are you in my apartment?"

he smirks, his lips curling into that infuriatingly arrogant smile. "missed me, did you?"

“missed you? are you kidding me?" you scoff, your irritation boiling over. "you can't just waltz into my place like it's no big deal."

"relax, I'm just here to unwind" toji stretches, his casual demeanour only adding to your irritation, “and you gave me a key remember?”

"for emergencies" you snap, your patience wearing thin, “cut to the chase toji, i've got  plans.”

his mood shifts suddenly, his posture straightening as he steps towards you. “that’s exactly what i wanted to come talk to you about,” his tone grows more serious, “y’know in the past few weeks i’ve heard a few things about you and your ‘plans.’”

“what about them toji?” you were beyond fed up at this point, he’s trying to intimidate you, and you meet his gaze head-on, refusing to back down.

“it seems that you forgot what i told you in the bathroom all those weeks ago,” his face came inches closer to yours, his lips just a fraction away from your ear. “your pussy is mine.”

“why do you think you own me all of a sudden?” you snap, slightly shoving him away from you, “what happened to us just being people who occasionally fuck.”

“because you were only fucking me.”

“so what..?” you respond harshly, “in case you forgot you’re fucking half of the city.”

toji's gaze narrows, a hint of annoyance flashing across his eyes. "don't play stupid. you know damn well what I'm talking about."

you cross your arms over your chest, refusing to back down. "and what if I am? what's your problem, toji? we were just having fun, no strings attached."

be takes a step closer, his presence almost overwhelming in the confined space of your apartment. "fun, huh?" he practically sneers, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "is that what you call it? you think I'm just some convenient option for you?"

"convenient?" your voice rises, matching his intensity. "you were the one who suggested this arrangement in the first place."

a bitter smile tugs at the corner of his lips. "yeah, because i knew you couldn't handle anything more than that."

"excuse me?” your eyes narrow, anger coursing through your veins. “just face it, the reason we broke up in the first place is because you have commitment issues. so dont act like some relationship guru.”

“commitment issues, thats rich coming from you,” his jaw clenches, his fingers curling into fists at his sides. "i never said I was a guru. but don't act like you're some innocent victim in all of this."

you scoff, disbelief colouring your tone. "victim? I never claimed to be one. i knew what i was getting into, and I was fine with it. until you decided to play the possessive asshole."

toji's gaze darkens, his voice riddled with venom. "oh, so it's my fault now? i'm the asshole?"

"yes!" you practically shout, the frustration and pent-up anger finally boiling over. "you can't just waltz in and out of my life whenever it suits you, toji. i'm not here to satisfy your ego or your control freak tendencies."

he steps closer, his face dangerously close to yours. "you think you can just brush me off? go ahead, try. but you won't be able to. everybody knows you’re mine."

the audacity of his words sends a surge of rage through you. "i am not yours, toji. I am my own person, and I won't be dictated by your whims."

his eyes bore into yours, a storm of conflicting emotions raging within them. "you're playing a dangerous game princess."

"and you're deluding yourself if you think I'll just bend to your will," you retort, your voice unwavering.

toji's jaw clenches, his anger palpable. "fine. if that's how you want it, princess."

without another word, he turns on his heel and storms out of your apartment, leaving you standing there, your chest heaving with a mix of anger and defiance. as the door slams shut behind him, you realise that this confrontation might have just put an end to whatever twisted dynamic you and toji had going on. a conflicted sense of relief washes over you; you're relieved that toji is relinquishing his hold on you. however, a nagging feeling of hope stirs within you, making you question his sudden possessiveness. why does he want you all to himself? it's a thought you can't shake off, and as you ponder it, a whirlwind of uncertainty clouds your mind.

toji, on the other hand, was pissed. how could you not see that he wanted you – granted, he had an obscure way of showing it, but to him, it was clear as day. he had spent weeks grappling with the complexity of his feelings. the memories of your past together haunted him – the way you used to fit perfectly against his chest, the sound of your laughter echoing in his ears. he had buried those emotions deep, convincing himself that he was better off without the entanglements of a committed relationship.

you held a special place among the women he’d been with. it wasn't just about the physical connection, although he relished those moments when you shared that intimate space. what set you apart was your qualities – your strong mind, the way you weren't so easily fooled by him, how your eyes would glow when you’d get excited about the smallest things. with the others, there was no desire for him to stay with them after sex – they were disposable. but with you, he basked in the moments where he could lay with you after making love, cherishing the quiet intimacy.

however, after you broke up, you were cold and distant. you mirrored his own detachment, and he couldn’t help but feel used. the connection you once shared seemed to have transformed into something different, leaving him with a sense of emptiness. he found himself questioning whether he had been mistaken all along about what he thought was between you two.

deep inside, a storm raged within toji. he knew he was being unreasonable, that he had no right to demand more from you. after all, he had been the one who initiated this friends-with-benefits arrangement, drawing boundaries to keep emotions at bay. yet, watching you slip away from him, even as he tried to keep you at arm’s length, ignited a turmoil of conflicting emotions – anger, longing, and a fear of facing his own vulnerability.

days turned into weeks, and the void left by toji's absence gnawed at your thoughts. you found yourself replaying your heated exchange, questioning if you had made the right decision. toji's intensity had left an indelible mark, and you couldn't shake the feeling that there was more beneath his anger.

you finally had chance to be free of him, to try new options – just like you wanted. but they just didn’t hit the same (literally). the guys you’ve been with after toji were alright, they got the job done, but they were all missing something. something you feel that only he could provide for you.

tonight was no different, you lay there in the aftermath of yet another liaison, the room filled with a haze of lingering desire. the guy beside you basked in his post-coital glow, his arm lazily draped across your stomach. you should've been satisfied, content even. but instead, your mind drifted, thoughts consumed by memories of toji – his touch, his gaze, the way he made you feel alive in a way no one else could.

as you slipped out from under the guy's arm and got dressed, his sleepy voice trailed after you. "leaving so soon?"

you offered a vague smile, avoiding eye contact. "yeah, i've got an early morning."

he shrugged, seemingly unbothered, and settled back onto the bed. "alright, see you around."

the cool night air greeted you as you stepped out onto the city streets, your thoughts still dominated by memories of toji. the glow of streetlights illuminated your path as you walked, lost in your own contemplations. the truth was, despite your attempts to find solace in the arms of others, your heart still yearned for toji. the memories of your time together, the electric chemistry you shared, they all refused to fade. you had tried to suppress those feelings, to silence the longing that echoed within you. but as you walked alone through the city, you admitted to yourself that no one else could replace what you had with him.

lost in your thoughts, you didn't notice the figure leaning against a nearby wall until you were practically upon him. your heart stuttered in your chest as you looked up to meet familiar dark eyes – toji. he looked just as surprised to see you as you were to see him, his usual composure momentarily faltering.

"toji?" you blurted out, unable to contain your shock.

"in the flesh," he replied, his voice tinged with a mixture of surprise and something else – something you couldn't quite place.

the awkward silence that followed was heavy with unspoken words, a whirlwind of emotions dancing between you. the memories of your last encounter, the heated confrontation that ended in a bitter clash, still lingered in the air. but beneath the surface, there was something more, a connection that time and distance hadn't completely eroded.

"toji, i..." you began, your voice trailing off as you struggled to find the right words.

he looked at you, his expression unreadable. "i fucked this up."

the honesty in his voice took you by surprise, and for a moment, you were transported back to a time when it was just the two of you, when everything was simpler, and your connection was undeniable.

"it wasn’t all your fault." you admitted, your voice soft.

the tension that had hung in the air seemed to dissipate, replaced by a sense of understanding. in that moment, it was as if the weeks of distance and confusion melted away, leaving only the truth of your feelings.

"toji..." you began again, your voice steadier this time, "can we talk?"

wrapped in the warmth of the soft blankets, you and toji lay intertwined on the bed. his strong arms held you close, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm beneath your cheek. the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. the world outside seemed to fade away as you basked in the intimacy of the moment.

toji's fingers traced delicate patterns on your back, his touch sending shivers down your spine. your fingers traced lazy circles on his chest, the rise and fall of his breathing soothing in its familiarity. the silence between you was comfortable, a testament to the unspoken understanding that had grown between you.

"you know," toji's voice broke the quiet, "i never thought we'd end up like this."

you looked up at him, a soft smile tugging at your lips. "like what?"

he met your gaze, his eyes holding a warmth that made your heart flutter. "like this. together."

a soft chuckle escaped your lips as you nuzzled closer to him. "yeah, well, life has a funny way of surprising us."

toji's lips found yours in a gentle kiss, a tender brush of affection that spoke volumes. as the kiss deepened, the worries and uncertainties of the past seemed to melt away, leaving only the present – the two of you, wrapped in each other's arms.

you pulled away slightly, your foreheads resting together as you looked into his eyes. "you know, for a while there, i thought we were too stubborn to admit what we really wanted."

he grinned, that familiar cocky smile that made your heart skip a beat. "well, you know me – always have to do things my own way."

you rolled your eyes playfully, swatting his chest. "yeah, that's for sure."

toji's fingers brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his touch tender and affectionate. "i'm glad we figured it out, though. i don't think i could've let you go again."

a soft sigh escaped your lips, your heart swelling with emotion. "me neither."

the two of you settled back into a comfortable silence, your bodies moulded together as if they were always meant to be this way. as you lay there, wrapped in each other's embrace, you realised that the journey to this moment – the ups and downs, the twists and turns – had been worth it. because in the end, you had found your way back to each other, stronger and more connected than ever before. you thought you'd be content just being one of his girls, but now that your his girl again you were completely and utterly satisfied.

and just as your contentment settled in, toji's mischievous smirk tugged at his lips. "now come sit on my face, so I can remind you of what you’ve been missing out on," he whispered playfully.your laughter filled the room as he pulled you on top of him, his hands firmly gripping your hips. "toji!" you exclaimed, both surprised and amused. as your hands pressed against his chest, you couldn't help but revel in the familiarity of his touch. ah how you missed this.

[worldlxvlys]

ANNA. GIRL. I HAVE THE BEST IDEA EVER.

ok, so I was just listening to one of the girls by the Weeknd and I need the filthiest, most pantie soaking, mouth watering, sheet gripping smut about chris based off that song. only if you want though LMAO. also probably really unpopular opinion but chris is most DEFINITELY the dominant one during sex. anyway love you pretty girl!!

one of the girls

fwb! chris sturniolo x reader

warnings: smuttttt, semi-public sex, roughhhh sex, choking, slapping, spitting, degradation, dumbification, p in v, cream pie, unprotected sex, squirting, fingering, overstimulation, humiliation, recording, cursing

a/n: have your holy water on standby y’all

lock me up and throw away the key

he knows how to get the best of me

chris and i’s friendship was anything but normal. to some, it may even be perceived as toxic.

but me? i loved it.

i trusted him enough to do whatever he wanted to me, no matter how extreme.

tell nobody i control you

i broke you just to own you

they can’t tell that i love you

‘cause you’re loyal, baby

he was possessive, but it was hot. we weren’t actually together, but by the way he acted when other guys approached me, you would think we were.

he didn’t want to see me with anyone other than him, and i felt the exact same.

nobody else made me feel the way he did, anyway.

nobody else understood how to test my limits without going overboard.

i love when you’re submissive

love it when i break skin

you feel pain without flinching

i allow him to do whatever he wants to, and in return he he gives me a perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

he constantly pushes me to my limits, it’s almost gratifying to know that i can handle more than i think.

though my masochistic ways can be alarming to some, chris understands. he never judges or questions the things that bring me pleasure.

all it takes is a simple, “i need a distraction” and he has me pushed up against the door, his hand wrapped around my neck.

his fingers wrap around my throat, constricting my airway enough to stop my breathing.

he waits until i look like i’m about to pass out to loosen his grip.

we don’t gotta be in love, no

i don’t gotta be the one, no

i just wanna be one of your girls tonight

it doesn’t matter who he fucked yesterday, or who he’s seeing tomorrow. all that matters is right now.

and right now, we’re at a party, where he has me bent over a chair on the host’s back porch.

“you forget who the fuck you belong to? letting him undress you with his eyes like that?” he struck my ass with the palm of his hand over and over, making me cry out.

“how do you think he’d feel knowing that i’m fucking you on his porch?” he asked as he thrusted into me roughly, pushing my hips into the wooden chair harshly with every movement.

i moaned uncontrollably, gripping onto the chair for dear life as he pounded into me.

deciding to play with him, i looked back at him and spoke, “bet he could fuck me better than you ever will”

we both knew it wasn’t true, but chris stopped his movements immediately, making me whine out.

“think we should go find him? let him watch me fuck your brains out?” he asked as he pulled me to stand up.

“no, chris! please, just-” he cut me off by smacking my ass.

suddenly, he spotted a camera that was aimed at a short table in the middle of the porch.

“hmm, looks like he keeps his home secure, baby. you think he gets alerts when there’s movement on his porch?” chris raised his eyebrows at me, pushing me to the table that the camera was aimed at.

“he’s gonna watch this back and see you get fucked like the dirty little cockwhore you are" he rasped into my ear as he placed me onto the low table on my hands and knees.

he held my arms behind my back as he began to fuck me from behind again.

a cool breeze filled the air, making my nipples hard and sending a shiver down my spine.

he gripped my jaw harshly, turning my face to look at him, “open” he spoke.

when i opened my mouth, he gathered his saliva in his mouth before spitting into mine.

i immediately swallowed, making him slap my cheek lightly.

“now look at the camera” he said as he gripped my jaw, angling it so i was looking straight into the camera.

he pushed my body down, holding my shoulder down as his cock continued to stretch out my tight walls.

“you better make a fucking mess all over this table, make sure he knows how good i made you feel” his mouth found its way to my neck, biting at the skin roughly.

“f-fuck, chris” i moaned as his fingers brushed my hard nipples, before squeezing them firmly.

he suddenly grabbed my throat with his hand, pulling me closer to him.

my eyes rolled into the back of my head at the feeling of his hand squeezing around my throat.

he circled my clit with his free hand, and my head fell back onto his shoulder in response.

“such a fucking slut, you love being fucked out here in the open, huh?”

“good, good, so fucking good, holy shit” all i could do was chant those words, not being able to concentrate on chris’s words.

“look at you, going dumb for my cock” he spoke as he continued to fuck his hips into mine.

i mumbled a string of incoherent curses in response, grabbing his bicep as i felt my orgasm approaching.

“you gonna cum?” he asked as he felt me clench around him.

“yes, yes, yes, yes” i chanted as my eyes rolled back and i released on his cock.

“fuck, gonna fill this pretty pussy up” he groaned before he did exactly that, shooting his seed deep inside of my walls.

he pulled out, quickly replacing his dick with two fingers.

“chris!” i moaned in surprise as he fucked his fingers into me.

“wanna see you squirt all over this fucking table” he growled into my ear.

his fingers moved so quickly inside of me, i could barely keep up.

i reached down to move his hand, but he wasn’t having it.

he pushed me forward, pressing my face into the table.

“it feel good? you like being fingered out here where anyone could see?” he asked as he added another finger.

“yes, yes, oh my god” i cried out as i felt another orgasm coming.

“yeah? then fucking take it” he said.

“chris! i’m cumming!” i yelled as my body shook violently on the table.

“oh my god” i yelled as my juices shot out of me.

“i know you have more, ma. give it to me”

he continued to move his fingers inside of me, watching as the liquid continued to pour out of me, making me scream.

“fuck” i breathed out when his fingers stopped , allowing me to catch my breath.

chris helped me off of the table, helping me to fix my dress so i was covered again before fixing himself up.

he left for a second, coming back with paper towels to clean up our mess.

“hey, you good to get home by yourself? i got something to do” he said, looking down at his phone.

more like someone to do.

“yeah, go. have fun”

with that, he kissed my cheek and left.

we don’t gotta be in love, no

i don’t gotta be the one, no

i just wanna be one of your girls tonight

💋💋💋💋

masterlist

tag list: @lustfulslxt @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @cupidsword @imwetforyourmom @nickmillersn1gf @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @readerakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @rootbeerworshiper @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf @robins-scoop @fandomhopped @chr1sgirl4life @bbglmfao @55sturn @sturniolololover @meg-sturniolo @mattsnymphette @leah-loves-lilies @vanteguccir @ineedchriscock @junnniiieee07

[bonkhrnyjail]

desert eagle

pairing: young joel miller x f!plus-size!reader (age unspecified, no specific physical descriptions other than plus-size and able-bodied) summary: joel gets reluctantly dragged to the strip club after a long day of work. god knows he wasn't expecting to meet someone like you... rating: explicit 18+ mdni word count: 8.8k (sorry) tags: thigh riding, oral sex, so much oral sex, ass play, 69, reader is a stripper, joel is down horrendous, JOEL MILLER LOVES BIG GIRLS, gentleman!joel, until he's not, sub!joel if you squint, joel and reader are both aggressively texan, i'm midwestern so i do not take responsibility for inaccuracies i did my best a/n: soooo this is based off of the beyoncé song desert eagle, the first time i heard it i immediately thought of this idea and i couldn't get it out of my head and i was having literal sex dreams about it so i decided to write it. this is my first time writing joel too so i'm scared :P anyways i love writing about confident beautiful fat women but i think anyone can enjoy this fic so yeahhh anyways you should listen to the beyoncé song and then read the fic or vice versa ok love you bye

Joel didn’t want to go to the strip club. 

In fact, Joel wants nothing more than to be alone tonight, and yet he finds himself uncomfortably perched on the edge of a half-crescent booth, dragged along by Tommy and some of the idiot twenty-somethings he’d met on their most recent project.  

“Loosen up, old man!” one of the cocky landscapers barked at him when he tried to decline. “A pretty pair a’ tits in your face’ll turn that frown right upside down!”

He almost did say no, almost played the foolproof dad card; unfortunately for him, Sarah had already planned to stay at her best friend’s house the next few nights, taking advantage of the last week of winter break. But he saw the premature wince forming in Tommy’s eye, waiting for the inevitable sting of Joel ruining his chances at making some semi-decent friends in this town—friends that wouldn’t land him behind bars on the weekend, anyways. So Joel surrendered with a begrudging grunt, under the terms that he could stop by home to shower and change clothes. Miraculously, he convinced the other guys to do the same.

Inside, violet and teal spotlights cast a thick fog across the large stage. It illuminates the performers whilst somehow clouding them too, their bodies winding and whirling in a periwinkle haze. Joel’s skin feels humid and suffocated beneath the clinging fabric of his flannel shirt; the glass of Jack Daniels he’d spent the last ten minutes nursing only abets the formation of dew trickling down his neck and spine. The only thing keeping him cool is the wet curls he slicked back sitting at the base of his skull, providing a momentary chill with any slight breeze. He feels claustrophobic, displaced; like his presence was altogether a clumsy wedge into somewhere he didn’t quite belong. 

Nothing another glass of whiskey couldn’t fix.

Joel excuses himself from the group without much notice. The boys are hovering over a meaty stack of ones, attempting to divvy up the bills in even increments without having to count them out individually. He strides across the room with a languid ease, scanning the room and the scattered clusters of men, appeasing his unconscious instinct to confirm safety wherever he is—and to keep tabs on the people he should keep Tommy away from. He stops short for a moment, palming his pocket to confirm his wallet and keys haven’t left his side.

��Pardon me, honey.” 

A soft, seductive drawl takes him by surprise as a hand on his lower back guides him inches to the left. It takes a moment for his vision to focus, the crisp snap of his neck to follow the voice leaving a slight dizziness in its recoil, the trailing scent of cinnamon and honey wafting beneath his nose. 

When he finally sees you, actually sees you, Joel finds himself powerless to avert his gaze. Your body is awash with exquisite peaks and valleys, velvet curves clad only by precarious strings and swatches of fabric covering mere inches of glistening skin. The clack of your heels leaves him hypnotized as you leave him in your wake. His jaw slackens and his lungs become paralyzed as he witnesses the way your body moves like water with every step; like the current that flows across the edges of your figure, rippling as you step onto the stage and coil yourself around the silver pole.

Good god.

The bones in Joel’s knees suddenly turn gelatinous, a huff of air escaping his mouth as he stumbles backward into the bar, bracing himself with flat palms against the polished marble. He steadies himself, blinking out the sting beneath his lids, trying to moisten the dryness in his eyes—a consequence of his bulging stare.

A soft giggle lilts from behind him, piercing through his trance and hammering his conscience back into the earth. Joel turns to the source to find the bartender, shaking her head with laughter as she drags the rim of a glass through a bowl of salt.

“Don’t worry, ain’t the first time I’ve seen a man nearly lose his footin’ around Paloma,” she jeers, a smirk threatening the corners of her mouth. “She’s really somethin’, that girl.”

Joel nods, clears his throat, and swallows the saliva that pools at the back of his tongue. Somethin’ was an understatement, an insult to the ethereal vision twirling before him. The fog and dusky lighting prevents him from capturing a defined image of your face, only catching glimpses of soft cheeks and plush lips as you spin and float with ease, but he’s certain you’re breathtaking.

“You want another Jack?” the bartender offers, pouring out a picture-perfect margarita, the lime hue nearly fluorescent in the lowlight.

Joel grunts in affirmation, his eyes not once straying from your direction.

“Not much of a talker, are ya?” she ribs, chuckling as she reaches for the whiskey.

“Sorry, long day,” Joel winces, suddenly painfully aware of how rude he’s been. “Is she, uh, new ‘round here?” 

“Who, Paloma? Been ‘round for about… six months or so? She’s done real well for herself, honestly blew all us away with how much she was able t’make from the jump.”

He bites down on the tip of his tongue, a sharp, electrifying pain searing through his nerves. It does nothing to fracture the beguiling spell you’ve somehow cast upon him, and Joel finds himself staring again, studying your every move, knowing nothing but need.

“Do you know if she… when she’s done here? Her shift, I mean.”

The bartender laughs exuberantly, a wide smile revealing a far-too-pristine row of pearly veneers that nearly glow under the lilac beams.

“Well, I don’t think I can tell you that, sugar,” she coos, sliding Joel’s drink across the space between them. “But you can ask her yourself! I promise, she don’t bite. Sweet as honey, that one.”

Honey. 

It still lingers in the air, thick and cloying in a way that grips like a hand wrapped around his throat, like a demanding croon singing over and over: Eyes on me. He can taste it too, a whisper of it stagnant on the back of his tongue, a lurking craving impatiently waiting to be satiated.

Joel thanks her in a low gravel, and strides back towards his table with newfound urgency nipping at his heels. He arrives at the booth with no reaction from the boys, the party too enveloped in counting their stack to be stirred by his presence. It’s only when Joel clears his throat, the force of it deep and thunderous, that the men take any notice.

“I’m gonna need me some of those.”

.   .   .   .   .

You didn’t expect the club to be busy tonight. 

In fact, you practically relied on Wednesdays being the slowest day of the week. You often used the opportunity to practice new routines, test out new outfits, try something different with your makeup; pretty much anything you didn’t particularly prefer for a crowded audience to behold.

Tonight you find yourself testing the limits of a string-bikini-esque number, the laces doubled around your torso and triple-knotted in the hope of extra security, and the triangular fabric cutouts stuck down to the curve of your breasts with double-sided tape. You climb the pole with ease, perfectly-formed calluses on your palms and heels aiding you with improved grip. 

It took just a month of pole classes for you to develop an addiction to the burn of sleek metal sliding across your skin. Something about the sting of it, alongside the quiver of your core, the aching clench of your thighs; it was a remarkable blend of pain that spilled through you like pleasure. It soon became an unholy replacement for Sunday worship—melding yourself around the pole; bathing in the sweltering beams from the spotlights; inhaling the musky scent of crumpled bills lying at your feet. It was entirely meditative, and you’d found a sort of spiritual enlightenment amongst it all.

You let your head fall back as the rod swings you around in tight circles. Normally you let your eyes close when you spin, but tonight you feel called to the fuzzy warmth that pools behind your brows when you get good and dizzy. Your surroundings bleed and curve like an Expressionist painting, and an unmoving figure lurks amongst the brush strokes, appearing and disappearing and blending until it’s a constant image: a broad, stoic, masculine body, melting into everything you can see.

The invasion peeves you. Sure, you know you should be pleased that a customer is watching, clearly interested and coming closer, but for Christ’s sake, you’ve been out for less than five minutes. At 6pm. On a Wednesday.

You carefully bring your body to a halt, slowly inching down the pole until your shoes meet the hardwood. Your vision lags far behind you, skipping like a scratched disc, and it’s enough to nearly knock you from your feet. A lightness billows through your blood and tries to whisk you away, but you sink against it, sitting on your heels and fastening your grip on the cold steel.

Lines begin to gain their sharpness again, and the figure in your peripheral starts to look less and less like a Van Gogh portrait. The man’s face is still muddled, dimly-lit and shrouded by the bill of a baseball cap. You smile at him on instinct, and you notice his chest jerk, like he was entirely unaware that he too was being observed; like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

You also can’t help but notice how broad he is, even from this distance. The plaid lines of his button-up sprawl across his chest, his arms, his waist, and though the shirt clearly isn’t skin-tight, you can tell the expanse of him fills it out with ease. With a slight tilt of your head you motion for him to come closer, and your balance finally stills enough for you to trust your feet again.

The man strides across the room with a glimmer of urgency—not fast per se, but with a spirited buoyancy hot beneath his heels. He parks himself at the table nearest to you, pulling the chair from its nestled nook under the table, and makes himself comfortable, splaying his knees and crossing his arms tightly atop his chest.

God, he’s big.

“Haven’t seen you ‘round here before,” you lilt, descending the stairs from the platform and taking a seat on the table in front of him.

One of his hands peeks from beneath the sleeve of his flannel. It looks gruff, firm, and tightly grasps a palmful of ones, and the sheer width of his fingers make the bills look like Monopoly money. 

“Ain’t really been ‘round here before,” he shrugs, his voice exactly as deep as you expected, and steeped in what you immediately recognize as a born and raised Texan.

His eyes are noticeably shifty, ping-ponging between the floor, the stage, your shoes, his watch; anywhere that isn’t your gaze. The majority of his face is still shaded by his cap, and even this close his features remain more vague than you’d like them to be. You realize he must be new to this, and you’ve heard that drawl before; the drawl of a man who was raised to mind his manners.

You don’t make him ask.

“You want a dance, baby?”

You graze your fingers over his, and have to bite down on a grin when his chest hitches sharply against the row of buttons resting over his sternum.

“I… um… no, thank you sweetheart—”

“What’s your name?”

He clears his throat with a stifled, nervous cough.

“Joel,” he blurts, a sober assuredness possessing his voice. “Joel Miller.”

He finally meets your gaze, just as a whirling spotlight dances over his face. A split second of illumination reveals a whiskey-brown stare, dripping with warmth, glinting with a sedated hunger. You bite down on the flesh of your cheek and extend your hand to shake his.

“Paloma,” you croak, imitating his baritone husk, pausing to repeat his cadence. “Paloma Blue.”

A dimple appears amongst a veil of brown scruff, the faint edges of a charming smile peeking through the shadow from his hat. His shoulders remain rigid, hiked with an invisible thread tugging them toward the ceiling.

You really can’t read him.

“Can I do somethin’ for you, honey? You seem tense,” you question.

“I was… I was wonderin’ if you might be interested in lettin’ me buy you a drink. When you’re done workin’, f’course. Wouldn’t wanna get you in any kinda trouble.”

You find it impossible not to let out a chuckle. It’s not the first time you’ve sent a man into a flustered mess of shifting-eyes and stuttering words, though that would usually come after he got too bold and you needed to put him in his place. Joel Miller doesn’t look like those men; college-aged hooligans or machismo cowboys that are all bark and no bite. He doesn’t look like a man who gets nervous; yet here he is, fidgeting profusely with his watch, and you’re quite relieved he’s sitting down.

“Well, ain’t you a sweet one…” you drawl, half-teasing despite the truth to the statement. “I’m s’posed to work ‘til close tonight, but if you can convince my boss to let me leave early, I’m all yours.”

You don’t miss the swell of Joel’s pupils at your affirmation, a look of determination you had yet to witness on the man. The chances of getting out of your shift tonight are next to none, considering there’s merely three of you working the floor and a new hoard of howling youngsters just came tumbling through the entrance.

You point out your boss behind the bar and Joel follows with his gaze, nodding and starting towards her without a word.

You’re a bit shocked at his immediate action; not to mention the lack of the typical prying you’ve accepted as routine. He’s been extraordinarily polite; a man of few words but refreshingly direct despite the subtle shake in his voice, and the honesty alone makes your cheeks flush.

You’re far more used to taking control and providing entertainment for the countless men that frequent the club, always catering to their needs first and foremost, smothering them with flattery—or degradation, if you notice a well-timed “good boy” summons a bigger bill from their pockets. It’s work, but it’s undoubtedly started to bleed into your personal life. The lines between you and your Paloma persona have blurred these days, making you unsure of what you’re supposed to want and what you actually want. You find yourself lost in thought, gazing at the black and white tile as your legs swing underneath you, until the interruption of two dirty boots break your trance.

“Boss said you’re good to go. F’you still want to.”

How the hell did he manage that?

Your jaw hangs slightly in shock, racking your brain to make sense of what he may have done to convince her. You can’t help but be impressed by his vigor, by all of it, and a smile lifts your cheeks to the heavens as you recognize the feeling stirring in your tummy, a feeling that has laid dormant for far too long. You want him.

“I’ll go get my stuff, just hang tight.”

.   .   .   .   .

Joel stands by the exit of the club, waiting for you to grab your things. He hadn’t thought a damn thing through before he asked you out, and his voice of reason was nowhere to be found when he forked over 200 bucks to the club owner to get you out of working for the rest of the night. Any semblance of forethought vanished when he saw you, all sashayed hips and strut and so undeniably, deliciously Texan. And your face—oh—once he saw that sweet face of yours… he didn’t stand a fucking chance.

It occurs to him that he doesn’t know where exactly he should take you to get a drink. Should he have asked you to dinner instead? The last thing he wants is you to think is that he’s trying to buy you for the night, or that anything is required of you just because he got you out of work. He just wants to know you, be near you, bask in your presence. He wants to treat you like a gentleman, like he was raised to, because he’s damn sure the kind of men who wind up at that club don’t give a damn about chivalry.

You emerge from the narrow hallway leading towards the exit, clad in gray sweatpants and a flowy white tee that somehow still clings to the most feminine parts of your figure. You shoot him a beaming smile, a playful glint in your eyes as you haul a small duffel bag over your shoulder.

“You’re not takin’ me anywhere too fancy I hope,” you snicker.

Joel offers one hand to hold your bag and swings the door ajar with the other, holding it for you as you pass through. The trail of your perfume—that soft, sugary scent—leaves his eyes rolling into the back of his head as he tightens his grip on the doorframe.

“You need somethin’ to eat? We could get some supper,” he suggests, offering his arm to you.

“Yeah, actually, I usually wait ‘til after my shift, considerin’ work ain’t too far off from a non-stop Tilt-A-Whirl ride. Y’get used to it after a while, but—”

“Better safe than sorry, I bet.”

You look up at him and nod with a half-grin, your eyes sparkling with amusement.

With just a single look, Joel’s stomach flutters and dick twitches at the sight of you. The glow of your face beneath the warmth of the streetlight; your soft features and the intensity of your persistent gaze is beyond mesmerizing. You’re pretty, the epitome of it, all batting lashes and pillowy lips; the very definition of divine feminine. You’re the spitting image of the hazy being that appears behind his eyelids when he touches himself and lets his mind wander; the body he craves to wake up tangled with every morning. 

He follows you to the passenger’s side of the car and opens the door for you without a thought, leaning in to his tendencies and muscle memory. You hum a sweet thank you as he extends his arm to help you into his elevated truck, but you barely need the support, your strong legs lifting you into the height of the car with ease. 

As Joel turns the key in the ignition, the scream of the roaring engine sends a full body cringe snaking down his spine.

“Sorry, uh, she’s a lil’ noisy,” he winces with an apologetic brow. “She’s fine, runs great, just—”

“A bit of a talker?” you blurt.

He smiles diffidently and nods. You’re better with words than he is, and he finds himself thankful for that—lord knows he needs all the help he can get in your presence.

Joel flicks on the radio, an old Willie Nelson tune lilting from the rear speakers. You let out a hearty grunt of approval.

“Haven’t heard this one in forever,” you slurred. “Practically grew up on this music. ‘M sure you did too, I can hear it in that drawl f’yours.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as he reaches his arm around your seat, crooking his head back as he shifts the truck into reverse. 

“That bad, huh?”

“Not bad! Just strong. Just how I like it, really,” you admit, pulling your lip between your teeth, doe-eyed and eager as you catch his gaze.

God, he’s absolutely fucked.

He dials up the volume as he clears his throat and starts down the jagged road. You relax into your seat, curling one of your feet up to tuck beneath your thigh as you hum along to the radio.

He knows exactly where to take you.

.   .   .   .   .

A twenty minute car ride with Joel revealed that he wanted to know as much as he could about you. He asked question after question, about your life, your hobbies, your family, and not one thing about your job, which was honestly quite refreshing. Not that you had any shame about your occupation, but most men were more fascinated about what it was like to be Paloma, and most importantly what it could mean for them at the end of the evening. Not Joel, though. It seemed as though he was almost afraid to breach the subject; out of politeness or avoidance, you weren’t sure. You crossed your fingers that it was the former.

You arrive at a little shack of a restaurant, some sort of fusion between a diner and a sports bar. It looks as though it should be empty, the exterior of it run down in a way that makes it appear frozen in time, but it isn’t. Clusters of customers sit in long-stretched booths that fill the width of the windows and the entrance is shrouded with people; some smoking, some chatting, and some seemingly waiting to get in. You scan the crowd and find that everyone visible to you appears quite innately blue collar, down to the sea of Levi’s Jeans and scuffed up boots, extra-illuminated by the cheap plastic solar lights haphazardly stuck into narrow beds of mulch.

Joel hops down from the truck before you can even say a word, and with a quick shuffle he’s arrived at the passenger door. You have to laugh at the absurdity of it, how it seems he has—cover to cover— studied a textbook of how to be a perfect gentleman. Alongside the frequency of nerves you can sense radiating from beneath his skin, you know you need to get a drink in him. 

He offers his arm as you hop down onto the pavement and swiftly rests his palm on your lower back, guiding you through the crowd of patrons with ease. A cheap, crackling doorbell sound chimes as you pass through the doorway. The hostess offers a wide and toothy smile, hollering to announce Joel's arrival, by name, towards the kitchen. She appears surprised but delighted to see him, making a point to let him know how much she has missed him with a cringeworthy attempt at a bit too much physical contact. She asks about a Sarah, and your stomach tightens with concern—you hope to god she's anything but a wife. He requests a booth, a cozy, curved table in the shaded, sheltered corner of the restaurant, and the staff oblige him immediately, one waitress clearing the tabletop of dishes and the other wiping the surface down in one clean swipe.

“Hope this is ok,” Joel says. “You’re definitely not the only one wearing sweatpants in here, if it makes you feel at ease.”

“It’s good, seems perfect,” you slip the innermost part of your bottom beneath your teeth and let your eyes do the smiling. “They sure are treatin’ you like royalty in here.”

Joel seems to relax a bit, his spine softening into the back of the cushion and legs splaying wide. He isn’t looking at you as you observe him; his eyes dart around and he musters a casual wave to anyone visibly moved by his presence. The constant, worried scrunch of his brow smooths out for a moment, just as the beams of passing headlights rake over his features, and you finally realize:

He’s fucking gorgeous.

You could see him before, sure, but you didn’t actually see him, not with the lingering luminescence of the warm white that shines through the outspread window behind you. He was steeped in shadow, but now he’s colored in, every detail and curvature entirely yours to behold.

The bend of his nose draws your attention first, strong and angular, demanding your eyes pay it mind. Your gaze follows a natural map, a sporadic trail of sun spots that dance across his cheek, conspicuous evidence of long days working outside in the relentless Austin heat. A few silver hairs are sprinkled amongst his umber scruff; a well-kempt beard and mustache sits just above the soft curve of his lips, flushed with ruddy hue.

He’s gorgeous, plain and simple. 

The waitress brings Joel a whiskey before even saying hello. Joel asks what you would like, calls you sweetheart in a low, thick growl. You order a vodka cran and try to ignore the hostess currently staring a hole into the side of your head. 

“You gonna tell me why they treat you like royalty ‘round here?” you tease.

“Not royalty—” he cuts himself off with a chuckle and a shake of his head. “They just ain’t seen me in a while. Used to bring my little girl here for breakfast every Sunday.”

“Ah,” you release with a sigh, the ball of tension sitting in your chest following behind. “Sarah?”

“Mhm,” he hums.

“Was worried she might be a wife for a second there.”

“Oh, no, I- I’m not… I wouldn’t…”

“S’alright. I’ll admit though, I’m real glad she ain’t.”

Joel’s face turns a soft shade of pink and a whisper of a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. His eyes flicker, lingering on your lips, a flame dancing behind his pupils, before meeting your gaze again. You can’t control the smile that possesses your face, nor the simmering heat that blankets your chest, and you can’t recall that last time a man made you feel like this. 

Every facet of Joel’s appearance exudes an air of dominance. He dresses much like the hordes of men who approach you with their usual excessive bravado and unwarranted sense of ownership over your body, but he seems to act entirely the opposite. He seems apprehensive, wary, like he’s trying desperately to be the right kind of man around you, to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.

You decide to try what Joel orders, some sort of off-menu special order the waitress jokingly calls “The Miller Deluxe”. It isn’t long before you finish your drink, and another appears before you can even ask. You inquire more about Joel’s daughter, his life, his work; returning the line of questioning he surveyed you with in the passenger’s seat of the truck, and you find yourself mirroring his smile as he tells you all about Sarah. He rambles off a brief explanation of his business and Tommy; you immediately know who he is, a somewhat troublesome regular visitor at the club. Joel apologizes for Tommy before you even say a word about him, and your food arrives at the table before you can explain that he’s more of an occasional nuisance than anything else.

The whiskey seems to unwind the tension in Joel’s stature, and words begin to flow with much more ease than they did before you arrived. A natural, charismatic charm seeps through, sticky sweet, until it’s all but enveloped his demeanor, blanketing his palpable apprehension with an earnest geniality that radiates warmth like a fireplace. It washes over you, clinging to every inch of your skin, seeping through to your veins and igniting a flame low in your belly, a flickering heat that demands to be noticed.

You’re fairly certain he won’t be the one to cut through the guarded distance between you. Despite the unmistakable hunger in his eyes, he remains heedful, taking extra care to keep his hand from grazing yours as he reaches for the chip basket and keeping his body at least a foot away from yours. You want—desperately want—to shatter the glass partition he seems to have placed between you, to destroy the self-imposed barrier keeping his temptation at bay.

You start by sliding closer, closing the gap between your knees until they touch. That gets his attention, but he doesn’t retreat, he only meets your eyes with a look of inquiry, curiosity, and a hint of apprehension. You flash him your most doe-eyed, encouraging smile, sanctioning the proximity of your bodies, silently divulging that you want this, that you like him, that he can finally release the imprisoned breath he’s been holding beneath his sternum since he uttered his very first words to you. 

Joel swings an arm around your shoulder, resting against the wooden panel atop the booth seat, leaving a few inches between your skin and the sleeve of his flannel. He doesn’t have to tell you a thing; you oblige him immediately, leaning your shoulders back and relaxing into his forearm. You fit seamlessly into the crook of his elbow, and the warmth emanating from his body makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand at attention.                       

The second vodka cran—the one that you nearly shotgunned—possesses your will for a split-second and you find yourself reaching for his face, whisping the pad of your thumb across his wiry scruff. Despite the rough tickle it leaves behind, you immediately crave the sensation elsewhere, certain that the drag of it across a more delicate area might just feel like heaven.

“Can I be honest?” you whisper in a low lilt, tracing the brim of his cap with lazy fingers.

Joel nods with a thick swallow, his Adam's apple jumping almost comically in his throat.

“Yeah, f’course,” he responds with a strained attempt at nonchalance.

“I don’t like this hat.”

You grip the bill of the hat, wiggling it back and forth playfully. Your actions are outrunning your thoughts by a mile now, and you’re unable to keep your hands from wandering towards Joel’s magnetism. His face transforms into a bewildered, amused grin, one brow furrowed and the other cocked toward the ceiling. 

“Mm,” he hums, a low, resonant sonance from the pit of his chest. “Why’s that?”

“I can’t see you,” you whine. “Can’t see that pretty face of yours, s’all hidden by a shadow.”

“I, um—” he whisks the hat off, running his fingers through a slicked mountain of curls. “My hair’s still wet.”

Christ. The light bathes his face, every detail revealing itself to you in absolute glory. He’s fucking beautiful, his features demanding of your undivided attention, an impossible balance between striking and soft. The flicker of need at the base of your core spreads at the speed of a wildfire, setting you ablaze with a hunger you can no longer ignore.

“Joel?”

His name spills from your throat, sliding off your tongue like a siren’s nectar. Your fingers find their way to his mane, weaving through the strands with a gentle tug. His inhale catches in his lungs, the air held prisoner as your nails trace along his temple and jaw. His eyes finally meet yours as the pad of your thumb drags across his lower lip, and it’s only then that you will his breath to freedom, a stuttering exhale pulsing with anticipation.

“I think we should get the check.”

A momentary shock quickly turns to realization, and with widened eyes and a stifled smirk he nods, wasting no time to flag down the waiter and ask for the bill. Neither of you speak; you find it almost impossible to do so, your gaze spellbound to the curve of muscle and veins that lay beneath his collar, and you swear you can see his pulse jumping beneath his skin.

You want nothing more than to feel the rush of it beneath your tongue.

Joel offers his arm to help you out of the booth, his flannel rolled to his elbows, exposing his thick and freckled forearms and a modest watch strapped to his wrist. He wastes no time whisking you towards the door, his palm flat against your lower back, waving a few rushed goodbyes to the folks he chatted with on the way in. You can feel his heat, his fervor, singeing your skin through your shirt, his fingers curled into the soft skin just above your ass. He holds the door for you as you lock eyes; you’re met with primitive opacity in his gaze, the desperation of it surging straight to your cunt.

You grasp his hand, and book it towards his truck, counting down the seconds before you lose control.

.   .   .   .   .

Joel hums with surprise as you twist the neck of his flannel into your fist, tugging him into you and colliding your lips savagely with his.

Fuck, you taste better than he could’ve possibly imagined.

He didn’t intend for the evening to end like this. In fact, he almost wanted to avoid it, wanted to take you out with the crystal-clear message of no expectation whatsoever. But he’s just a man after all, and the second your eyes started talking and hands started wandering, he knew there was no way he could resist giving you what you wanted.

His hands find their way to your hips with magnetic force, slipping under the hem of your shirt with ease and grasping at the softness that lies beneath the fabric. The strength of his hands is enough to push you flat against the passenger door as he tilts your pelvis towards him, easing your knees apart with an effortless nudge of his leg. 

You gasp into his mouth as he pulls you onto his thigh, grinding you into the thick denim. The sound of you, breathless and needy, stirs a ravenousness in his chest that Joel had thought was long laid to rest, an avidity that only you have managed to awaken. You, in all your glory, drenched in honey and cream, calling out to him to come and taste.

As he bucks your hips a second time, you whine, your hands shooting up and tangling in his hair. You tug his head back, distancing his lips from yours, and he can’t help but groan at the loss of contact. Your gaze bears into his eyes with a newfound ferocity, a determination that leaves him straining against the confines of his jeans.

“You gonna give me what I need, Joel Miller?” you speak against his mouth in a hush.

Goosebumps litter the better part of his neck and chest as his eyes struggle to keep you in focus. The sting of pain at the back of his scalp only swells his desire, a sensation so staggering that he finds his breath caught, full and tight in his lungs, escaping only through labored, silent sighs.

“M’gonna give you whatever you need baby, whatever you want,” Joel pants, slurring his words against your gluttonous smirk. 

Suddenly you’re diving beneath his jaw, dragging the heat of your mouth across the pattern he knows follows a prominent vein in his neck. Fuck, it feels euphoric, his pulse jumping against your tongue, every rush of blood to and fro delivering another wave of want straight to his cock. He gives in, letting his eyes roll back into his skull, no longer able to maintain any semblance of insouciance as he’s damn near collapsing under your spell. He can’t recall the last time he’d been touched like this. On the rare occasion he’d bring a woman home he found himself falling into routine, taking control because that’s what he sensed she would expect, fulfilling some sense of duty as a man that he never quite understood. He’d always felt a sort of magnetism toward assured women, but somehow they were never the ones who ended up in his bed, only wavering ladies who looked to him wide-eyed, waiting for instruction.

He’s quite sure he’ll never go back.

Joel drags your hips against him once again, this time increasing the friction, bearing you down on his thigh enough to feel the damp spot that’s pooled between your legs. You yelp, biting into his neck, the sting of your canines against his skin bordering on vampiric. Joel hisses, the pain once again blossoming into some sort of pleasure, twitching and crying from the head of him. 

“Babydoll—shit—” he curses, stunned as you drag your lower teeth towards his ear, undoubtedly leaving behind a sketch of crimson. “You wanna get in the truck baby? Plenty’a room in the backseat.”

You hum in agreement, your lips wrapping around his earlobe, flicking it against your tongue before giving it a feeble nip. Joel fumbles in his pocket until he manages to unlock the door with his key, wasting no time as he pulls you tight to his chest, swinging the door ajar before offering a hand to help you inside. Despite his lust-stricken haze, his gentlemanly charm seems to be beaten into the very fiber of his being. You step into the car, gracing him with a personal view of the perfect splay of your hips and ass, only revving his hunger as he follows suit.

.   .   .   .   .

You don’t allow Joel but a second before you’re caging him in between your legs, straddling his thighs against the backseat of his truck. The rough grip of his hands on your hips, grinding you down on his knee, kneading into your curves; it was enough to set you entirely ablaze. No more matchstick flickering at the pit of your stomach, every cell in your body is pulsing with need, pleading for release by the hands of Joel Miller.

You can’t help but glide with a sharp rock of your hips across his lap, desperate to return some friction to the pounding ache within your walls. Your eyes lock with his as your clothed cunt skims the sizable tent of his jeans, observing him feverishly as he groans at the sensation.

“Fuck—” he grunts, his chest heaving as you slowly drag away again. “Easy, easy baby…”

His hands find the valley of your waist with ease, slowing your pace to an achingly languid speed. With each brush of your throbbing clit against the seam of your panties, another gush of slick floods from your core. It’s filthy, obscene, soaking all the way through the thick material of your sweatpants and onto Joel’s denim. You can’t even remember the last time you were this wet. It makes you burn that much more, the way his mere presence alone was enough to turn you into a sopping mess.

“Joel—” your palms cradle the curve of his jaw, holding him still to allow you to study him in the lowlight. 

He’s so fucking beautiful, positively mesmerizing, his pupils blown wide with a raptured stare, the sharp curve of his nose like something carved from ancient marble. The pad of your thumb snakes across the pout of his lower lip, pressing down until his jaw goes slack, parting his mouth with an exhale.

Joel seems to lose himself in your gaze, his eyes not once leaving yours as you slip your thumb between his teeth and force him even wider, applying pressure to the tip of his tongue and feeling the muscle flex against your fingertips. You need his mouth, need it anywhere and everywhere and right fucking there, you need him to clean up this mess he’s made of you.

“You know how gorgeous you are, sugar?” you hum, spreading the slick from his tongue across his lower lip and down his chin. “You know I don’t do this for just anybody, right?”

“You’re the gorgeous one, baby, so goddamn gorgeous,” Joel pants, snaking his hands higher, up the bend of your waist until his palms reach the yielding skin that cloaks your ribcage. His thumbs trace the band of your bra; smooth, fluid motions that send chills crawling up your spine. “So beautiful I reckon’ it might jus’ kill me.”

You can’t help but smile at his sweetness, his accent reduced to a slurry of words, appearing to be drunk on your aura. It seems you’ve managed to reduce him down to his very core, the heat from your body melting through the hardened layers of gruff masculinity to reveal an almost desperate eagerness to please, a yearning to relinquish control.

“I can’t have you dyin’ on me, honeypie,” you allow your hands to wander, your fingertips finding their way to the uppermost button of his shirt. “I got far too many plans for that pretty little mouth of yours.”

You lean down to kiss him once again, your thumbs making quick work of the trail of remaining buttons. Your lips move sloppily against each other, the both of you unable to stifle your muffled moans, swallowing each other’s pleasure as your tongues waltz in the in-between.

“Tell me what to do, baby,” Joel croons against your cheek. “Fuck, want you s’bad, jus’ wanna make you feel good.”

Your fingers nestle into the damp mess of curls at the back of his skull. With an innocuous little tug, you guide his lips to the expanse of bare skin on your chest, his mouth settling at the heart of your sternum. You don’t even have to ask, his tongue darting past his lips, savoring the taste of you with a deliberate torpor. The graze of his scruff against your thumping heart feels better than you could have possibly imagined, sharp yet soft, ticklish enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You blanket the backs of his hands, your fingers settling in the spaces between his, maneuvering the wide expanse of his palms to splay across your breasts. You can’t believe the sheer size of his hands, enveloping your tits entirely, calluses harsh against the sensitive peaks veiled beneath the mesh of your bra. 

“Touch me here,” you sigh, unable to keep yourself rocking slowly against his thigh. “Taste me. Show me how bad you want me, pretty boy.”

Something akin to a growl claws from his throat, and you gasp as his nails hook around the seam of your bra, exposing the peaks of your breasts with a relentless tug. He wastes no time, pulling your nipple into his mouth, his tongue flicking at the sensitive bud mercilessly.

“Fuck, oh fuck, that’s good baby,” you bear down into his thigh as his thumb finds your other nipple, rolling it between his forefinger. Your core surges with another wave of need, crying for attention, spilling her tears from your center and dampening the denim-clad thigh beneath her. “I need— shit— I need you lower, Joel.”

In your hungered haze, you push Joel flat against the seat of the truck, his eyes wide and wild as you climb atop him, his chest hiking and falling against your bare tits. He looks downright enraptured, licking his lips like a kid in a goddamn candy shop, fiending for a sugar high.

“You wanna taste me, sugar plum? You gon’ let me feed you?”

“Christ—” Joel curses, his hands wandering along your torso, lifting your shirt above your head and flinging it across the dash. He unclasps your bra with his free hand, sending it flying the opposite direction. “Please darlin’, need’ta taste you.”

You manage to kick off your sweats while Joel holds you steady by the hips, his eager words somehow igniting even more fervor in your movements. His thumbs knead into the give of your lower tummy, meandering beneath the waistband of your panties and twisting the elastic around his knuckles, slack-jawed and nearly possessed by the sight of your bare curves alone.  

Joel gives you a nod, cupping your ass to ease you forward as your knees find a home adjacent to his ears. He pets along the length of your thighs, damn near drooling at the sight between them.

“Don’t hold back on me now,” Joel slips a finger beneath the seam of black lace, teasing against the soft damp skin closest to where you need him the most. “M’a big boy, can handle myself.”

You gasp as he shoves the soaked cloth covering your cunt to the side, brushing your desperate clit with his knuckle as he does so. You’re bare to him now, surely glistening and ripe and ready to be devoured.

“Don’t doubt it, cowboy,” you croon, raking a hand through his curls before lowering yourself onto his eager mouth.

A rocket of white-hot pleasure shoots straight through you as Joel latches on to your clit, nestling the bud between his lips. The searing sensation is enough to make your hips twitch forward, sending your hands to scramble for purchase to keep you upright. You can’t even make a sound; the release of euphoria coursing through you stealing the breath from your lungs, leaving you to choke on empty inhales until Joel finally gives your bud a moment of reprieve.

His tongue dips into the pool of your center, sending another swell of nectar from your core, coating his scruff in sweet slick. You hear him groan, muffled between your thighs, as his arms lock around your hips and push you down even further. 

“Fuck, Joel—” you hiss, trying to keep yourself from grinding against the sharp curve of his nose, pulling yourself away slightly.

You swear you hear a hum of disapproval from between your legs as Joel chases you with his mouth, his grip tightening and his fingers digging mercilessly into the give of your thighs. His tongue is deep, drinking straight from the source of your arousal as his arms begin to rock you against his face, his nose grazing against your clit with an impossible precision; sending wave after wave of pleasure coiling up your spine. It seems dangerous, the way he’s devouring you without a single breath, but he holds you steady, bearing the weight of you onto his mouth with no hesitation.

“Baby, shit sweetheart— you gotta breathe,” you manage a fistful of his hair, pulling him off you with considerable force. 

He looks thoroughly dazed; glassy irises and pink parted lips glistening with your dew, like a man who’s been given a taste but is nowhere near satiated. His chest swells and shallows rapidly beneath your ass, each breath bringing more color to his cheeks and a myriad of pearls forming across his hairline.

“Need more,” Joel pants, his fingers weaving around the lace stretched across your hips. “Need these gone, angel.”

You oblige him with a swiftness, pulling the garment to your knees, dismounting him to allow you to slip it past your ankles. His palms cup your ass and squeeze, his thumbs spreading you open to reveal even more of yourself to him. The stretch feels good, the sensitive muscles fluttering with the shock of the exposure, sticky and soaked from the steady drip seeping from your sex.

“So pretty…” he kneads into your pliable cheeks. “Can I taste it? Please sugar, need’ta taste all of you.”

God, his desperation is like a siren song, your desire burning hot and full in your throat. You hum with approval, mounting him once more but reverse this time, a wave of goosebumps skittering across your skin in anticipation. 

He starts gentler this time, licking a languid stripe from your taint to your tailbone. His tongue splays across your skin, wide and flat, making sure not to miss a single inch. A guttural moan escapes your lungs; an uninhibited response to the forgotten feeling of heat in that region, an entirely distinctive kind of pleasure that sends your eyes spinning to the back of your skull. Your nails dig crescents into the cushions your hands are so violently clinging to, your back arching, matching in a manner to match the little moons left behind by your fingers. 

Joel groans in response to your noises, biting at the supple flesh gathered in his hands, his hunger surely spurred by the sweet sounds of your euphoria. Like a switch, his mouth turns greedy again, lapping against your puckered skin with a ferocity that makes you cry out his name. He gives you no moment of respite, jerking your hips toward him and seizing your clit with his curved tongue and pulling you into him, his nose practically fucking your cunt.

“Ohhh, that’s…” you trail off, your eyes beginning to water from the sheer intensity of it. “Christ, you’re heaven.”

At that, Joel seems to lose control, seemingly possessed by a determination to make you meet God. His palms jerk your hips back and forth, your clit never once escaping the grasp of his lips, his nose delving into your pussy with reckless abandon. Pleasure ravages the whole of you in a frenzy, wave after wave surging in your belly until you’re all but crying, quivering as you white-knuckle the headrest holding you steady. Your orgasm topples through you, your vision blasting with light as your walls clamp again and again, squeezing the length of Joel’s nose buried in your cunt.

Joel doesn’t release your clit from his mouth until you’re yelping, twitching and gasping from overstimulation. His grip softens as you fly forward to your hands and knees, your chest heaving with exhaustion, your muscles bearing through the aftershocks of your release. His lips find the backs of your thighs, trailing sweet, slow kisses across the expanse of skin. They feel like praise, almost like he’s thanking you without words; a mellifluous tempo of graciousness that you had yet to experience from him. 

Part of you wants to linger in the divinity of this moment, but from your position you find yourself face to face with the bulging mass beneath his jeans. It looks painful, the outline of his shaft straining against thick denim and a sturdy zipper. You manage to unbutton the pants with your one free hand, slipping your palm beneath the waistband effortlessly. 

“Jesus, Joel,” you chuckle, astonished by the way his cock fills your palm, heavy and thicker than you would have ever anticipated. You begin to stroke him above his boxers, softly and slowly, swirling your fingertips across the head of him as you feel him groan beneath you, dampening your fingers with his weeping tip. “Lemme help you, sugar.”

Joel grunts out his approval, his palm splayed across your ass, seemingly as a means to ground himself to this mortal plane. The callused pads on his fingertips clutch you relentlessly as you free his dick from the confines of his clothes, holding the base of him steady as you glide the tip of your tongue across his glistening slit.

His hips jerk forward at the sudden contact, sending the length of him thrusting into your open mouth. You welcome him wholly, savoring the salty musk that coats your cheeks and the sting in your jaw as you stretch to accommodate him.

“Fucking—shit—” he growls, his breaths coming in short, shallow bursts. “C’mere, god damn—”

He tugs you back onto his open mouth, burying himself into you once more with a reignited ferocity, drinking the remnants of your orgasm. You yelp, your throat flexing around his tip as he flicks your overstimulated clit, the blend of pleasure and torment accosting your nervous system. 

It’s downright mean, the mercilessness of his tongue sending you straight into overdrive. Two can play at that game.

You take him as deep as you can manage, hollowing your cheeks as you swirl your tongue around his girth. He groans into your pussy, licking you faster, pulling your lips apart with his tongue and spreading them like angel wings. You can’t help but grin, the unspoken competition between you revving with intensity with each passing second, sending the both of you toppeling into bliss, warmth spilling down your throat as you cry out against his cock. Your thighs begin to shake as you reach your peak, tears beading in your eyes as you grasp tightly onto the flexing muscles in Joel’s legs. You choke on his name as his dick falls from your lips, bearing through surge after surge of euphoria. The pleasure is so consuming that it coils itself around your windpipe and renders you mute, holding you hostage until it’s had its way with you and leaving you dizzy when it finally relents.

Your arms give out on you and you collapse, exhaustion possessing you for a moment until your consciousness returns. You feel Joel pressing soft, sweet kisses to the back of your thigh, and suddenly become aware of the fact that you’re likely crushing his dick beneath your weight. You ease off of him slowly, your legs quivering with the effort, turning to face him as he shifts himself to a seated position and fastens his jeans.

The moonlight catches the sweat beading at his hairline; the glassy whites of his eyes and the dew on his lips beaming under the cool-toned hue. He looks like art, soft lines and harsh edges painted exactly where you’d want them; masculine shadows dancing across his skin as he shifts his weight, daring you to watch them move. You’ve never been so completely mesmerized by a man. Not once in your life has a man rendered you speechless, but here you are; irreversibly hypnotized and a stranger to the English language. You’re aware of yourself—painfully aware of your staggering silence and your gawkish gaze—and you shake your head, laughing at the unbelievable effect washing over you.

Joel’s cheeks turn ruddy, his irises shifting between you and his lap as he drapes his arm across his chest, giving his own shoulder a hearty squeeze. 

“What’s funny?” he breathes, insecurity creeping in his throat.

You come to suddenly; the stark realization that you’re probably making the man nervous is enough to break you from your trance. You crawl towards him, your fingertips grazing the underside of his jaw, tilting him towards you until your lips are merely an inch apart.

“Nothin’ sugar,” you hum, pressing your lips to his in a gentle kiss. “You’re just one hell of a cowboy.”

[sailoryooons]

Bust | KTH | (m)

☾ Pairing: Heistman!Taehyung x f. Reader

☾ Summary: Seeing a beautiful man in the middle of a bank robbery is unusual. Seeing him again afterward is even more unlikely… and yet not unlucky. 

☾ Word Count: 2,211

☾ Genre: Criminal, Smut, PWP

☾ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately. 

☾ Warnings: Bank robbery, light depiction of fear/anxiety, mentions of poor financial situations and money-related stress, recreational drinking, ‘good girl’ petname, explicit language, sexually explicit content including oral (f. receiving), biting, spanking, implied body worship kind of, a hint of overstim, bodily fluids and cum-eating. 

☾ Published: Monday, January 15, 2024

☾ A/N: This is an idea I randomly spoke about forever ago in a TikTok DM with @gimmethatagustd and this is strictly written to ruin their entire life tonight. I hope it works idk osifodigjoijg. 

☾ A/N 2: Tonight is number four for my 100 Drabble Challenge and I rolled number 24 for criminals! I hope you enjoy my depraved thoughts of Taehyung in that GOD DAMN SQUID GAME OUTFIT AT PTD. MY MASK KINK DOESN’T MAKE AN APPEARANCE BUT BE FUCKING SURE IT WILL ONE DAY. HE MADE ME INSANE. 

☾ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

Main Masterlist ☾ 100 Drabble Masterlist ☾ Ask ☾ Song Inspiration ☾

Sweat beads down your back, the trickle of it slower than the clock ticking above your head. Time seems to slow as you sit on a carpet that hasn’t been steam cleaned since the 80s and push yourself against the wall, eyes glued to the open vault. 

It had happened so fast and yet now, it’s like it can’t be over fast enough. Each second that ticks by feels like it takes a year. You cannot hear the chatter of the men inside the vault, but their harsh whispers raise goosebumps on your skin.

At least they haven’t noticed you. Not that you would do much, anyway. You have no intention of going over to push the alarm by the door, too afraid to alert the armed man who stands just outside the vault room on the other side, and far too underpaid to risk your life for a financial institution. 

For a moment, you wish it were you robbing the damned bank. Maybe you could pay off the student loans on your degree you’re not using and run the heating in your apartment during the winter instead of bundling up in several layers. 

Your momentary lapse of delusion passes as the men rush out of the vault, duffles in hand. They’re all dressed in red, black masks covering their faces with shapes on them. You’re vaguely aware that the costume belongs to some sort of show you saw online, but you can’t place them.

Perhaps you’ll watch it now.

“Hurry up,” one of the men barks toward the vault. There had been three inside, but only two came out. “Grab the last and let’s go. Two minutes left.”

They’re gone in an instant. Your eyes dart back to the vault where you can hear the last person inside. Glancing at the clock, you watch the seconds tick by. 

Ten seconds. Fifteen. Thirty. A minute. 

A man dressed in a red suit, hood pulled over his head comes out of the vault. As he slugs it shut with one arm, the bag on his shoulder droops, spilling the contents inside out onto the floor. Bands of cash fall out, thudding around his feet. He swears loudly and bends over, back slipping more to drop cash on the ground.

In his frustration, he crouches and tips the mask up a fraction, shielding his face from the camera above but not from you, huddled on the floor a few feet away.

Your heart skips. The thief is beautiful. Dark eyes focused on his task, a wide nose that fits perfectly on a symmetrical face with high cheekbones, a sharp jawline, and a pursed mouth. There’s a flush in his face from the heat, the tip of his nose an endearing shade of rose.

As if sensing your gaze, his head snaps up. You cower against the wall, realizing now that you’ve seen his face, you’ve doomed yourself. He stalls completely, gloved hand hovering over the cash, eyes boring into you. He arches a brow as if to ask you a question and you respond by shaking your head. 

The thief gives you a cocky grin, nodding before he finishes picking up the money and tossing it into the bag. He looks at you again, a smirk on full display before he winks and pulls the mask back down. “Good girl,” he purrs. “I like that.” 

Despite the situation, your stomach flips. He stands and rushes out, lingering by the door for a second longer to stare at you through the black mask. You can’t see his face, but you know you’ll never forget it, pretty as an angel, dangerous as a devil. 

When the group is gone, you wait in silence, only the pumping of your heart to keep you company. When the cops come and ply you with questions all you can do is shake your head repeatedly. 

I was too scared. I can’t remember. 

-

I was too scared. I can’t remember. 

It is the same thing you tell investigators for nearly two months. Just when you think they won’t keep asking what the man looked like, they finally drop it, handing over the robbery details to the FBI. They were at least a little less callous, caring a little less about how many questions you answered. 

If you had to guess, your unimpressive financial situation even after the robbery was significant enough that you weren’t involved with the robbery. 

It’s hard not to wish you had been. The straw in your mouth belongs to a drink that is far too expensive for you to not wince and it barely tastes like anything. At this rate, you know you won’t get a buzz. You’d love alcohol to take the edge off of the loud club music or loosen you up a bit, but you’re resigned to being sober for the rest of your friend's birthday. 

Around you is a gaggle of men and women, both people you know and new faces trying to pick up your friends. Anyone trying to hit on you has already decided you’re far too grumpy to waste time on, most of their backs facing you as people shout over the music about working in finance.

You wonder if they also rob banks in their spare time. It makes you grin, thinking fondly about the thief once again. You do that a lot.  

Sipping the drink, you glance at your phone. It’s been an hour since you arrived, but you’re wondering if enough time has reasonably passed to excuse yourself. Tomorrow is one of your few days off and you intend to spend it lounging on the couch watching TV instead of nursing a headache.

Someone slides into the space at the bar next to you. You don’t glance up at them, spinning your skinny cocktail straw absently as you stare at the melted ice of your Long Island iced tea. You hoped that once it melted it would turn into a second drink, but it hasn’t. Cold, bitter water it is, then. 

“Why the long face?” You frown at the vaguely familiar voice and glance up, freezing. 

Mr. Bank Robber looks down at you, cocking his head to the side with a wolfish grin. Your mouth pops open in surprise, leaning back a little as you drink him in. This close, he is far more beautiful than you remember, the edges and shadows of his face like a carefully painted fresco. Michelangelo could hardly be talented enough to capture this. 

“You,” you whisper, his grin spreading further. 

“Have we met?” he leans on the bar, dressed in all black. You eye the three-piece suit and the glinting diamonds in the cuff links. His clothes are far finer than anything anyone else is wearing and when you breathe in sharply, you smell a hint of woody cologne. His dark hair is slicked back and you catch the dainty hoop earrings in his lobes. You like the juxtaposition. 

“You know we have.” He tongues the inside of his cheek, turning his head to order with the bartender. His eyes stray to you, raising a brow. You supply him with your answer, “A long island.”

The bartender nods, momentarily stupefied by the heistman’s beauty before walking over to the POS, tapping the screen with the speed and aggression unique to bartenders. 

“Kind of a shitty club,” he mentions, looking around over the top of your head. Sweat clings to your lower back, your mouth growing dry as you watch colors splash on his face. “Your face is too pretty for a place like this.”

“Is that so?” 

“Mhmm.” The bartender puts the drinks on the counter and the man gives him cash, signaling to keep the change. The bartender raises a brow but says nothing, taking the money as he goes. “What’s your name?”

“You probably already know it.” He cocks his head to the side. “I’m sure you looked me up to see if I was a threat or watched me to see what I’d do.”

“You watch too many heist movies.”

“Maybe I watch just enough.”

He laughs at that and your lips twitch. It’s rich, making his face intimidating as he gives you a wide smile and shakes his head. “Alright, maybe you’re right.”

“Can I know your name?”

“For the right price.”

“My silence was a pretty petty, no?”

He bites his bottom lip, eyes dipping down and back up. You sip your drink, feeling a flush of warmth unfurl in your body, most notably between your legs. “I like you.”

“You have to like me. I know your secret.” 

Leaning forward, he ducks down so that he’s murmuring into your ear, hot breath ghosting your skin and making you tremble. “Want to hear more?” Your eyelids flutter as he waits, skin buzzing at his sudden proximity. You nod, feeling lightheaded. “My name is Taehyung. Want to get out of here?”

-

“Fuck,” Taehyung growls, hands skimming your bare sides. You can’t keep still under his gaze, hips squirming and fingers twisting in the sheets. His mouth is swollen and covered in your spit, his eyes blown as a large hand scrapes down to your thigh where he gives you a good slap. “I knew you were a good girl.”

A moan trips out of your mouth. Your thigh stings where he slapped you but he soothes it with the easy back-and-forth motion of his hand, his fingers digging into your flesh. Taehyung is a man starved, having littered your body with harsh kisses and bites, nearly breaking the skin.

You don’t care. You’re feverish for him, room spinning as you sprawl on his soft sheets in a hotel room that is far nicer than anything you’ve ever been in. You burn up like a star, core raging as Taehyung leans back down, pressing your naked thighs open for him as he sucks the skin of your chest between his teeth.

Everything aches. You want him so bad that you feel a cry come out of your mouth, lips wobbling as he laughs against your skin, sinking lower and lower, mouth loud as he sucks at your skin, tongue brushing over the sting of his teeth. 

“Does my good girl need her pussy eaten?” Taehyung rasps, looking up at you where he kneels between your legs. “Is that why you’re crying, hmm?”

Taehyung looks like something out of a thriller. His eyes are dark and hungry, his shadowed face becoming some sort of demon of lust. He’s what you would imagine a dark god. A bacchanal devil, a creature made for sin. 

All you can do is nod in response, feeling Taehyung’s vicious grip on your thighs as he presses you further, your muscles stretching. The strain feels good, as does the slow drip of your cunt down the curve of your ass mixed with his breath.

“So messy,” he murmurs, leaning forward and blowing cool air on your sticky folds. You squirm, the sensation sending you into overdrive as you twist your head to the side, eyes squeezed shut. He’s barely done a thing and you’re worked up more than you can ever recall. “Pretty.”

The slow, soft press of Taehyung’s tongue through your pussy makes you sag. It’s the relief that you so desperately needed, eyes rolling back as he circles your clit and drags his tongue back down. Taehyung is slow as he eats you out, tongue savoring every drop you can give him.

He taps your thigh, drawing your attention to him. He smirks as his tongue dips into your entrance, dragging back up to swirl around your throbbing bud a few times.

It’s impossible to tear your eyes away once you’re watching. Taehyung keeps his razor-sharp gaze on you, bringing his mouth fully to your cunt as he sucks eagerly. There is a rhythm to the curl of his tongue and the sharp suck of his lips, the wet smack of his ministrations driving you crazy.

“Mmm,” he hums, pressing his face in further. He’s messy with it, his jaw and nose covered in shiny slick. He laughs throatily when your back comes off the bed, thighs shaking. “Such a good pussy, just like I knew it would be.”

It feels too hot in the room. Your breaths are coming in too fast and there’s nothing you can do to catch it, Taehyung working you up to a frenzied, frenetic orgasm. You can feel your heartbeat in your ears, pumping so hard that you think you might need to stop.

And then you break.

Your body seizes as you come, a scream ripping through your mouth as Taehyung slurps hungrily at your mess, spurred by your release. You can’t stop shaking as he dives in, unwilling to stop until you’re babbling, nearly lifeless as the orgasm teeters into overstimulation. 

Only then does Taehyung pull his mouth away, trailing wet, cum-spit kisses on your inner thigh, nipping your thigh here and there. 

“Think you can take more?” he asks, slurring his words against your thigh. “Think you can take my cock.” 

You nod eagerly, hand letting go of the sheets and reaching toward him. “Yes.”

“Mmm good. I’m about to bust.” He bites your knee. “And I don’t mean a bank, this time.” 

[theonottsbxtch]

hiiii i loved ur CL fics sm I was wondering if you could write angst of LN inspired by the song Casual by chappel roan?😭 feel free to ignore this req though!!💕 love u

CASUAL | LN4

an: this is TOTALLY not based off personal experience and TOTALLY didn't make me cry writing it, i poured two years worth of bullshit into this i hope you enjoy it. one of these scenes actually happened try and guess which one AND TO MAKE IT WORST I WAS THE JOURNALIST AND HE WAS THE SPORTS PLAYER ANYWAY

wc: 10.2k

Present Time

The city lights blurred through the rain-streaked window of the sleek black cab, each droplet a reminder of how tonight had unravelled into something far too complicated. She sat back against the worn leather seat, her fingers unconsciously tapping the small notebook resting in her lap. She hadn’t written a word.

She shouldn’t have agreed to this interview. That much was clear now. But when her editor had mentioned his name, her chest had tightened. It had been a year—no, closer to two—since the last time she’d seen him in person. But when you cover Formula 1, you don’t escape the shadow of Lando Norris for long. Especially this season. And here she was, his shadow pulling her back in, as if those tangled months had never happened.

The cab slowed, pulling up to a luxury hotel that had never seemed like Lando’s style—until it did. The polished, impersonal grandeur, the kind that screamed you were too famous, too fast to belong anywhere at all. The driver mumbled something about rain, but she barely heard him. She was too busy staring at the figure that had just appeared through the entrance. Tall, broad-shouldered, and effortlessly leaning against a pillar, Lando’s expression was hard to read, even from here. His trademark black leather jacket hung off him like a second skin. She remembered that jacket. She remembered far too much.

He spotted her through the rain, those piercing green eyes locking onto hers with the same intensity that had once sent her world spinning. For a moment, time seemed to slip backward, to late nights and whispered arguments, to hotel rooms where neither of them had belonged.

She swallowed hard and pushed the car door open. She wasn’t here for that. This was just work now. An interview, a piece for tomorrow’s newspaper. Nothing more. Lando had made it clear a long time ago that they were nothing more.

She stepped out into the rain, the cool drops on her skin grounding her just enough. Lando didn’t move, but his gaze followed her like a predator’s, waiting to strike.

"Long time no see," he called out as she approached, his voice low and edged with something she couldn’t quite place. 

She flinched at his voice, directed towards her. Like it had all been some fleeting game, some disposable moment. The thing was, she had been the one who’d tried to keep it light, who’d pretended she didn’t care. But Lando had always seen through her. And now, she wondered if he could still see what a mess she was beneath the practised professionalism.

"Yeah," she forced a tight smile, trying to pretend that his voice didn’t sting. "Just work, Lando. Let’s keep it that way."

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “If you say so.” He said it like a challenge, like they both knew this wasn’t just a story for either of them.

She held her breath, her heart pounding far too hard for someone who had promised herself she was over this. Over him.

But deep down, she already knew the truth: there was nothing casual about Lando Norris. There never had been.

Two Years Ago

It had been a suffocatingly hot afternoon at the Austin Grand Prix. The sun hung heavy in the sky, the smell of burning rubber thick in the air as engines roared, and tension crackled around the circuit. But none of that had mattered when she was with Lando.

Just minutes before, she’d been in his driver’s room, his body tangled with hers, skin still warm from the way their desperation had collided. It had been fast, rough—like all the moments they’d stolen in between races. And for a fleeting second, she had believed that maybe this time was different. Maybe this time, he’d let her in.

But as she stepped into the paddock, adjusting her shirt and fixing her hair, she heard his voice, sharp and careless, coming from around the corner. She should have walked away. But curiosity, or maybe the sick need to hear, pulled her closer.

"I don't know, man," Lando’s laugh broke through the air like glass. "It’s casual. She’s just another girl. You know how it is."

She froze, her breath catching in her throat. She pressed herself against the wall, just out of sight, the words slicing through her. Just another girl.

She heard the other driver—was it Pierre? Or maybe Charles—murmur something back, his voice muffled, like it didn’t matter. Nothing anyone else said mattered after that.

All she could focus on was Lando. The way he spoke about her as if the last hour hadn’t happened. As if they hadn’t just been in his room, their bodies and hearts closer than they had ever dared admit out loud.

Her stomach twisted violently, shame and anger rising in her chest. How could he act like that? Like none of it meant anything? Like she didn’t mean anything?

She pushed herself off the wall, her heart hammering. She had to leave, get out of here before the flood of emotions swallowed her whole. But just as she turned the corner, she came face-to-face with someone who could unravel her even more.

Lando’s mother, Cisca Norris, stood in front of her, a soft smile breaking across her face the second she saw her .

“Darling, it’s been too long,” Cisca’s voice was warm, so achingly kind, as she pulled her into an embrace.

She wanted to scream, wanted to cry, wanted to run, but instead, she wrapped her arms around Cisca and tried not to let the tears fall. Cisca held her like she was more than just another journalist, more than just another girl passing through Lando’s life. The woman had always been good to her, always treated her with affection that felt too close to motherly.

She couldn’t break now. Not in front of Cisca.

“Yeah, it has,” she managed, her voice thin as she pulled back and forced a smile. Her chest was burning, her throat tight. Cisca’s eyes searched her face with that kind of intuition only mothers had. She must’ve known something was wrong, but she didn’t ask.

“You should come by later,” Cisca continued, still holding her hands in hers. “Dinner with the family. It’ll be nice.”

She nodded, her vision blurring as she made some excuse, something about needing to finish a story. Cisca finally released her, her touch lingering as if she could sense the storm brewing inside her.

The second Cisca was gone, her composure cracked. She made her way to the bathroom, her legs unsteady as the pain crashed over her in waves. She locked herself in a stall, her back pressed against the cold tile wall, and finally let out the breath she had been holding.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to erase the image of Lando’s smirk, the sound of his voice when he had so casually discarded her like she was nothing.

She had always known it couldn’t last, that Lando wasn’t the kind of man to settle down, least of all with someone like her. But hearing it like that—hearing him reduce everything they had been to something so meaningless—tore something inside her she hadn’t even known was fragile.

She thought of Cisca, of the warmth in her embrace, and it only made the ache worse. There was no pretending now, no saving face. The line between Lando’s world and her own was more jagged than ever. She didn’t belong, not here, not with him.

She had barely pieced herself together by the time she left the bathroom stall. Her reflection in the mirror looked foreign, hollow-eyed and shaky, her hands gripping the counter as if the world beneath her feet might give way. But she didn’t have time to fall apart. Not here. Not now.

The media pen was bustling with the usual post-qualifying chaos—drivers weaving between journalists, cameras pointed in every direction, reporters asking the same rehearsed questions. She’d done this a hundred times, and today should have been no different. But today, every movement felt like it was being held together by string, and she was one breath away from snapping.

As soon as she arrived, her producer, Mark, waved her over, holding up the microphone with a nod. She forced a smile, plastering on the face she always wore when the cameras were rolling. She could do this. She had to do this.

Lando was already there, standing with a few other journalists, casually leaning against the fence like he hadn’t just torn her heart in half an hour ago. He looked almost too relaxed, that signature smirk playing on his lips. When his eyes met hers, something in them flickered—like he knew. Like he could see how fragile she was, and he wasn’t about to make it any easier.

"Hey," Lando drawled as she approached, his voice low and smooth. He flashed her a grin, the one that used to make her stomach flip. Now, it only twisted the knife.

She kept her face neutral, gripping the microphone a little tighter. "Lando," she said, her voice steady despite the storm brewing inside. "You had a solid qualifying. What are your thoughts heading into tomorrow’s race?"

He tilted his head, his gaze never leaving hers. "Oh, you know," he said, his tone almost playful. "Feeling good. Always do when I’ve got the right motivation." He winked, just subtle enough that the cameras wouldn’t pick it up, but she caught it. And she hated that her heart still skipped at the sight.

She fought to keep her composure, swallowing hard as she moved on to the next question, doing her best to keep it professional. But every answer Lando gave was laced with innuendo, his eyes lingering on her in ways that felt too personal. Too raw. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him to stop playing games, to stop acting like everything between them was fine when she was barely holding it together.

"Alright, thanks for your time," she said, ending the interview with a tight smile as the camera finally cut. Her hand was shaking, the adrenaline rushing through her veins like fire. She needed to get out of here. Fast.

But before she could move, Lando stepped closer, his breath warm against her ear. "Sweetheart," he murmured, his voice so quiet no one else could hear. "I'll meet you at the hotel later?"

She stiffened, her entire body tensing. She turned to look at him, her eyes wide, disbelief flooding her chest. How could he be so casual, so careless? Did he really think she’d just meet him after what she overheard? After the way he’d reduced her to nothing?

Lando’s fingers brushed against hers, and for a split second, he took her hand, bringing it to his lips. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through her, just like it always did. He kissed her hand gently, like nothing had changed. Like he hadn’t just broken her in two.

She yanked her hand away, her breath catching as the pain clawed at her chest. She couldn't do this. Not again. She forced a small, tight-lipped smile, nodding as if she was agreeing, but inside, her heart was shattering all over again.

"I’ve got to—" she started, her voice cracking slightly as she turned back to Mark, her producer. "I need to go. Tell them I’ll be back later."

Mark frowned, concerned. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I’m fine," she lied, her throat tightening as she backed away, already feeling the tears pressing against her eyes. "Just… something came up."

Without waiting for his reply, she slipped through the crowd, moving faster now, desperate to get out of the media pen, away from the cameras, away from him. She barely made it around the corner before the sob hit her, choking her breath, her chest heaving as she pressed her back against the wall, her hands trembling.

She couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears spilled over, hot and heavy, her body shaking as she gasped for air. How could he do this to her? How could he look at her like that, touch her like that, after treating her like she meant nothing?

She tried to steady herself, wiping furiously at her face, but the more she tried to hold it together, the more everything crumbled.

"Is that you?" A familiar voice cut through the fog, and she looked up, blinking through her tears to see Oscar standing just a few feet away. His brow furrowed in concern, his normally playful demeanour replaced by something much more serious.

"Oscar," she croaked, her voice barely a whisper. She tried to pull herself together, to stand up straighter, but it was no use. The floodgates had opened, and there was no stopping it now.

He stepped closer, his expression softening as he realised what was happening. "Hey, hey, it’s okay," Oscar said gently, his hand resting on her shoulder. "Come on, let’s get you out of here."

She shook her head, embarrassed, ashamed that anyone had to see her like this. "I’m fine, I just—"

"You’re not fine," Oscar cut her off, his voice kind but firm. "Let’s get you somewhere quiet, okay? You don’t have to pretend with me."

She nodded, her vision still blurred with tears as Oscar guided her away from the chaos of the paddock, his arm around her shoulders, his presence steady and warm. She didn’t have the strength to protest, not now.

For once, she didn’t have to hold it all together. And maybe, just for a moment, that was enough.

Oscar’s arm was strong around her shoulders, a steadying force as he led her away from the paddock, away from the media pen, and away from the chaos of her unravelling thoughts. She didn’t resist, couldn’t find the energy to argue, not with the weight of everything crashing down around her. She was barely holding herself together, her body trembling, her breath hitching with every step.

They walked in silence through the back corridors of the paddock, Oscar casting glances at her every few moments, his brow furrowed with concern but not pushing her to speak. When they reached the quiet of his driver’s room, he opened the door without a word, guiding her inside gently.

She wiped at her face again, trying to compose herself, but the tears wouldn’t stop. She felt exposed, like her heart was laid bare for anyone to see, and the shame of it was almost as painful as the heartbreak itself.

“Sit down,” Oscar said softly, leading her to the small couch in the corner of the room. “You don’t have to talk. Just breathe, okay?”

She nodded, sinking into the couch, her hands still trembling in her lap. Oscar crouched down in front of her, his gaze soft and full of something like understanding.

Before either of them could speak, the door to the room opened again, and she looked up to see Oscar’s girlfriend, Lily, stepping inside. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene—her  tear-streaked face, Oscar’s protective stance—and immediately crossed the room to join them.

“Oh, sweetheart…” Lily’s voice was full of sympathy as she sat beside her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "What happened?"

She shook her head, her throat tightening, unable to form the words. She didn’t want to say it out loud. Didn’t want to admit that Lando still had this kind of power over her.

Lily didn’t press her, just held her closer, rubbing soothing circles on her back. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything.”

Oscar sat beside them now, his gaze serious as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. “Lando?” he asked quietly, and her silence was enough of an answer.

She sniffed, trying to hold back another sob, but the pain was too sharp, too fresh. She’d overheard Lando brush her off like she was nothing. And then he had the audacity to act like everything was fine, like they could just pick up where they left off—like it didn’t matter that she was breaking.

Lily exchanged a look with Oscar, her eyes narrowing in frustration. “Darling,” she said gently, turning toward her, “you can’t keep doing this to yourself. He’s… he’s not good for you.”

She swallowed hard, blinking back fresh tears. “I know,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

But knowing didn’t make it any easier. Knowing didn’t stop her heart from racing every time she saw him, didn’t stop the ache she felt when he touched her, when he looked at her with that smug confidence that twisted her insides. She had told herself so many times that she needed to stop. But every time she tried to pull away, she got sucked back in—into the whirlwind that was Lando Norris.

Oscar sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. “He’s using you, mate. You deserve better than this. Better than him.”

She flinched at the words. She had thought, once, that Lando could be more than what everyone said he was. She had thought, in those stolen moments between races, when it was just the two of them, that he felt something for her, too. But she couldn’t ignore it any longer. He didn’t. Not the way she wanted him to.

Lily squeezed her hand gently. “You need to end it,” she said softly but firmly. “For good. Before he hurts you any more than he already has.”

She knew they were right. Oscar and Lily had always been kind to her, more like family than colleagues. They had seen it from the outside—the way Lando toyed with her emotions, the way he pulled her close only to push her away when it suited him.

She inhaled shakily, her heart still aching, but there was a flicker of something else now. A quiet, growing resolve. She couldn’t keep letting Lando tear her apart, not like this. She couldn’t keep waiting for him to change, for him to see her the way she wanted to be seen.

“He’s not worth this,” Oscar added, his voice gentle but firm. “I know he’s my teammate but you deserve someone who’s actually going to be there for you. Not someone who makes you feel like you have to hide how much you care.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, letting their words sink in. She knew they were right. She had known for a long time, but it was easier to lie to herself, to believe that maybe, just maybe, this time would be different. That Lando would show up for her, the way she had always shown up for him.

Lily’s arm tightened around her shoulders, her voice soft but steady. “Darling, you don’t have to do this alone. We’ve got you.”

She nodded, her throat tightening again, but this time it wasn’t from the heartbreak. It was from the quiet understanding, the sense that maybe, for the first time in a long while, she wasn’t as alone as she had felt.

She sat there for a while, letting Lily and Oscar’s presence anchor her. They didn’t push her to talk more, didn’t force her to explain everything. They just let her breathe, let her fall apart without judgement.

And for a moment, she felt the weight on her chest lift just enough to see things clearly.

She knew she shouldn’t go meet him in that hotel room. She knew it had to end. For good.

But she went back.

She went back to the hotel room, even though every part of her knew she shouldn’t. She told herself she was just going to tell him it was over, that she couldn’t do this anymore. She told herself that she wasn’t going to let him pull her back in.

But the second she walked through the door and saw Lando standing there, leaning casually against the desk with that damn smile—like he’d been waiting for her, like she was exactly what he wanted—her resolve crumbled.

“Hey, you,” he said softly, his voice warm in that way it always was when they were alone. He pushed off the desk and crossed the room in a few easy strides, pulling her into his arms before she could even think about saying no. “Missed you.”

She froze for a moment, her body tense in his arms. She wanted to believe him, wanted to sink into the comfort of his touch. But her mind was screaming at her to remember, to think of what she had overheard in the paddock. She’s just another girl. His voice echoed in her head, sharp and cruel, even as he held her close now, as if she was anything but.

“I thought about you all day,” Lando murmured against her hair, his lips brushing her forehead. His hands slid down her back, pulling her closer, and she couldn’t help but shiver under his touch. He had always known how to touch her, how to make her forget everything else.

She wished it was enough.

He tilted her chin up, his green eyes searching hers, and for a second, she saw something there—something real, something that made her heart ache with the hope that maybe, just maybe, he meant it this time.

But then the words he’d said to his mates resurfaced, slicing through her like a knife. It’s casual. She’s just another girl.

Her throat tightened, but she forced a small smile. She had come this far, hadn’t she? Why couldn’t she just leave now?

Because you want him to care, a voice in her head whispered. You want to believe he’s different when it’s just the two of you.

Lando pressed his lips to hers, slow and sweet, like he wasn’t in a hurry, like he could take all the time in the world with her. And for a moment, she kissed him back, letting herself get lost in it, letting herself pretend that maybe the things he said didn’t matter. That maybe this was the real Lando—the one who held her close, the one who kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

But the more he kissed her, the harder it was to silence the voice in her head. The harder it was to ignore the truth that was gnawing at her.

You’re just another girl. It’s casual.

His hands slid under her shirt, fingers tracing soft patterns on her skin, and she shivered again, but this time it wasn’t just from his touch. She couldn’t stop thinking about how he had reduced her to nothing more than a fleeting moment in his life, something disposable. It didn’t matter how tender he was being now. It didn’t matter how much she wanted to believe that this was something real.

“Lando,” she whispered, pulling back slightly, her chest tightening. She didn’t know what she was going to say, but she knew she needed to say something—anything—to stop herself from falling deeper.

He smiled at her, that lazy, cocky grin that always made her knees weak. “What is it, baby?” he asked, his hands never leaving her, like he couldn’t bear the distance between them for even a second.

She wanted to ask him. She wanted to confront him, to make him explain why he could hold her like this but talk about her like she was nothing when she wasn’t around. But the words stuck in her throat, too heavy, too painful.

Instead, she let out a shaky breath and shook her head. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

Lando’s gaze lingered on her for a moment, like he was trying to read her, but then he kissed her again, deeper this time, and any chance she had of stopping this slipped away. His hands slid down to her hips, pulling her flush against him, his breath hot against her neck as his lips moved lower, kissing along her jaw, her collarbone.

And for a second, she let herself get lost in it, let herself drown in the sensation of his touch, the way his hands felt on her skin, the way he knew exactly where to kiss her to make her forget everything else.

But the words kept creeping back in, no matter how hard she tried to push them away.

Just another girl.

Lando’s hands were working their way under her shirt, his fingers brushing the bare skin of her waist, and her heart pounded in her chest, but not in the way it used to. Now, it was pounding with fear, with the knowledge that this would never be enough.

He was whispering something against her skin, something low and sweet, but she couldn’t hear it over the roar of her own thoughts. She felt his hands tugging at the hem of her shirt, and she let him pull it over her head, let him kiss her again, harder this time, like he couldn’t get enough of her.

But she wasn’t really there. Not fully.

In her mind, she was back in the paddock, hearing his laugh, hearing him reduce her to nothing. The way he talked to his friends—so casual, so careless.

Her body responded to him, the way it always did, but her mind was miles away. She was too distracted, too hurt to fully give herself to him the way she always had before. She wanted to be here, wanted to feel that connection again, but it wasn’t working. Not this time.

Lando didn’t notice. He never noticed when she was pulling away, not really. He was too focused on what he wanted, too caught up in the moment to see the cracks forming in her resolve.

As he pushed her back onto the bed, his lips trailing down her stomach, her heart twisted painfully. She should stop this. She should say something. But she didn’t.

Because as much as she hated it, as much as it hurt, part of her still wanted to believe in the version of Lando that was in front of her right now. The version that kissed her like she was the only girl in the world.

Even if she knew it was a lie.

The hours passed in a blur, a mixture of whispered words, shared breaths, and touches that felt both familiar and distant at the same time. She lay beside Lando afterward, her body nestled against his, her head resting on his chest as his arm wrapped lazily around her. He pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, like this was where she belonged. Like nothing outside this room mattered.

But it did.

The silence between them felt heavier now, thick with unspoken truths and the weight of everything she wasn’t letting herself say. She listened to the steady rhythm of Lando’s heartbeat under her ear, trying to ground herself in the moment, trying to make it feel real. But her mind kept drifting back to his words—just another girl—and no matter how close he held her, it felt like he was slipping further and further away.

For a moment, it almost felt peaceful, lying there in the quiet of the hotel room, their legs tangled together under the sheets. Lando’s fingers traced absent-minded patterns on her arm, like it was second nature to him now. She wanted to hold onto that feeling, wanted to believe that this, at least, was real.

But then his phone buzzed on the nightstand, cutting through the stillness.

Lando sighed softly, shifting beside her as he reached for it. She felt the absence of his warmth immediately, and the hollow ache in her chest returned.

He glanced at the screen, his thumb swiping across it before he answered. "Hey, mate," he said, his voice low, casual. Like the moment they’d just shared didn’t change anything, like nothing had shifted.

She stared up at the ceiling, her breath catching in her throat as she listened to the one-sided conversation.

“Yeah, I’m at the hotel,” Lando continued, his tone easy, unconcerned. “What’s up?”

There was a pause, and she felt Lando shift again, his hand brushing absently against her bare skin of her hip as if he wasn’t even fully aware of her presence anymore.

"Alright, yeah," he said after a moment. "I’ll come down in a bit. Dinner sounds good." He laughed softly, the sound sending another pang through her chest. "Tell Max not to leave without me."

When he hung up, Lando turned his head to look at her, flashing her that easy, crooked smile. "That was the guys," he said, already starting to untangle himself from the sheets. "We’re heading out for dinner."

She forced a small smile, trying to keep her voice steady. "Right. Yeah. Sounds fun."

Lando leaned over, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead before climbing out of bed. He moved with the same casual confidence he always did, completely unaware of the storm raging inside her.

"I won’t be long," he said as he pulled on his shirt. "Maybe I’ll bring you something back."

She just nodded, unable to find the words. She watched him button his jeans, the same knot of confusion and hurt tightening in her chest. How could he act like everything was so simple? Like she was just… there, waiting for him whenever he decided to come back.

Lando tossed a quick grin her way as he grabbed his jacket from the chair. "I’ll see you later, yeah?"

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "See you later."

And just like that, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. The room felt so much bigger without him in it, the space beside her cold and empty. She stayed there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, her thoughts spinning, trying to make sense of everything. But the more she tried to piece it together, the more it felt like everything was unravelling.

The sound of her phone vibrating on the nightstand snapped her out of her thoughts. She glanced over, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name flash on the screen: Cisca Norris.

She hesitated for a moment before swiping open the message.

Hey, darling! We’re heading out for a little shopping trip tomorrow. Just me and Flo. Thought it might be fun to have some girl time—want to join us? xx

Her breath caught in her throat, her eyes stinging as she read the message. Cisca had always been so warm, so welcoming, treating her like she was part of the family. She had this way of making her feel like she belonged, like there was a place for her in Lando’s world.

But it only made everything harder now.

She could still hear Lando’s voice in her head, so clear, so dismissive. It’s casual. She’s just another girl.

Her hands trembled as she typed out a response, her fingers shaky on the keys.

Thanks, but I don’t think I can tomorrow. Hope you all have fun though xx

She hit send before she could change her mind, before she could give in to the crushing weight of guilt pressing down on her chest. She knew Cisca didn’t mean to make it harder, didn’t know what was really going on, but it felt like a cruel reminder of everything she wasn’t—a real part of his life. She was just someone he kept in the shadows, someone he could pretend to care about when it was convenient.

The tears came before she could stop them, hot and relentless, blurring her vision as she lay there, staring up at the ceiling. She’d tried so hard to hold it together, to convince herself that maybe, just maybe, things would be different this time. But it wasn’t different. It was the same as it always was.

Lando would leave, and she would be left behind.

She lay there, her body still against the cool sheets, the emptiness of the room pressing in on her. The tears wouldn’t stop. They spilled down her cheeks in silent waves, and for the first time in a long while, she didn’t even try to hold them back. The room felt too quiet without Lando’s presence, without the pretence of connection he so easily crafted when it suited him.

Her phone buzzed again, a small ping echoing in the quiet. She didn’t want to look, didn’t want to face any more reminders of what she couldn’t have. But her gaze drifted toward it, her blurry vision focusing on the screen as a new message from Cisca popped up.

That’s a shame, sweetheart. Maybe next time? You’re always welcome with us. Big hugs xx

The kindness in the message felt like a punch to her gut. You’re always welcome. But how could she ever feel welcome in a world where Lando could say one thing to her face and another behind her back? How could she fit into the life of someone who treated her like she was disposable—like she was nothing special?

She clutched her phone in her hands, her knuckles white, as her tears continued to fall. Her mind replayed the moment in the paddock, hearing Lando laugh, hearing him reduce her to just another girl, nothing more than a casual fling. And yet, here she was—back in his hotel room, back in his bed—still hoping that maybe he would see her, really see her, the way she saw him.

Her chest tightened painfully as she stared up at the ceiling, the dull ache spreading through her like poison. She had tried so hard to be strong, to keep her distance, to protect herself from this exact feeling. But it was like Lando had a hold on her, one she couldn’t break no matter how much she knew she should.

She wiped at her face, trying to steady her breathing, but the sobs kept coming. She couldn’t stop thinking about the way Cisca treated her like family, like someone who belonged in their tight-knit circle. It was so different from how Lando treated her—warm and genuine. It made it worse, somehow, knowing that his family liked her, that they welcomed her, while he just kept her at arm’s length. It hurt in ways she hadn’t expected.

She curled up on her side, pulling the sheets tighter around her, as if they could shield her from the truth. She had been waiting for a moment like this, where Lando would be kind, where he would hold her, and she would feel safe. But no matter how close they were, she always felt that distance. He’d given her his body, sure, but nothing else. And she’d given him everything, every piece of herself, only to be left empty.

She pressed the back of her hand against her mouth, trying to muffle the sobs that were choking her. Her body shook with the force of it all, the heartbreak, the shame, the overwhelming feeling of being used and discarded. She had always been so careful in her life, always kept her guard up, but Lando had slipped past her defences with such ease.

The minutes ticked by, the silence of the hotel room swallowing her whole. She stared at the ceiling, the tears finally slowing but leaving a hollow ache in their wake. Lando would be downstairs by now, laughing with his mates, carefree, as if none of this mattered. As if she didn’t matter.

Her phone buzzed again, and she flinched, afraid it might be him—afraid that any text from him would pull her deeper into this pit she was already drowning in. But when she looked, it wasn’t him. It was Lily.

Hey, just checking in. Everything okay? Xx

She swallowed hard, the lump in her throat making it impossible to answer right away. Lily had been so kind to her earlier, so gentle, and part of her wanted to reach out, to tell her the truth, to admit that she had come here even after she knew she shouldn’t.

But how could she explain this? How could she tell Lily that, even after everything, even after Lando had made it clear she didn’t mean anything to him, she had still come back? She had still fallen for his charm, for his soft touches, for his empty words.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, uncertain of what to say. The shame felt too heavy, too consuming. She didn’t want anyone to know how weak she felt, how much she had let Lando hurt her.

Instead, she typed a short reply.

I’m okay. Thanks for checking in xx

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, the lie sitting heavy in her chest. She wasn’t okay. She hadn’t been okay for a long time.

Another tear slid down her cheek, and she wiped it away quickly, frustrated with herself for still crying over someone like Lando. He wasn’t worth it. He never had been.

But knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

The bed felt cold without him, even though she knew his warmth was only temporary. That was the thing with Lando—it was always temporary, always fleeting. And she was tired of pretending it wasn’t.

She pulled her phone closer, her thumb hovering over Lando’s contact. She thought about sending him a message, thought about telling him that this was the last time, that she couldn’t do it anymore. But she knew that he wouldn’t care. He’d smile, maybe say something sweet, and she’d fall right back into his orbit, trapped by the promise of something that would never come.

With a shaky breath, she dropped the phone onto the nightstand, rolling onto her back once again. The tears had stopped, but the ache remained. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep, to forget, just for a few hours. But she knew that when morning came, the reality would still be there—Lando would still be Lando.

And she couldn’t keep doing this to herself.

She got out of bed and she tried.

She had tried to pack. She really had.

She had grabbed her suitcase, tossed in a few clothes, and told herself that it was over—that this would be the last time she’d let him do this to her.

But then she’d stopped, staring at the half-packed bag, her hands frozen mid-motion. She couldn’t bring herself to finish. The idea of leaving felt like admitting defeat, like walking away from the small, fragile hope she’d been clinging to. The hope that maybe, just maybe, Lando would change.

And so, she had left the suitcase open on the floor, unfinished, just like everything else between them.

The hours dragged by in painful silence. She sat on the edge of the bed, her eyes unfocused as she stared at the door. She should go. She should pick up her things and leave before Lando came back, before he could draw her in again with his soft smiles and casual charm.

But she stayed.

She stayed because part of her wanted him to come back. Wanted him to kiss her, hold her, make her feel like she wasn’t just another girl, like she actually meant something. Even though she knew it was a lie.

Her phone buzzed a few times on the nightstand, but she ignored it. She didn’t want to deal with anyone else right now—didn’t want to answer Lily’s worried texts or face the concern in her friends’ voices. They didn’t understand. They didn’t know what it felt like to be caught between wanting someone and knowing that they would never give you what you needed.

The sound of the door clicking open snapped her out of her thoughts, her heart jumping into her throat. Lando stepped into the room, the faint scent of alcohol and laughter clinging to him as he kicked off his shoes. He looked relaxed, like he’d had a good time, like the night out had done exactly what it was supposed to—take his mind off things.

“Hey, you,” he said with a smile as he spotted her still sitting on the bed. He held up a brown paper bag, a familiar logo stamped on the side. “Brought you something to eat. Thought you might be hungry.”

She stared at him, her stomach twisting at how easy it was for him. A quick thought passed her mind, wondering what he had said to his mates when he brought home some takeaway. He acted like nothing had happened, like everything was fine. She wanted to be angry, wanted to ask him how he could do this—how he could come back here, act so normal, after everything he’d said about her.

But she couldn’t. The anger was there, buried deep inside her, but it was swallowed by the familiar pull of Lando’s presence. She hated how he could disarm her with something as simple as a smile, hated how even now, after everything, part of her wanted to reach out and take the food he’d brought, to thank him, to let herself believe that maybe this was him showing that he cared, in his own way.

“Thanks,” she murmured, her voice hollow.

Lando crossed the room and set the bag on the nightstand before sitting down beside her on the bed. He leaned in, brushing a kiss against her temple, his hand resting on her knee as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

Her breath hitched at the contact, her heart betraying her as it fluttered in her chest. She thought of the highs, the way Lando could make her feel so alive, so wanted. She thought of the times when it was just the two of them, when he would hold her and everything else would disappear. Those were the moments that kept her here, that made her stay, even when she knew she shouldn’t.

“You okay?” he asked softly, his voice tinged with just enough concern to make her believe, for a second, that he might actually care.

She forced a smile, nodding even though she felt anything but okay. “Yeah,” she whispered. “I’m fine.”

Lando’s hand slid up her arm, his fingers gentle as they traced her skin. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her lips, slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to remind her of the connection they shared. And for a moment, she let herself get lost in it. She let herself believe that this was real, that Lando’s touch meant something more than just the physical.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” Lando said after a few seconds, pulling away with a lazy grin. “I won’t be long.”

She nodded, watching as he disappeared into the bathroom, the sound of the water starting up a moment later. She stayed where she was, her mind racing. The kiss had been warm, familiar, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the doubts, the pain that had been building inside her all night.

With a sigh, she glanced toward Lando’s phone, which he had tossed carelessly onto the bed before heading into the shower. The screen lit up with a notification, and despite herself, her eyes flicked over to it.

It was a text. From one of Lando’s friends.

You’re staying with her? Has she not got the hint yet?

Her blood turned to ice.

The air seemed to leave the room all at once, and she felt like she couldn’t breathe. The message stared back at her, mocking her, confirming everything she had been trying so desperately to ignore.

Has she not got the hint yet?

Her throat tightened, tears welling in her eyes again as the words sank in. Lando’s friend was in on it—on this twisted game Lando was playing. He knew. They all knew. And still, Lando had brought her back here, kissed her like she meant something, only to laugh about it with his mates behind her back.

Her hands trembled as she set Lando’s phone back down, her vision blurring with fresh tears. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep pretending that this was okay, that she was okay. Lando didn’t care about her. He never had.

The sound of the water running in the bathroom felt distant, like it was coming from another world, another life. She sat there, her mind numb, her heart breaking all over again. She should’ve left. She should’ve finished packing her bag and walked out of that door the moment Lando left for dinner. But she hadn’t.

And now she was paying the price.

Lando emerged from the bathroom with a towel wrapped loosely around his waist, his hair damp and tousled from the shower. Water still clung to his skin, the dim hotel light casting a glow across the muscles of his chest and arms. He looked every bit like the Lando that had drawn her in from the start—effortlessly attractive, with that air of confidence that always seemed to follow him.

She couldn’t deny it. He was beautiful. Anyone would fall for him at first glance, and she had. But now, as he stood there, looking every bit the part of the man she had once thought she could love, the attraction didn’t hold the same weight it used to.

Sure, he was magnetic, the kind of person who could pull you into his orbit with just a smile. But what had that really gotten her? A heart that was constantly breaking, and a life lived on the sidelines, waiting for scraps of affection. The price she paid for being with Lando wasn’t worth it anymore—not when every touch, every kiss, every whispered promise felt like it was laced with lies.

Her chest tightened as she picked up her phone from the nightstand, her fingers curling around it like it was her lifeline. She had to get out of here. She couldn’t sit here, pretending everything was okay, pretending that she didn’t see that message, didn’t know exactly what Lando’s friends thought of her. What he thought of her.

“I’m just going to get some cutlery from downstairs,” she said, her voice shaking slightly as she tried to move toward the door, away from him.

But Lando’s hand shot out, gently pulling her back before she could make her escape. His fingers wrapped around her wrist, and she could feel the warmth of his skin, the way his touch still made her heart stutter despite everything. His brows furrowed slightly, his eyes searching hers.

“You’ve been off lately,” he said, his tone soft but probing. “Is it work?”

Her heart raced, panic flooding her veins. He was looking at her like he was genuinely concerned, like he cared. But she knew better now. This was part of the game, part of the act he played so well. And she had to lie—because the truth would only expose just how far she’d fallen for him, how deep this had gone for her, and how little it had meant to him.

“Yeah,” she replied, forcing a weak smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Work’s just been a lot lately.”

Lando’s grip on her wrist loosened, but his eyes didn’t leave hers. He leaned in slightly, his voice soft, almost affectionate. “You’d tell me if something was wrong, wouldn’t you?”

She swallowed hard, her throat tight as she fought back the storm of emotions threatening to spill over. She wanted to scream at him, to ask him how he could ask her that after everything—after the lies, after the way he’d treated her like she was nothing more than a fleeting distraction.

But instead, she did what she always did. She lied.

“Of course I would,” she said, the words tasting bitter as they left her lips.

Lando’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he let go of her wrist, his hand dropping back to his side. He smiled, that same easy, careless smile he always wore, and for a second, it almost felt like he believed her.

“Good,” he murmured, brushing a quick kiss against her temple before stepping back. “I’m glad.”

She nodded, her heart heavy in her chest as she forced herself to stay calm, to not let the cracks show. “I’ll just be a minute,” she mumbled, slipping away from him and heading for the door before he could stop her again.

As she stepped into the hallway, the air felt cooler, sharper, like a small relief from the suffocating warmth of Lando’s presence. She leaned against the wall for a moment, her phone still clenched tightly in her hand, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. Her mind was spinning, her heart aching with the weight of everything she couldn’t say.

She had lied to him. Lied to protect herself, to protect whatever was left of her dignity. But deep down, she knew the truth. She couldn’t keep doing this.

Not anymore.

She didn’t make it far before the tears started. Her steps slowed as the pressure in her chest became too much, the weight of everything crashing down on her all at once. She turned a corner in the hallway, eyes blurry and throat tight, searching for somewhere—anywhere—she could hide.

She spotted a door slightly ajar, marked with a plain “Staff Only” sign. Without thinking, she slipped inside, closing it behind her. It was a cramped janitor’s cupboard, the air thick with the smell of cleaning supplies and stale mop water. But it was quiet, dark, and, most importantly, away from Lando.

Her back hit the wall, and she slid down to the floor, curling in on herself as the sobs broke free. She covered her mouth with her hand, trying to muffle the sounds, but it was no use. The tears came in waves, the pain too raw, too overwhelming to control.

She hated herself for coming back, for believing, even for a moment, that things would be different. For letting him touch her, kiss her, knowing deep down that none of it meant what she wanted it to. And now, sitting alone in a janitor’s cupboard, hiding like a child, all she could think about was how foolish she’d been.

With shaking hands, she grabbed her phone, barely able to see the screen through the tears. She scrolled to Lily’s contact, hesitating for only a second before pressing the call button. It rang twice before Lily answered.

“Sweetheart?” Lily’s voice was soft but immediately laced with concern. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

The floodgates broke, and she couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out, her voice a broken, shaky whisper. “I hate myself,” she sobbed, choking on the words. “I hate that I let him do this to me. I keep going back, Lily. I hate it. I hate me.”

“Where are you?” Lily’s tone shifted, calm but urgent. “Tell me where you are. I’m coming to you right now.”

She swallowed hard, trying to catch her breath enough to speak. “I... I’m in some janitor’s cupboard. Down the hall from Lando’s room. I—I didn’t know where else to go.”

“I’m coming, okay? Just stay there. I’ll be right there.”

She nodded even though Lily couldn’t see her, clutching the phone to her chest as she waited, her sobs quieting but still leaving her body shaking. She felt so small, so utterly broken. The seconds felt like hours, each one dragging by in painful silence.

It wasn’t long before there was a soft knock on the door, and she heard Lily’s voice. “Darling? It’s me. Can I come in?”

She reached up, her hand trembling as she unlocked the door. Lily slipped inside, her face full of concern as she quickly closed the door behind her, blocking out the world. Without saying a word, she knelt down beside her, wrapping her arms around her tightly.

She broke all over again the moment Lily held her. She clung to her friend, burying her face in her shoulder as the sobs wracked her body. Lily didn’t say anything at first. She just held her, her hand gently stroking her hair, her presence a quiet reassurance in the small, dark space.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered through her tears. “I keep... I keep letting him hurt me, and I know I shouldn’t. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t stop. I hate myself for it.”

“Hey, no,” Lily said softly, pulling back just enough to look her in the eyes. “Don’t say that. You’re not the one who’s wrong here. He’s the one messing with your head, making you think this is normal. But it’s not your fault, okay? It’s not.”

She shook her head, the tears still falling. “I just feel so stupid. I saw a text from his friend... asking if I hadn’t gotten the hint yet. They know. They all know, and I’m still here, like some pathetic—”

“You’re not pathetic,” Lily interrupted, her voice firm but gentle. “You’re strong, darling. Stronger than you think. And I know it hurts right now, but you don’t deserve this. You deserve so much more than what Lando’s giving you.”

She tried to breathe, but her chest still felt tight, her mind spinning with shame and self-doubt. “I don’t know why I can’t just leave.”

Lily squeezed her hand, her eyes softening with understanding. “Because when someone gets into your head like that, it’s not easy to just walk away. He made you feel special, even if it was for the wrong reasons. But you’re not alone, darling. You’ve got me, you’ve got Oscar, and we’re not going anywhere. I’ll be here with you until you’re ready to leave, whenever that is.”

Her lip quivered, fresh tears welling in her eyes. She nodded, grateful but still lost in the ache that Lando had left behind. Lily’s words were like a balm, but the pain still sat heavy in her chest, raw and unresolved.

Lily leaned back, adjusting so that they were sitting side by side, their backs against the wall. She kept holding her hand, her thumb tracing soothing circles over her knuckles. “We can stay here as long as you need. You don’t have to face him right now. You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for.”

She let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as she leaned against Lily, her body still trembling from the tears. “But he hasn’t done anything wrong,” she murmured, trying to convince herself, even as the words tasted bitter. “He just... he just doesn’t know how I feel.”

Lily pulled back slightly, her gaze intense as she looked into her eyes. “Yes, he has. Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart. It’s not just about what he’s done; it’s about how he makes you feel. And right now, you’re hurting, and that’s not okay. You deserve someone who cares about you, not someone who’s playing games.”

She bit her lip, frustration mixing with sadness. “I know, but...”

“No buts.” Lily interrupted, her voice steady. “You’re worth more than this. You don’t have to keep accepting less than you deserve. You know that, right?”

She nodded, but the ache in her chest remained, a stubborn reminder of the tangled mess of emotions that Lando had stirred inside her. She felt like she was being pulled in two different directions: her heart yearned for the connection she had with Lando, while her mind screamed for her to walk away, to protect herself from more pain.

“What if I just... went and got my things?” she whispered, almost to herself. “I could just—”

Lily shook her head firmly. “You shouldn’t have to do that alone. I can call Oscar and ask him to pick up your stuff from Lando’s. He’s supportive, and I’m sure he’d be more than happy to help.”

“Are you sure?” she asked hesitantly, the thought of involving Oscar making her heart race. “I don’t want to make things weird.”

“It’s not weird,” Lily said, her voice soothing. “It’s what friends do. You need to take the first step in reclaiming your space. Let’s get your things, and then we can figure out the next steps together. You don’t have to face this alone, and you don’t have to keep putting yourself through this.”

She nodded again, feeling a flicker of gratitude for Lily’s unwavering support. It felt good to have someone in her corner, someone who believed she could do better, even when she struggled to believe it herself.

“Okay,” she finally said, her voice steadier now. “Let’s do that.”

“Good,” Lily replied, squeezing her hand tightly. “I’ll get Oscar to come over. And remember, you’re stronger than you think.”

Present Time

Now, standing in front of him in the rain-soaked street, she wondered if he even remembered that day. If he had any idea how much it had gutted her. The memory felt like a ghost, haunting her thoughts, each painful recollection mingling with the cold raindrops cascading down her cheeks.

“Should we get started?” she said, her voice a little too sharp. The rain was mixing with the ache in her chest, and she wasn’t sure how much longer she could stand there, looking into those eyes that had once made her feel seen. Once. She hated that feeling of vulnerability he inspired, but even more, she hated the way it was fading.

Lando tilted his head, studying her with that signature smirk tugging at his lips. It was the same smirk that had once made her heart race, ignited her passion, and made her forget her own worth. But now, it only deepened the resolve she had built since their last encounter. There was a flint in his eyes, a spark that had once drawn her in, but she refused to let it affect her anymore. Those flames of desire he ignited had left her burnt before, and she wasn’t going to let it happen again.

“Yeah. Let’s get started,” he echoed, his voice smooth but tinged with a hint of something darker lurking beneath. She could sense it—an undercurrent of his charm that was both magnetic and dangerous.

They both knew this wasn’t just another interview. Not for him. Not for her.

But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She wouldn’t let him see her fall apart again. Not this time. Each raindrop felt like a reminder of her strength, a symbol of her resolve to stand firm against the tides of emotion that threatened to wash her away. She took a deep breath, grounding herself in the moment, and steeled her gaze against the storm brewing in her heart.

“Let’s talk about the last race,” she said, forcing her voice to steady. “You seemed to be struggling with the new tires. What do you think the team could do differently moving forward?”

Lando's brow furrowed, momentarily surprised by the shift in her tone. It was almost like he was used to her fawning over him, allowing his charisma to overshadow her professionalism. But not today. Not anymore.

He responded, launching into technical details, but she could see his focus drifting, his smirk slipping just a little as he searched her expression for any trace of the girl he had once known—the one who had been captivated by his every word. But he wouldn’t find her here, not today.

As he spoke, she fought to keep her expression neutral, not letting the echoes of their past seep into her demeanour. The way he moved, the way he gestured—there was still an effortless charm to him, but it was fading, like a sunset after a long day. She wasn’t here to be dazzled; she was here to reclaim her narrative, to make sure he understood that she had grown.

“Uh, sweeth-” he said suddenly, cutting himself off from finishing the per name she used to love, his tone shifting as he leaned closer, invading her personal space. “You seem… different. What’s going on?”

The intensity of his gaze was like a spotlight, and for a moment, she felt the familiar stir of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. But she clung to the memory of that cramped janitor’s cupboard, to the warmth of Lily’s embrace, and the strength it had given her. She wouldn’t let him in, wouldn’t let him see her falter.

“Just focusing on the questions, Lando,” she replied, her voice crisp and steady, eyes locked on his. “I’m here to do a job.”

He narrowed his eyes, clearly thrown by her tone. The playfulness he often relied on was nowhere to be found, and for the first time, she saw uncertainty flash across his face. It was intoxicating, seeing him taken aback. It reminded her that he wasn’t invincible.

“Fine,” he said, his tone shifting back to that of a confident driver. “I can handle a little professionalism. I admire it, actually.”

“Then let’s keep it professional,” she shot back, her heart pounding with a mix of adrenaline and exhilaration. There was something liberating about standing her ground, about showing him that she wasn’t afraid to push back.

As they continued their exchange, a storm raged on outside—water pouring down in sheets, thunder rumbling in the distance. But here, away from the rain, she felt the weight of her past begin to lift. She wouldn’t allow Lando to pull her back into his world of uncertainty and heartache. She was building her own life now, with friendships that mattered, goals that fueled her, and a vision that didn’t include him.

With each word, she drew a line in the sand, reminding herself that this was her moment, not his. She had reclaimed her voice, and she was ready to use it.

the end.

[velariscalling]

Morally Grey - An Azriel Imagine

Characters: Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Cassian drags the IC to his new obsession: open mic night at Rita's, and much to his delight, Azriel has been paired up to sing with the Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol, suggestive language.

A/N: My first ever imagine is HERE!! Honestly I've been so nervous to put this out as it's all very new to me, but I really hope you guys enjoy it! I'm really looking forward to see how my writing develops as I post more, but for now, I hope you enjoy my first post! It's just a load of silly fun tbh. And finally, thank you so much to @sarawritestories for helping me out with the ending, you're the best! <3

Soundtrack: 'Morally Grey' by April Jai feat. Nation Haven

Disclaimer: GIF isn't mine - credit to whoever it belongs to.

Rita’s was bustling.

As it always was on a Friday night, really. They probably should have known better than to come on a weekend, but the welcoming vibrancy of the bar was a welcome reprieve from a long week’s work. Y/N took a deep breath as the music hit her, exhaling as she let any remaining stress seep from her body and into the night.

Before she could think too much about the busy days she’s had as of recently, a hand grabbed each of hers - one perfectly manicured, one covered in swirls of black ink - and pulled her in the direction of the bar. Mor flagged down a barman who recognised them immediately - it wasn’t a rare occurrence for the Night Court’s Inner Circle to make an appearance here.

After a moment, she handed her a shot glass filled with bright green liquid. “Bottoms up, you’re gonna need it tonight,” she grinned, already having necked her own. Feyre giggled as Y/N raised a questioning eyebrow at the blonde, throwing back her shot anyway and wincing at the tangy liquid.

“And why is that, exactly?” Y/N cocked her head at her friend, who’s brown eyes danced with excitement.

“Oh come on,” she rolled her eyes playfully, already flagging down the barman for yet another shot, just for herself this time. “You really think Cassian’s going to let us miss out on tonight? He’s been preparing his song with Rhys for days.”

It’s true - Cassian’s favourite night of the week was their newest tradition, open mic night at Rita’s. Four songs, four duos, randomly selected. Or so he says, anyway. He probably matched himself with Rhysand so he could convince him to sing Mysterious Girl together.

Feyre gripped Y/N’s hand from her other side, clearly trying her hardest to hold back a squeal of excitement. “How are you feeling?” She knew that there was more to that question than meets the eye. It wasn’t a secret that Cassian’s little game had paired her up with Azriel, much to his delight.

She put on her mask of indifference that she had mastered over the months of knowing the shadowsinger, refusing to give any details away of her incessant feelings for him that prodded at her constantly. “I am feeling absolutely fine, High Lady,” she smiled, eyes shining, but a scoff from her left interrupted her.

“Please,” Mor drawled, looking at her with a face that said, don’t even try. “You literally can’t fool anyone, especially not us, so drop the act.”

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t mastered her mask as well as she had initially thought, her twin’s nod of agreement cementing that conclusion. “Okay fine, but what do I have to be nervous about? You are all the ones who should be nervous when we out-sing you.” She smirked at them, but they shared a knowing look.

“There it is, changing the subject,” Feyre chuckled, nursing her drink in her hand. Y/N scowled at her, but she could never actually be mad at her. Frankly, she was more irritated by the fact that she knew her so well. “What? Y/N, this is what happens every time we bring him up.”

She opened her mouth to argue, when an arm was slung over her shoulder, and Feyre’s. “Ladies,” Rhysand’s melodic voice sounded over the music as he appeared between the sisters. He nodded at Mor with a grin, who was already on her… third, or fourth shot? Who knows. “Cass will have a temper tantrum if I don’t drag you all over to the stage right now.”

Feyre rolled her eyes with a laugh and allowed her mate to spin her into his arms, and they both made their way over to the Inner Circle’s area of the bar. Y/N’s heart warmed at the sight of them, knowing that her twin, her double in every way, had found her happiness. Mor looped her arm through hers as they walked behind them, her eyes following Y/N’s gaze. “You’ll have that soon, you know.”

Y/N looked over at her. She was so breathtaking, her brown eyes contrasting her golden hair, and her signature red dress hugging her flawless body in all the right places. Any male or female in this room would be lucky to get her, and yet, she didn’t care. Next to her, though, Y/N felt like nothing. As if Mor could sense her thoughts, she squeezed her arm affectionately. “Come on. Tonight’s the night you’re going to show that other side of you- oh don’t give me that look, I know it’s there.”

Y/N huffed, a lighthearted sound, and shook her head softly. “I wish I had your confidence,” She murmured, a dry joke.

“Babe, you’re sexy. When are you going to realise that?” The sheer certainty in Mor’s voice had Y/N raising her eyebrows at her friend, who simply nodded, as if agreeing with herself. “Channel it tonight. I’ll be watching.” She winked, and released her arm as they arrived at their own table right in front of the stage.

Rhys and Feyre had already taken their seats at the centre, High Lord and Lady looking elegant as ever. Cassian sat to Rhys’s right, his excitement akin to a golden retriever, as Amren, who was sat next to him, clearly tried her hardest not to throttle him. Next to Feyre sat Azriel, his looming shadows making the already dark bar appear pitch black in his presence. There were two empty chairs to his left, and finally Nesta sat at the end of the table, clearly trying to make the most of as much peace and quiet as she could get before the night’s shenanigans unfolded. Mor was quick to take the seat next to her, leaving Y/N between her and Azriel. He gave her a short smile as she sat down, ever the emotionless. “Are you ready?”

The low, icy voice of the shadowsinger never failed to take her by surprise. If the living embodiment of darkness could talk, it would sound like him. She looked at him, his hazel eyes glowing even in the darkness, and replied, “Are you?”

Before Azriel could respond, a flute of sparkly champagne slid from Y/N’s left into view. She turned to see Nesta, wordlessly handing her the drink, with grey-blue eyes that told her that she, too, thought she needed an extra little liquid confidence tonight. She noticed Mor biting her lip so hard she looked as though she may explode, and she rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips as she turned back to Azriel. To her surprise, it appeared as though a similar grin was tugging on those lips as well.

He merely raised his glass to hers, eyes shining with a grin that he wouldn’t let fully show on his face. She picked up her own glass and clinked it against his, matching his honey gold gaze.

Let the night begin.

It’s safe to say that the performances of the night were… well, entertaining. Cassian was a little too excited dragging Rhys up to perform their number first, giving major boyband energy up on that stage. Feyre was in fits of laughter, but Nesta looked like she wanted to claw her eyes out… but perhaps secretly enjoyed it behind that mask of disgust. Y/N’s two sisters were up next with a rendition of Love Story in which Nesta was surprisingly involved, followed by Amren and Mor’s take on Lady Marmalade, which was frankly the worst thing anyone had ever heard. If the monster lurking beneath Amren’s skin was anything like her singing voice, then Mother help us all.

It wasn’t long before her friends were cheering and whooping as Y/N stood from her seat - the final song. “Get him girl,” Mor whispered as she passed her, Azriel on her heels. She felt the shadows licking at her ankles as she ascended the steps to the stage, gripping the microphone that had been handed to her on the way.

As Azriel situated himself to her left, she stole a quick glance at him. He was looking at the floor, uncharacteristically tense under the gazes of all their friends. It was no secret that Azriel had the most beautiful voice you’d ever heard, a gift from the Cauldron itself, but it occurred to her now that maybe no one else had heard it before. Aside from her, at the couple of short practices they  had done. Even then, she didn’t think he was giving his all.

Y/N faced the front and prepared for the music to play - she was more of a seasoned performer than Azriel. She had played her fair share of gigs around Velaris, a good handful of which on this very stage. If she was showing some confidence, she hoped that it would spark some inside of him. She steeled herself, breathing in deeply as she raised the microphone to her lips, and the music began.

“He’s got gold eyes, crooked smile, knows that he drives me wild,”

She felt the heat of the spotlight on her as she let her voice ring through the bar. It was soft, to begin with, giving the song room to breathe, to build. She looked over at the man she was sharing the stage with, noticing tension already lost from his shoulders at the sound of her voice. His eyebrows were raised ever so slightly, and she knew then that he’d realised how she’d changed the lyrics to fit him, those perfect golden eyes.

“Can’t help myself, no I’m not in denial,”

The smile she sent his way was telling, it spoke a hundred words. But it wasn’t just her grin that conveyed the message she sent: you’re okay, you’re with me, move with me. There was something between them, an invisible thread connecting the two of them, body and soul and mind. Certain thoughts, certain feelings - she could feel his, and he could feel hers. A bond like this had meaning, they both knew this, but neither of them were bold enough to explore it, acknowledge it. Across that bond, she beckoned him: Azriel, you’re with me, and I’m with you… play with me.

“I know he’s no good for me,”

There was a flicker of something in the shadowsinger’s eyes, as if his mind had decided to pull him down an alternative route to the one he was prepared to go down, the one where he’d back out and run. A shadow of a smirk lingered on his lips, as his own shadows danced around him excitedly, egging him on. The weaving tendrils were clearly more than satisfied with the idea that flashed through their master’s mind, whatever images Y/N’s words had conjured up. Azriel, play with me.

“But when he gets down on his knees,”

The spark in his eyes only seemed to brighten as he brought the lyrics to life, sinking slowly down onto his knees before her. The shit-eating smirk he wore on his face in response to her evident surprise could have sent her to her own knees as she beheld him, kneeling, for her. Mother spare her. A quick glance to her right at the others confirmed that they had all had the same reaction she had, and she feared that the bar staff may have to assist in picking their jaws up from the floor. Azriel’s face was challenging, knowing, yet almost the picture of innocence as she felt his response in her mind: You told me to play with you. She sent one word back at him: Bastard.

If he was going to play dirty, so was she.

“He’s so eager to please, knows the right frequencies,”

He reached a hand out as if to touch her - where, she wasn’t sure - but she grabbed it before he could make any contact. Scars felt rough against her soft skin as she walked slowly, teasingly around him and she sang the chorus, her heeled boots tugging her posture upright so her body curved in all the right places. She caught Feyre’s eye as she circled Azriel, still knelt on the floor and looking as though he was more than content to stay there forever. Y/N’s sister looked like her eyes were about to bulge out of her head, her smile growing so big that Y/N thought it would be too big for her face. Next to her, Rhysand simply winked, an encouraging smirk boosting her confidence.

“They say he’s morally grey, what can I say? Grey’s my favourite colour,”

As she made her way back to the front of Azriel’s view, still gripping his hand as he held it upright for her to use, she slowly lowered herself down to a squat in front of him as she sang the line. From this angle, she was now much closer to his face than before, and she noticed the subtle sheen of lust glazing over his eyes. It almost made her lose balance - almost. She brought his hand gently to her lips, placing a chaste kiss onto his marred knuckles, and he took in a sharp breath. Most people flinch when they see his hands, or grimace, or turn away. Not Y/N. No, she thinks Azriel’s scars are part of his story. The backstory to a warrior, a survivor. Scars are not the memory of what happened, but a testament to who you have become.

“Morally grey, what can I say? Grey’s my favourite…”

She rose to her feet, prepared to give Azriel some space to begin his verse, remembering the nerves that clung to him barely a minute ago. As she began to turn, taking the first step away from him, something cold slithered around her ankle, and one around her waist. The shadows pulled her straight back to where she was as the music lowered, and held her in place, as if they knew that hearing his voice would send her to the floor. And Mother above, they knew her well.

“What can I say? No I don’t pray, but for your body, I’ll worship,”

She could have sworn her knees buckled, but she couldn’t tell from the shadows holding her still. Azriel’s voice was like silk, so soft and pure, yet it lit her insides on fire in a way that she’d never felt, burning her up like a beautiful, dying star. If his voice was to be the thing to send her to her death, then so be it. She would die very, very happy. He reached out once again, and this time she did not stop him as he ran his hand up her thigh all the way to her waist from his position on the floor. Even kneeling, his Illyrian frame was intimidatingly large, her body standing not too much taller than his. His eyes watched his hand intently as it traced the curve of her side, as if they didn’t have an audience, one that was most definitely gaping at Azriel’s sudden brazenness.

“Girl don’t be afraid, my love’s a grenade, just be a good girl, you can take it,”

Like an angel rising from the ashes of war, Azriel stood slowly, wings flaring as he rose to his full height. His gaze was already intense when she was the one looking down at him, but now that he was the one towering over her, the darkness in his eyes shot electricity straight through her body and into her core, her head reeling with thoughts so sinful that nothing could save her. His hand on her waist squeezed on the words good girl, and she was forced to bite her lip hard to stop herself from reacting in a way that would later be incredibly embarrassing. His eyes tracked the movement, lingering on her bottom lip as she released it from her teeth with a pop.

“Call me insane but for you, I was made, I’d burn the world down if it’d make you feel safe,”

The fire in Azriel’s eyes blazed as he took one step toward her, and another, and another, closer and closer. The upper hand that Y/N had held up until now had slipped, yielding step after step backward, her control completely faltering. She had always known that doing this with Azriel would likely create some… tension between the two of them, and he must have known, but Cauldron, this was unlike anything she had ever expected. Azriel was so close that she felt his body heat, felt her face warming, likely for everyone to see under the harsh glare of the spotlights.

“It’s you that I crave, and nothing compares to your taste,”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel like Azriel meant every single word he was singing. No, he didn’t write the lyrics himself of course, but the way his eyes burned with such feeling, and… what looked to be desperation, told her there was much more to this than meets the eye. And Gods… the way his voice cracked ever so slightly with a primal need as those final words left his mouth had her praying to whatever higher powers she could to forgive her for the damning shivers he was sending straight to the very heart of that taste he craved so badly.

As the chorus rolled around once more, their voices finally blended as one, and nothing had ever sounded so right. Azriel’s shadows danced freely around the two of them, creating a tornado of darkness, of intimacy, where they were right in the eye of the storm. The song continued, and the pull between the two of them was magnetic, almost hypnotic as they completely forgot about the audience they had; their family who were most definitely gaping like fish out of water. Y/N could feel Azriel’s warm breath on her face as he sang, his angelic voice whispering less-than-angelic promises that only she could hear in the way it trembled.

Y/N honestly didn’t think that Azriel could get any closer - what she failed to consider was that the shadowsinger was in so deep that he wasn’t planning on stopping until there was absolutely no space left between them. As the song once again softened, Azriel took his chance and leaned impossibly closer, abandoning his vocals in favour of a different use of that mouth. Y/N inhaled sharply as Azriel’s lips brushed against hers, gently, experimentally. Some instinctive part of her that knew this was right pushed her forward to press her lips a little harsher against his, earning a shiver from the shadowsinger. She heard a soft rustle coming from behind him as his wings twitched from the anticipation.

As he pulled away, Azriel heard a shaky exhale escape her lips, caused only by the feeling of him, the heat of two bodies pressed close together, the rush of meeting the lips of the person who, deep down, you know is made for you. Your partner. Your mate. That shiver he elicited from Y/N was the final straw - the last thing he needed to cement his plans for the night. His face still inches from hers, he whispered with a voice so low he wasn’t sure it had even come from him, “You’re mine tonight.”

One moment, the IC were watching dumbfounded at the scene playing out in front of them, some wondering if they really should be averting their eyes (apart from Cassian, who sat with a shit-eating grin on his face). The next moment, the stage was empty, a whisper of shadows the only thing left standing in their wake. Azriel had disappeared in a flash, winnowed to who knows where, taking Y/N with him.

“Goddamn, Az,” Rhys chuckled into his drink after a beat of shocked silence. “Nicely done.”

“No! But they didn’t even finish their song!” Cassian pouted, gesturing wildly at the empty stage as the music still played from the speakers.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s their priority right now, Cass,” Mor giggled, practically vibrating from excitement and pride, exploding with glee at what had taken place since her little pep talk earlier.

Rhys set his glass down on the table in favour of throwing an arm over the top of Feyre’s chair. “It’s about time those two did something about the obvious, right?”

As Feyre’s eyes sparkled with delight for her twin, she giggled at his words, overjoyed at the knowledge that Y/N may at last feel the happiness of having a mate. A partner for all eternity.  “Yeah… finally.”

[mrs-kmikaelson]

Our Song and Dance¹

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader Summary: You'd grown used to dancing the same dance over and over again, the victor's dance, but then you start dancing with Finnick Odair and you feel things you never thought you'd feel. So you let yourself enjoy the dance, even though you knew that every song inevitably came to an end. Warnings: super-duper-duper long, exploitation of minors, forced prostitution, unrequited love, complicated relationships, violence, death, mental health issues, canadian spelling lol, and i make up some names (lmk if i missed smth) Words: 19.7K

Masterlist | Part 2

a/n: i alr have this finished, but it was way too long to post in one part (as you can see) so i split it up into three parts. this one goes from pre-hunger games to right before the quell. had this idea in my head as soon as i finished thg, so i hope u enjoy!

Y/N Y/L/N, victor of the 67th Hunger Games. You were from district 4, one of the youngest victors that not only your district has ever had, but also all of Panem. Of course, you weren’t the youngest; that title belonged to none other than Finnick Odair.

A man you hated with a passion and, frankly, a man who didn’t like you very much either.

You could still remember the night you met.

Snow was droning on and on, giving a speech about something you couldn’t care less about. It was all lies, anyway, and you were only gonna end up in some rich man’s bed tonight, so you’d prefer to go through that interaction as drunk as you could be. With that thought, you downed the rest of your flute.

“Ah, careful, Princess.” Before you even saw the person, you knew it was him. His voice was so easily recognizable, even though you had never met, not even after living in the same district, then the Victors’ Village, or even at these little Capitol parties. 

Finnick.

You turned, a faux smile on your face that he fully reciprocated. “Snow wouldn’t want the Capitol’s pride and joy to be under the influence,” he said, teasing but with an undertone that put you off.

You didn’t give a damn what Snow thought, but you weren’t gonna say that, especially not in his own home. Instead, you gave him the smile you gave the rest of Panem and directed the topic of conversation away from the President. “I won my Games, Finnick. Trust me, I’m not a lightweight.” Oh, but you wish you were. You wish you could get so drunk that you’d forget who you were entirely.

A part of you felt bad: twenty-three other people died while you walked out of the arena, and yet you wanted nothing more than for your life to end. A part of you wondered if the great Finnick Odair ever felt this way, either, but it wouldn’t be good small talk to ask.

Finnick’s grin only widened. “Pleasure to meet you, Y/N.”

Your eyes just so imperceptibly narrowed. “Likewise.”

He started to walk away, but he suddenly paused like he forgot something, leaning closer to you. Your breath got caught in your throat when you felt his on your neck. Your eyes locked, and all of a sudden, you wondered how it was possible that you never noticed how beautiful his eyes were. 

“May the odds be ever in your favour, darling,” he whispered, and then he walked away without giving you another glance.

That night, Finnick didn’t leave your mind. It wasn’t until there was a resident of the Capitol lying on top of you that you stopped thinking about him. When you were in that position, you stopped thinking about everything, really.

When you walked out of your hotel room, done with your little job, Finnick was brought back to the forefront of your mind as your eyes met his. He looked like he was in the same state as you, also having been leaving a room. He looked surprised to see you.

You stared at him for a moment, but then you let yourself disappear down the hallway before he could say anything.

You knew what that meant; you knew it wasn’t his own room that he was leaving. When you got to your own room, you realized you were much more alike than you thought. You supposed that you couldn’t be surprised; Finnick was desirable, so of course Snow would put him up for sale.

You were in the exact same boat.

Since that night, you saw him in a different light.

You two didn’t talk when you got back home, no, but at your next Capitol event, you decided that you’d refuse to leave him alone, to leave someone who was going through the same thing as you to their own devices. That’s what you told yourself, but deep down, you just didn’t want to suffer in silence, either.

So you went and found him after a night with another Capitol pig. Standing outside, hands in his pockets, he looked so calm, but you saw a storm brewing in his eyes that only few could ever decipher.

You went and stood next to him, even though it was freezing cold out. He glanced over at you, and then his face became surprised, not surprise at you being there, but at you being there with him. Neither of you said anything; it was either that you were too afraid of a jabberjay overhearing or of yourselves. You just stood there in a comfortable silence.

You’d learn that, with Finnick, sometimes doing nothing could mean everything.

The two of you went on to do this every time you were there until, slowly, you graduated from just silence to holding each other. Oh, Finnick Odair was a cocky asshole, but when you were in the Capitol, he wasn’t him and you weren’t you. You were just two people that needed comfort, and that was enough.

You still didn’t talk, though, and when you were at home, you didn’t communicate at all. That was why you were surprised when you answered your door to see him standing on the other side.

Finnick went back to being Finnick, striding into your home without so much as an invitation. This caused you to roll your eyes, but they suddenly widened at his words. “Caesar Flickerman is on TV, saying that we’re dating.”

If you were drinking something, you would’ve spit it out. “What?” An incredulous look was painted onto your face.

Finnick, on the other hand, was a little more stoic, not exactly the charmer he was on television or in Capitol balls, but you could easily guess why—and if you hadn’t, then he was gonna tell you, anyways. “You know what this means.” He looked you in the eye, jaw clenched. “Two of Snow’s best—the Prince and Princess of Panem—dating? It’s the last thing he wants.”

“Finnick-”

“No, he won’t be able to sell us if we’re together, and if he can’t sell us, then he’ll start killing the people we love.” This was the first time either of you were even acknowledging the situation you were in.

You felt stung for some reason, even though you didn’t love Finnick—and he didn’t love you. But, deep down, no matter how much you tried to repress it, you knew there was something between you, so hearing him speak to you this way, like you were just nothing, hurt.

However, you got over your feelings quickly, the same way you always had. You moved your thoughts away from your heart and started thinking with your head. You were quiet for a second until you let out a soft gasp, like a light bulb went off in your head.

This time, you made eye contact with Finnick effortlessly. “What if this is exactly what we need?” You asked, a glint in your eye that he hadn’t seen before.

The blond scoffed. “I don’t see how our families dying is exactly what we need, Y/N.”

“No- no, Finnick, you already said it.” You grabbed onto his shoulders. “The Capitol- hell, everyone already thinks we’re the Prince and Princess of Panem. If we give them what they want, then- then we’d be unstoppable.” You paused to let him weigh in, but he only stared heavily at you, not a trace of what he was thinking on display, so you continued, “Snow and all of those Capitol motherfuckers will eat this shit up, Finnick. And then we’ll be free.”

You were trying not to show any emotion, either, but you couldn’t help it. At the mere thought of freedom, something you never thought was possible, you felt so many different things at once. While you were holding your feelings on your sleeve, Finnick was less easy to read.

But, in seconds, you knew exactly how he felt.

“We will never be free, Y/N.”

He walked out after that, leaving you alone in your living room. He’d never know it, but you stayed in that same spot for three hours, staring at where he once stood. His words had awakened something in you, the part of yourself that’d been thrown into the Hunger Games at only fifteen-years-old. 

At the time, you thought you were going to die. You were hopeless, but after you won, you realized there was hope after all. You could still make it. Even as Snow allowed your body to be violated, your mind to deteriorate, you still had hope. But Finnick’s words brought back that frightened little girl in you that you thought died.

You’d later realize just how lucky you were that he buried her again. He came back and told you that he’d do it, and as easily as he brought that little girl back to life, he drowned her.

It wasn’t easy at first, pretending to be in love. You didn’t know the first thing about it, but Finnick helped you as if he’d been doing it all his life.

“C’mon, Y/N, it’s gonna be fine-”

“No, it’s not gonna be fine. Caesar’s gonna call us out immediately- and if he doesn’t, then Snow will-”

“Y/N.” Finnick cut off your nervous ramblings with a stern calling of your name. Even him saying your name was still weird to you. You weren’t used to so much conversation with the victor, but now you were gonna have to pretend to love him. “We’re gonna be fine.”

You weren’t convinced, and he saw that with the twitching of your fingers. You knew Finnick was a great actor, and normally you were, too, but this situation was unlike any other that you’d ever been in. It was foreign territory for you.

“Look,” he grabbed onto your hand, “whenever you get nervous up there, you just hold my hand, alright? You’re not alone in this, okay? I’m right here.”

If you didn’t know any better, you’d say your heart skipped a beat. If you didn’t know any better, you’d even say you felt a spark when his skin met yours.

For a second, you pretended that you weren’t pretending. You pretended that you were holding hands because you were two kids in love, not because you had to survive. You pretended you were never in The Games, that you never killed so ruthlessly just to live without truly living. You pretended that you weren’t you, and Finnick wasn’t Finnick, and you were holding hands just because, not because you were about to go on TV and lie.

But that second ended far too quickly as you pulled your hand out of his grasp, nodding. “Okay,” you took a deep breath, repeating his words to yourself, “we’re gonna be okay.”

“Of course, we are. Now tell me again how we met.”

When the time came for the actual interview, you never let Finnick’s hand go.

The experience became more familiar to you as you went on. It was the same as any other show you’d put on for the Capitol. When you were younger, you dreamed of being a storyteller.

Now, you told stories of a life of yours that’d never existed.

Finnick and you were thrusted into the public eye, reciting the same stories day after day. It almost felt like it was actually real, and sometimes, you wished it was.

He’d look at you with a look of love in his eyes in front of all of the cameras, touching you tenderly. Oh, he was a wonderful liar. He even made you believe it for a second, too. But you knew that no such thing would ever happen.

Finnick Odair would never fall for a girl like you. Even if you were slowly falling for him.

During nights alone, you’d marvel at the turn of events. Finnick was once a man that you hated, but now look at you. You didn’t even know if you were faking it anymore. But it is fake, you’d remind yourself. He doesn’t love you, and you won’t love him.

You weren’t gonna let yourself love him. Truth be told, you were never gonna let yourself love anybody in the first place. Loving someone only made a new liability, a new weakness for the Capitol to exploit, but you could not love Finnick.

You’d been through a lot; your heart had taken many blows and survived, but you knew loving Finnick would only one day break it into a million little pieces. Still, it’s not like he made it easy.

You were lying in your bed- your shared bed with Finnick. Since announcing that you were dating, you moved in with him. You both decided it’d be easier to hide it all that way, easier for the public to believe, too. Sharing a bed was his idea—“just in case,” he’d said.

You wanted to object, but what would you even tell him? That you were afraid of falling in love with him? You would never even put the mere idea into his head. So you went along with it.

It was funny, though: you never went to bed alone, but that’s still how it felt. Being next to him, under the covers… it didn’t make you as warm as you hoped it would.

He didn’t live with anyone else. From what you gathered, Mags, your shared mentor, was his only family. His parents died of sickness early on; Mags took him in and kept him alive, all the way up until he was sent to The Games. Finnick didn’t get sappy with you often, but you knew that he couldn’t lose her.

What he was doing for Snow, he was doing for Mags. You thought Mags was the only person he cared about, but you learned that this wasn’t true. There was one other person who he was close to, who he’d do anything to keep safe. That person was Annie Cresta.

You met her once. She was beautiful and sweet, so you understood immediately why Finnick was in love with her. He never talked to you about her, but you could tell just from how he looked at her that she was the light of his life, even if she herself wasn’t aware of that.

Annie was good, the perfect girl for Finnick. She didn’t come with all the baggage you had, she wasn’t as rude, and she always knew what to say. You would’ve wanted them together, too, if it weren’t for the fact that Finnick was becoming your Annie. He was becoming your person, and so it killed you to know that not only was he in love with another girl, but he was also unhappy.

He’d never be happy with you. While you wished you could spare him the torment and just let him be with her, you had people you cared about, too, and he was now also on that list. So your job was to keep you all alive, not happy.

The door to your bedroom opened, interrupting your train of thought. You faced away from the entrance, but you knew it was Finnick. He had perfected soundless footsteps, even though you weren’t in an arena anymore. But you supposed you were still fighting for your lives, anyway.

He climbed into bed, letting out a big exhale when his back hit the mattress. You didn’t greet him, nor did he greet you, even though he knew you were awake. You’d gone through this whole song and dance already. You had to pretend in front of the cameras; you weren’t gonna do that in here, too.

The two of you were silent. This wasn’t a silence like before when you stood together in the Capitol after those horrible nights. This was a silence that was suffocating.

Things were never the same after you decided to go through with this charade. Maybe you were almost friends before, but now you were allies at most, just there to help the other survive. Oh, you wished you could be friends, but life was never so kind.

As if he could hear you begging for companionship, he whispered, “Y/N?”

Your breath hitched. “Yes?”

There was a beat of silence before his response. You wondered what his face looked like, but you wouldn’t dare turn around. “Can we- can we just be together tonight?”

Out of all the things he could’ve said, that didn’t even make your list. You sharply inhaled. Finnick didn’t sound like Finnick at all. He sounded small, and vulnerable, and scared, all states that he’d never let you see him in. But he was.

“What do you mean?” You didn’t turn around. “We are together.”

So unlike Finnick, he stammered, “No, I mean- can I- I want to hold you.”

If this were the dance you compared it to in your head, then you’d be stumbling over your own feet. He’d never asked about anything like that before. In fact, Finnick never even seemed to like you or this predicament much. Sure, you interested him, and maybe you were friends, but you knew that if he could’ve pick anyone else to dance this dance with, he would’ve.

You wondered what brought him to this point. Maybe it had something to do with Annie, but at that moment, you couldn’t bother thinking about it. He’d never know it, but you could never say no to him.

So you turned around and let him wrap his arm around you. But little did he know, you obliged not just to comfort him, but also yourself.

You’d fall asleep in Finnick’s arms every night after that. 

You’d always been so independent, so alone, that you forgot what it felt like to lean on someone, even if it was just for a little while in the dead of night. But when Finnick held you, sleep came easier and nightmares came less.

He had no idea that he became your knight in shining armour; he never meant to, but he did. Soon after you started “dating,” Snow left you alone. You still attended Capitol parties, still mentored kids every year, but you no longer found yourself in bed with members of Snow’s cabinet, and neither did Finnick.

It was easier once it stopped, but you still had to grapple with the pain of what had already happened to you; all of this didn’t even take into account The Games. Sure, you were done, but you still had to come back once a year and prepare a kid to kill or be killed. Nothing dredged up old memories like that did.

Doing it with him was what got you through it. When you lost a kid, Finnick was there to hold you and reassure you and himself that it wasn’t your fault, that you couldn’t have done much more to stop it. At times like those especially, you had to reel yourself in and remind yourself that, yes, he cared for you, but he wasn’t in love with you.

There were times that every bone in your body told you the exact opposite, that Finnick’s actions told you the exact opposite. Sometimes, he’d kiss you for the cameras and made you fall for it, too.

God, you were a team, such a great team. Would it be so horrible of you to assume you could be more?

You’d later realize that, yes, it was.

Because at the reaping for the 70th Hunger Games, Annie Cresta’s name was called and your little fantasy of a relationship with Finnick was shattered to pieces.

His usually calm demeanour was broken as he ran toward her as soon as you both got on the train, engulfing her in a hug and soothing her while she sobbed. You just watched from the sidelines, a frown on your face. You wished you were frowning because your dear friend Annie was just chosen to be in a fight to the death, but you were frowning because Finnick had never hugged you like that.

There were no cameras here; this wasn’t for show. He never looked at you like that when there weren’t any cameras around.

You felt like you were intruding on a private moment, even though you were just standing there, even though you were supposed to be his girlfriend, not Annie. A girlfriend would’ve probably cleared her throat, interrupted the interaction, but you couldn’t find the courage to do that.

Instead, you waited for the moment to end and walked over to her yourself when Finnick stepped away, giving her a tight hug as if she hadn’t just brought you to the brink of tears. But that didn’t matter. Annie could possibly die, so your little feelings for Finnick were pretty insignificant at the moment.

You tossed those very feelings to the side, directing all your attention to preparing your tribute. Finnick was trying to explain everything, but he was too worried, so you took over for him, pushing forth all your efforts while he focused on the boy that’d been reaped from your district.

You always tried your best with the tributes, always, but this wasn’t just any tribute. This was Annie Cresta, your friend and the love of Finnick’s life. You needed her to make it out of this alive—Finnick wouldn’t survive without her.

You gave her every piece of advice you could think of during that trip, digging through your memory for things you might’ve even forgotten. You wished you could help the boy in the same way, but there could only be one victor in these Games, and it had to be her.

Remember that these are games, Annie. Don’t worry about the killing once you’re in the arena; you need to treat it like a game, like the other tributes are just pieces that need to be knocked off the board, you told her. You hated every word that came out of your mouth, but she needed to hear it. She needed to overcome the shock now so she didn’t get choked up during the actual Games like you did.

When the time finally came for you to send the tributes off into the arena, you hugged yourself, taking deep breaths to try and calm down. You imagined that it was Finnick’s arms that were around you, but you weren’t gonna ask him to comfort you. He was the one that needed comforting, but you knew he wouldn’t accept it, so you didn’t offer.

Instead, you worked your ass off to get Annie sponsors, to get people to like her as if they didn’t already. You didn’t sleep for days, and neither did Finnick until he accidentally fell asleep for a few hours one day.

You both watched as she took the tips you’d given her, using them in her own way. She was small, but she was smart and she picked up on how to play the game quickly.

Only when the last tribute was dead did a sigh of relief finally leave you. Your shoulders slumped as you sat in front of the TV. Finnick’s muttering fell upon deaf ears as static filled your brain. She made it, you thought. She’s okay.

But that didn’t make life any more okay.

After all, nobody ever really won The Games.

“Annie- Annie, it’s alright-” 

“No, it’s not!” You heard something break, like it had thrown it to the ground. When you walked further into your house, your guess was proven right. Finnick and Annie stood in your living room, the former worried and the latter frantic, pieces of a broken vase all over the ground.

“Nothing is okay, Finn! Nothing! Do you hear me- nothing is okay!” The redhead was pacing around with your so called boyfriend trying to stop and calm her down. They were both so panicked that neither of them noticed you, and you didn’t announce your presence, either.

You only stood from the side, just like on that Capitol train. The Annie that went into that arena was innocent. She was eighteen, but she was still more of a child than either of you ever got the chance to be. Now that she won, she didn’t look so innocent anymore.

She wore a look that was so familiar to you. She was alive, but Annie had never looked more like a ghost of herself.

“Annie, please-” Finnick’s voice cracked mid-sentence. He kept trying to get close to her, but she moved away every time. The tears in his eyes made yours watery, too. You had never seen him look so broken, not even as you stood in the Capitol together those cold nights after being used.

If you weren’t sure of how much Finnick loved Annie, you were now.

“No, no, nothing is okay!” She screamed, tears streaming down her face. She suddenly stopped, letting out a sob before collapsing onto the ground. Finnick ran to her right away, pulling her close and rocking her as she repeated the same thing over and over.

You hadn’t even noticed you were crying until you felt the tear falling onto your cheek, wiping at it immediately and turning around to walk away as quietly as you possibly could. You weren’t gonna just stand by and do nothing while Annie fell apart and Finnick cut himself trying to put the pieces back together. You couldn’t.

You found yourself in the kitchen, putting a kettle on the stove to distract yourself. Your eyes zeroed in on it as you tried to block out the sound of Annie’s crying, trying not to cry yourself. At one point, you succeeded, because you couldn’t hear anything anymore.

You don’t know how long you stood there, but you were eventually broken out of your trance by a hand reaching out in front of you to turn off the stove, moving the kettle. It was only now that you realized how loudly it was whistling.

You turned to see the hand belonged to Finnick who now poured the hot water into your expensive tea cups. They were a gift given to you by a patron of the Capitol, an old man with kids and a wife. He was somewhat of a regular of yours, and so he gave you that tea set to try and make himself feel better for what he was doing, along with many other gifts.

You never told Finnick any of this. You wondered if he would so readily pull them out if he knew where they came from.

He wordlessly put the tea bags into the cups, sliding one over on the island to where you stood. Then he brought the cup to his lips, taking a sip of the scalding liquid like it was nothing. You ignored your disbelief and the rational part of your brain, picking the cup to do the same thing.

When the tea met your tongue, it burned, even as it went down your throat, but you still went back in for a second sip, anyway. This pain was able to distract you from all the thoughts bouncing around in your head, and so that made it feel like it was worth it. You wondered if this was Finnick’s logic, too.

You didn’t say anything for a long while, didn’t ask about Annie or where she went. You knew he must’ve known that you heard what happened, but he didn’t mention it, either. You assumed that she fell asleep.

You wished you could fall asleep so easily, too.

Your song kept playing as you both danced around the same topics, standing together silently as your world crumbled. You danced, and danced, and danced, until your tea cups were empty, but the song was still playing.

Finnick’s voice cut through the silence of your music effortlessly, even though he was still so quiet.

“Sometimes, I think she would’ve been better off if she died.” You slowly brought your head up to meet his eyes, but they were aimed at the cup in his hand. He looked nothing like the Prince of Panem, the charming man who always had something witty to say. No, he looked beaten down, just as lifeless as Annie. Maybe you looked as lifeless as you felt, too; maybe you were all so unaware of how broken you seemed.

You didn’t know what to say to his confession. So you didn’t say anything at all.

You’d never know where that conversation would’ve went, because in seconds, Finnick collected your cups, put them in the sink, and then he left you standing there.

His words from before echoed through your head. We will never be free, Y/N.

And maybe he was right.

Annie was back home, but she never really came back from that arena—none of you did. Hell, you were thrusted into a life you never wanted, a victor’s life, as soon as you were out. You thanked God that Annie wasn’t gonna have to go through what you did; the way she was spinning out made her undesirable. At least a good thing came out of her losing it.

Oh, you were starting to find a silver-lining with everything. You had to—otherwise, you’d lose it, just like Annie. You had to find some sort of good in this situation because, otherwise, what was the point?

Time supposedly healed all wounds, but you felt like you were still bleeding. You just learned to conceal it better than others.

Before The Games, you had friends. Now you really only talked to Finnick, and you two didn’t talk much, either. Every now and then, you’d see Annie and Mags, but they weren’t your people. And your family… well, how close could you be with them after what happened? You weren’t the same girl your mother raised.

She could barely even look at you anymore.

But you couldn’t think about any of this. If you did, you’d fall apart, and you couldn’t do that. You had a role to play, an image to protect—for your safety, for your family’s safety, for his safety.

You couldn’t afford to break down like that in your living room and throw things. You wanted to, so badly, but you didn’t have that luxury.

So your song kept playing, and you danced along with it.

Finnick’s walls went back up, too. His charisma was like a light bulb that briefly flickered, but it was back now. He was dancing, too. But, without even realizing it, you both held each other tighter at night, as if you were trying not to lose the other to the tornado that was your life.

However, when you woke up, you both pretended the tornado didn’t even exist.

Annie wasn’t one for pretending. Oh, she got wrapped up into the tornado the second she was declared a victor and there was no saving her anymore. Yes, she would’ve been better off dead, maybe you all would’ve been, but if you thought about this for too long, if you let the song stop, then you’d get caught in the cyclone, too.

You pretended for a year, attending Capitol galas with a smile on your face, getting interviewed right next to Finnick with his hand in yours, acting like you were the picture perfect couple. He spoke about you like he knew you like the back of his hand, but truth be told, he didn’t know you at all; he barely ever tried to. You didn’t blame him, though; it was hard to try to talk to someone when the music was so loud.

Then came the 71st Hunger Games, and you were mentors again. Meeting the tributes, it was almost like the music stopped- almost. The girl was quiet but angry, and she reminded you so much of yourself. The boy kept cracking jokes that she didn’t laugh at, jokes that were probably inappropriate for a time like this, but you knew he wasn’t doing it to be an ass. This was his way of coping.

He reminded you of Finnick.

Looking at these kids was like looking into a mirror. On the last day of training, he finally got a reaction out of her, made her smile with a faint blush on her cheeks. Oh, these kids should’ve been laughing together in the diner back home, not on their way to die.

They were too young and too innocent. It makes you wonder if things would’ve been different if you and Finnick had met before The Games. Would that have made soothed the heartbreak?

You didn’t know. But when you saw that boy crying as he held her in that arena, blood pouring onto him from her stab-wound, you knew that heartbreak was what he felt.

Too young. They were too young.

The boy died too. He didn’t even put up a fight.

These kids were just kids, and they died young.

Just like you and Finnick did.

You sat in your room at the Capitol, swirling your scotch around in your glass. It was a crystal glass so beautiful you knew it could’ve only been crafted by hand, but you didn’t want to admire it; you wanted to throw it at the wall.

Their names were Delta and Aalto. Aalto was the more talkative one; he said he dreamed of opening his own bakery one day, right in the middle of the district with food that everyone could afford and enjoy.

He’d never get to do that now.

And Delta- she didn’t know what she wanted out of life yet. She never got the chance to figure it out.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair at all.

The door to the room opened, making you look up from the liquor in your hand to see Finnick walking into the room. He looked defeated. Of course, he was better at hiding it than you were, but you knew how to read him better now, after all these years.

The bed dipped as he sat down next to you. You held your glass out, almost like a peace offering, and he took it without much thought, downing it in one go.

You sat there together the same way you had many times before, not saying a word. But this time felt different. It felt like there was something you were supposed to say. So you turned to look at Finnick, trying to see if he felt the same weight, only to see that he was already looking at you.

You could tell just by his eyes that he felt it, too. He opened his mouth, then closed it like he’d lost his train of thought. When you met him, you never thought you’d see the day when Finnick was speechless.

Look at how wrong you were.

You opened your mouth after a few seconds, wanting to articulate your feelings in some way, but Finnick’s lips slammed against yours before you get anything out. Without thinking, you kissed back; it felt like second-nature to you.

This wasn’t the first time you’d kissed, but he had never kissed you like this, so passionately, not a camera in sight. He was kissing you like you were air and he’d been holding his breath for so long, like you were the treasure he’d been searching for and he didn’t want to let go.

It felt like nothing you’d ever experienced.

When you eventually pulled away for air and opened your eyes, you were brought back to the real world. There was something you were supposed to say. But you quickly disregarded it, pulling him back in for another kiss before he could notice the way you were looking at him.

Yes, there was something you were supposed to say. But you couldn’t put it into words.

So you hoped that this kiss said everything that you couldn’t.

You were both grieving, and you were both there. And you knew that Finnick didn’t like you like that, so you weren’t gonna get your hopes up. This meant nothing, even if it felt like everything for you when it was happening.

He was the only person you’d ever done anything like this with before. You did things with those people Snow set you up with, but that didn’t count. You were doing this because you wanted to. You didn’t know if this was his first time or not, but you weren’t gonna ask. You did everything but talk for the rest of the night.

When you woke up, it was still dark out and Finnick was still asleep. You stared at him for a few seconds, his fluffy blond hair that you messed up, his swollen lips. He looked so peaceful like this; you couldn’t bear to wake him up and ruin that, bring him back to this nightmare.

So you got up as quietly as you could, wrapping yourself in a robe and closing the door to the bedroom, walking into the living room. The rooms the Capitol provided the victors were beautiful, but never beautiful enough to make you forget about the ugly reason that you were here.

You sat on the couch, exhaling and leaning back. You were gonna sit there in silence, but your song kept playing, and the record was skipping, and you were starting to get a headache, so you turned on the TV.

Without having to change the channel at all, you were immediately met with the news, Caesar Flickerman’s face on the flat screen. It wasn’t long before you realized why he was so excited: the Hunger Games were over. Someone won.

Caesar’s attitude made your mood go sour. He was behaving like twenty-three children weren’t just killed. It didn’t matter if they died of starvation, dehydration, an animal, or actually another tribute—it was all murder, and the Capitol was the perpetrator. It disgusted you that there were people who found enjoyment in watching these Games, Caesar Flickerman included. They’d pretend to be sympathetic, but at the end of the day, you were all just circus animals to them.

The victor’s face came onto the TV, and you immediately recognized her from the rankings. Johanna Mason. Caesar kept talking, explaining how Johanna had managed to cause so many people to be enamoured of her, and you suddenly felt sick.

Snow was gonna jump at this opportunity. He was gonna use her, too.

You turned off the TV, going back to your room and getting back into bed like you’d never left. Your song came back on, and you went back to preferring to listen to it instead of your own thoughts. You weren’t gonna think about Johanna much longer; there wasn’t any point.

There was nothing you could do.

The next time you woke up and it was actually morning, you were surprised to see that Finnick was still there. While you were sleeping, he managed to snake his arms around you. 

You didn’t get up, even though there were Capitol duties to attend to.

You stayed in bed and pretended that you were a normal couple, that maybe Finnick actually felt something for you, that you weren’t in the Capitol right now, that the world wasn’t so fucked up, that you weren’t so fucked up. But you didn’t pretend for long, eventually getting up and facing the world that you didn’t want to be apart of but had been sucked into.

He didn’t tell you this, but he was pretending, too.

You both went to the gatherings you had to go to, talked to the people you had to talk to, kept smiles on your faces, and shook Snow’s hand, even though it made you want to puke. You endured it all—you both did. The Prince and Princess of Panem…

You realized it was true what they said, heavy is the head that wears the crown. This figurative crown was weighing you down; you wondered if it’d be so coveted if people got the chance to feel how you felt.

Then you went back home, even if it didn’t really feel like a home to you. It was still all you had. But Finnick kept surprising you.

Your dance suddenly changed. The song was still playing, but the dance was different, almost like that night you’d spent together had actually meant something.

You started having dinner together every night. Before, you often forgot to eat, but now how could you? You were beginning to look forward to your daily dinners; there wasn’t much more to look forward to in the life you led.

He made it hard for you not to fall even more in love with him.

You two still didn’t talk during dinner, but it almost did feel normal, like you were a family- like you could be a family.

And then the dance changed again, and that dream felt even more real.

You pulled your chair out at your dinner table, sitting down across from Finnick. You were both dressed “down” in more comfortable clothes, but you knew there was some people in the district that still couldn’t afford them. That bothered you, but when you had dinner, most of your worries were pushed to the back of your mind.

When you two had dinner, you just enjoyed the dance.

You were a few minutes into dinner when you noticed that Finnick wasn’t eating but he was staring at you. He hadn’t stared at you like that since when you first met, so curiously, like you were a secret he wanted to be let in on.

You couldn’t ignore his stare, even if you tried. However, you tried to act nonchalant. “Is there something you want to say?” You quizzed, twirling another bite of pasta like you were unaffected by his gaze.

Finnick responded in the same beat, so much like the Finnick that was charismatic and lively, not the quiet one you normally lived with. “Something I want to ask you, actually.”

“Oh,” you said, immediately kicking yourself at how stupid you sounded. “Well, ask away.” He didn’t need to be told twice.

“What’s your favourite colour?” 

You were caught off guard by his question, blinking like you were trying to figure out if you just imagined him saying him that or if he really did. He blinked back at you but never faltered.

“What?”

He repeated himself, slower this time. “What is your favourite colour?” You blinked again when you realized he was being totally serious. “You know, colours, like a rainbow-”

“I know what colours are, Finnick.”

“Ohhhh.” His eyes got big as if he thought you actually didn’t know what a rainbow was. “Sorry, you were just looking at me like I had said the most absurd thing you’ve ever heard. So what’s your favourite colour?”

You couldn’t stop the corners of your lips going up as his grin just got wider. God, you hadn’t seen him smile like that in so long. It actually looked real.

You thought about it for a second, looking right into his eyes when you came up with an answer. “It’s blue, not really dark or light either. Sort of green- it’s close to grey, too.”

He looked at you for a few seconds before blurting, “Y/N, that sounds like the least vibrant shade of blue I’ve ever heard of.”

You laughed. “It’s vibrant to me!” He laughed, too, shaking his head like you were crazy. That shade of blue that you described was more vibrant than any other blue you’d ever seen. You could never tired of looking at it whenever you looked into Finnick’s eyes.

When the laughter died down, you asked him the same question. “Okay, now what’s your favourite colour?”

He shrugged. “Don’t have one.”

You scoffed, “Oh, come. on. You have to have a favourite colour; you can’t be that boring.”

“That boring? I’m not boring at all,” he argued, a look of faux offence on his face.

You snorted. “I beg to differ.”

“I can make you beg a lot more if you don’t take that back.” Your eyes immediately went wide and, against your will, a faint redness spread on your cheeks.

“What?”

“You heard me,” he said, crossing his arms. He looked pleased at the reaction he got out of you. “Take it back.”

You scoffed again, but you weren’t sure if it was because of your stubbornness or because you wanted to see how far you could push him. “I’m not taking anything back.”

He just stared at you for a few seconds before flashing that famous smirk of his, dimples appearing in his cheeks. “Really?”

You crossed your arms, too, nodding. “Mhm.”

He chuckled. “We’ll see if you still feel that way in the morning.”

And then he spent the rest of the night showing you just how boring he wasn’t.

The day after, you didn’t wake up dejected but instead with a smile on your face. You didn’t get out of bed at all, staying in Finnick’s arms. You felt giddy, like a school girl. There were no thoughts of his lack of feelings for you, Annie, or The Games. You just laid there and enjoyed the moment.

It didn’t even feel like you were pretending.

When Finnick woke up, you did it all over again. You ended up staying in bed all day together, cancelling your plans.

And when the time came to get out of bed, to go back to the real world, the music didn’t go back to normal. It was more upbeat now. You kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, for the beat to drop, but it didn’t.

Finnick didn’t pretend like you two sleeping together never happened. In fact, you two kept doing it almost every day. You actually had conversations during dinner. You learned basic things about him that you hadn’t known in all of the time you were living together.

He made you laugh often. You stopped crying so much.

Is this what happiness feels like? you wondered. If it was, you never wanted anything different. Whatever Finnick felt for you, it didn’t matter. As long as he kept making you happy, it didn’t matter.

You were so in love with him that it stopped mattering if he reciprocated your feelings. You didn’t want anything to ruin this, what you had. Your relationship was the most special thing you’d ever had, even if you didn’t know what to call it, so you were gonna do your damn best to hold onto it.

The things he’d say in front of the cameras felt real, then the things he did when you were alone made you believe it even more. Whatever this was between you, it felt real.

So real.

You were stirring something on the stove when two arms snaked around your waist, tickling you, making a squeal fly from your lips. “Finnick!” You screeched, trying to suppress your giggles as you turned around. The culprit (who was shirtless) didn’t look guilty at all, a shit-eating grin on his face. You shoved his shoulder. “I am trying to cook us breakfast.”

He snorted. “Yeah, trying and failing.” You shoved him again, causing him to laugh. “I’m sorry, you can’t cook!”

You crossed your arms and narrowed your eyes. “I’ll have you know, I can cook very well, actually.”

He wrapped his arms around you again. “You know, you’re cute when you pout.”

“I’m not pouting!” You exclaimed, but a blush still arose on your cheeks that Finnick noticed right away. It was almost like he was always watching for those types of things, always trying to say or do something to get you red.

“You’re even cuter when you blush.” 

Your blush worsened, but you weren’t gonna give him the satisfaction of your defeat. “I’m not blushing. We’re in a kitchen, and it’s hot.”

He pulled you closer to him, grin widening. “Don’t lie to yourself, sweetheart, about your blushing or your cooking.” He glanced behind you. “Oh, look, burnt food.”

Your eyes went wide, immediately turning around. You groaned when you saw the brown eggs and the trail of smoke coming from them. “It’s all your fault, Finn, you distracted me.”

He gave your head a kiss, rubbing his hands up and down your arms. “Sure, darling, whatever you say.” Luckily, you were turned away from him so he couldn’t see how your cheeks reddened. You still weren’t used to the pet names, even though Finnick seemed to adore them. “Let’s leave the cooking to me from now on.”

You lightly scoffed, “Whatever.” He kissed your cheek before you started walking away, planning to sit on the couch while you waited for him to cook the food. You didn’t have to look at him to know he was probably smug.

“Who messes up eggs?” he muttered under his breath once you were a few feet away.

“I heard that, Finnick!” you shouted, but he only let out a loud laugh.

You shook your head at him, plopping down onto the couch in the adjoining living room and turning the TV on, but it was really just background noise. You found it much more enticing to watch Finnick cook. The way he moved so swiftly looked effortless; he knew what he was doing, that was sure. And it didn’t help that he was shirtless.

You discreetly stared at him for a while—or, you thought you were being discreet. Without looking up from what he was doing, he teased, “You know that I can feel you ogling at me, right?”

You went red as a tomato. “Shut up, Finnick!” you shrieked, turning back to the TV as if you even knew what was playing. His laugh boomed and you turned up the volume to tune it out, only causing him to laugh even louder.

Even though you were thoroughly embarrassed that he’d caught you staring at him, a smile still found its way onto your face. Around Finnick, it was hard not find a reason to smile.

You’d be content if you didn’t do anything for the rest of your life but wake up to him every day.

You spent many more mornings like that together, and lunches, and dinners, and everything in between. You exchanged jokes and playful banter constantly. Finnick really did make your cheeks hurt.

But he knew when to be serious.

There were still nights when you’d wake up from nightmares, and he’d comfort you back to sleep every time. When you caught him in a nightmare, you’d try your best to repay the favour, even though that didn’t happen often. He rarely wanted you to see him like that, so he hid his nightmares, but you did everything you could to keep him happy while he was awake to make up for it.

When you went to the Capitol, all of the darkness crept back in, squeezing in through the cracks of the walls that you’d built—for both of you. But you kept each other grounded. You weren’t alone.

Once, he had to talk you back from the edge as you had a panic attack in the bathroom. He locked the door and stayed there with you until you calmed down. You told him that you saw someone you hadn’t seen up close in a while, an old patron, and that just opened the floodgates. You saw his hands ball up into fists; he tried to hide the anger on his face, but you saw it and you understood it. 

He was angry at the Capitol, and so were you. He’d been through the same things you had, and that made it so much easier to cope, to have someone that understood. He understood for you and you understood for him, and so when things were bad, they at least became more okay. As long as you were there for each other, things were okay.

Meeting Johanna Mason at a later event nearly brought you right back to the brink. Her family was dead, she’d told you. And you wished you hadn’t understood so fast. You wished that none of you ever had to understand these things, that you could’ve stayed kids for longer before childhood was ripped away from you.

It’s not fair, you cried to Finnick. He killed her family. She said no, and he killed her family.

He let you cry on his shoulder, rubbing his hand up and down your back as he whispered, I know. It’s not fair, I know. But it was the world you lived in, and, unfortunately, neither of you had the power to do anything about it, even though you were the so called Prince and Princess of Panem.

So you did what you could. You were there for Johanna like how you were there for Finnick when you still didn’t know him. Both of you were there for her, teaching her the moves to your dance so she could dance with you while you were all at the Capitol together.

She was brutally honest, maybe even rude to the average onlooker, but it was what The Games did to her. Finnick and you understood that, and that led to you both forming a friendship with her. Coping with other people, people who understood, was the best painkiller that not even money could provide.

The Games were the hardest, but you went through that together, too. You trained those tributes with everything you had. You tried your best, but sometimes, not even that was enough to keep them alive. Finnick and you would grieve together. At times, he was more rational than you, reminding you that it wasn’t your fault, that these were games made to kill.

Whatever you went through, you went through it together. The good days, the bad days, the laughs, the tears—you were together every step of the way.

Things went like this for years. You really were a team, and nothing could convince you otherwise this time. You loved him more and more each day, but you never told him that; you didn’t need to, and you didn’t need him to love you, either. Being there, being together was good enough.

Your song never got old. You were so in sync as you danced. Oh, you never would’ve thought that Finnick Odair of all people would not only make your life bearable, but also joyful.

You were fake boyfriend and girlfriend, and yeah those lines started to blur, but you also became best friends over time. 

Finnick and you lied together in bed, the TV going on in the background. Your head was on his chest as he pet your hair. It was your seventh time doing this mentor thing, but it never seemed to get easier.

Your tributes were promising, but they still died early on, even though you both got them as many sponsors as you could. Mentors were usually down in the lobby, talking to sponsors and watching The Games with everyone else, but after your tributes died, there was no point.

So you went upstairs, and you both just lied there. It was one of those times where neither of you had to say anything. You were together, alive together, and that was enough.

Listening to Finnick’s heartbeat could calm you down in any situation. You must’ve been doing something to help him, too, because his heartbeat was steady. You stayed like that for a bit until he moved a bit, murmuring under his breath, “What?”

He sat up, making you sit up, too, while he grabbed the remote, turning the volume up. You glanced at it and the scene immediately caught your attention. You heard the last bits of what the announcer was saying, that a rule about two victors was being annulled. Your brows furrowed; you must not have seen the part where any such thing was declared.

You recognized the tributes who you quickly realized were the last people left standing. They were the kids from district 12, the Girl on Fire and the boy in love with her.

You scoffed. “Of course, they want the star-crossed lovers to battle to the death.” You were about to turn away, refusing to indulge in the Capitol’s bullshit, but Finnick grabbed onto your arm.

“Wait.”

You stopped, turning back. The girl, Katniss, had a bow and arrow in her hands. Peeta was a few steps away from her. They were both staring at each other, Katniss looking like she didn’t know what do, but Peeta looked like he already accepted that he was going to die.

You didn’t want to watch this, watch two people fall apart on television, but for some reason, this had captured Finnick’s attention.

One of us should go home, he said. One of us has to die; they have to have their victor. Katniss was already shaking her head.

No. She dropped her arrow to the ground, walking forward. They don’t.

You tilted your head, but you understood what was happening when she pulled a handful of berries from her pocket. “Holy shit.”

Peeta grabbed her hand, rejecting the idea immediately, but she whispered, Trust me. He must’ve really been in love with her, because he did. She poured some berries into the palm of his hand, making you lean closer.

“You don’t think they’re gonna…” you trailed off, puzzled. There were people that’d killed themselves in past games, but this had never happened. There was always a victor.

Peeta hesitated, but looked sure when he looked back into Katniss’ eyes. Together? he mumbled.

She repeated his words. Together. She looked up for a second, and then you suddenly recognized the look on her face. This was a bluff.

They counted down from three, and just as they were gonna bring the berries to their mouths, the announcer frantically cut in, Stop- stop! He cleared his throat. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the winners… of the 74th Annual Hunger Games.

Relief flooded into Katniss’ eyes as she embraced Peeta in a hug. Shock flowed through you, and Finnick’s expression was no different.

Once you had processed the information, you couldn’t help the grin that grew on your face, disbelief and pride filling you at the same time. “They just screwed the Capitol.”

You turned to see him smirking. “Hell yeah, they did.”

And this made your Hunger Games experience just a little bit better.

Neither of you were surprised that Seneca Crane was found dead days later. He made a grave mistake, letting two victors win. Snow wouldn’t have that, and you could guess why.

What Katniss and Peeta did was causing chatter, sparking hope. People in district 4 were more hush-hush about it, but outlying districts, like 11, had gone into revolts. The Capitol must’ve been stressed, and knowing that brought you some sick form of comfort.

Katniss and Peeta were spinning their actions, making them out to be this act of love, like they couldn’t bear to live without each other, but you and Finnick saw right through it. After all, if there was anyone who could spot a fake relationship, it was you two.

However, the two love-birds flew from your mind when you got home. You were brought back to your little world, living life alongside Finnick. The urge grew to ask him what you were, if you were still in a fake relationship just like Katniss and Peeta or if this was real, as real as you felt it was, but you didn’t wanna mess up the one good thing you had going.

The truth was, you don’t know how long you would’ve made it without him.

Finnick was your lifeline, and he had no idea.

The next time you were at the Capitol, you were in the Presidential Palace for the so called biggest party of the year. It was always hosted right before the Hunger Games, so being there gave you many things to be anxious about.

But, like always, you concealed it, smiling and shaking hands with the people you came across, even as you were disgusted. Some of these people, the very people who paid for your body at sixteen, were there with their families. You wondered how they could have children and still do what they did.

You were a child, too.

Normally, Finnick would be there to calm you down, but he snuck off somewhere without telling you.

You were wandering around, trying to find him when a head of brown hair streaked with red came into your view. “Hey, Princess.”

A sigh left your lips, both out of relief that you found someone you knew and discontent at the nickname. “Hey, Jo.” You would usually make conversation with her, but you were pretty distracted, glancing around behind her. “Have you seen Finnick anywhere? I’ve been looking for him for a while now.”

When you looked back to her, a look you couldn’t decipher flashed across her face, but it was gone in an instant. “No, can’t say I have.”

For some reason, you got a weird feeling from her. It was almost like she knew something that you didn’t.

“Hey, why don’t we go grab a bite while we wait for him?” She suggested, gesturing to the buffet. “I’m starving.”

You shook your head, dazed. “I’ll catch up with you- I’m just gonna go to the bathroom.”

She perked up. “I’ll go with you.”

You were quick to decline. “No, that’s fine; go eat. I’ll be back in a sec.” She was hesitant  for reasons you couldn’t fathom, but she eventually nodded, agreeing to meet you later.

You walked through the halls, passing the bathrooms and not even sparing them a glance. You didn’t really know why you lied about where you were going, but in that moment, it felt like instinct. You trusted Johanna, but you were catching the same weird vibe from countless other people. All you wanted was to find Finnick and have him tell you everything was alright.

You didn’t have to look long before you found him, outside along with many other partygoers. But he wasn’t alone. Standing next to him was a man you’d just recently seen on TV. You just couldn’t remember his name.

You made your way over to them. They cut themselves off as soon as they saw you, not letting you overhear a single detail of whatever they were talking about. You stifled the reappearance of that weird feeling that was starting to feel a lot like suspicion. “Sorry to interrupt, gentlemen.”

Finnick waved you off, “No, it’s fine, sweetheart.” He pulled you into his side, kissing your temple. “This is Plutarch Heavensbee.” A lightbulb went off in your head as you looked to the man.

He was Seneca Crane’s replacement.

What the hell was Finnick doing talking to him?

“It’s an honour and a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Y/L/N,” he greeted, holding his hand out. There was something about him that was throwing you off, not just your revelation of who he was, but you still shook his hand.

“Pleasure’s mine, Mr. Heavensbee,” you replied, smiling your umpteenth fake smile of the night. But you had an inkling that no one in the Capitol was as genuine as they seemed.

Plutarch didn’t try to stay and make small talk like the rest of the people you encountered at the Capitol, bidding you both farewell and wishing you a good night. Something told you his departure had something to do with your arrival.

Once he was out of earshot, you turned in Finnick’s arms. “Was that the new head Gamemaker?” He nodded, but didn’t offer any explanation. You furrowed your brows. “What were you talking about?” 

Finnick shrugged nonchalantly, but for some reason, he seemed tense. “He wanted to meet the youngest victor of The Games.”

You found that hard to believe, holding back a scoff. “Well, he didn’t seem too interested in meeting me.”

A smile arose on his face as he wrapped his arms back around your waist. “That is because you, darling, are not the youngest person to ever win.”

This time, you did scoff, but the tense atmosphere dissipated. “You’re a dick.”

“You love me.” Your heart nearly stopped, but you kept your composure. You did love him, more than he’d ever know.

You shook your head, acting unaffected. “C’mon, Johanna’s waiting for us by the buffet.” You tried walking away, but your faux façade of annoyance was broken by Finnick latching onto your hand and walking forward with you, chuckling.

And then the entire matter of everyone’s weird behaviour was pushed to the back of your mind.

Returning home from the Capitol was always peaceful, like a weight being lifted off your shoulders, but this time was unlike any of those other times. When you got home, the so called peace that the Capitol so delicately crafted was ripping at the seams.

The chatter from before, from when Katniss and Peeta defied the Capitol, was louder than ever. They had just gone on their victor’s tour, right before you left for the Presidential Palace, and they had apparently sparked a reaction in just about every district they visited, yours included.

You found out that district 4 had been in a revolt since Everdeen and Mellark came and gave their speech. The people were outraged. The news talked about seafood shortages due to bad weather, but the Capitol just didn’t want to let Panem know what was going on, that people were refusing work, that Peacekeepers were murdering innocent people left and right for the smallest of incidents.

When you were all caught up with what had happened, you were furious, too. You wanted to march out onto the streets and give the Capitol the finger, but Finnick pulled you back. 

“What are you gonna do, Y/N?” he questioned, not even giving you the time to answer. “You don’t even know.”

Your voice was vicious as you responded, a tone you’d never given him. You were angry, and you both knew you weren’t thinking clearly; you just didn’t care. “I don’t know right now, but I’m gonna do something, Finnick.” You tried pulling your arm away, but he was much stronger than you.

“I’m not gonna let you go out there and get yourself killed.” You could tell by his demeanour that he was angry, but not for the same reasons that you were.

You shook your head. “You of all people should understand where I’m coming from.”

His eyes went hard. “You must not know me well if you think I’d let my girlfriend kill herself.” That shut you up.

His girlfriend.

He called you his girlfriend.

You got over the shock and, suddenly, you were even more angry than before. While you could pretend all you wanted to that you lived in candy-land, the cruel reality was still there. Finnick didn’t love you. He was only playing with your emotions.

Tears built up in your eyes: sad tears, angry tears—they were everything tears. You felt everything. “I’m your girlfriend now?”

He scoffed, “Oh, come on, Y/N. You can’t be serious right now.”

“I am so serious right now.” 

At your deadpan, he finally let go of your arm, running a hand through his hair. A part of you felt bad that he was so stressed, but you were stressed, too. He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say when he looked back up at you. His voice was no longer harsh, but small. “Y/N, please.”

You swallowed. 

“I’m just asking you to trust me.” He grabbed onto your hands. “Please just trust me.” He was begging you.

“Trust you to do what?”

“I just need you to trust me, Y/N, please.” He held your hands tighter. “Trust me.”

Oh, it didn’t matter how angry you were, if your thoughts were set in stone. Finnick would still be able to mold you like clay. Every time.

“I trust you.”

There was something different about him, but you were too distracted to try and figure it out.

There were so many things going on.

You were with Annie when it happened. Oh, that must have been some cruel joke from the universe. You were walking through the town square, on your way to Victors’ Village with pastries from the bakery in your hands. You were slowed down by the all of the people congregating together, watching the screen.

President Snow was announcing the third Quarter Quell, and they were eating it up. You weren’t gonna do that, entertain his lunacy. You’d go the Capitol and play your role, but you weren’t gonna watch these broadcasts anymore. You weren’t gonna play along.

Finnick could explain it to you later so you’d be able to prep your tributes. The Quells were always made out to be the hallmark of The Games; they were always harder. You felt for whatever kids would have to go through them.

You felt a lot more once you realized who these tributes were gonna be.

You weren’t listening to what Snow was was saying, but his words cut through any sort of mental block you had. “On this, the third Quarter Quell Games, the male and female tributes are… to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.” 

Your stopped walking as if you’d hit a wall, the stuff in your hands falling the ground, but it was almost like you didn’t hear it. You stopped hearing anything, not Snow explaining the condition or everyone’s gasps. Your ears rang. Everything was muffled like you were underwater.

You were done. You were supposed to be done. You went through those Games, you won, and now you were supposed to be done.

He was gonna make you go through it all over again.

You were so shocked that you pinched yourself, like you were a child and this was some nightmare, and even though you didn’t wake up, even though you knew you were awake, you were still caught in a nightmare that you’d have to die to escape from.

Your senses came back to you and you spun around, pulling Annie into a tight hug the second you saw the tears streaming down her face. She muttered the same thing over and over into your shoulder.

“This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening, this can’t be happening.”

She couldn’t go through this again. The Games broke her beyond repair. She couldn’t mentor because of it; she could barely ever attend any of the Capitol parties you and Finnick frequented. She would die in that arena, either mentally or physically.

You couldn’t let that happen.

Your song played on a loop in your mind, making the decision for you. You were reminded that, even though your dance may have changed, Finnick didn’t love you. He loved Annie, and he would be destroyed if she died.

You couldn’t let that happen.

You couldn’t let Mags go back into the arena, either. He needed her. These were the only people he cared about; you couldn’t let them go through this.

Then and there, you decided your fate.

You were gonna be the one to go back into the arena, and no one was gonna stop you.

When you and Annie had made it to your house, ignoring all of the looks of pity thrown your way, Finnick looked just as beaten down as you, but not surprised. You didn’t have time to analyze that.

He hugged Annie first, shooting you an apologetic look, but you didn’t understand what it was for. You knew what Annie meant to him.

You weren’t so deluded that you’d believe you came before her. Besides, she needed to be consoled more than you did. You were calm. Annie was lost right now, but you knew exactly where you were headed.

That night, once Annie left, your clothes came off, and you and Finnick had the softest sex you ever had. It was gentle, and you let yourself feel loved one last time. You let yourself be selfish and have this one thing, just one last time.

You knew that the odds of coming out of that arena were slim, so you kissed Finnick like you were gonna die the very next day. I just might, you thought. And then as you fell asleep in his arms, you pretended that everything was alright. You pretended that your dance wasn’t gonna end so soon, that you weren’t gonna sign your life away when you woke up, that Finnick really loved you, that he loved you just as much as you loved him. You pretended one last time.

The next day, you and all of the other victors walked to the Hall of Justice, escorted by a dozen Peacekeepers. There were so many male tributes. As terrible as it sounded, you were praying that it’d be one of them that was chosen, not Finnick. If he was, then you would throw away any chance you had of winning.

If he went in with you, then he’d be the one walking out.

Cassia Locke stood in the middle of the stage, in between the male and female victors. You found it funny, almost: you were victors, but now the Capitol was gonna rip that refuge away after they’d already taken everything from you.

Cassia was just another mutt in your eyes. She was district 4’s Capitol escort; she was meant to be an advisor, but she didn’t do that well, not for you or the other tributes you mentored. But you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised. Her job was to make spectacles, not survivors.

However, she almost looked human for a moment, glancing at the women sympathetically before she pulled out a folded paper from the bowl. You stood on edge; there were only three of you. Unbeknownst to you, Finnick also stood straighter in trepidation.

She cleared her throat, announcing, “The female tribute for the 75th Annual Hunger Games and third Quarter Quell is… Annie Cresta.”

Annie’s face fell, but you quickly stepped forward. “I volunteer as tribute.”

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Annie whispered, putting a hand on your shoulder, but you brushed her off and ignored her.

Cassia nodded. “Very well, then.” She moved back to the bowl. “Now for the males.”

You glanced over to see that Finnick was already looking at you, an unknown emotion written all over his face, though you realized what it was quickly. Betrayal.

You were confused why. If anything, he should’ve been relieved.

“The male tribute for the 75th Annual Hunger Games will be…” she unfolded the paper, “Finnick Odair.”

Your heart dropped. That wasn’t supposed to happen. 

The universe must’ve hated you.

Finnick’s mask was back on. Any trace of emotion on his face was erased and replaced with the cocky, charming façade that he’d perfected. He smirked as if he wasn’t just chosen for the most brutal “game” there ever was, like there was nothing to be worried about.

He was so good at pretending. Maybe even better than you.

You both walked toward the centre of the stage simultaneously, routinely. You’ve danced this dance before.

“Ladies and gentlemen, our tributes for the Hunger Games.”

Right after that, Peacekeepers came from the side, trying to grab at your arms, but you shook them off. “We know where to go,” you said. You don’t know if it was the your tone of voice or the look on your face, but they actually listened.

You were escorted into an inactive chamber, the same one you were brought to for your first Games. Memories flashed through your mind before you shook them away. You couldn’t get PTSD right before you went into this.

Finnick was stoic as he stared you, but before either of you could say anything, Mags and Annie came rushing into the room. Annie took you by surprise, immediately engulfing you tightly.

She was still crying, but manage to blubber out through her tears, “Why- why would you do that?”

You rubbed her back. “Annie-”

“Why would you do that for me? It was supposed to be me. Supposed to be me, supposed to be me.” She kept repeating herself over and over, shaking in your arms.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Finnick and Mags watching you. “It’s gonna be okay, Annie,” you told her, but you knew it was a lie. “I’m gonna be fine.” You weren’t.

As if she knew this, she only cried harder. You didn’t know what else to say, so you just kept rubbing her back, hoping that she’d calm down. Eventually, she stopped shaking, but tears kept flowing from her eyes like a waterfall. She tried to wipe them away, but they just kept coming.

She sniffled, going over to hug Finnick, then hugging you one last time before she left. “Take care of each other- please,” she asked, and you weren’t thinking of doing anything but.

You nodded, assuring her that you would do just that. Mags hugged you, saying the words she couldn’t express through her gaze. You could tell that neither of them wanted to leave, but they had to. 

Only one of you was gonna come back, and that was gonna be hard to come to terms with.

They left, and then it was just you and Finnick. The music kept playing, and playing, and playing, and you weren’t sure you could take it anymore. You didn’t want to hear this song ever again if it could be your last time listening.

If you could have it your way, you’d dance together until the end of time. But forever was never promised, not in the world you lived in.

The silence, however, felt like it lasted a forever in the moment, so you broke it. “Can you say something?” Finnick just kept staring at you in a way he had never looked at you before. The music got louder. Tears came to your eyes. “Please.”

Maybe he took pity on you, because he did say something. You just weren’t sure if it was any better than the silence. “Why would you do that?” His voice was cold.

You felt cold.

You swallowed. “Finn-”

“Why would you volunteer?” He stepped closer to you, so much venom seeping through his tone that you thought you were gonna be sick. “Annie was going to go-”

You cut him off, throwing your hands up. “You saw her, Finnick. She’s a mess.”

“She was going to be fine-”

“She can’t go through The Games again!” You shouted, losing it. Why was he berating you as if you didn’t just save the love of his life? “It would kill whatever part of her is left.”

“She would’ve been fine. You would’ve been fine-”

“God, why do you care about what happens to me? Annie’s gonna be okay—you’re gonna be able to come home to her and build the family you’ve always wanted-”

He snapped. “You’re my family!” You recoiled like he just hit you with his words. It was like you’d been doused in cold water. Finnick sighed, running a hand through his hair. There was a beat where neither of you said anything, letting his revelation soak in.

But you didn’t know what that meant.

When he spoke up again, his voice was quieter. He didn’t look like the Finnick that smirked up on that stage; he looked defeated, not triumphant. “You’re my family, Y/N. Don’t you get that?” He looked back up at you. “I could’ve protected Annie in that arena, and you would’ve been safe, here—not there with me.”

You shook your head. “There is no protecting someone in an arena- you and I know that best.” You let a tear fall, smiling sadly. “You’re gonna come home, Finnick-”

“Stop.”

“You’re gonna come home and you’re gonna live a long life with Annie-”

“Stop it.”

“You have people to take care of. I don’t.”

“Y/N, stop it.”

Another tear. “You deserve this-”

“Stop it.” Finnick grabbed onto your shoulders. You didn’t even know he got so close. “I’m not gonna let you die in there. Do you hear me? You’re not dying.”

“Only one of us is coming back, Finn. It’s gonna be you.”

You don’t know if your eyes were just really that blurry or if there were actually tears in his eyes, too. “No, you are coming home-”

“Finni-”

He grabbed you tighter. “We are both coming home.” The dam in your eyes broke, and all of the tears you were trying to hold came flooding down your cheeks.

Why was he saying these things? He knew it was impossible.

“We are both coming home, Y/N, I swear,” he promised, but these were promises he couldn’t keep. These were things he couldn’t control. Why was he lying to you- why was he lying to himself?

You wanted to say all these things, to scream, to tell him that it wasn’t true, that you were going to die. But then you remembered every other time you lied in bed together, every time you kissed and held each other. You’ve been lying to yourself all along, pretending you could have a future together when, deep down, you knew that wasn’t the case.

So you held everything in, pulling Finnick to you and hugging him with everything you had. You were gonna let him pretend, just this last time.

You were gonna dance together one last time.

You spent the entire train ride in each other’s arms, only getting up to eat and go to the bathroom before getting back in bed. You didn’t have mentors—you were the mentors. You’d been here before already, and that was surreal in and of itself.

You thought you already won. But nobody ever won, did they?

Those games killed everyone, victors included.

The press was insane, but just as you expected it. You were the Prince and Princess of Panem; they didn’t want to watch you die. Turns out, people in the Capitol did have hearts; clearly, they weren’t all too functional.

This visit, in more ways than one, was completely different from any other time you’d been in the city. Instead of the graceful show you normally put on, waving and smiling, you were much more mute. You were gonna die, anyway, so what was the point of continuing to be a puppet? 

Finnick was still his usual self, smirky and arrogant, but even his anger snuck through the cracks of his act. All of you were angry, all of the victors. You could tell just by the mere glances you’d gotten of them, by the news coverage. Nobody wanted to go into an arena and kill people, not even the Careers (who you’d admit were pretty crazy).

However, this was all still a show to the Capitol, with you as the unlucky cast. And the show had to go on.

You and Finnick were separated to be prepped by the “glam teams.” The first time around, you remember being scared, but now you were just bored.

You were sitting idly in the dressing room, waiting for your designer when a man walked in, making you raise a brow.

This was a designer, but not your designer.

“Wait, I know you.” You tilted your head as his face became more familiar to you. “You’re Cinna- you designed those outfits with the fire.”

Cinna nodded in a way that you perceived as both humble and prideful at the same time. “It’s wonderful to meet you, Princess.”

This elicited a bitter chuckle from you. “Please, call me Y/N.” You then stood up to shake his hand when your curiosity sparked. “Aren’t you Katniss’ designer?”

“Yes, but I’m also going to be designing your outfits, as well,” he replied. “The head Gamemaker requested it. You are the Princess, after all.”

The corners of your lips went up. Most people you met at the Capitol would beat around the bush, but this guy didn’t seem shy. It was refreshing. You teased, “Ah, and since I’m a princess, I get Panem’s best to dress me?” 

Cinna chuckled a bit under his breath, but didn’t confirm or deny your comment. He dived straight into his plans, explaining what he wanted to for you with a twinkle in his eye that you noticed most artists had when speaking about their work. “I want to stay true to the district 4 theme, but I want to make a statement.”

“Yeah, I had a feeling.”

He smiled. “We’re gonna show the Capitol that they can’t control you.”

And then your little smile turned into a grin.

Cinna did not disappoint. You were in a golden, long-sleeve, grid shirt with holes where the squares were supposed to be; your velvet skirt was a dark blueish-green, skin-tight; and atop your head was a golden crown, decorated with blue jewels.

Of course, it wasn’t a normal outfit, but you were gonna save the theatrics for the parade.

Finnick was around somewhere, likely causing trouble while you were walking around, looking for Johanna. However, you ended up running into someone else.

“Peeta,” you called, and he turned around. He immediately reminded you of Finnick, a mask of charm hiding him. Although Peeta had only been at this for a year, he already knew how to play the game, unlike Katniss who was rather unapproachable.

“Y/N,” he greeted. He scrambled for something to say for a few seconds. “I heard about how you volunteered for that girl. It was really brave.”

You hummed, almost sarcastically. “You don’t have to suck up to me—it’s not like I bite.”

He got red, making you stifle a laugh. “That’s, uh- that’s not what I meant-”

“It’s fine, I get it,” you waved it off. “It’s probably intimidating to be here around all of us, just a year after you won.” He didn’t say anything, just awkwardly smiled. “You know, you don’t have to be scared. You have a lot of power ‘round here; you just need to learn how to wield it.”

He gave you a confused look, so you elaborated, “There’s power in the masses, Peeta. The people here love you.” You paused. “Use that.”

A look of realization crossed his face, and so you decided that you said all you needed to say. He thanked you, but his mind looked to be elsewhere. You nodded, then walked off to find your carriage.

Sure, the Capitol could try and treat you all like pieces on a chess board, but if you got rid of the board altogether, then there would be no game to play. You spoke to Peeta to help him realize that. It didn’t matter if you were all meant to be on different sides; until you got into that arena, you were all one team, and you were gonna try your hardest to stop The Games before they began.

If that didn’t work, then you would just have to concede. One way or another, you would make sure that Finnick made it out of that arena alive. Peeta reminded you an awful lot of him, and while you would otherwise be rooting for him, you would choose Finnick if it came down to it.

You met Finnick at the chariot not long after leaving Peeta. He was shirtless, wearing a skirt similar to your top, rope around his wrists like bracelets. If you weren’t about to go into this stupid parade, you would’ve probably been making out already, but you were far too worried to think about that.

You had Cinna to thank for calming your nerves, giving you something to look forward to. Once the parade had started and you were coming through, you pressed the button of the device he had given you and then your top went up in flames, disintegrating until you were just in a black bralette, revealing the swirls of blue they painted on your arms, resembling waves. The rope around Finnick’s wrists caught fire, too, burning up until there was nothing there.

The crowd cheered, chanting your names. The faintest of smirks grew on your lips, but you really had to stifle your enjoyment when you saw Snow staring your carriage down.

What you did symbolized freeing yourself of the shackles of the Capitol, of these stupid Games. They could try, but they wouldn’t control you. 

You would’ve usually felt some sort of fear- hell, you were never so defiant just in fear of what they would do to you. But what more could they do to you? They were already going to kill you. You didn’t care anymore.

After the parade, you ran into Johanna who gave you a good laugh as she told you how she stripped in the elevator. You would’ve paid good money to see it, that was for sure. You also talked to a few other victors on your way back to your suite.

You’d been friends with many of these people for years and now the Capitol was just gonna try and pit you against each other. None of you were looking forward to that—you were friends. But that didn’t mean you couldn’t make any allies.

Alliances didn’t last forever in the arena, but they lasted long enough. Considering your status, almost everyone wanted you and your “boyfriend” as allies; they certainly didn’t want you as enemies.

The next day was spent at the training centre, a brand new one made specially for the Quarter Quell. The thought made you roll your eyes. The Capitol would spend their money on things like this and yet there were still kids out there starving. What kind of world was that? One that you were okay with leaving, so long as Finnick would remain in it.

On your way in, you passed Cashmere and Gloss throwing knives at holograms. They were good, you noted, but not better at it than you. Johanna was off practicing by herself—though you were sure that she was doing it more so to release her pent-up aggression. Wiress and Beetee, Nuts and Volts as Jo called them, were by themselves, much less violent than everyone else here and much more strategic. Finnick was tying knots, looking more bored than anything. And you… you weren’t doing anything.

You leaned back on a wall, watching the other tributes instead of joining them. You didn’t care about the rankings or making yourself look dangerous. You didn’t have anything to prove; you did that already, and you really didn’t need to “practice,” either.

You’ve danced this dance before.

However, not everyone was so aware of just how well you danced last time.

“Not practicing?” You turned your head, seeing the newest victor walking up to you, donning her famous hairstyle. The corners of your lips quirked up in amusement. 

She must have been told to make friends. You couldn’t imagine it was working out so well if she was coming to you.

“Don’t need to, Everdeen,” you replied, shrugging. “I don’t need the spotlight; got enough of that.”

She lightly snorted. “Yeah, I know what that’s like.” And you didn’t doubt that. Katniss had definitely captured the attention of Panem with her actions, and she certainly acquired the attention of the Capitol. Snow couldn’t have been her biggest fan.

In another life, you could picture you and her being friends, but you knew it wasn’t gonna happen in this one.

“You’re lucky, you know,” you said. You knew she didn’t see that way, and maybe it was a little bitter of you to say that, but it was true. At least she hadn’t been under the spotlight long enough for it to burn her like it’d burned you. 

She scoffed, “How so?” The girl had restraint, you’d give her that. She clearly wanted to say a lot more than that, but she was smart. She knew better.

You shrugged again. “You just are.” And you left it there. If she wanted all the dirty details about you, she could try her luck with one of the other victors, but you doubted she sensed the real meaning of your words. She hadn’t been dancing long enough to even hear the song yet.

A dramatic sigh then escaped your lips. “Ah, though I suppose even your luck can only run so far, Girl on Fire. So sorry about your wedding.” The sarcasm in your voice was toned down just enough that it wasn’t so evident but evident enough to make your point.

She gave you a tense smile, although you weren’t sure if any of Katniss’ smiles ever weren’t tense. “Thanks,” she responded with zero sincerity in her tone. “I’m sorry you and Finnick never had one, either. Would’ve been a real royal occasion.”

You hummed, smiling your royal smile back at her. The Kat has claws, you thought. But you didn’t really feel like standing here and trading subliminals with her all day; you’d have enough of that with everyone else, anyway.

You left it at that, going to walk away before pausing as if you’d forgotten something. “Tell Haymitch I said hi.” You gave her a once over. “He’s done a good job.” And then you walked away.

Finnick’s voice rang through your head: May the odds be ever in your favour, darling. You almost felt like recycling that line and repeating it to Katniss, but you had already messed with her enough. 

Your demeanour was in stark contrast of how you normally behaved. You may have been more agreeable or kind at home, sweet on cameras, but in this territory, you had an entirely different reputation. Sharp, cunning, unpredictable—ruthless. That’s the way it needed to be if you wanted to survive, or at least survive long enough to do what you needed to do.

So, you supposed that you had a mask, too.

You all did.

When you got back to your suite later in the evening, Finnick informed you of Katniss’ display with her bow and arrow, how she had renowned victors quaking in their boots, but people were even more scared of you, and you hadn’t even done anything at training.  

You basically had the entire pool of tributes to choose from for an alliance. You were choosing Johanna, of course, and Finnick already had his mind made up on his pick.

Making his way over to you, he tossed you something that you swiftly caught before sitting down on the armchair across from the sofa you were sitting on. You looked down, opening your hand to see a golden pendant, a medallion with a rose in the middle.

You raised a brow. This wasn’t a present. “A rose?”

“They’re a Capitol favourite.” Precisely why you hated them.

“Alright, and why are you giving it to me?”

Finnick brought his wrist up, showing you a golden bracelet made of vines while wiggling his fingers. “They’re gifts,” he told you, “from Effie Trinket and Haymitch Abernathy.”

You were familiar with both people. Effie Trinket was crazy, but that wasn’t the dominant thought on your mind. “Gifts for what?”

He answered, “They’ve brokered an alliance with us on behalf of Katniss and Peeta.” At that, you groaned, but Finnick readily cut you off. “This will be good for us, Y/N.”

“They’re brand new to this,” you countered. Sure, you liked the spark that the Girl on Fire had, and Peeta was quite the catch, but they only won a year ago. The Careers would be a better pick, even though you didn’t exactly like them, either.

“Yes, but they’re good; you’ve seen them. And the Capitol’s gonna love it, the two pairs of lovers together. C’mon, you know all this.” You did. You knew that this was one of the best avenues to take, but something in you was against it.

Maybe it was just that Peeta reminded you of the man you were in love with, and Katniss reminded you of yourself. But right now, you had to remind yourself to think with your head, not your heart. You needed to disregard your feelings and do whatever it took to win this.

To you, winning didn’t mean surviving this. Winning meant that Finnick did.

So, with a sigh, you surrendered, agreeing to this little deal. “So, these accessories are, what? Bargaining chips?”

He smirked. “No, they’re symbols. Katniss and Peeta have theirs, too.”

You chuckled, shaking your head and mocking, “So we’re in a little golden alliance, then?”

“It appears so, darling.”

After a little more conversation, Finnick and you headed off to bed, even though neither of you could really sleep. You held each other, though, and so the insomnia was bearable. He told you to stow the necklace away, that you were saving the objects for The Games. Apparently, Katniss and Peeta still needed a little persuasion for this, especially the former.

She was smart not to trust you, but she was equally as naive for the same reason. If you wanted to, you could be judgemental all day, but you didn’t have the time for it, so your mind didn’t linger on the subject.

When you were waiting to be assessed the next day with the rest of the tributes, your mind didn’t really linger on anything. You felt numb: not pleased, not sad, just numb. If you could pin-point an emotion, it had to be anger, but that feeling hadn’t left you since your first Games.

Finnick, on the other hand, looked no different, maybe even a little amused by the tension in the room, too amused for somebody who had to go back to the arena. But Finnick was always one to look a challenge into the eye and, instead of looking away, give it a wink. That was his persona while you were here, in the Capitol, so you’d let him indulge in it if that’s what made him feel better.

You’d do anything for him, even if he didn’t love you back.

He went into the room first. You didn’t know exactly what he was gonna do, but you knew that you were all basically doing the same thing. Plutarch Heavensbee may have been new, but even he knew who you all were. You’ve all shown your skills already, been here already, danced this dance already.

The song was getting old.

You were all giving your own personal fuck you to the Capitol.

When Finnick walked out, he flashed you a smirk that almost made you laugh. You stifled a smile as you walked into the room yourself, but it was quickly wiped off your face as memories played in your head like a movie.

You remembered the first time you did this, coming in and saying your name, scared out of your mind but ready to win, ready to impress the sponsors.

Now, you didn’t have to say your name. You caught their attention as soon as you walked in. You were the Princess. You needed no introduction.

It was funny, though, how that imaginary crown couldn’t save you from this.

The thought of your inevitable death was what fuelled you. You were known for your abilities with a sword, but that wasn’t what you reached for. You reached for the jug of gasoline and a lighter, immediately opening it and pouring in a circle in the middle of the room before stepping into it.

Then you looked right up at all of them and their confused faces, and threw the open lighter to the liquid in front of you, igniting a circle of fire around you.

You stared right at the head Gamemaker as you did it, expressionless. His expression told you that he got the message, or at least your hostility.

You would burn this place to the ground if you had to, even if you got burned while doing it. 

When the flames got smaller, you turned and stepped over them, walking out of the room without another glance or word to the Capitol mutts. As far as you were concerned, they weren’t worth your time—you were running out of that, anyways.

Once the assessments were over, all any of you had time to do was get ready for the show. Caesar wasn’t exactly a face you wanted to see right now. Maybe he saw his enthusiasm as a way of “calming the tributes down,” but it was really just his lack of empathy. You didn’t need him cheering and practically gossiping about your death before it happened. 

As much as the people in the Capitol liked to think of these Games as games, they weren’t. They were your lives. But you really could spend days obsessing over it, days that you didn’t have.

It was time to dance, and there was nothing you did better.

You were backstage, standing with Finnick and Johanna, waiting your turns. Cinna had made you very pretty. He was good at what he did.

You were wearing a dark blue dress with wide straps tied into blue bows at your shoulders and a sweetheart neckline. The bottom half was pretty fitted, but it was covered by a sparkly, golden, A-line, hoop petticoat made of the same material as your top from the parade, gridded with holes like before. And of course, your crown sat atop your head—Cinna insisted.

He really wanted to nail the whole Princess thing, milk it for all it was worth. And you let him, because his designs were great. Part of you wished you could’ve gotten more into fashion; now you’d never get the chance to.

You couldn’t blame Katniss for being so stand-offish. You’d be intimidated, too, if you were new to the club, watching from the sidelines. You, Finnick, and Johanna didn’t really seem all too approachable right now, either, even the ever so charming Odair. They were exchanging jokes and laughing at the interviews, mocking them, while you were rather stoic, observing the interviews watchfully.

Cashmere and Gloss went first, of course. They did theirs together since they were brother and sister. It was odd to you, how two siblings managed to get reaped together out of all the victors district 1 had, but you were paying more attention to the act they were putting on. 

Casmere was sobbing. She’s a much better killer than she is an actor, you thought, but the people in the audience clearly bought it. You’d give her credit, though; you were all trying your best to get this thing cancelled, even if that was highly unlikely.

Next came the two crazy Careers who made Gloss’ acting look world class. Then Beetee went on stage, using logic as a tactic rather than emotion. Smart, but logic wouldn’t sway President Snow’s wishes. The Capitol sent innocent kids off to die every year in a televised event to pay for something that happened years before any of them were born—logic was obviously not their strong suit.

Wiress went next, and that’s basically when you tuned out. She was pretty out of it, not really saying much. Finnick was going after her. That’s what occupied your thoughts.

“Hey, you alright?” Your were snapped out of your daze by the very man you were thinking about, as if he was reading your mind. Those blue eyes that you loved so much stared down at you, concern swimming through them.

Those ocean eyes. You could drown in them.

You cleared your throat, straightening your shoulders. “Yeah, I’m good.” He continued to stare down at you like he was completely unconvinced, but before he could say anything, they were calling his name.

He cursed under his breath then placed a soft kiss on your temple before having to walk out on stage, that famous smirk on his face. He was so good at that, at going from hard to soft so easily, cursing to kissing you.

He was good. He was real good, and he was a much better actor than any other tribute here. He was so good that he could make even you believe his performance.

You watched them from the TV backstage. “Finnick,” Caesar started. “As I recall, the last time we spoke, it was with your other half, who is here today.” The crowd cheered.

Finn nodded, smiling tensely, which you were sure he did on purpose. “That’s right.”

“You and the Princess have so graciously shared your love with us, and we have fallen in love with you both, perhaps as much as you love each other.” You and Johanna simultaneously rolled your eyes. Finnick, though, smiled to the cheering audience, mouthing thank you’s that no doubt made them swoon. “None of us know how to deal with the fact that you are both going into The Games- I certainly haven’t come to terms with it. Tell us, how are you dealing with this?”

You scoffed. If there was something the people of the Capitol liked to do, it was pretending that your tragedy was their own. They didn’t know even half of your pain, any of yours. 

Caesar practically shoved the microphone in Finnick’s face. He looked down, like he was thinking, but you knew he probably had this bit down pat already. “If I’m being honest, neither Y/N nor I have come to terms with it, either.” He now looked right to the camera. “What I do know is that I will do whatever it takes to protect the woman I love.” The crowd cooed as you looked straight at the TV, as if Finnick was staring into your eyes. “And if I… if I die in that arena, then my last thought will be of her lips… and how lucky I was to have met her and have had the opportunity to give her my heart.”

The crowd went wild and Caesar said something in response, but you couldn’t hear it. You were stuck staring into Finnick’s eyes, the eyes you fell in love with. Oh, he was so good. He could dance the dance so much better than you. Because everything he said, he almost made you believe that he meant it.

You blinked the tears in your eyes away when Johanna shook you, telling you they were about to announce your name. You put the mask back on, and it was your love for Finnick that made you do it. You were doing this for him.

An exhale left your lips as you waited for your cue. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, as our Prince exits, I have the honour of welcoming his counterpart to the stage. The winner of the 67th Hunger Games. The Princess of Panem. Y/N Y/L/N!”

The doors you stood behind opened and you walked onto the stage, a stellar smile on your face as you waved to the roaring crowd. You just had to play the role, and everything would be fine.

When the cheers died down, Caesar gave you a sympathetic look, or at least a look that he thought was sympathetic. “Now, Y/N, it is lovely to see you. You look stunning.”

“Thank you, Caesar. It’s always wonderful to see you. I just wish it was under different circumstances.” You glanced to the crowd, catching their pity. For once, that was the exact emotion you wished to inspire.

“Yes, I think I speak for us all when I say that this is not easy.” You tightly smiled, even though you really just wanted to flip him off. “We just spoke to Finnick, he has been quite expressive these past few days in the Capitol, but you, Y/N, you have not been as revealing. Please, we’d like to know what’s been on your mind.”

If Caesar really heard what was on your mind, then he’d be appalled. That wasn’t your goal, even though you’d greatly enjoy that. Instead, you had a different play.

The audience was very quiet in anticipation of your response. You sighed, keeping the tired smile. “I, um… I’ve had a lot on my mind, really. Finnick and I, we thought we had more time, time to get married and even have kids, but now it’s like that time has just been… stolen from us.” Collective awes resounded throughout the crowd as Caesar brought his other hand to his chest, like your words moved him. “It’s- it’s just not fair, simple as that. But I love him, and that love will survive, even if I don’t.”

The audience let their dismay be known while Caesar shook his head. “Oh, my dear, I have seen your love- we all have, and I know that it will never die.” You nodded in agreement, listening to everyone else agree with you.

The acting was easier than you thought it’d be. Maybe that was because it wasn’t all acting, not for you. You knew your role, and you knew it well, but your love for Finnick was not something you had to fake. It was perhaps one of the only real things you had left.

“Now, we are all in for an emotional night, so I’d just like to lighten the mood a little- is that alright?” You nodded again, though you wondered how he would’ve reacted if you didn’t. “Okay, now we all saw your display at the parade- isn’t that right, everyone?” He paused, letting them applaud. “Yes, it was magnificent. Would I be right in assuming that you have something similar planned tonight?”

“Oh, you’d be correct,” you responded, flashing a grin at the whooping crowd.

“Please, please.” He stepped back. “Go right ahead.”

You glanced at Cinna sitting front row before pressing the button of the device he gave you. The golden petticoat then went up in flames, seemingly “ejecting” the skirt of your dress, sending it from above your knees to your ankles as it went from skin-tight to flowy. The very bottom faded into a teal colour, like the sea.

The crowd’s cheers got louder than you thought possible. Caesar wowed, then raised his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, the Princess of Panem!” You gave the crowd one last wave before making your way up the stairs to stand with the rest of the victors.

You were standing next to Finnick by the time the next tribute was called out and the attention was on them. To your surprise, he grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. But what really surprised you was the slight tremble you felt.

You looked up at him to see him already staring down at you. His mask fell a little, and instead of the at-ease Finnick you just saw, you were looking at a much more serious, stern version. You were confused by what could’ve brought this on, but then he leant down slightly, whispering in your ear, “I told you. I’m not letting you die.” When he pulled away, he didn’t look any less serious.

Oh, what a great liar he could be. There he was, making you believe in things that couldn’t possibly be true. You were going to die. You knew that, and you’d accepted it already. But Finnick hadn’t accepted it at all. He looked like he was believing his own lie.

You don’t know why this had shaken him so badly. Maybe he felt obligated to you, maybe he felt bad for you, but whatever it was, you weren’t gonna make it worse.

You could be a good actor, too.

For him.

You nodded, whispering back, “I know.” This looked to have calmed him down a little. He kissed the side of your head, and then the mask was back up. He kept his tight hold on your hand, and you let him.

You never know when it’d be the last time you held hands, and so you were gonna enjoy this while it lasted.

Even though this was an “emotional night,” as Caesar had dubbed it, you still got satisfaction out of everything the victors were pulling. When Johanna came on stage, she had a totally different approach than all of your sad acts and Beetee’s logic: she said what you all really wanted to say, giving the Capitol a loud fuck you.

You and Finnick had to stop yourselves from laughing amidst your shock. Caesar definitely wasn’t expecting that. You knew Snow definitely wasn’t expecting that, either. You hoped he was watching this right now, and you hoped that all of Panem could feel your outrage.

But if you were surprised by anything, it was the so called star-crossed lovers from district 12. Katniss’ wedding dress was a nice touch; she could’ve convinced even you that they were in love, if you didn’t know any better.

You weren’t the only one with a message to send to the Capitol with your attire. She spun around and her white dress was engulfed in flames, transforming into a midnight blue dress similar to yours. And when she lifted her arms, wings were revealed, and the smile on your lips widened.

“It’s a bird,” Caesar stammered in awe. “It’s like, a- it’s got feathers- it’s a bird- like a-”

You murmured at the same time as Katniss spoke up, “Like a Mockingjay.” You looked up to Finnick, seeing him already smirking. Everdeen was a lot ballsier than you thought.

“Your stylist certainly has outdone himself this time, hasn’t he? Bestowing not one, but two just astonishing looks upon us! What theatricality.” The attention was drawn to your designer. “Cinna! Take a bow.”

You were growing to like this man more and more, knowing that the Capitol must have hated him.

When the cheers died down and Katniss came and joined you all, the event was almost over with just Peeta left. You remembered the advice you gave him; you had high hopes for him, and he did not disappoint. 

He claimed he and Katniss had a secret wedding, reeled them all in, and then he added the cherry on top. “You know, Katniss and I, we’ve been luckier than most. And I wouldn’t have any regrets at all…” he paused, choking up, “i-if, if it weren’t… if…”

“If it weren’t for what? What, Peeta?”

“If it weren’t for the baby.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

The audience clamoured. You slapped a hand over your mouth to hide the upturn of your lips, feigning horror. Finnick was in the same boat, stifling a laugh.

Golden boy was smarter than he got credit for.

People in the audience stood up, shouting while Caesar tried to calm them down. They were calling for The Games to be stopped, exactly what you’d been trying to achieve all night. Caesar whispered something to Peeta away from the microphone, and he walked up the stairs to the rest of you, hugging his apparent wife.

Then suddenly, you were nudged by the person next to you, looking down to see their hand outstretched. You quickly realized what was going on and grabbed it. And then amidst all the fury, you brought your hands up together. Yes, they wanted you to kill each other, but you were all united in the same fight first.

It became obvious that Caesar couldn’t contain the crowd’s indignation any longer, so the anthem played, increasing in volume to try and drown them out, but your actions were still so much louder than words. 

That’s when the lights cut out.

But it would be a lot harder for the Capitol to snuff out the spark you all lit.

While you all did your best, your efforts appeared to be futile. Snow wasn’t against killing children, so you supposed that you all should’ve known better than to think that he’d cancel The Games for Everdeen’s baby.

However, it wasn’t completely useless. You had the public’s support. Sponsors wouldn’t be hard to get, so at least that was something. But all in all, The Games were still happening. One winner. Twenty-three of you would be dead, and you were going to be one of them.

Your last Games, you were relentless, selling your soul to stay alive. And you were gonna do it all over again, but this time, your objective wasn’t staying alive at all. It was making sure Finnick could make it home to Annie. 

Lying there in Finnick’s arms that night for what could possibly be the last time, you realized that you would die without ever having been loved by someone. You were with Finnick, and you loved him, but he didn’t love you back.

These last few days, you had been consumed by fire, knowing that you would burn everything down if it meant your lover would be safe, but it was like it was just hitting you that you’d been warming yourself up with a flame that wasn’t ever really yours.

You knew without a doubt that Finnick Odair was your soulmate.

But you weren’t his.

Tears pooled into your eyes at the thought, and so you quickly buried your head into his chest before a panic attack could came on. You calmed down to the sound of his heartbeat, the heartbeat that you personally would make sure didn’t stop until he was old and his hair was grey.

The next day was a blur between the hovercraft, having the trackers injected into you, and then being separated from Finnick. The only thing you really could remember was how he kissed your cheek before he left.

And then you were in the tube, rising up into the arena. You couldn’t get a good look at it. Every time you blinked, your Games flashed before your eyes. Sun, cold, dirt, blood, screaming, murder.

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes as the announcer counted down. Pull yourself together, Y/N, you thought.

And then The Games begun.

Taglist: @honestlycasualarcade

[edenesth]

TWTHH Spinoff: Written in the Stars [2]

Pairing: military strategist!Mingi x royal physician!reader

AU: historical au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 10.3k 🤡

Summary: Mingi had spent countless years searching for the angel who saved his life when he was on the verge of death. He believed god was on his side when she finally reappeared before him, but she was now so near yet so far, so unobtainable. No longer just a young medical trainee, she had become an esteemed royal physician—a woman working within the palace walls. And what did that mean? It meant she now belonged to His Majesty.

Part 1 | Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist

"I still can't believe you actually said yes to him. What happened to love being a luxury for us, hm?" Subin teased, not letting you off the hook since she found out about the military strategist's bold invitation. That was surprising enough, but nothing shocked her more than your acceptance.

You sighed, tightening the bow of your hanbok before heading to the full-length mirror in your room to check your hair. "Oh, stop it. You know this is nothing more than a way to demonstrate our teamwork. Officer Song is a colleague, and we are simply taking the chance to network and show support for the union with Ruhon."

She rolled her eyes. "Sure, you keep telling yourself that, unnie."

You truly didn’t want to think much of it.

You were already planning to attend the banquet anyway, with or without Mingi's invitation. As one of the more senior and recognised royal physicians in the palace, your attendance at these events was mostly expected. While his attempts to spend time with you hadn't gone unnoticed, you treated them as nothing but friendly gestures.

As you finished adjusting your hanbok, you resolved to keep things strictly professional. Whatever he thought might happen, you would make it clear that you were unavailable. You would convince him to give up, knowing his efforts would only be in vain.

Right, let's get this over with.

The evening of the banquet arrived, and the palace buzzed with activity. Lanterns illuminated the courtyards, and the air was filled with music and laughter. Excitement filled you as you stepped out of the female physicians' quarters to find the tall and dashing military strategist already waiting. He wore a grand hanbok, a stark contrast to his usual training clothes. His hair was slicked back, and his hands were clasped behind his back as he paced, eyes fixed on the ground.

You took a deep breath to calm your racing heartbeat. After all, you were only human, and this was a stunning man before you. But you had to remind yourself that nothing was ever going to happen between you two and that you had only agreed to attend the event with him as a gesture of camaraderie.

Nothing more, nothing less.

After composing yourself, you cleared your throat and called out, "Officer Song, you really didn't have to come all the way here. I could have just met you at the grand hall along with everyone else."

Mingi perked up, his heart thundering at the sound of your voice. When he turned to face you, his breath momentarily caught at the sight of you so dressed up. You were always beautiful to him, but tonight, you were even more enchanting.

He bowed slightly and stepped closer. "You look… perfect, my lady."

You blinked rapidly, hoping the blush you felt wasn’t obvious on your face. He continued, "Of course, I had to come here. What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t? More importantly, you're not just anyone else to me, Royal Physician Ahn. You're my—"

Not wanting to hear the rest, you flashed a large, courteous smile. "Ah, we should probably head over if we don't want to be late. Let us go, Officer Song," you said, cutting him off. His smile faltered slightly before he nodded. "R-right, let us."

Throughout the night, the military strategist remained faithfully by your side. Unfortunately, his attentive gestures did not go unnoticed by those around you, leaving you flustered and repeatedly clarifying that you were merely colleagues.

"Really, Royal Physician Ahn? That's a shame, you two would make a beautiful couple," teased Lady Park. You sputtered, choking on your drink. She panicked and reached over to pat you on the back, glancing at a very concerned Mingi who was conversing with the general. With a reassuring smile, she mouthed, "I'll take care of her."

Officer Song resisted rolling his eyes as Seonghwa smiled dreamily at his adorable wife, not realising he was just as guilty of it—if only he knew he looked the same whenever you were around.

"I-I'm fine. Thank you, Lady Park. But I assure you, nothing can happen between us. It is forbidden; I am a woman of the palace."

The pregnant woman grinned in response. "So, are you saying that if you weren't a palace woman, you definitely would have given General Officer Song a chance?"

You sighed, offering her a half-hearted smile. "There's no use pondering that, my lady. It's impossible," you whispered the last part.

She softened, touching your shoulder gently. "Nothing is impossible if only you desire it hard enough, my dear."

Your heart warmed at her words, but you knew better than to believe them. With an appreciative nod, you gestured to her baby bump. "So, how has pregnancy been treating you, my lady?" you asked, steering the conversation away from dangerous territory. You were afraid of temptations and could not afford to give in to any of them.

The conversation with Lady Park was cut short when a certain fourth prince appeared behind her, hesitantly taking an uncertain step forward. You blinked, trying not to stare too obviously, but she noticed your eyes shifting toward something over her shoulder.

With furrowed brows, she wondered aloud, "Just what are you looking at, Royal Physician Ahn?" She turned and froze upon locking eyes with Prince Yeosang. As she moved to bow, he hurriedly reached out to stop her, gently holding her by her forearms.

"It's been a while, my lady. Would you… care to catch up?" he asked.

She bit her lip, turning to meet her husband's warm gaze. Seonghwa nodded, signalling that the decision was up to her, and she excused herself to speak with her friend. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the prince's one-sided feelings for Lady Park persisted. Everyone in Joseon had heard of His Highness' not-so-subtle advances back then. The gossip at that time was quite juicy, but it was good to see him accepting defeat gracefully. The once bratty fourth prince had disappeared; it seemed the general's wife truly had a strong hold on his heart, changing him for the better even with her firm rejection.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when your chaperone reappeared by your side. You weren't sure how to feel around the gentle giant. His presence was both comforting and unnerving.

"Everything alright?" Mingi asked softly, concern evident in his eyes.

"Yes, everything is fine," you replied, smiling up at him. "Just a bit of palace drama."

He chuckled, nodding in understanding. "Palace drama indeed. Shall we continue to mingle, or would you like to take a break?"

You appreciated his attentiveness, but the whirlwind of emotions from the evening had left you feeling somewhat drained. "A break sounds nice," you admitted.

Mingi beckoned for you to follow and you did, allowing him to lead you to a quieter corner of the grand hall. As you walked, you couldn't help but feel a mixture of gratitude and apprehension. The evening was proving to be far more eventful than you had anticipated, and you knew you had to stay vigilant against his allurements that seemed to be lurking at every turn.

As you both reached a more secluded area, he quickly said, "Wait here, I'll get you something to drink."

You sighed, reaching for his arm. "You don't have to do that, Officer Song. I don't want anyone to misunderstand. I've been meaning to tell you: there's nothing between us, and there never will be."

He paused, turning to face you properly. You looked away almost immediately, guilt gnawing at you as you caught a glimpse of the hurt reflected in his eyes. A heavy silence settled between you, each struggling to collect your thoughts.

Mingi knew winning your heart wouldn't be easy, but the early rejection still stung deeply. Finally, he spoke, his voice soft but steady. "I understand your concerns, truly. But my intentions are genuine. I'm sorry if I've caused you any discomfort or misunderstanding. I just want you to know how much I care."

You bit your lip, the sincerity in his words making it even harder. "I appreciate your honesty, but I have my duties and responsibilities. My life is here in the palace, and I can't afford distractions."

He nodded slowly, taking a step back to give you space. "I respect your dedication. I just… before I let you go, there's one thing I need to know. We've actually met each other years ago. Did you… did you remember me when you saw me again?"

Your expression remained unreadable as you mustered a response. After what felt like an eternity, with the military strategist standing with bated breath and his heart pounding in his ears, you finally met his eyes and softly said, "No, I'm afraid don't know what you're talking about. I'm sorry, Officer Song…"

His heart sank. "Oh."

The weight of his disappointment hung in the air. He took a step back, struggling to mask the hurt that flashed across his face. He had held onto the hope that perhaps, even faintly, you had remembered him. That tiny hope had been a beacon for him, a justification for his persistence. But now, it seemed all for naught.

What if His Majesty had been right?

"That's… that's okay," he finally said, forcing a weak smile. "I must have been mistaken."

You nodded, the guilt intensifying as you watched him grapple with his emotions. "I'm really sorry. Perhaps you have."

Except that was a complete lie.

You remembered. In truth, you had never forgotten. How could you? To have seen Song Mingi in person was to understand that he wasn't someone easy to forget, even when pale and sickly on his deathbed. He was undeniably gorgeous. Beyond his appearance and physique, his warm gaze, soft touch, and sweet words lingered in your memory, impossible to leave behind.

You'd recognised him since day one.

It took everything in you to maintain a composed façade and steady your racing heart as you locked eyes with the military strategist for the first time in years. Before you stood a man, well and strong, embodying everything you had ever wanted.

But you had to quell your desires, silence your dreams, and dismiss any thoughts of the impossible. Years had passed, and you had assumed he was married by now. Later, you discovered he wasn't.

Yet, it changed nothing.

You were now a palace woman, and that sealed the hopelessness of your situation. So you chose to pretend, to feign ignorance of your shared past. It was for the best—for him and for you.

Sometimes, you wondered if you were trying to convince him or yourself more. It was the very reason you dreaded seeing him; not out of dislike or annoyance, but because you were just as captivated by him as he was by you. Had you been an ordinary physician outside the palace walls, you would have accepted his love in a heartbeat.

But things were different now.

Rules were rules.

You and General Officer Song were a beautiful impossibility, and you had to do everything to keep it that way.

Yet, his constant presence was a quiet storm, eroding your resolve. Every gentle gesture, each attempt to show he could protect and cherish you, made it increasingly difficult. His persistence, so tender and genuine, weakened your defences, and you were frightened—terrified, even—of the feelings blooming within you.

Why must he be so cruel?

His kindness, his sincerity, his unwavering dedication—they all tugged at your heartstrings, weakening your defenses. Every time he appeared with that soft smile, every time he looked at you with those earnest eyes, it became increasingly difficult to remember why you had to keep him at arm's length.

And tonight, standing in the secluded corner of the grand hall, facing the man you had spent years trying to forget, you felt your carefully constructed walls begin to crumble. The reality of your situation pressed heavily on you, a constant reminder of the boundaries that could not be crossed.

Song Mingi, with his genuine concern and quiet strength, embodied everything you had ever wanted but could never have. His mere presence was a cruel reminder of what could have been in another life, another world. A world where you were free to love him without consequence.

But you weren't in that world. You were here, bound by duty and rules that were impossible to break. So you swallowed your feelings, pushed down the burgeoning hope, and forced yourself to remember the impossible nature of your situation.

Because letting yourself love him—truly, deeply love him—would only lead to heartache for you both. And you couldn't bear the thought of causing him any more pain than you already have.

You sighed, swallowing the lump forming in your throat as you gazed up at him solemnly. "I, uh… I'm feeling rather tired. I shall retire to my quarters for the night. Thank you for accompanying me tonight, Officer Song. It truly is a joy to befriend Lady Park. It's also wonderful to finally see Joseon and Ruhon getting along well. It seems like things are really looking up for us."

But they weren't.

Both of you thought it, but neither dared to say it aloud.

You smiled courteously, bowing respectfully. "Goodnight, Officer Song. I hope you enjoy the rest of the banquet with your friends."

Just as you turned to leave, he reached out an arm to stop you, though not touching you. Damn it. Damn him and his gentlemanly gestures. "Wait, my lady. Please allow me to escort you back—"

You bowed again, cutting him off, afraid to hear the rest of it. "Please enjoy the rest of the banquet."

With that, you left, leaving behind a strong man staring longingly after you like a lovesick puppy. You didn't have the courage to spare a final glance at him, knowing another look at his pleading eyes would make you give in, and you couldn't have that. Not now. Not ever. You needed to put an end to this.

As you walked away, your heart ached with every step. The distance between you and Mingi grew, but the weight of your emotions only became heavier. The grand hall's festive atmosphere faded into the background as you focused on maintaining your resolve.

Arriving back at the female physician's quarters, you couldn't summon the energy to put on yet another fake smile for Subin. Your friend waited excitedly for you by the entrance, but her beam faltered as she registered the expression on your face.

"You told him to stop, didn't you?" she asked softly, reaching over to grab your hand.

You nodded wordlessly, too weary to say anything more. Subin wrapped an arm around your shoulder, guiding you into your room, murmuring, "It'll be okay… I'm here."

You broke into a tiny smile, leaning into her hold appreciatively. Her warmth and understanding were a balm to your frayed nerves. As you settled into the familiar comfort of your quarters, the weight of the evening began to lift, if only slightly.

Subin's presence was a reminder that you weren't alone, even in your struggle to keep your feelings at bay. She helped you sit down, then knelt beside you, her eyes filled with concern and compassion.

"I know it's hard," she said gently, "but you're strong. You did what you had to do."

You sighed, closing your eyes as you leaned back against the wall. "I just... I can't believe I'm saying this, but I just wish things were different, you know?"

She nodded, squeezing your hand. "I know, unnie. But remember, you're not alone in this. We'll get through it together. Besides, you said it yourself: we have each other, and we have our duty. That's enough. It has to be."

Her words, though simple, offered a small measure of solace. You knew the path ahead would be challenging and that things with the military strategist would never be the same again, but with her by your side, you felt a glimmer of hope.

"Trust me, you'll get over it in no time."

God, I sure hope so.

Meanwhile, Mingi did his best to keep it together for the rest of the event. After all, you had told him to enjoy it with his friends, so he did—or at least he tried his hardest. Feigning a huge grin, he returned to General Park and Royal Secretary Choi's side, casually mentioning that you had retired early. He didn’t want to burden them with his love troubles; the last thing he wanted was their pity. He didn't need to feel any worse than he already did.

Despite having braced himself for the possibility of hearing those words, the pain of your rejection cut deep. "There's nothing between us, and there never will be." Those words echoed in his mind like a broken record as he lay in bed that night, unable to find solace in sleep. He was caught between the urge to fight harder for you and the need to honour your wishes.

Yet, he couldn't shake the image of your face when he asked if you remembered him. The fleeting look of conflict troubled him deeply. Why did you seem so torn? Why did you hesitate? Could you have been lying? If so, why hide the truth? He needed answers. Whether or not you would ever be his, he needed to know them.

Mingi resolved to seek those answers, slowly and carefully. In the process, he hoped to soften your seemingly hardened heart, guarded by steel walls that showed cracks despite your efforts to conceal them. He might have been a fool most of the time, but his attentiveness had never been keener than now. All for you. Because he believed fate must have brought you back into his life for a reason.

"You good, hyung?" Junghoon asked, feeling his mentor shift on the bed for what seemed like the thousandth time that night.

The older man nodded despite the internal turmoil within him. "Yeah, I'm fine. Go to sleep already, young man."

"I'm trying... if only you'd stop moving."

Heaving a sigh, Mingi turned to face his apprentice. "Hey, what do you think it means when a woman tells you to stop pursuing her but looks really sad while saying it?"

The younger man rolled his eyes. There goes my sleep, he thought as he pushed himself up into a seated position, legs folded and hands intertwined. "Alright, sit your dumbass up. Time for Love Lessons for Dummies 101."

"Are you sure this is going to work? She's not—" Mingi's words were cut off by his apprentice, who mocked him with air quotes. "'Not like other girls.' Yeah, yeah, I know. That's what every man says about his crush. Trust me, women are all the same. Nothing melts their hearts more than an attentive and caring man. Now go before she's already out for her lunch break."

Junghoon had finally convinced his mentor to see his dream girl after avoiding the royal medical hall for nearly a week, giving you the space you needed. But Mingi knew that to win your heart, he couldn’t stay away. He'd have to approach gently and slowly.

With a handmade lunchbox in hand, the military strategist's first mission was to show you he wasn’t bound by gender norms, relegating kitchen tasks only to women. He wanted to demonstrate what having a husband like him would be like. If you wished, he could drop by each day with lunch prepared just for you.

His heart pounded with anticipation when he arrived at the medical hall for the first time in what felt like forever. He had missed you like crazy, each day without seeing you dragging on like a year. As he stepped inside and approached the counter, confusion set in when you were nowhere in sight. Could you have gone out with the first batch of royal physicians for your lunch break? That was odd; you always preferred the second batch.

"Good day, Officer Song. Are you injured or feeling unwell?" one of your colleagues asked, snapping him out of his thoughts. Mingi blinked and cleared his throat. "N-no, I'm here for Royal Physician Ahn. Is she already out for lunch?"

Your colleague suppressed a knowing grin, pursing her lips before answering, "She's not. She hasn't been in for a few days now. She's been down with food poisoning ever since attending the royal banquet with you."

Mingi felt his heart sink.

He muttered a quick thanks and dashed out, his feet moving automatically towards the female physicians' quarters. Nothing else mattered; he needed to see you, to know you were okay, to apologise for not taking better care of you that night.

Meanwhile, you pressed your face into your pillow, curling into a ball and clutching the comforter around you as another stab of pain hit your stomach. The discomfort was unbearable, making it impossible to go to work today. Seeing your agony, the head of the royal physicians had allowed you a day or two to feel better before returning to the royal medical hall.

As the pain subsided and you slowly felt a wave of drowsiness enveloping you, an unusual rustle from outside alerted you. Someone was there. But who? Everyone else should be at work. Was it Subin coming to check on you? Your thoughts were interrupted when your breath hitched, realising a man's silhouette was standing by your room entrance through the paper walls.

What fool would dare come here, a place meant only for women? Not even eunuchs were allowed in, let alone a well-built man of his stature. Was it a prison escapee? Lord knows what he'd do if he found you alone. Before you could attempt to get up and go someplace safe, another sharp pain hit, and the wince you let out was inevitable. Unfortunately, the man heard you and immediately reached to pull the doors open.

As the door slid open, your heart raced, fear gripping you as you braced for the worst. But instead of a stranger, you saw Mingi's concerned face. His eyes widened in alarm as he rushed to your side.

"Physician Ahn, are you alright?" he asked, his voice filled with worry.

"O-Officer Song? What in the world are you doing here?" you managed to say between breaths, the pain still lingering.

"I heard you were sick. I had to make sure you were okay," he replied, his voice softening as he knelt beside your bed.

The concern in his eyes was genuine, and despite the awkwardness of the situation, a small part of you felt relieved. "You're not supposed to... you shouldn't be here," you whispered, the rules and propriety still at the forefront of your mind.

"I know, but I couldn't stay away," he said, gently placing a hand on your arm. "I'm here to make up for my mistake. I should have been more attentive. This is all my fault."

You frowned, pushing yourself up to a sitting position as the pain subsided again. "What do you mean by that? How is any of this your fault? This has nothing to do with you."

He sighed. "Nonsense. If only I’d been more attentive to what they served you at the banquet, you wouldn’t have been suffering from food poisoning this badly."

"F-food poisoning...? Who told you that?" you asked, already having a clue. He twiddled his fingers nervously. "One of your colleagues. I was at the medical hall earlier and you weren’t there. She told me you were sick, and I came here as fast as I could..."

Squeezing your eyes shut, you were exasperated at your friends’ mischievousness. They hadn’t let you live it down since learning you had gone to the royal banquet with the military strategist, though they didn’t know what had transpired between you two or how the night had ended. The teasing was one thing, but you didn’t think they’d actually go this far. But of course, they probably didn’t think this fool would actually come here himself instead of sending a court lady to check on you.

You sighed. "I don't have food poisoning… it's just that time of the month. You know, the women thing…" His eyes widened in horror, and his cheeks turned red with embarrassment. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, muttering, "Gosh, why'd she lie about this?"

You pulled your comforter close as another cramp hit. "Listen, I'm not in the mood to talk right now. Besides, you really shouldn't be here. I appreciate you checking on me, but you should leave. We'd both be in huge trouble if someone saw you here."

He nodded quickly, gesturing to the bag he had brought with him. "Right, I-I'll leave immediately. These are for you, by the way. I made them myself. Please enjoy them when you're feeling hungry."

Usually, you would have melted at that, but you really needed him gone. "Yes, thank you."

As if the world had something against you, just as the military strategist neared the door, another familiar silhouette appeared at the entrance. "Are you feeling any better, my dear? I've come with some heat packs to soothe the cramps," the head of the royal physicians called out, her hands reaching for the door handle.

Mingi froze, and you panicked, all menstrual pain forgotten as you jumped out of bed and rushed towards him, exclaiming loudly, "I'm feeling much better, Head Physician Seo! Thank you for your concern. Would you give me a minute? I'm not properly dressed."

You sighed in relief when that worked like a charm as she removed her hand from the door handle and took a step back. "Oh, my apologies. Of course, let me know when you're ready."

Scanning the room in alarm, you hurried to the cabinet that usually held your mattress, pillows, and comforters when you weren't sleeping, now empty. "Get in here, quick!" you whispered urgently. He obeyed, moving as stealthily as he could to avoid making a sound and raising suspicion.

Oh god, can things get any worse today?

After shooting him a stern look and pressing your pointer finger against your lips to signal a firm 'be quiet,' you shut the cabinet doors and took a deep breath. Plastering on a huge smile, you opened the door for your superior, letting her in. She smiled warmly, handing you the heat packs she'd brought. "Is everything okay? I thought I heard someone in here earlier."

Your breath caught as you noticed Mingi's bag still by your bed. Quickly moving to conceal it with your hanbok, you feigned innocence. "Huh, really? That's weird. It's only me. I'm sure it's nothing."

She shrugged and nodded. "You're probably right. I guess all the lack of sleep must be getting to me. Well then, it’s good to see you doing better. I shall get back to work then."

You mustered a fake laugh. "That must be it, ma'am. Thank you so much for the heat packs. I really appreciate it."

She patted your cheeks softly. "Anything for my best physician. Hope to see you back at work tomorrow."

You nodded, waving goodbye as she left. As you shut the door, exhaustion overwhelmed you, and you sank to your knees. The cabinet doors creaked open as the tall man emerged, muttering, "Phew, that was close—"

As if jinxing it, your superior returned. "Oh yes, my dear!" she called through the door.

Rushing up to Mingi, you smacked a palm over his mouth to shut him up as you answered her, "Yes, ma'am?"

She chuckled. "I heard that General Officer Song of yours dropped by the medical hall earlier, seemingly with lunch prepared for you. Don't be so hard on him, hm? I know we’re not allowed to love, but he's a sweet guy. At least be a friend to him. We’re still allowed to have friends, you know? Please don’t deprive yourself of that right too."

You swallowed, meeting Mingi’s eyes as they softened at your pained expression. "I understand. Thank you, ma'am."

Finally, she left for good this time. Eyes locked with his, you pondered her words. Could you really be friends with this man? Just... friends? Perhaps that was all you could ever be.

In that moment of closeness, you became acutely aware of your position, your hand still covering his mouth, his hands gently supporting you on your back. The atmosphere crackled with tension until it was broken by the rumble of his stomach. Flustered, you withdrew, your heart racing.

What in the world just happened...?

With a nervous bite of your lip, you dared to break the silence. "You uhh... haven't eaten either, have you?"

He shook his head bashfully, his eyes reflecting a mix of embarrassment and longing. "No, I haven't."

Oh, to hell with it.

You gestured towards the lunch he had brought. "Join me then."

Things had obviously shifted between you since then, and it did not go unnoticed by those around you. General Officer Song started coming by the medical hall at least once a week, no longer pretending to have an injury but simply to share lunch with you.

As friends.

That was what you told your friends, colleagues and every other palace staff whenever they tried to tease you. Yes, friends. That was all there was to it. All you both were ever going to be. Nothing more, nothing less. Just friends. Good friends. That was all you would allow… all you were allowed, really.

But you were happy with it. You had to be. It wasn't something you had a say in.

This was your life.

Mingi's visits became an oddly comforting routine. Every week, he would show up with a handmade lunch, and you would sit together, talking and laughing. The bond between you grew stronger, and although you constantly reminded yourself that you were just friends, there was an undeniable warmth in your interactions.

One afternoon, after the military strategist had patiently waited for you to finish caring for a patient, the two of you shared lunch in a quiet corner of the medical hall. He looked at you with a soft, contemplative expression. "You know," he began, "the first time I saw you, I thought you were the most admirable woman to exist. I'm glad I wasn't wrong. You really are an angel sent by the heavens."

You felt a flutter in your chest but quickly suppressed it, grinning softly. "Am I really? You know I'm not the only female physician around. The others are just as admirable."

Yes, but they're not you.

He nodded, though his eyes held a depth of emotion you couldn't quite decipher. "I suppose you're right," he said gently.

Not wanting to dwell on the serious atmosphere, you playfully nudged him on the shoulder. "Of course I am. I'm always right. And I bet you were a complete crybaby the day we first met, wailing like a child as you received treatment."

He scoffed, pressing a hand to his chest dramatically and feigning offence. "I was not. I'll have you know I was the most courageous soldier on site that day."

Brave enough to ask you out.

"Sure you were," you mocked sarcastically, sticking your tongue out at him. Your heart warmed internally because he was right. You remembered how calm he was despite the pain he endured. But he could never know you remembered. Never. That would complicate things too much, and you didn't need that. Not now, not ever.

Things were perfect as they were.

Or were they?

Irked by your teasing, he swiftly reached out to snatch a piece of dumpling—your favourite—from your lunchbox and stuffed it into his mouth as revenge. You let out a surprised yelp, smacking him on the arm. "Wha—hey! That was my last piece! Give it back, Song Mingi!" Your laughter filled the space as you wrestled with him, his eyes disappearing into adorable slits as he hurriedly chewed on the dumpling, annoying you with it. He chortled, speaking through his mouth full, "Ha! That's what you get!"

The fun was abruptly cut short when the head of the royal physicians appeared at the doorway. "Am I interrupting something?" she asked, her tone light but curious.

You sputtered and shook your head, immediately pushing yourself off the tall man. "Absolutely not, ma'am. He was just about to leave. We're done eating," you said, glaring playfully at Mingi as he swallowed the last of your dumpling.

The military strategist bowed respectfully to the elderly woman, seizing the opportunity to escape your wrath. "I apologise for taking up so much of Royal Physician Ahn's time. I'll leave at once," he said.

She shook her head, smiling warmly. "Don't apologise. I'm not sure I've seen Physician Ahn this happy in a good while. Please stay for a bit more if you wish, Officer Song."

Both your cheeks grew warm at her words as Mingi scrambled to pack up his belongings and leave, clearly shy. "Thank you, ma'am, but I really shouldn't. Besides, I have training to attend as well."

With a final bow to you both, he was gone, leaving you standing there, your heart still racing from the sudden interruption and the unexpected compliment from your superior.

Head Physician Seo approached you, a knowing smile on her face. "You and General Officer Song seem really close. Are you sure there's nothing more going on?"

You laughed lightly, shaking your head. "We're good friends. That's all."

She raised an eyebrow but didn't press further. "Well, as long as you're happy. I'm glad you took my advice and allowed him in."

You nodded, reaffirming your own belief. "You were right, it's nice to have someone who genuinely understands and cares."

In the back of your mind, you couldn't ignore the ache of wanting something more, but you reminded yourself that this was your reality. And so, you continued to cherish the time spent with him, finding solace in the friendship that had blossomed between you.

As the weeks turned into months, the boundaries of your friendship were constantly tested. Every shared smile, every lingering glance, and every comforting touch made it harder to maintain the illusion. Deep down, you both knew what you had was special, even if you could never openly acknowledge it.

Despite the constraints, you found happiness in the moments you shared. Each lunch, each conversation, and each quiet moment of understanding reinforced the bond between you. The stolen glances when no one was looking, the way he would subtly take care of you, and the warmth that filled your heart when he was near—it all painted a picture of a love that couldn't be spoken.

In the silence of the night, when you lay awake thinking about him, you allowed yourself to dream of a different life. A life where societal expectations didn't dictate your choices, and you could be free to express your true feelings. But for now, those dreams remained just that—dreams.

You took comfort in the friendship that had become an integral part of your life. It was a bittersweet reality, but one you had come to accept. And in those precious moments you shared, you found a contentment that made the impossible feel almost within reach.

Meanwhile, Mingi found himself growing more hopeful with every step closer to you. Though it hurt to hear you remind everyone that what you shared was merely friendship, he was almost certain you returned his feelings. Yet, he didn’t want to make assumptions; he needed to hear it from you. He was prepared to wait a long time, even forever, as long as you continued to allow him to be near you. This closeness was already more than he had ever hoped for, and a part of him had accepted that this might be the way things were meant to be.

Being friends was better than nothing.

"Yeah, you keep telling yourself that," Junghoon smirked before letting out a whine as his mentor hit him on the back.

"Shut up, kid. What do you know about love anyway? Taking advice from you nearly got me and her in trouble," Mingi grumbled.

The apprentice rolled his eyes, rubbing his back. "Oh, please, don't act like it didn't help you get close to her. I dare you to say you didn’t enjoy having her pressed up against you that day, keeping your mouth shut with her hand, all alone in her room—"

Mingi slapped a hand over the younger man’s mouth, eyes wide and face burning with embarrassment. "If you don't shut your trap right now, I'll tell His Majesty you’d like to quit and join the eunuchs."

That was all it took to silence Junghoon.

Truthfully, the apprentice was right, being close to you had made Mingi greedy for your affections. He often wondered what it would be like to have you willingly run into his arms. But the military strategist knew that was probably as far as he would ever get. Friends were not meant to be any closer than that, and he had come to accept it. If only you would stop making things more difficult.

One day, a soldier was seriously injured during training due to faulty weapons, and the royal medical hall was notified. You appeared at the training grounds with Subin beside you not long after, slightly out of breath as your eyes searched hastily for something or… someone. When you didn’t find who you were looking for, you blurted out, "Where's Officer Song? Is he okay?"

The soldiers greeting you furrowed their brows in confusion. "Officer Song…? Yes, he's fine. It's not him who got injured. Did someone tell you that by mistake?"

You sputtered messily, flustered for giving yourself away, while your childhood friend suppressed her giggle beside you. "O-oh, no... I just... I assumed it was him since he gets injured nearly every week. Never mind that, please take us to the injured soldier."

"Yes, my lady. Come with me."

Quickly, you followed the man, eyes glued to his back, not wanting to catch any knowing glances thrown your way. Unbeknownst to you, Song Mingi was hidden by a stand and had heard everything, struggling to keep the smile off his face at your concern. Were you thinking about him just as much as he thought about you? Were you worried about him? Did you... feel the same?

He desperately wanted to hear it from you but dared not ask the questions, fearing the answers you'd give him—answers that he knew would never reflect your true feelings. He watched you tend to the injured soldier from a distance, the smile lingering on his face, feeling a warmth that hadn’t been there before. Though it stung to always be reminded that what you shared was nothing more than friendship, he clung to the moments when your actions betrayed your words, showing a deeper, unspoken bond.

For now, he would be content with this.

Until he couldn't.

He arrived at the medical hall the next day with lunchboxes in hand, ready to spend time with you as usual. Instead, he was met with the devastating news that you had been dispatched to a plague-ridden village to provide assistance. His heart fell, and his world crumbled.

"I don't understand. What do you mean she's gone, my King? She was just here yesterday."

"Forget her, Officer Song. I told you it's impossible to be with her," said the ruler, rubbing a hand on his temple. "She volunteered to go without hesitation. I think you have your answer loud and clear. And as much I hate to say this, we're not sure she will return from this trip. Most physicians going on such missions are like soldiers going to war; they risk their lives and could be gone for months or even years. You deserve someone who can stay by your side."

The King's words cut deep, but Mingi's mind was a whirlwind of worry and despair. The thought of you in danger, far away, made it hard for him to breathe. The idea of losing you, of not knowing if you were safe or if you would ever come back, was unbearable.

"Where is this village, Your Majesty?"

The elderly man sighed deeply, shaking his head. "What will it take for you to give up? You'll only end up in pain, as if you haven't already been in enough pain. She has denied all your attempts from the start. Why do you do this to yourself, hm?"

Officer Song clenched his fists, his voice trembling with emotion. "Because love isn't about possession. Love is unconditional. I don't care if she will never accept my love in this life; I will continue to be there for her, to protect and care for her as long as I am alive. I'll be damned if I let her face all that danger on her own. So, I'm asking again, Your Majesty, where exactly is this village?"

The desperation in his voice was palpable, the rawness of his love laid bare. He would do anything, go anywhere, to ensure your safety. For the military strategist, there was no greater purpose than being there for you, no matter the cost.

Meanwhile, you struggled to keep yourself together as you arrived at the terror-stricken village. The place had been overtaken by a sudden, rapidly spreading disease, claiming lives at a frightening pace. Violently woken in the middle of the night by Head Physician Seo, you joined the royal physicians gathered in the main hall to hear the grim news. Guri, the very village where you and Subin had lost everything, was now cursed with another wave of illness, intent on wiping out the population and destroying families again.

But you were stronger now.

You would rather die trying than let more innocent villagers endure what you did all those years ago. This time, you were capable of saving lives. Without a second thought, you and your friend volunteered to go. It wasn't until you were in the carriage that you remembered a certain Officer Song. Crestfallen, you realised that perhaps this was all for the best. Maybe, with your absence, he could finally move on and find someone with whom he could have a future, instead of being held back by you.

And you... you would be doing the very thing you had trained for all your life. There was no time to dwell on matters of the heart.

Forget him, lives are at stake.

As you arrived in Guri, the sight was both familiar and heartbreaking. The streets were eerily quiet, with only the occasional sound of distant weeping or the hollow coughs of the afflicted. You, Subin, and the rest of the royal physicians immediately set to work; assessing the situation and organising the sick villagers for treatment.

"Help my mother, please!"

"It hurts, make it stop!"

"I don't want to die yet... I'm scared."

Doing your best to calm the terrified villagers, your mind was a whirlwind of medical procedures and strategies to contain the spread. Every moment was a battle against time, a race to save as many lives as possible. But amidst the chaos, thoughts of Mingi lingered at the edge of your mind. His gummy smile, his stupidly cute laughter, the way his eyes lit up when he saw you—they all haunted you, a bittersweet reminder of what you had left behind.

Sometimes, it felt like those thoughts of him were the only thing keeping you going. Nearly a week had passed, and the situation had only slightly improved. With minimal sleep and just enough food to keep you alive, you worked tirelessly to tend to the sick. All the while, you wished you had a certain tall, handsome, and silly strategist to help lighten the constantly heavy atmosphere. At this point, you had lost count of the times you had imagined him by your side. The imagination could be so vivid, you were convinced you were hallucinating from the immense lack of rest.

"Need a hand, my lady?"

You froze, your actions of reaching for the top shelf of the makeshift clinic for some medicine halted at the familiar voice that had been haunting your well-being for the past week. Shit, were you hearing things now? Surely, it was the sleep deprivation acting up.

It can't be.

But then, you turned around, and there he was. General Officer Song, standing in the doorway, looking just as real and solid as ever. His eyes held a mix of concern and determination, and he was carrying a medical kit of his own.

"Mingi?" you whispered, almost afraid that speaking his name would shatter the illusion.

He stepped closer, a gentle smile on his face. "Yes, it's me. I'm here."

To his surprise, you were angry when you realised it was really him and not just a hallucination. "What… in the world are you doing here?" you questioned, your voice filled with frustration and disbelief.

His smile fell. "I came to help—"

You cut him off. "This isn't a joke, Song Mingi! This is serious. People are dying! You shouldn't be here just because you wish to keep pursuing me or anything stupid!"

His expression hardened with determination. "That's exactly why I'm here—because I can't lose you!"

You were left speechless, grappling with the rush of emotions at his sudden presence as well as his words. You felt conflicted, overwhelmed by the happiness that he was really here in the flesh, anger at his recklessness, fear for his survival, and frustration because you wanted so badly to run to him but knew you could not.

After what felt like an eternity, you sighed and tossed him a handkerchief. "Cover your nose and mouth with this at all times. Since you're here, make yourself useful. Get that bag of herbs and come with me. We have no time to waste."

As he opened his mouth to speak, you shot him a warning glare. "Save your breath. If you do not intend to work, please leave."

With a firm nod, he complied, grabbing the bag of herbs and following you into the chaos. Despite the tension, having him there added a strange sense of comfort and determination, and together, you continued to fight the disease that had plagued Guri.

The entire day passed by in a blur, just like the previous ones. There was not a moment of respite as you rushed around, with Mingi following you obediently, doing as he was told without question. Subin and your other colleagues raised surprised brows at his presence, but the situation left no room for teasing or questions.

At the end of the day, even when things had calmed down a little and most villagers were asleep, your work was far from done. You sat by the bed of a small child who was badly affected by the disease, your tired hands rinsing and wringing a towel repeatedly, wiping the sweat from his tiny head over and over to ensure his fever didn’t worsen. Mingi remained by your side, watching you care for the child.

Sensing your lethargic movements, he gently offered, "Here, let me do it." He reached out for the cloth, and you gave in, handing it to him. He took your spot, and you moved aside to make space for him on the bed, finally having the opportunity to take a good look at him since his arrival.

His face was etched with concern and determination, his usual playful demeanour replaced by a steadfast resolve. He worked with a quiet intensity, carefully tending to the child as if his life depended on it. The sight filled you with a mixture of emotions—gratitude, admiration, and a touch of sorrow.

"You shouldn't have come," you whispered, the weight of the day's events pressing down on you. "But... thank you."

He glanced at you, his eyes softening. "I had to. I couldn’t just stay behind knowing you were here, facing this alone."

You sighed, feeling a lump form in your throat. "I'm sorry for the harsh words I said. I was just... worried about you. I still am."

"And I was worried about you," he replied, his voice firm yet gentle. "We’re in this together now. We'll get through it."

Shaking your head, you squeezed your eyes shut. "It's not going to be easy. You don't understand… this, Mingi. This village was once my home. I was born here, and for the first few years of my life, I had a family. Until a plague, one similar to this one, broke out, taking my parents and siblings, leaving me with nothing," you explained, your voice breaking as you finally revealed your past.

He sat, shell-shocked, learning about your tragic history for the first time. He hadn’t known you had endured such a tough life, and it only strengthened his affection and admiration for you. You were even stronger than he had perceived.

"And that's why I was so afraid of seeing you here," you continued, your voice trembling. "Because I… I can't lose you too."

His breath hitched at your words, a moment of silence enveloping the room before he dared to cover your hand gently with his bigger one, whispering a soft, "Really?"

Embarrassed, you cleared your throat and nodded, avoiding his eyes. "Yes, because you're a good friend to me."

He chuckled, nodding in defeat. "Right, of course." He knew better than to expect anything more by now. He was just glad you no longer pushed him away.

That was all that mattered.

The following days settled into the same gruelling routine, but your shoulders undeniably felt lighter with Mingi's presence. His unwavering support and the arrival of the physicians who had raised you and Subin provided much-needed relief. Their presence brought a sense of comfort and familiarity.

On a slower day, the military strategist sat with one of the senior physicians, assisting with brewing medicine. Catching the tall man's eyes glued to your busy figure in the next room, Kyungsoo, who had been like an older brother to you, smiled and remarked, "Quite the workaholic, isn't she? Nothing can stop her from working. She's been that way for as long as we can all remember."

"She really is," Officer Song replied.

Through your mentors, he learned more about your childhood years. Kyungsoo shared stories of how hard you had worked and studied to get where you were, all to repay them for taking you in. Mingi now saw the depth of your dedication and the sacrifices you had made to become the renowned royal physician you are today.

As he watched you tirelessly care for the villagers, a realisation struck him. It might be selfish to want to tie you down in marriage just because he thought he loved you. If he truly loved you, he should let you do what you loved. You had fought so hard to achieve your dreams; how could he possibly take that away from you?

His heart ached as he finally understood the wisdom in His Majesty's words. Maybe you really were not meant to be, not in this life. Perhaps in the next, he thought to himself, his eyes lingering on you with a mixture of admiration and sorrow.

For now, he would support you in the best way he could—by standing by your side, helping you save lives, and cherishing the moments you shared. Because that, he realised, was also a form of love.

You've won, my King. I yield.

You had somehow felt the distance Mingi seemed to be putting between you, no matter how minuscule. You were hyper-aware of him, always had been, so this change, despite how small and unnoticed by the rest, bothered you more than you cared to admit. Was he growing tired of this? Of you? Perhaps he was realising how impossible it was to reach you and was giving up.

And who could blame him, really?

He deserved to be free; free to love another, to love someone who could give him so much more, all the things you never could.

"Hey, everything okay?" Subin asked, noting how you had nearly disposed of a new bandage instead of a used one.

You snapped out of your thoughts, apologising for the mistake as you rubbed your eyes. "Oh, I'm fine. Just tired, that's all."

She sighed, squeezing your shoulder. "It's Officer Song, isn't it?"

You stilled. "Huh? I-I don't know what you're talking about—"

She rolled her eyes, cutting you off. "Save it, unnie. I'm tired of hiding it from you. He's already received permission from His Majesty to pursue you. That's why he's been so bold in his attempts. If you feel the same way about him, then please, for the love of god, stop putting yourself and him through this nonsense any longer."

Your heart pounded as her words sank in. "Permission from His Majesty?" you echoed, disbelief and confusion in your voice.

She nodded firmly. "Yes, my dear friend. He's been allowed to court you on one condition—only if you willingly agree to it. That’s why he’s here, risking his life. He’s doing it all for you. If you care about him even a fraction of how much he cares about you, you need to let him know. This back-and-forth is tearing both of you apart."

You swallowed hard, grappling with the revelation. It felt as if a door had opened, one you had convinced yourself was forever locked.

"But Subin-ah... what if he realises I'm not worth the effort?" you whispered, voicing your deepest fear.

Her eyes softened. "That's not for you to decide. Let him make his own choices. If he’s here, fighting for you, it means you are worth everything to him. Don’t push him away because of your own insecurities. Give him—give yourself—a chance."

Before you could process her words, chaos erupted as sudden screams filled the air, panicked villagers running in all directions. You rushed outside to see what was happening, your heart pounding in your chest. Amid the commotion, you finally caught on to someone yelling, "Fire! Fire! There's a fire in the kitchen!"

Gasping, you spotted billowing black smoke rising from a hut at the back, where the kitchen was situated. Turning to Subin with wide eyes, you began, "I-isn't that where—"

She nodded before you could finish, confirming your fears. "Officer Song and Kyungsoo oppa were brewing medicine!"

Without a second thought, you sprinted towards the kitchen, your mind racing. The heat and smoke intensified with each step closer. Villagers and fellow physicians frantically attempted to extinguish the flames with buckets of water, but the fire raged on.

"Kyungsoo oppa! Mingi-yah!" you shouted, your voice trembling with fear and urgency.

Amid the thick smoke, Kyungsoo stumbled out alone, coughing violently. You rushed to him, desperation gripping your heart. "O-oppa, where is he? Where's Song Mingi?!"

Pointing towards the kitchen, nearly engulfed in flames, the senior physician gasped, "That fool's still in there. He insists on saving the medicine. We need to get him out, now!"

Your heart pounded with dread. "I'll go!" But Kyungsoo grabbed your arm, panic in his eyes. "No, it's too dangerous—"

Ignoring his warning, you darted inside.

Your heart plummeted when you spotted Mingi foolishly attempting to salvage the pot of medicine. "Stop, you idiot! Leave it!" He froze at the sound of your voice, turning to see you. "What are you doing here? Get out, the place is falling apart!"

Rushing up to him, you desperately tugged on his arm. "Not without you!" Yielding to your urgency, he abandoned the medicine and turned to leave with you. But dread washed over him as he noticed the fragile beam above you, threatening to collapse at any moment. Time seemed to slow as he pushed you towards the exit just in time for the debris to crash down in front of him, trapping him inside.

Your cries echoed as you saw him trapped. "No!" He managed a weak smile, feeling the smoke filling his lungs. "I'm sorry, my lady." Tears streamed down your face as you screamed for help, men rushing to save him. Kyungsoo and Subin restrained you, their grip firm as you thrashed against their hold.

"It's okay, he'll be okay," they repeated, their assurances failing to ease the turmoil in your heart. When they finally emerged, carrying his unconscious body, relief washed over you, but it was quickly replaced by a profound sense of guilt and regret.

God, you were such a fool. How could you have been so blind to his importance in your life? Why did you take him for granted, making him wait for so long?

"Wake up, Song Mingi! Please, listen to me," you pleaded, your voice trembling with emotion. "I remembered everything, okay? I never forgot about you, not for a single moment. I'm sorry for lying, for pushing you away. But I accept it now—I want to be with you. Please... don't leave me."

Amidst your sobs against his chest, you halted as you felt his hand tenderly stroking your head. Lifting your gaze to meet his, you found him smiling weakly down at you.

"Wow, I never thought I'd hear those words," he murmured softly.

"So, that's your secret, huh? Faking your own death to get the girl?" Junghoon quipped, wearing a mischievous grin. Mingi let out an exasperated sigh and playfully smacked the younger man on the back of the head. "Faked my death? I nearly died," he retorted.

Junghoon raised a sceptical brow. "Yes, but did you die though?"

"I swear to god, you rascal—" Mingi's fist hovered in the air threateningly until you appeared, hands on your hips.

"Excuse me, no violence is permitted in the medical hall. If you two want to settle this, take it to the training grounds," you scolded.

The military strategist turned to you with a pout, attempting to play innocent. "But, my angel, I brought you lunch."

You rolled your eyes. "Alright. What's Junghoonie doing here then?"

The apprentice eagerly showed you his sprained ankle. "I actually got hurt, noona. Unlike someone, I don't fake my injuries."

Before Mingi could retaliate, you quickly summoned a colleague to tend to Junghoon, then dragged your idiot away, much to his chagrin. "That's enough, you baby."

"Yes, I'm your baby."

A month had passed since the plague in the village was eradicated. It was after the fire, that you managed to find a quiet moment with Mingi and poured out your heart to him. To your surprise, he didn't immediately respond with joy.

"Are you sure this is what you truly want?" he had asked, his expression serious. "Because I could never ask you to choose me over your career if it's more important to you."

His words struck a chord deep within you, revealing the depth of his love and understanding. He wasn't seeking to possess you but to ensure your happiness, even if it meant letting you go.

In that moment, you realised that this man was worth loving, worth everything. He had waited patiently for years, only to ask you that question when he finally had you.

In response, you didn't need to speak. Your answer was a simple and direct kiss to his lips, conveying all your love, gratitude, and certainty in that one tender moment.

Upon your return from Guri, you promptly sought an audience with His Majesty. There, you expressed your desire to be with Mingi. Needless to say, the soft-hearted King who had been secretly rooting for you both did not take too long to agree.

Granting you the freedom to be courted by the military strategist, the King also bestowed his blessing for marriage, should you both deem it the right path. With a sense of relief, you exchanged grateful glances with your lover. It marked the beginning of a new chapter, brimming with hope and love, as you eagerly anticipated embarking on this journey together.

"I still can't believe you're meant to be the coolest and most renowned military strategist in all of Joseon. If only the people knew what an adorable little princess you could be," you chuckled, playfully feeding Mingi a spoonful of rice as he attempted to fashion you a new handkerchief, boasting about his newfound skills learned from his dressmaker friend.

"Oh wow, is that really how you thank your devoted future husband, who's putting all this effort into making something special for you?" he teased, his eyes sparkling with affection as he reached for another piece of cloth, determined to create something perfect for you.

You snickered mischievously. "Alright, princess, how about this? You handle the cooking and cleaning, and I'll be the queen of the castle, bringing home the gold. Deal?"

He stared at you, unamused. Leaning in, you stole a kiss from his lips, and in that moment, his resistance melted away. "Ugh fine, I suppose that doesn't sound too bad," he admitted with a playful sigh.

Anything for you, my angel.

You couldn't contain your laughter at his surrender, eagerly returning his affection as he leaned in for another kiss.

Sometimes, it's astonishing how, despite years of separation, no matter how distant you've become or how impossible it seemed to reunite, you always find each other again. It's as if your paths were meant to intersect once more, as though guided by the stars.

You were destined to find each other.

Lord, I did not plan for this to be so long. I'm so sorry this part took like a thousand years and I sincerely hope it was decent! I've managed to include all the details I came up with but am somehow not too happy with the delivery (then again, when am I not unsatisfied with my own work lmfao).

More importantly, I cannot believe I now have 2k followers😭 thank you all so much! I cannot wait to finish Jongho and Yeosang's spinoffs and then work on more new stuff!

As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3

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[adverbally]

I Still Got You to Be My Open Door

Written for the @steddieangstyaugust prompt “‘Go, see if I care.’” | wc: 662 | rated: T | cw: referenced parental neglect | tags: established relationship, hurt/comfort, steve’s parents suck, references to cutting off contact with parents | title from “Grey Room” by Damien Rice

Steve’s own voice echoes after him as he slams the front door and stomps to his car.

“How did you think I would react?” Infuriated. Poisonous.

He fumbles his keys and they fall to the asphalt with a discordant jangle that sounds the way his nerves feel. He has to shut his eyes and breathe for a moment so he doesn’t fall apart.

“If you don’t want me here, I’ll go somewhere else.” Emotionless. Numb.

Another breath, then Steve retrieves his keys. He wonders, as he unlocks the car door, if he should leave his house key. He could drop it in the mailbox, slip it under the doormat. He could throw it in the pool or toss it into the woods behind the house…

The silence inside the car is deafening. It was quiet enough outside, the sun already setting on a short fall day, but every bird’s song and rustle of leaves had seemed magnified by the roar of his pulse in his ears. The car muffles everything outside, leaving Steve alone with his thoughts.

“Go, see if I care.” Sneering. Disdainful.

That’s the part that stings the most. His parents dropped this on him over the phone. They couldn’t even be bothered to come home to discuss it. Probably because in their minds, there is nothing to discuss. They will be selling the house, they will be moving to New York for his dad’s business, and they need his belongings packed up by the end of the month.

They didn’t invite him to come with them. They hadn’t even thought to ask what his plans were, now that they were yanking his home out from under him.

“Good luck in the city, I guess.” Hurt. Abandoned.

Steve drives around town in silence for what feels like hours, replaying the conversation over and over. What should he have said differently? Would it have changed anything? No, he decides. At the end of the day, the fact is that his parents don’t care about him, don’t even know him, and this kind of fight was a long time coming.

It still makes Steve’s throat tight. Standing up for himself like this means he’s given up all hope of having a relationship with his parents. As unlikely as that was, the possibility had been there. They could wake up one day and realize how absent and neglectful they had been, could apologize and beg for his forgiveness and try to make it up to him. That bridge is well and truly burned, now, which isn’t surprising but still feels like a gut punch.

Without consciously picking a destination, Steve finds himself parked outside the Munson home. He kills the headlights, shuts off the ignition, but doesn’t get out of the car. Now that he’s stopped moving, he doesn’t have the momentum to start again.

The tap on his window is gentle but it still makes him jump. Of course it’s Eddie, standing there in one of Steve’s old Hawkins High sweatshirts, peering at him through the glass with that concerned frown Steve loves so much. “You okay?” he mouths.

Steve can’t begin to answer that right now. He opens the car door, careful not to hit Eddie, and slips out right into Eddie’s comforting embrace.

“Hey, what happened?” Eddie murmurs, one hand holding Steve’s head against his shoulder and the other rubbing up and down his back.

“My parents,” he sighs. That about sums it up.

Eddie doesn’t ask him to elaborate, just squeezes him tighter. “You can stay over if you want. Wayne won’t mind, and he’s working tonight anyway.”

Everything will wait until tomorrow, when the hurt isn’t so fresh and he can make plans with a clear head. For tonight, Steve can cuddle up with his boyfriend, in borrowed clothes that smell like Eddie, maybe smoke a little, and stop thinking so hard.

“Thanks,” he tells Eddie, his voice small.

Eddie kisses the top of his head. “Any time.”

[tyunkus]

amazon wishlist — kang taehyun

pairing: roommate!kang taehyun x afab!reader summary: your roommate and best friend, taehyun, finds a dildo on your amazon wishlist.

wc: 5.5k

warnings: masturbation, dry humping, dirty talk (praise, some degradation), pet names (princess, angel, baby, pretty), like One spank, teasing/humiliation?, penetrative, safe sex, mention of cunnilingus and handjob, also unrealistic because taehyun games here but. let me live my gamer bf dreams ok?

note: originally wrote this in 3rd person and then had to manually change it to 2nd person so sorry for any mistakes ! also still figuring how this site works so sorry for the plain formatting. i dont actually know if amazon sells dildos, and if they cost $30? probably not but yk... artistic liberty... capitalism...

There’s no chicken.

You notice this one Friday afternoon in the middle of July, while the pavements outside sizzle from the heat and the sun spills through the windows and warms up your back. You’re in the kitchen, sifting through a pathetic heap of frozen food. Usually, you head to the nearby supermarket after pilates class to pick up a pack of bacon; other times, Taehyun comes home after a day with Kai bearing a bag of frozen wedges. Either way, it’s clear that neither of you have bought anything edible since your last grocery run two weeks ago.

Frozen french fries. Korean corndogs. A half-empty pack of fishcakes. No chicken.

You open the fridge, eyes skimming over its meager contents, as if it would be there. It isn’t. You open the freezer again, wondering if the gods above would be so gracious as to summon some chicken breast into your freezer to feed you and your roommate tonight. They don’t.

“Maybe we should go grocery shopping.”

You’re fresh from a long, elaborate shower. Your hair falls in wet tresses over your shoulders and you’re clad in dolphin shorts and a big shirt that might have been Taehyun’s but you borrowed so often and for so long that he probably forgot it ever belonged to him. It’s your turn to cook dinner and you’re grumbling over the fact that Taehyun cooked your only remaining pack of chicken breast last night when you hear his bedroom door click open.

Just in time. A shitty rap song follows the sound of the soft padding of his footsteps against the floor. “Hey, you home?” he calls from halfway down the hallway, but you cut him off before he can say anything else.

“I told you I would cook chicken and you still finished it last night, and now there’s nothing for me to cook, asshole,” you say, more exasperated than angry. You turn around just as he walks in, wearing nothing but black joggers and his obnoxious RGB headset. His eyes are wide and bashful. You wrinkle your nose and turn around again. “What happened to your shirt?”

Taehyun has the decency to sound sheepish. “Sorry, I was playing with the boys,” he mumbles, like that wasn’t painfully obvious already. You have no problem with seeing Taehyun or shirtless guys by themselves, but a shirtless Taehyun has you torn between wanting to throw up and throwing away your clothes. Maybe to other people having a first-class view of his washboard abs sounds like a blessing, but to you, it’s only a level below mental distress.

“Tell Kai I said hi,” you say absently, now going through your drawers for restaurant flyers (if worse comes to worst, you’ll order takeout for tonight). “Anyway, what’d you come outside for?”

“I needed to talk to you about something.”

At this, you peer over your shoulder, studying Taehyun’s face. He doesn’t look particularly upset, just stoic, which is a dangerous sign in itself. Taehyun’s usually calm, but he’s not stoic—at least, not in this stage of your friendship, when Taehyun has known you long enough to stop pretending that he’s some sort of tsundere.

“Is something wrong?” you ask softly, turning around to lean against the counter.

“I saw your wishlist on Amazon. Why do you have a dildo on there?”

The words fall on you like a bucket of hardened cement. You feel your heart rate increase by about a thousand beats.

“I—you what?” you sputter in disbelief. There are a few seconds in-between this moment of horror where you want to scold him, yell at him, do anything, but it’s not like he’s in the wrong. It’s your Amazon wishlist. But why was he snooping around on it? And why did you put a dildo on it? Fuck. Your mind searches for an intelligent response, but all that falls out of your mouth is, “Other people can see that?”

Taehyun raises his eyebrows. “Yes? I hope you didn’t share it with your parents or anything, ‘cause it’s like, the first one on the list.”

You grip the counter, suddenly feeling very ill. “Oh. Shit.” You had not done anything of the sort—you kept your parents away from your online presence for that very reason. But if anyone was to stumble upon your questionable wishlist on Amazon dot com, you weren’t expecting Taehyun of all people. Your best friend? And roommate? Really? Fuck Jeff Bezos, for real.

“But that’s besides the point,” Taehyun says, advancing towards you, and you back up a little. Between his tall, wide-shouldered frame and you being a good bit smaller, you discover that it is very, very easy to feel intimidated, almost trapped, by him. “Why do you need to buy one? You know I got a dick, right?”

It’s like another punch to the stomach, except someone also crushed your head with a boulder. If you weren’t red before, you definitely are now, sweat pooling at your palms at his implication. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

Taehyun shrugs and reaches behind you to grab a glass from the dish holder. “I’m just saying,” he says, making his way over to the sink. “Why waste thirty dollars on some plastic when you can get the real thing for free? And better?”

Are you even hearing him right? “Genuinely what are you on,” you say, still aghast. “I wanted to buy one because—because—I mean, I-I don’t know, it’s normal! Shit, Taehyun, does it really matter? Don’t tell me you’re being serious.”

He shrugs again. “Why not?”

You say the first thing that pops into your mind. “What if it sucks?”

Taehyun only laughs. “You really have that little faith in me?”

“I don’t know!” You think briefly on the sex talks you two have had—some you had sprawled over each other on the couch, glasses of soju in hand; others you had during movie nights, clay masks smeared over your faces while you struggled not to laugh too hard. They were fun, sure, but it’s one thing to hear Taehyun talk about fucking other people and another to hear him talk about fucking you. To your knowledge, Taehyun’s pretty good in bed, but… But why are you even considering it? You both have been best friends for years. If you have sex, it’s only going to ruin your friendship. There are other ways for you to feel good—ways that don’t risk a seven-year friendship and getting kicked out of the apartment.

“I don’t know,” you say again, suddenly terrified at yourself for not giving him a straight answer. It should be a hard, flat no! You shouldn’t be considering it all! Yet here you are, your brain suddenly full of the thought of Taehyun and his dick.

“Hey, I’m just saying. Trying to open up some options for you here. I’m one hundred percent willing, but only if you are.” Taehyun puts up his hands like that settles it. He flashes you a smile. “Just tell me, okay? And if you still don’t want to, that’s chill too. We’ll both act like this never happened.”

Is that even possible? “Right,” you say, feeling faint. “Okay, yeah.”

Taehyun’s smile doesn’t fade. You can only watch as he takes a swig of water and shuffles happily to his room.

You think about it. Probably a bit too much.

You have an essay to write for your class, and it’s due in a few hours—but you can’t stop thinking about it. It being Taehyun fucking you. In your defense, you’ve been pent up all week, trying to balance your academics and health and social life and Taehyun all without having any time for yourself, so it makes sense, you think. You hope it makes sense that you’re fantasizing about your roommate, considering everything that’s happening to you.

You shut your laptop and sigh, lying back down on your bed. Taehyun has been acting completely normal in the three days between now and when he had first made his offer, which you are endlessly grateful for, but also bewildered by. He had even paid for takeout that same night, and you had eaten it together on the floor of your living room, and it was like nothing had even happened. Still, you’ve been mulling it over ever since. Pondering it, if you will. And it’s not your first time. Many nights you have found your tired, worn-out brain wandering to your roommate, his pretty face, great body, cute personality… How it would feel. What he would do. Taehyun, leaning over you, kissing you, running his pretty hands up and down your skin. Nipping at your collarbone with his sharp, perfect teeth. Grazing them along your neck, sucking at the soft parts.

Fuck. You’re wet.

You feel crazy.

Your hands slide down your panties, face burning with shame. The only thing you can think of is Taehyun, his soft skin and pretty brown eyes, his lean arms and chest. You picture him above you, caging you between his arms, a glittering smile on his face as he touches you, his back muscles flexing. Do you like that? he whispers, his voice low and raspy. You don’t even have to work hard to imagine what he sounds like during sex—the walls here are awfully thin, he’s a twenty-one-year-old guy, and you’ve thought about it more often than not.

“Fuck,” you keen, your hips rolling up as you dip your finger into your folds. Your free hand trails up your torso and into your mouth; you roll your tongue around your fingers and wish, crazily, that you were sucking on Taehyun’s instead. “Shit, oh f—”

“About your offer.”

You’re sitting at the dining table. Taehyun is halfway through his serving of pancakes that you made for him in a partly-tired, mostly-horny daze. After a particularly busy morning, you can’t remember much of last night other than the fact that you fucked yourself sore and came three times in a row, no refractory period, and now you can barely hold your fork.

Taehyun looks up at you. He’s shirtless again. If you were any crazier you would be disappointed that he never left much room for imagination before your first time together. “My offer,” he echoes.

“From a few days ago,” you clarify, poking your fork through your slice of toast. “The. You-fucking-me thing.”

“Ah.” Taehyun leans back and you can tell he’s fighting down a smile. “Yeah, what about it?”

“Well. I’ve been kinda… you know, lately,” you begin, staring hard at your plate, “and I was gonna buy the… you know, but then I realized my shipping address is still at my parents’ house and I really don’t want to wait for another week or pay extra to get it the next day or pay thirty dollars for a plastic dick so—”

“So you want me to fuck you?”

You let out a breath and brave a glance at him. “Yeah,” you mumble.

“That’s all you had to say,” Taehyun says with a smile. He pushes his plate away and fixes you with a look. “When do you want to do it? Kinda weird to be planning this out, no?”

You groan and bury your face in your hands. “This is exactly why I didn’t want to do it,” you groan.

Taehyun laughs, reaching over to touch your arm. “Don’t worry about it. What about later tonight? After you’re finished with your homework, I can help you unwind,” he suggests, and he sounds like he’s just telling you about the weather—but his voice has dropped about three octaves and normally you would find this shit cringe, but. Holy fuck.

You aren’t one for slutshaming, but perhaps you are one yourself. You squeeze your thighs together and nod, your gaze falling to the table. “Sure. That sounds good.”

“Good. You can come to my room once you’ve finished. I won’t be playing tonight, so don’t worry about interrupting. Well, you might be interrupting something, but—”

“Okay, okay, I get it. Nooo need to elaborate,” you spit, standing up and picking up your plate. Taehyun laughs as you walk over to the sink and put away your dish. When you return back to the dining table, he continues eating like nothing happened. “I’ll go study now.”

“Study well, pretty.”

You make a vague sound of affirmation before slipping inside your room again. You back up against the door and take a second to breathe, then shuffle over to your closet.

Your panties are wet. Again.

“Come in.”

You step inside his room. It’s dark—his lights aren’t on, save for the RGB strips on his setup. He sits on his chair, legs spread, lap looking awfully inviting. For once, he’s wearing a hoodie, and he looks like he just got off a game.

“I expected to catch you at a more… compromising time,” you say, carefully.

“Funny way to say you wanted to see me jerking off.”

“I didn’t say that,” you say with a frown, and you stop walking in front of his chair. Taehyun pats his lap. He’s smiling so, so wide.

“Take a seat.”

You’re grateful when his hands reach up to cup your waist, guiding you as you slide a leg over him and sit down. It’s weird—oddly comfortable, but your tits are pressed up against his chest and your faces are really, really close. Like, close enough you can see each of his eyelashes. He’s so, so pretty.

Taehyun looks you in the eye. “Can I kiss you?” he asks, voice soft. When you nod, he hums and squeezes your waist. “Alright. Tell me about your day.”

“Huh?”

“Foreplay, baby. That’s like, the whole essence of a hookup.” Taehyun raises his eyebrows at you. “Would you just play along?”

“Fine, fine. I didn’t do mu—oh,” you gasp, as Taehyun’s lips latch onto your neck, pulling you into him. “Ah, fuck. I didn’t do much. I—I woke up early and did some assignments. Got a ninety percent on my mock exams.”

“Woah,” Taehyun says, pulling away. His eyes are bright. “Really?”

“Yeah. All of them.”

“Damn. Good job. Sometimes I forget you’re smart and hot,” he murmurs in between kisses. “Perfect girl.”

Holy shit. “Um—and then I went to the gym and this guy asked me for my number,” you continue. Taehyun licks at your throat and bites down hard. “Ow, fuck you. I said no thanks and then went back home and showered.”

“Did you do anything in the shower?”

You scoff as he licks along your jaw. “No. I’m not a perv like you.”

“Not a good idea to make fun of the guy who’s about to fuck you.”

“Sorry. Can’t help it.”

“And then what?”

“And then I had breakfast with you and after, I… I fucked myself a little.” Taehyun groans and your breath hitches in your throat. “I thought of you.”

He chuckles. “I would have been a little confused if you hadn’t. You must have been so pent up, baby, huh?”

You grab a fistful of his hair and pulls him away from your neck so your eyes meet. “I’ve been thinking of you. For a long time. Even before you made the offer,” you say, barely breathing. Your grip loosens, and you watch as his eyes grow dark. “Anytime I got h-horny, I—I imagined you. And I… was going to buy the toy ’cause I never thought I’d get the real thing with you.”

Taehyun seems taken aback, but his face of faint surprise melts into his usual cocky smile and he presses his lips against yours.

“I’m sorry to disappoint, but the real thing is a little bigger than five inches, baby.”

If you weren’t wet before, you’re drenched now. You feel a little bad for his grey sweatpants, the front all smeared with your precum. But knowing Taehyun, he’d probably like that.

You continue kissing for a while, Taehyun’s gaming chair creaking incessantly underneath your weight, but you’re too turned on to be bothered. He’s still playing with your panties, rubbing you over them. You honestly, truly might die.

“Taehyun,” you say, pulling away. He looks like a mess, lipgloss smeared all over his mouth, hair messy from your constant running your hands through them. “Can you touch me?”

“I am touching you, baby.”

You whine. “No, no, like—like inside me, please, fuck.”

“Use your pretty voice to ask me nicely.”

You take a deep breath but it’s let out as a whimper. “Please, Taehyun. Fuck me with your fingers,” you mumble, burying your face in his neck. “Please, please. Please.”

“Good job, princess. Of course. Anything you want.”

And you—you almost die, and it shows with the way you squeezes your thighs together and nuzzle your face deeper into his shoulder, letting out a soft moan when he finally moves to comply.

Taehyun seems to notice, because something in his eyes shifts and he leans in, kissing your cheek. “Do you like it when I praise you, baby? Come on, tell me everything. Tell me what turns you on. Want to make you feel good.”

“I like praise, yeah,” you say, your voice trembling as he moves his hands down to the hem of your panties. “Praise and… And some degradation, too, but mostly praise. I like pet names and—fuck—biting and spanking and k-kissing, fuck, even just kissing turns me on so much.”

“I can tell, baby.” Taehyun glides a finger over your cunt and smiles. “You’re fucking soaked. So cuuute.” He coos it, like you’re some sort of cute doll and not his fucking roommate whose pussy he’s playing with.

It makes you whimper, your fingers shaking where they should be holding onto Taehyun’s shoulders. “Ugh, fuck,” you squeak. “Fuck you.”

“Let me do it first. Grind down on me, pretty.”

You comply and gasp a little at the hardness underneath you. “Fuck. You’re so—”

Taehyun hums, his hands moving to your waist, helping you rock harder against him. “Just for you. I’ve been hard all day just thinking about you.”

You make a pathetic sound at the back of your throat and kiss him, your mind suddenly flooded with images of him touching himself right here in his chair, the slick sound of his hand wrapped around his cock, all while he thinks of you. Without warning, he reaches up his free hand and lightly taps at your cheek; you don’t even have to think about it before your mouth falls open and his fingers slide in.

“Perfect,” Taehyun breathes, and your heart skips in your chest. “You’re so good, fuck. Didn’t even have to ask, what a good girl.”

You grind down harder. Taehyun throws his head back and lets out something between a sigh and a groan. “Fuck, princess,” he rasps. “You’re so cute.” He reaches up with his other hand to caress your flushed face. “You feel really—ugh—really fucking good.”

“Oh my god, wait, fuck, wait—” You whimper around his fingers and slow to a stop; your hands clutch at the back of his hoodie. You whine into the cloth, breathing him in, feeling him all over you. His hands move down to your waist, squeezing gently. You can hardly breathe. “I… I was getting close. I don’t wanna come yet.”

Taehyun shifts a little under you; you huff when his hands slide under your ass and he moves to stand up, lifting you with him. “Let’s move to the bed, then,” he grunts, and your legs close around his waist as he carries the both of you to his bed.

He preoccupies himself by kissing you—your lips don’t move away from each other’s as you tumble onto the mattress. Your mind is racing. You’ve imagined kissing Taehyun so many times before, fantasized about how it felt, and these past few days it was all you could think about. His lips are so warm, his hands even warmer where they wander on your skin. You want him close, closer. Inside.

You break the kiss. “Taehyun,” you murmur against his lips. “Taehyun, please.”

Thankfully, Taehyun seems to understand what you’re getting at, and doesn’t make you beg for it—he’s shimmied out of his sweats and hoodie in record time, with only boxers and a wife beater left. He smiles down at you, gentle, loving. “Could you undress for me?”

You don’t need to be asked twice. You pull your dolphin shorts down and kick them off your ankles, trying your best to peel off your shirt as you do so. Taehyun is fully shirtless now, shadows cast across his toned muscles, and his hands probe at his boxers, but his eyes are fixed on you.

You have never felt so exposed wearing your favorite set of lingerie—you fight the urge to cover your stomach with your arms and instead opt to look up at Taehyun from under your lashes and hope he’s as horny as you are right now.

It takes a moment for Taehyun to recollect himself, but when he does, his hands are immediately on you, awed at your softness. “Damn,” he breathes.

“How eloquent of you.”

Taehyun laughs, running his hands down your waist. “No, I—” He breathes out another chuckle, his eyes trailing down to your belly. “No, you’re just perfect.”

Your cheeks heat and you feel yourself throb a little at his praise. “Says you. Know how many guys would kill to have your body?”

“Know how many guys would kill to have such a beautiful, sexy, smart girl like you?”

You press your lips together. You can’t help but think about how nice he looks, seated between your legs. “A lot of guys would be after you, it seems.”

“Can’t blame them. Fuck, your thighs,” Taehyun groans, moving his hands over them. Your breath catches in your throat. His hands look—are—huge. “Oh my fucking god. Promise me you’ll let me eat you out.”

You blink. “Of course,” you say. “Could you get to fucking me already?”

Taehyun laughs. “Right, sorry. Let me take my boxers off first.”

“Do you have a condom?”

“Yeah, it should be in the hoodie pocket.”

You retrieve the hoodie from the other side of the bed and feel around in its pocket before your fingers graze the plastic; you immediately pick it up and throw the hoodie on the floor. Meanwhile, Taehyun is finally fully naked and stroking himself; you turn even redder. Fuck, you want him so bad.

You tell him so. “Hurry, hurry, please,” you gasp, tossing the unopened condom packet to Taehyun, who chuckles.

“On your hands and knees, angel.”

You obey and whimper impatiently as Taehyun opens the condom and puts it on.

“Jesus, baby, you’re such a mess already and I haven’t even put it in,” Taehyun mumbles. You feel the bed dip where he climbs onto it again, and moans when he gives your ass a smack. “Needy. That’s what you are. Needy and impatient.”

You whimper. “Please, pleasepleaseplease, just put it in, put it in—” Taehyun pushes the small of your back so you drop face-first onto the mattress, cheek squished against the blankets. It smells like him. Everything smells like him. For once you fall silent when he announces he’s sliding in and you feels it poking at your entrance. Your eyes squeeze shut.

He slides in the first inch and you can’t help but whine. “Pleeeease, Taehyun,” you gasp, your voice high and reedy. He complies without an answer, sliding in more, slowly, until he’s almost halfway. You let out a squeak.

“What’s wrong?” Taehyun coos. “Don’t think you can take it?”

You make a small, pathetic noise at the back of your throat. “Nonono,” you cry. “You’re just… really big. Bigger than that—that dumb f-fucking dildo.”

“Aw, am I r-r-really?” Taehyun grins and eases another inch into you before you get the chance to retort. You suck in a breath instead, bunching the sheets into your hands. In a moment of guilt, he uses his other hand to give your waist a reassuring squeeze, then leans over to push back your hair for you. “Damn, you’re tight. You can take it, though, can’t you?”

You whimper. “Ah, shit, yes.”

“That’s it. There you go. Doing such a good fucking job, taking my cock.”

Taehyun kisses your shoulder as he slides in the rest, a string of pathetic whimpers and cries leaving your mouth as he bottoms out. Once his thighs touch the back of yours, he stays very still, letting you adjust to the size.

To both your surprise, you are the one who breaks the almost-silence with a short huff as you prop yourself on your elbows. “You… you can move now,” you grit out, sounding almost pained.

Taehyun hums. “Tell me first. Which do you like better? The toy or my cock?”

You’re silent, but he can see your knuckles whitening as you grip the bedsheets. Taehyun scoffs and grabs both your arms with his hand, pulling them behind you with a grunt. You yelp as his cock hits a different angle inside of you.

“Tell me. Which one is better? I won’t move until you tell me.”

You whimper for a few moments, but Taehyun doesn’t let up. You take a shaky breath and let your head hang. “Y-you,” you mumble.

“Louder, pretty.”

“I like your cock better—hmf—better than the toy,” you say. Taehyun can hear the tears in your voice and his belly flip-flops. So fucking hot.

He might have said that out loud—you might have heard him—but he doesn’t have time to think about the possibilities, because at once he’s drawing his hips away from yours and slamming back inside again. The reaction is immediate. You keen, chest heaving at the intensity. 

“Fuck,” you croak, clinging onto the bedsheets.

“God,” Taehyun breathes, holding you up to his chest, “I’m obsessed with you.” He mouths at your neck and you whimper.

“Don’t bite too hard,” you plead. Taehyun bites down harder in response.

“I’ll bite as hard as I want,” he says, but there’s no heat in his words, and he presses a kiss to your shoulder right after. His hands snake up your body, from your hips to your waist until they stop comfortably at your tummy. He thrusts in and out of you at a steady pace, kissing mindlessly at any sliver of skin he can get his lips on. “Been dreaming about this for ages, you know. I’ve been wanting to fill you up for the longest time.”

Fire stirs within the pit of your stomach at the thought. “I do, too. Fingered myself thinking it was your cock,” you mumble back, delirious, and you can feel him smile against your shoulderblades. Suddenly, he slides out, flips you over and enters you once more in a single swift movement. His pace picks up and you exhale slowly, melting into the pleasure, your eyes trained on the array of faces he’s making above you.

“You’re perfect, angel.” Taehyun’s voice drops into a murmur, his bangs falling perfectly around his face. “I’ve always wanted to do this with you, baby. Not only because you’re really hot, but”—he lets out a moan here—“also ’cause I really, really like you, and I don’t wanna fuck the shit out of you for no reason, I—I also wanna take you on dates, and—” He pauses and groans when you squeeze down on him, eyes twisting shut. “Ah, shit, and I wanna fuck you not as a one time thing, but—fuck, but as like, a boyfriend thing—mm—you know?”

You let out a moan, your eyes cracking open incredulously. “You’re telling me this now?” you pant.

Taehyun laughs but goes even faster, his hands still tight around the softness of your waist. You cry out and latch onto his strong arms, wondering if this is happening, if this is real, if Taehyun really just confessed to you in the middle of rearranging your guts. You can’t believe this. Your heart flutters. Your pussy throbs. God, what is wrong with him?

Taehyun’s hand moves up to your jaw. He tilts your chin up and presses your lips together in a slow, slow kiss. “Fuck, baby, you’re gorgeous. Shit,” he says, kissing you again and again. He looks almost desperate, moving inside you, his entire face flushed red. “I love kissing you. Such a pretty girl, my baby, aren’t you? I—oh, fuck, you feel so good, I like you so much.”

“Shit,” you mewl, reaching up to cup his face. He kisses the corner of your mouth, moving almost desperately now, moaning loudly against your skin. “Fuck, Taehyun, you’re crazy—fuck—”

“Tell me how beautiful you are,” Taehyun rasps, not sounding like himself at all, but he moves his hips impossibly faster, and his hand trails down to your neck. “Tell me how pretty you look while your pussy chokes this dick, fuck.”

You wail, your hands flying up to grasp at his wrists. “I’m—’m a puh-pretty girl, fuck, ’m so pretty—”

“That’s right, princess. Are you close? You wanna come?” he rasps, reaching down now to rub your clit. “Go ahead, baby, come on my cock, please, fuck, come on—”

“Taehyun,” you gasp, your breath hitching, as you feel the waves of your oncoming orgasm. 

“—cream on it, sweet girl, make me proud, wanna feel you coming for me, ’cause of me—”

You cry out from underneath him and you jolt so suddenly it startles him; your back arches off the bed and your thighs clamp around him and you go very, very still. You come for a long time, breathing and whining throughout it; Taehyun keeps moving, easing you out of it, his hands rubbing and squeezing your waist until finally your muscles relax and you go slack, melting back into the mattress.

“That’s it, pretty, good job,” he murmurs, running feather-light touches up and down your torso. “Good job, princess, what a sweet girl.”

He slides out of you after a minute, and you make a noise; you crane your neck to watch as he peels off the condom. “Did you come?” you ask, your voice awfully quiet. He looks up at you and smiles.

“It’s fine, baby.”

You move to sit up. “No, no—”

“Angel, I’m good.”

“You’re still—”

“Shush.” Taehyun scoots closer to you, settling on his elbows between your legs. “I still want to taste you.”

An hour later, you find yourselves lying in bed together. After making you come another time on his tongue and finally coming after the world’s best handjob, Taehyun had scooped you up and seated you in the bathtub, where you took turns washing each other’s hair and giggling deliriously about what had just happened. You smell overwhelmingly like his shitty male body wash, but you find it hard to care that much when he’s buried his face in the crook of your neck.

Seeing that your friendship was effectively ruined in the best way possible, you find it hard not to giggle a little, wrapped in his arms. Taehyun’s hands, sliding smooth and gentle across your torso, stop abruptly.

“What are you laughing at?” he asks, sounding affronted.

“You. You’re ridiculous.”

“What? I wasn’t even doing anything.”

“Wouldn’t it have been easier to just ask me out on a date? As opposed to offering to fuck me. You came off a little strong with that, you know,” you mumble. “Now that I think about it, it was kind of a dick move.”

“Sorry,” Taehyun grumbles. “I’ve asked you out to dinner multiple times but you kept calling them friend dates so I gave up on that.”

“You were trying to flirt with me? I had no idea.”

“Clearly. That’s why I had to stop trying to make romantic advancements and just settled on asking to fuck you instead. The dildo was the perfect incentive.” His fingers move up to tangle in your hair. “I had—I have, like, the biggest, stupidest crush on you. It’s embarrassing.”

You smile. “Lucky you. I like you, too.”

He breathes out, presses his forehead to your shoulder. “Thank god. I was waiting for you to say it,” he says quietly. “We don’t have to talk about it now, though. Let’s talk about it in the morning.”

“Fine with me. Why were you even looking at my Amazon wishlist, anyway?”

“Well.” Taehyun stills his hands and clears his throat. “I was trying… to pick out… a birthday gift for you.”

“A birthday gift?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god.”

“Don’t laugh.”

You start to laugh. “Oh my god,” you say again, in between giggles. “My birthday isn’t for another two months, dumbass.”

“I wanted to be prepared!” Taehyun protests, pinching lightly at your waist. “I told you, I have the biggest fucking crush on you. I was gonna give you a bunch of little gifts. And actually, I was planning to ask you to be my girlfriend. I was so excited, too. Asked the guys for help and everything. Soobin was going to hold up the sign. And Beomgyu was in charge of finding a nice place.”

You snort, twisting around to kiss him. “Sorry for laughing. You’re just an idiot sometimes,” you mumble, and kiss him again. “If it makes you feel better, I would have said yes. And anyway… I kinda knew you liked me. The walls are very thin, you know.”

Taehyun tenses up behind you. “What?” he asks after a beat of silence.

“I hear you jacking off all the time. I’m sorry to break it to you. At least you sound pretty.”

Taehyun groans and presses his nose between your shoulderblades. “Fuck you,” he says, muffled.

You hum. “We’re even.”

tyun: pussy so good i professed my undying love for her

[iamgonnagetyouback]

hey there, ‘s me <3 so, my first request will be for a story in a shell 🦪 for mattheo, with the "exes to lovers" trope i’ve been obsessed with lately, and the song will be sabrina’s good graces that i’ve been listening to pretty much ever since the release. i think it would be cute with the trope. thanks in advance 💘

Hey there me, it's Ivy! ⁠(⁠(⁠・⁠▽⁠・⁠)⁠)づ (sorry that was a terrible joke; I think it's my dad's influence) Anyways, thank you so much for requesting, honey (⸝⸝ᵕᴗᵕ⸝⸝) And yes I had good graces playing on loop the whole time I was writing it (๑ > ᴗ < ๑)

ivy's 1k celebration 🦪 navigation 🦪 characters

ˋ°•*⁀➷ MATTHEO RIDDLE exes to lovers with good graces by sabrina carpenter

The party was in full swing, voices buzzing and music thrumming through the walls. You could feel eyes on you, not the least of which belonged to Mattheo Riddle from across the room. Every so often, you’d look his way, meeting his gaze with a taunting smirk before turning your attention back to Theo, who was by your side, grinning like he knew exactly what kind of game you were playing.

The sound of laughter bubbled up as you leaned in closer to Theo, trailing a finger down his arm and smiling sweetly. “You know, I think you might actually be my favorite person tonight, Theo.”

His laugh was smooth, leaning closer to match your energy. “Glad to hear it. Though I can’t say that’s everyone’s opinion tonight.”

You knew who he was talking about but before you could answer, a familiar voice cut through the noise.

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Mattheo’s tone was laced with a mix of annoyance and a bit of jealousy as he looked between you and Theo, his jaw tight. “Didn’t know you’d be here, Theo.”

Theo just raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Hey, it’s a party, man. She invited me, didn’t she?”

You turned to Mattheo, one brow raised as you toyed with the rim of your glass, letting the tension settle thick around you. “Jealous, Riddle?”

His lips curved into a smirk, though his gaze was anything but amused. “Only if I thought there was anything real going on here.”

“Oh?” You leaned in closer, voice dropping, making sure only he could hear you. “Guess you should have stayed in my good graces, huh?”

A flicker of irritation crossed his face, but he didn’t back down. “Funny, coming from someone who used to be ‘sweet like an angel,’ as if you’d do anything for me.”

You shrugged, giving him a slow, infuriating smile. “I am still 'sweet like an angel', Mattheo. But I don’t waste that and my time on people who don’t deserve it, sweetheart. Besides, there are plenty of other guys who appreciate my attention. Like Theo here,” you added with a pointed look, making sure he caught your meaning.

His jaw tightened, his voice dropping lower as he took a step toward you, closing the distance between you. “You think this is funny? Trying to make me jealous?”

“Why would I care what you think?” You whispered, just close enough that he could feel the warmth of your breath against his skin. “Trust me, darling, I don’t give a fuck about you. Not anymore.”

There was a spark of something dark and hungry in his eyes as he leaned in even closer, his lips just barely grazing your ear. “Then why are you still here, talking to me?”

“Who says I’m here for you?” you countered, your voice all bite, but your heart was thudding as you took in every feature of his face. “You’re the one who keeps showing up, trying to ruin my fun.”

“Oh, is that what I’m doing?” he murmured, his voice dripping with sarcasm, but his hand lingered near yours, fingers almost touching. “Look me in the eyes and tell me you’re really over it.”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to let him see you falter. “I’m over you, Mattheo,” you whispered fiercely, lips brushing against his ear, sending a shiver down his spine.

His eyes darkened, a wicked smirk twisting his lips as he looked at you, clearly unfazed. “You really want me to believe that?”

“Believe whatever you want,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “It’s not my problem if you’re still caught up on something that’s long gone. Just don’t expect me to sit around waiting for you to get it together.”

A dangerous glint sparked in his gaze, that familiar cockiness slipping back into place as he edged closer, eyes boring into yours. “You don’t waste time, huh? Right. So that’s why you’re here, standing in front of me, talking like you care about every word I’m saying.”

Your breath hitched for just a second before you steeled yourself, stepping back. “Don't mistake my nice for naïve, Riddle, I’m done. So unless you’re here to show me something real, you can find someone else to play your games with.”

He just stared at you, frustration flickering across his features as he tried to find the words. “Maybe I don’t know what to say. But maybe I’ll figure it out.”

For the first time that night, you let a little softness creep into your tone, though you didn’t let him see any hint of weakness. “Yeah? I guess we’ll see.”

You turned, disappearing back into the crowd, leaving him standing there, the mix of frustration and longing plain on his face.

The night dragged on, tension simmering between you and Mattheo like fire, every glance, every shared look, a new unspoken challenge.

Eventually, you stepped out into the night, the cool air biting at your skin. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of Mattheo’s words—and the way they still made your heart race.

You’d barely gotten two steps outside before you heard him again, his voice unmistakable. “Leaving so soon?”

You didn’t turn, knowing he was already close behind. “And if I am?”

He let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a thrill down your spine. “You don’t have to play coy with me. You and I both know there’s unfinished business.”

Turning slowly, you met his gaze, refusing to let him see the conflict raging inside you. “You keep talking, but I don’t see any actions, Mattheo. You don’t get to act like you care after all this time.”

He stepped forward, his face a perfect mask of intensity. “You’re right. I don’t deserve it. But I’m still here, aren’t I?”

The air between you was thick, every word charged with the weight of old feelings. You fought to keep your voice steady, refusing to give him any satisfaction. “Then maybe it’s time for you to stop waiting around. If you think you deserve my time, prove it.”

There was a flicker of determination in his eyes, his hands reaching out to cup your face. You froze, feeling every inch of distance between you vanish in an instant. He looked down at you, his voice low and hoarse. “Then let me prove it.”

The seconds dragged on, tension thick and consuming as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a kiss that was as intense as it was inevitable. You gave in, matching his fervour, the unresolved anger and passion spilling into each kiss, each lingering touch.

Finally, you broke away, breathless, heart pounding as you met his gaze with a knowing smirk. “Stay in my good graces, Mattheo. Or I’ll walk out of your life and never look back.”

His gaze softened, a smirk of his own tugging at the corners of his lips. “I don’t intend to mess this up again.”

For once, you let your guard down, allowing a touch of vulnerability to show as you looked up at him. “Good. Because I don’t give second chances.”

His fingers brushed a strand of hair from your face, his eyes warm and full of promise. “Then I guess I’ll just have to make it count.”

And for the first time, you felt like maybe, just maybe, he was ready to do exactly that.

[evanpeterswhoresblog]

Linger

Sirius Black x rockstar! f!reader

warnings: smut, p in v, rough sex, like pretty rough guys he bites you till you bleed, underage drinking, underage smoking, a lot of smoking tbh, drunkish sex, kinda has a plot so yeah lmk if i missed anything

summary: you and your band mates decide to go out to a pub, where you end up meeting the most handsome boy you’ve ever seen.

word count: 4.2k

a/n: guys i’m so bad at these summaries holy. this is probably my favorite fic i’ve written. the flirting and the tension like omg. trust me. also, let’s pretend The Runaways are british and let’s pretend everything id accurate hahaha. enjoy ;)

~~~

“Do you think we’ll be recognized tonight?”

You turn to your bandmate, Joan, and shrug. “It’s fifty-fifty.”

“What pub are we going to again?” She asks.

“The one where they let underage people in, of course, you’re still the only one who’s twenty-one in the band you know,” you reply.

The other two members of your band, Sandy and Lita, are ahead of you, engulfed in their own conversation. You slide your hands into the pockets of your jacket and try to keep up. You’ve been in the band for a few months as the new lead singer. Their old one left to start her own band, claiming it to be more successful. Yet your band is the one that’s gotten sold-out shows, interviews on television, and pictures in magazines. Sometimes you like to think it was fate that she left, and you just so happened to be in town the night they were holding auditions. The fans surely enjoy your voice more, they make you out to be the leader even though you’re only seventeen and the newest member. You don’t mind though, and neither do your bandmates.

It’s almost ten when you arrive at the pub and thankfully no one has recognized you yet, or they have and simply haven’t said anything. There’s no one at the door to check IDs just like Sandy had said. The four of you enter fast and find a table. The music is loud, the lights are low, and people are dancing all over. You like it, a lot.

“Drinks?” Lita questions a few seconds after you sit.

“You know it!” Joan replies.

“I’ll be right back then.”

Sandy takes out a pack of cigarettes. “Care for one?”

“Obviously,” you answer, holding your hand out. She hands you one, you’re quick to light it and stick it between your lips, inhaling a deep breath of smoke. “How come the police haven’t found this place?”

Joan rolls her eyes. “They have.”

“And? Why don’t they shut it down?”

“They have people who come here, of course, sons, daughters, you know that sort of thing. It may be illegal but it’s trustworthy,” she explains. “Why do you care anyway?”

You shrug. “Just curious I suppose.”

Lita arrives back at the table, four glasses held in her arms. You take yours fast, eager to taste whatever liquor she got for you. It’s bitter, with a hint of sweetness in it. Based on the color as well, your guess is some sort of vodka mix. You drink it despite the awful aftertaste it leaves in your mouth. The cigarette between your fingers helps a bit. The four of you talk for a while and enjoy the peace of having no fans around.

“You should go to the bar y/n,” Lita says after some time. “Or well it might be too late now, but when I was there, I saw a boy your age, remarkably handsome.”

Sandy laughs. “You’re trying to send her home with someone already?”

Lita nudges the other girl with her shoulder. “No, I’m only trying to get some new song material.”

“We’ll see if there’s any potential,” you say, taking the last sip of your drink and getting up. You brush down your hair. “Do I look alright?”

“You’re always beautiful,” Joan answers, letting out a cloud of smoke.

“Wish me luck.” You chuckle before heading to the bar.

With every step you take, you feel eyes on you. Most belong to older men who shouldn’t even be paying you any mind. You’re used to the feeling of being watched, with all the fans and paparazzi that corner you before and after gigs. So, you move through the pub without a second thought about it.

In the back of your head, you curse yourself for not asking Lita what the guy looks like. For a moment you question how you’re supposed to find him, but then your curious eyes find one guy who stands out. He’s leaning on the wall, a glass in his hand and a cigarette between his lips. Based on his face, you figure he can’t be more than nineteen. And oh, how right Lita was. His hair is dark and long, almost reaching his shoulders. He’s dressed in a simple white tee shirt and baggy jeans. Despite the distance, you swear you can make out a sliver of a tattoo on his shoulder. He’s gorgeous, almost too gorgeous.

You approach him carefully, thinking of different opening lines in your head. Would it be wrong to use your fame to get him to take you home? Probably. But you’ve seen Joan do it plenty of times. She always says it’s simply a tool and that you should use it to your advantage. You’ve never done it though. Perhaps it’s your little amount of consciousness that remains that tells you it’s wrong. You don’t know and the alcohol in your system doesn’t help. So, when you reach him, you say the first thing that comes to mind.

“Hi.”

He looks at you, the cigarette dangling between his lips. “Hello.”

“How old are you?” You ask, immediately feeling stupid for such a question.

“What are you a cop?” He chuckles.

You feel your cheeks heat up. “No uh... sorry.”

“It’s fine love, just not a very good pick-up line,” he replies. He takes his cigarette out, his eyes locked on yours. “Especially since you look like you’re sixteen.”

“Seventeen actually.” You correct him.

“Ah, well there’s something we share then.”

Something about the way he’s looking at you comforts you. There’s no recognition in his eyes at all. You can tell. To him, you are just another girl. Not the lead singer of The Runaways. Just a simple girl.

“You can try again if you’d like,” he says. You look at him, confused. “Try another pick-up line.”

You gently smile and think for a few seconds. Nothing better comes to mind.

“Come here often?”

He laughs. “Somehow I think that was worse than the first one.”

“Sorry. Usually, I’m better at this sort of thing,” you reply. You put your hands back in your pockets, suddenly feeling very hot with embarrassment.

“Don’t be sorry, it’s cute.”

There’s a moment of silence. He takes a sip of his drink; you stare at his hand. The way it looks wrapped around the glass makes your stomach fill with butterflies. You hate how much you want him to take you home. You don’t even know his name. But he’s handsome, so much so it makes you unable to think straight. You need to know more.

“Are you from around here?”

He nods. “Born and raised in London. You?”

For a split second you wonder, if he’s from London how come he doesn’t know who you are? Sure, your band isn’t on the same level of success as Queen or ACDC but you’re also not underground. You push the thought away.

“Originally from Westchester but now I’m here in London for... work,” you answer.

“Work? I thought you were seventeen.”

“Yes but, eighteen next month. I already finished school.”

He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Wish I could say the same, I still have another year left. Though, I rather enjoy school, gets me away from my dear parents.”

“Oh, where do you go?”

You notice the way he shifts his posture. “Out of the country, you wouldn’t know of it.”

“Like a boarding school?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

You look around the pub, a slight feeling of awkwardness blooming within you. You don’t know why you’re so nervous. You’ve done this before. You decide to blame it on the cheap vodka because really, you’re better than this.

“So, what’s your name then?” You ask after a few more minutes.

“Does it really matter?” He replies, catching you a bit off guard. He flicks the ash off his cigarette, his dark eyes on yours. “All of it’s the same.”

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Don’t play dumb love, I know this isn’t your first time. I’m sure you’ve chatted up many other lads and had them take you home.” There’s something about the tone in which he speaks that has your knees almost wobble.

“Why would you think that?”

He sighs, leaning over to a small table discards his cigarette in an ashtray, and leaves his glass. When he leans back on the wall, now with both of his hands-free, he buries them in the pockets of his baggy jeans. He looks down at you with an expression that could send your morals far out of mind. You want him, terribly. And you think he knows this.

“Besides the fact that you said you’re usually better at this, you’re also possibly the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he eventually answers.

You can’t help but roll your eyes. “I highly doubt that, but nevertheless thanks for the compliment.”

“I mean it. Most girls I see still wear those long skirts and sweaters, but you, you’re dressed like you could pass as a rock star.”

Your face heats up once again. You know he’s right. With your leather jacket, flared jeans, high-heeled boots, and small tight top you know it’s clear what kind of person you are. Your makeup only adds to it, black smudged eyeliner and glitter on your eyes. It’s a toned-down version of what you wear on stage. He doesn’t need to know that though.

You give him a smile and shrug. “Rock is my favorite genre, what can I say? You sort of got that look too though, not quite as intense.”

“Not a gentleman?” He chuckles.

“No.” You laugh, shaking your head. “At least I hope not.”

“I see. You don’t fancy the good boys. Well fortunately for you, I’m a bit of a troublemaker. At least, that’s what my schoolmates and family say,” he mentions. “What’s wrong with the good boys anyway? They could treat you like a lady.”

“Too gentle, I’m not a fan of it,” you answer honestly.

He smirks, sending warmth straight to your core. “So is your intention to get me out of here and treat you... not gently?”

“My intention is simply to buy you another drink, maybe enjoy a dance or two. What happens at the end of the night is not particularly on my mind right now. I’m more focused on learning your name. Why? Is that what you’d fancy?” You counter, looking up at him through your long lashes.

It has the effect you hoped for because he stands up straight, his back finally off the wall. He offers his hand to you, and you take it softly in yours. It’s so much bigger, so much warmer. You try your hardest to kill all the thoughts of where else you’d like him to touch you with his hand.

“Sirius Black,” he introduces himself.

“Like the star?” You question without thinking.

“Yes, like the star. Now what’s your name.”

“Y/n y/l/n,” you say.

“Charmed. So, how about that drink?”

You smile. It’s going to be a good night, you know it.

The next few hours go by in a flash. You and Sirius drink more than you probably should and dance to the many different songs that play on the jut box. A few different times throughout the night you find the eyes of your bandmates, each of them giving you big smiles and thumbs up as they watch you with Sirius. At one point Joan makes a lewd hand gesture, and you barely get a chance to see Lita smack her. It’s past twelve when you find yourself outside the pub with Sirius sitting on a curb sharing a cigarette.

“I hate these bloody shoes,” you mumble as you dig your heel into the pavement. “They make my feet sore.”

“Then why do you wear them?” Sirius asks, amusement evident in his tone.

You exhale a long breath of smoke, passing the half-burnt cigarette back to him. “I dunno. Beauty is pain.”

“For some, but I’m sure even without those things you’re just as pretty. Actually, I would bet pounds on that being true,” he replies.

“I think I’m rather plain without all this. Would you think the same of me without my makeup and outfit?”

You watch him smirk. “I should think you look even prettier without all of that on. Especially the clothes.”

Your stomach fills with butterflies for the thousandth time tonight. Your shyness left hours ago when you took your first shot. So, instead of simply blushing and looking away, you stand and look down at him with your own smirk.

“Quite the charmer. How about you find come back to mine and find out for yourself?”

He takes one last drag of the cigarette before standing, flicking it to the pavement, and crushing it beneath his sneaker. You watch helplessly as he releases a cloud of smoke, his hand now held out to you.

“I’d quite like that. Lead the way.”

~~~

You don’t know how you keep your composure the whole way home, especially with Sirius’s hand handing yours the entire time. On the train, as you sit, your head on his shoulder, he rubs his thumb across your knuckles. It’s a gesture that makes you glad you aren’t standing because your legs feel like jelly. And on the walk up to your apartment, he lets go of your hand and instead places it on the small of your back. You almost fall down the stairs at the contact.

Once you’re inside you immediately take off your boots, leaving them somewhere by the front door. Your jacket follows, only it’s hung on one of your kitchen chairs. When you turn to look at Sirius you find his eyes wandering all over your apartment, examining the details you assume. His sneakers are off, his hands are in his pockets.

“You must have a special job, this place is wonderful,” he says.

“My mates help me with the money, it’s not all mine,” you reply. It’s true, they do help you earn money from performing. You step closer to him, your hands behind your back. “And it’s really not that big. One bedroom, one bathroom, and one very tiny living room combined with the kitchen. But it’s more than enough for me. Would you like the tour?”

“Of course, if the tour starts in your bedroom.”

You can’t help the blush that takes over your face. “Follow me.”

The walk is fast, with every step you feel your heart rate increase. You’ve done this a few times, but for some reason, this time feels different. Perhaps it’s because all the other guys can’t compare to Sirius’s beauty in the slightest. Or perhaps it’s because you already like him a bit more than you should for a one-nighter. You don’t know. And you don’t care to know because you’re about to reach your door.

You open the door fast, letting him in first, and closing it behind you. It’s dark, the only lights coming from outside your small window. You don’t reach for the lights though. Instead, you step closer to the boy, the sound of your breathing suddenly far too loud for your liking. His silhouette moves closer to you as well. It’s almost like there’s an invisible force pushing the two of you together, and you find yourself liking it.

He touches you first. One of his hands finds your waist, he guides you to him faster. Soon enough, you’re practically pressed against him. You can barely breathe from the proximity. You’ve never felt something this intense. You look up at him, your bottom lip between your teeth.

“Still want me to not be gentle?” He asks, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I want you to ruin me,” you say, pressing one of your hands to his chest. You’re happy to find his heart is racing just like yours. “Don’t hold back.”

“Alright.”

Before you can even think of another thought, his lips are on yours. You kiss back instantaneously, your hand moving up into his hair. It’s soft, like you expected. He’s far from gentle with his kissing, and you’re glad. His lips move fast on yours, his teeth scraping your tongue. He bites down on your lip so hard you whimper, and the metallic taste of your blood clouds your senses.

Still, despite the pain, when he pulls back you almost whine from the loss of contact. But his hands move fast to pull your shirt up. You help him get it off, then move to his. Through the darkness, you can see the few tattoos he has on his chest and shoulder. They’re dark, they’re beautiful. You run your fingertips over them as he leans back down and connects your lips once again. You begin to guide the two of you towards your bed.

When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you allow yourself to fall back onto it. Sirius doesn’t follow you though. Instead, he stands between your legs at the foot of the bed and begins to undo the buttons of your jeans. You watch in awe, lifting your hips to help him drag them down your legs, leaving you only in your bra and panties. You sit up, your eyes on him, as you start undoing his belt.

After his jeans are on the floor he pushes you back down on the mattress, climbing over you this time. You kiss him deeply, dragging one of your hands down his warm back, and weaving the other through his hair. That warmth deep inside you has grown, consuming you entirely. You can feel the wetness between your legs, surely staining your panties. You’ve never been so turned on by a guy in your life.

He suddenly parts your kiss, his lips beginning to move down your jaw and neck. You moan, throwing your head back to give him more access. When he bites down on you, so hard you can feel a stinging from it breaking skin, you pull at his hair, sounds of pleasure escaping your swollen lips.

Eventually, after leaving many hickeys and bite marks on your neck, he pulls back entirely and flips you over onto your stomach. You smirk against the mattress as you feel him unclip your bra. To help get it off, you lift yourself on your hands, and the straps quickly fall. You throw it off without even thinking about it. You’re about to turn back but Sirius presses a hand between your shoulder blades, silently telling you to stay as you are. You don’t hesitate to comply.

You feel him move and instinctively you lift your hips in the air. He places a kiss on your back, it almost makes you shiver. Then his hands are on your hips, pulling your last piece of clothing off. You normally would feel some sense of vulnerability at this point. Completely naked with your ass in the air. But the alcohol mixed with the utter need you have for Sirius takes control. You feel him shift.

“Do you have a rubber?” The sound of his voice makes you squeeze your legs together.

“Unless you have a disease, you don’t need one. I’m on birth control,” you answer, looking over your shoulder at him.

“No diseases I swear,” he says.

“Then proceed.”

You get up properly on all fours, the anticipation killing you. When he positions his tip at your entrance, you inhale sharply. He rubs his cock through your wet folds for a few seconds, brushing against your clit ever so slightly, before thrusting inside you in one quick, hard motion. You can’t help the moan that leaves you. He’s big, stretching you in a way that’s on the brink of being painful. It’s perfect.

He fucks you hard, very hard. Each thrust hits that spot inside you that makes your legs shake. At one point, your arms give out and your face presses against the mattress. Your hands twist in the sheets, your moans muffled by the bed. Sirius doesn’t like this. He twists one of his hands in your hair and pulls you up, the pain only adding to the building of your orgasm.

“Sirius,” you gasp. “Fuck Sirius.”

He’s relentless. He fucks you through your first orgasm, not faltering for even a second. He only stops when you can’t hold yourself up anymore, pulling out and flipping you onto your back. You scratch your nails down his back as he begins to fuck you in missionary, your lips on his.

You don’t know how long passes by the time he tells you he’s close. What you do know is that your second orgasm is not far either. With tears in your eyes, you let him switch positions once again, this time you’re on top of him. Your muscles are weak and sore, but that doesn’t stop you from riding him as well as you can. Sweat covers your body, and incoherent words drip off your lips. You can barely take it anymore.

“I-I’m almost there,” you mumble.

“Me too love,” Sirius replies, his breath ragged. “Finish us both off.”

You struggle to hold yourself up, a tear rolling down your cheek. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can, just a few more minutes,” he assures you, running one of his hands through your hair.

Much to his word, in a few minutes, he finishes. Hard. He moans your name in an indescribable tone, and his cock pulses inside you so intently, it causes your second orgasm to occur. As this happens, you lie on his chest, both of your breathing very uneven. He holds you tight against him.

Eventually, you roll off him and stare at your ceiling. You try to comprehend what just happened. Never in your life have you experienced something so intense. Most of the time when you told guys to be rough with you, they’d be turned off. But Sirius... You turn to your side to face him.

“Want a smoke?”

“Certainly.”

~~~

It’s safe to say, you don’t let him go all summer. You spend every second you can with him. Most of the time in your sheets, but a good amount doing other things. You paint his nails black, teach him how to wear eyeliner, and how to dress more like yourself. You enjoy every second you get with him.

He never does discover your fame, at least he never says so. You think he would know. Each time you go out you try your hardest to be unnoticeable and you always hide away magazines and switch the channel whenever something about your band is shown. But he never does say anything. Sometimes at night, you sing to him softly and you always laugh when he tells you that you should take it professionally.

You learn how much he hates his family, except for his little brother. You learn he loves Queen and David Bowie. You learn his favorite color is ironically black. You learn as much about him as you can and with each fact you do learn, you only fall more for him. But you never speak of it. You know the inevitable ending.

On the night before he goes back to school, the two of you lay in your bed, a thick silence between you. As usual, you pass a cigarette back and forth. Only this time, there are no words accompanying. Until he speaks.

“For once, I’m not looking forward to going back.”

You turn to your stomach and look at him. “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“Me either,” he agrees. He holds the cigarette to you; you take it fast. “I can phone you if you want. You know, while I’m there. Or send letters.”

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” You question.

“I think I really fancy you, and I don’t want to leave on a bad note.”

You give him a weak smile and press a kiss on his bare shoulder. “Oh, Sirius.”

~~~

A few months later...

“Five minutes till show time,” an assistant tells you.

You’re sitting in your dressing room backstage. Joan, Sandy, and Lita all have their own space now. You find it funny how much The Runaways have blown up since the summer. Now, everywhere you turn you see yourself in a magazine or a news article. You can’t go anywhere without being recognized, or without the paparazzi showing up.

As you look in the mirror your mind travels back to Sirius. This happens a lot. Right before a concert, you think of him. Sometimes you wonder if maybe he’s out there listening. You haven’t heard from him since he went to school. You aren’t angry, only a bit sad. You’re mostly grateful though. He inspired most of the songs in your number-one album that got the band all the new attention.

You stand from the vanity and sigh. Tonight, your performance is being televised worldwide. Beside the door is your guitar, you pick it up as you begin your journey out to the stage. You’ve got a good lineup, even a small intermission for a happy birthday song. You hope wherever he is he hears it.

After all, it is November 3rd.

[amourlyns]

❛ red striped rhapsody. ❜ ➜ ⁽ masterlist ⁾

𐙚 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒏𝒕: +fem!nonsorcerer reader. in which the reader has recurring visions of gojo satoru. and after three years of not seeing one another, they meet once more. but, unfortunate circumstances.

✧ 𝒘𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔: suggestive content, proceed with caution. mentions of drinking, blood & gore, kissing & sensual touching, metaphors of sex. season two & jjk0 spoilers. past satosugu if you really squint! satoru coping in shitty ways!!!

𐙚 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆𝒔: songs to listen to by the acts: 001. star girl interlude by lana del ray & the weeknd. i feel it coming by the weeknd & daft punk. fragile by tatsuro yamashita. is it a crime by sade. 002. i put a spell on you by nina simone. run by hozier + 505 by the arctic monkeys + fun fact, this was going to be a nanami fic but gojo felt more fitting 💁🏾‍♀️. anyways this took forever to finish but i kept adding more elements, let me know what you think about this fic !!! i had an amazing time writing it, im proud of this one. 🫦🫦 lmk how the characterization is too!

⟡ ⠀ | 𝐇𝐞 𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐥𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐲, 𝐩𝐮𝐥𝐩—𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐞𝐟𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫. The mind. The brain. The meat. Oh, God. The rawness of this love will devour you whole.

He comes to you in hazy apparitions conjoined by the sun and moon. It’s sticky and sweet. His very touch taints. And the fingers on your warm subtle flesh seem to sink bone deep. The two of you merge into one being.

Then, he vanishes.

You’re awake now, damp in a cold sweat. Linen sheets are stained with perspiration. Your hair is mussed and your sheets remain frazzled after your unpleasant awakening. You’re alone, and you always will be.

Alone, in a bed that’s too spacious for your liking. Alone in a city you don’t belong in. Alone, in a flat you could barely call home. The bleak, undecorated landscape of your bedroom seems to mock you in this light. The faint humming of your fridge finds its way to your hollow walls, the tick of the clock seeps into your pores.

Must it always be this way? Should you continue on with the little fissures and pathways that lead him to you? Sometimes, he just felt all consuming. Like a catalyst meant to crave.

Your chest heaves and your world seems to crash all at once. It’s the same man. Every. Damn. Time. Your mind and body betrays you. Images of the stranger you called yours seemed to appear every night. Memories and unresolved feelings you desperately try to bury.

You could recall it now.

It was the year 2016 in some bar in Tokyo. The club is illuminated by multicolored, neon lights. A spectacle to behold under kaleidoscope flashes. You’re immersed with the electric current of the crowd. Buzzed with the alcohol that flows in your veins. Lead on by straight adrenaline from the party and the man you claimed as yours tonight.

Your two bodies seemed to drift towards each other.

Something magnetic is leading you towards the man that shined like a beacon within the crowd. He practically demands to be seen, his presence is everything but timid. He wants to be seen, desired and admired. Adore me, see me, crave me. Paying him mind was your first mistake.

Underneath the sanctuary of his shades. He’s a man graced with azure hues only the heavens could dream of matching, carved with aquamarine. You catch them under the vivid lighting. His skin resembles opal. For a moment, he feels untouchable. Maybe it’s his presence, how he carries himself⸻ but his energy is so immense. It’s overwhelming. Suffocating.

You move towards him anyways.

He lures you in with ease. You were pliable, obedient. Encaptured by this stranger of the night. Willing to listen to his beck and call.

You slide into the nearest seat, tensions are high and sweat slicks down the back of your dress. Your breathing becomes uneven (…) were you holding your breath before? It must’ve been the alcohol. The adrenaline maybe? The atmosphere even. You would use any excuse to deny the feeling this man evoked within you, to give into his charms.

His lips seem to glisten under the glint of neon lights, they’re covered in remnants of his drink of choice. (You would order the same), matching his body language. Leaning towards, sprawling out your limbs in a similar lackadaisical manner.

He’s the first one to speak. When he does, it comes out like a coo. It’s enthralling. The way he seems to pull you in with a simple touch. Two fingers grasping your wrist, the other hand is occupied with the glass between his slender fingers. His name evades you for the most part, but you know he called you his pretty star girl.

❛ IS IT JUST YOU HERE? OR DO YOU GAVE SOME FRIENDS I SHOULD BE WORRIED ABOUT? HM, STAR GIRL. ❜

You feel alive, electrified by his very touch on your skin. And if he was quite honest you were doing the same to him as well. But how could you say no to man like this? To decline such a man. A frosted brow raises in question, awaiting your answer. You’re too absorbed in the moment to answer verbally. So you nod instead⸻ finishing his drink for him.

It’s sweet, oddly enough. Must be a mock tail.

He laughs at that.

It’s a simple gesture, one you shouldn’t find yourself smiling to. (But you do), despite your weak attempts of dismissing the smile on your face. He catches onto it, of course he does. He’s quick to make a slick comment, rasping against the shell of your ear. The man speaks in engrossing, waxing vices. Soft murmurs and purrs that make your spine shiver in delight. The kind of words that makes goosebumps occur. The kind that makes a fire erupt in your stomach.

He drags you away due to your request, to Satoru, you’re a feast to be ravaged in front of everyone in this club. Repercussions be damned. He wastes no time when it comes to you, bodies are pressed into one another. Kisses linger and breath mingles.

Slender fingers hook around your waist, gripping the warm flesh of your hip.

❛ STAY STILL, YOU CAN’T ESCAPE NOW. I’VE GOT YOU. DO Y’KNOW HOW LONG I’VE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU TO COME OVER STAR GIRL? ❜

He mutters against your collarbone, prodding away at the strap of your dress. It eventually falls, giving him access to your chest Your movement stills and he hums in delight. You apologize for your shyness. He laughs. You can feel his chest rising against yours and his shoulders shaking with fit of laughter. Underneath his breath, he calls you a good girl.

❛ WHAT, YOU SCARED? I DON’T BITE ❜

Which is a lie. He does bite, you can feel his canines finding sanctuary in your neck. Through the navy shades of his tinted sunglasses and behind full frosted lashes. There was a mischievous glint in his gaze.

He’s testing you of course. You’re more annoyed at the fact that you don’t have an issue with it. In fact, you’re leaning into his touch. Feeding into his greed, letting his tongue lap and swipe over your skin. What were you even doing here with this man? He was a stranger. You should know better. If anything, you were going to blame the alcohol in your system for all your indecent thoughts and lewd actions that’ll haunt you tonight.

All these thoughts are making you anxious. Your flight or fight is kicking in. The alarm bells are ringing in the back of your mind, your body is slowly tensing up. He can obviously feel it, because he’s slowly coming to a stop. How observant of him. Some part of you feels guilty, he’s already worked up and well, shit. You don’t owe the man anything but he’s so fucking handsome like this. Wait, what was his name again?

You’re soooo fucked. You didn’t even get his name, if you get murdered by some sexy ass man that was on you. What a way to die though. By now, his advances come to a full stop. He’s looking at you now, questioning this whole ordeal. Is he doing something wrong? Did he fuck up?

❛ YOU’RE NOT REALLY SCARED, ARE YOU? AM I MOVING TOO FAST FOR YOU? LET ME KNOW. I NEED YOU TO SPEAK FOR ME, STAR GIRL. ❜

When he detaches from your neck, you whine. How pathetic. You whine and he grins with the most obnoxious shit eating grin you have ever seen. If you ever saw him again after tonight you might actually faint.

❛ ME? SCARED? NO. I’M JUST (…) FINALLY THINKING CLEARLY. I THINK⸻ I THINK WE SHOULD SLOW DOWN. GIVE ME A SECOND, WILL YOU? ❜

He mulls over your words, caressing your thigh in thought. Your hands find a place against his chest, fiddling with the collar of his shirt. You had no reason to be nervous, but you were fidgeting and he wasn’t answering you. Which made matters worse. Until (…) He does of course, nodding in understanding. Reluctantly removing his grip from your waist.

After a few moments of silence and wayward glances, he pulls out his phone. Just in case you do run off, he can still catch you. He’s smart, isn’t he? You take it, sliding your number in his notes. A soft smile plays on your expression, what other faces could you make with him?

‘ Call me, we’ll finish this later. Xoxo, Stargirl. ‘

Then, you’re gone. Duh, Obviously Satoru. He half the mind to leave you alone, but the other half is itching to follow you. He really could, you wouldn’t notice anyways. It was just one of his many talents. He could tell you to just come home Mona Lisa. How there wouldn’t be Rome without Caesar. Load you to death with allusions and such.

The first thing Satoru notices is the smell of your perfume on the collar shirt. Then, it’s the taste of you on his lips. After that, it’s the feeling of your fingertips on his chest. You’re still with him in spirit. You left pieces of you in your wake. He only craves more.

Firstly, Satoru knows this path is only going to end in heartbreak because Suguru Gēto is on the mind. Secondly, he missed the feeling you gave him. Not you. He missed being touched by someone, he missed cherishing something. He missed⸻ filling the space up. Sex could do that. Lust could. Occupying himself with countless assignments from the higher ups could.

What was Satoru now?

Ultimately, he’s tired. He’s been tired of years now. Exhausted even, he felt it in his joints. His bones. But he was the strongest; the strongest there is. The strongest can’t succumb to such pressure. He was supposed to be untouchable. He is untouchable. So why did he let you touch him tonight? Why did he let you through infinity? Hah. Another question for another day.

Distract yourself, Satoru. Never let the mask slip. Let it become you.

When Satoru sinks into the bed, sleep escapes him. Like every other night. Then, he thinks of you. Didn’t you ask him to text him? To ‘finish this later’ (…) The thought of Suguru makes him want to keel over and vomit. He couldn’t, not tonight. Besides, he’ll call you in the morning.

He did, Satoru did. It was stupid, dumb even. But he did. You answered, called him. Even held a conversation with Satoru. What a one eighty from last night, right? Somehow, he listens. Satoru was never one for listening, it’s too out of character for him. He wants to be seen, to be heard. He’s the greatest, he’s the strongest. The honored one. So why would he silence himself? Still. He listens. This goes on for months.

A period of time that’s too long for Satoru. The only reason you haven’t left yet is because he hasn’t shown you the real him, he’s kept you at arms length this whole time.

He keeps seeing Suguru in you. And maybe thats why he can’t let go. Or maybe he wants to see Suguru in you. To say you have any similarities would be a stain on his name. A sin. He can’t taint you too.

You know when Satoru is lonely. It feels like it, at least. You call. He answers. You talk. He listens. You eventually come over. Never asking for his name. But he can see it in your eyes, feel it at his fingertips when he touches you. It’s ‘Gojo’ you want to callout at night. Not just baby or sweetheart. You don’t want your lips on his collarbone, you want them on his lips. Satoru knows it. He feels it. But he can’t cross that line. He refuses it. If he refuses it, he’ll deny you of it. Deprive you.

But you eat at the palm of his hand. Taking everything so obediently. It should be criminal really. Why aren’t you biting at the hand that feeds you? Plead for more, ask for more. Beg for it. Like you are now. You don’t. You never do. You’re satisfied with the trail of kisses on your thighs that send an electric current down your spine. You’re fine with the way he pries them open, splitting you apart like a pomegranate. Fragile. Meant to paint his fingers with certain wetness.

You let Satoru delve in, you let him indulge too much. The nightly escapades go on for eight months. That is until you bite his hand. And he pulls away. You call for his name, not honey, not sweetheart, but his real name. In his lust, he says it. Gojo. You knew a line was crossed. You knew it. He knew it.

After sleeping with him, wait no. Gojo. Because he’s not just any random figure. Not just he. But Gojo. You’ve realized two things. One, you’ve never kissed. Two, you’ve never said his name. You also know that he doesn’t fully see you when you’re together. He’s somewhere else, not with you. He thinks you can’t see it. But you can, you always could. Ignore it, that’s what you told yourself. You could ignore the way he always wears blindfolds to cover his eyes, the way his lips twitched to utter another name. You could ignore it. Up until now.

For once. Satoru hears his name coming out from your lips, not the voice he’s seared into his mind. It’s not Suguru. It’s you. Suddenly, your fingers on his skin feel scalding. Too close to the flame. He moves away, letting you go. Why did he tell you that? Why did he feel the need?

❛ WHO DO YOU SEE WHEN YOU’RE WITH ME? (…) WHO AM I GOJO⸻ ? ❜

It’s almost humorous, the way you’re asking him who he sees. But at the end of the day, do you know who you are? All you do is give to Gojo, yet it’s never enough for you. Or him. So who are you really trying to fix here? You know there’s too many broken pieces for you to handle. To conjoin. Instead of setting them in place, you’ve sliced your finger on a glass edge.

❛ SUGURU. ❜

Why couldn’t you be mad at him? A nasty, bitter, feeling settles in your stomach but it’s not towards him. It’s towards the name he utters. How deluded you were. Jealous over someone you’d never know, someone you couldn’t compete with. To you, Gojo is an angel, a cosmic entity with a halo choked tight around him like a vice. His vice? Well it would be this so called Suguru.

Unfortunately, if he loved you. He did it in a way you couldn’t understand. If he truly desired you, you couldn’t tell. You call out to him. Really call out. ‘ Gojo, Suguru, Gojo, Suguru. ‘ Letting the names sit heavy on your tongue. It’s almost as heavy as the tears that roll down your cheeks.

Satoru Gojo is the living, breathing, vessel of impatience. He is ravenous. The encapsulation of gluttony and greed. Satoru bites and licks away at everything like a rotten dog. He moves in blurs and takes no time to enjoy things in the moment. When he loves, it’s snatched and taken away from him. Satoru knows what it’s like to bleed. So he’d rather move forward instead of licking old wounds.

Satoru does remember this one thing though.

You thanked him for his love, for his heart. For the fact that you haven’t had a single lonely night for months. Even if this love was misguided. An empty valentine. Apparently, you ran from love for a long time. So long, it became an empty game.

Would you hide your heart again?

That’s the last time you see Gojo. The last time you felt his touch. The last time you⸻ Well, damn. You missed it, missed him. Was it a crime? To miss that sort of relationship? To want him? The thought of Gojo sends a feeling of yearning in your chest. It constructs a deep hole in your heart, rippling through your chest like the deepest ocean. You would give him more than you actually gave him, surely he’d want you back then.

Shoko calls him an idiot. He deserves it.

It’s been a year since or two since Satoru has thought of you. A year since you’ve said his name. A year or two since (…) A lot has changed for Satoru. A lot, actually. Nanami called him, Nanami Kento. He was missed of course, finally back after the life of a salaryman chewed him up and spat him right out. After they both lost someone they cared about, they’re reunited again. Funny.

There was another change in his life too. Sukuna’s fingers. Which is why he’s here today, side by side the his little protégé Megumi! Wasn’t he the cutest?

Yaga carefully instructed the pair. Of course, Megumi was more focused on what the principal had to say. Satoru was set on tuning out everything that the man said. He didn’t have time to listen to all that, besides Megumi could handle it.

So, the first order of business was sending Megumi out to do his dirty work while he shops for something to quell his hunger for sweets. Truthfully, Satoru already completed his most recent mission hours ago. He just wanted to indulge in some dango before he met up with Megumi. When he hears the electronic chime of his phone ♪ ringgg ∿ bringggg ∿ ringing ♪ ♪ He picks up, answering with the brightest tone he could evoke. Megumi, on the other hand is obviously not in the mood for games. He never is.

❛ THERE’S A PROBLEM. ❜

He’s there in a heartbeat.

When Satoru arrives, there’s a disgruntled Megumi beside a kid with rosé colored hair. He’s bright—eyed. Ultimately youthful, a good heart. He senses it. He recalls Megumi explaining how the kid ate Sukuna’s damn finger. Why? ‘Because he’s brainless!’ that’s what young sorcerer said anyways. Satoru could hardly believe it. ‘Hah!’ He laughs, like really laughs. Isn’t this something? ‘The higher ups will behead him.’

Occult club friends almost get eaten up by curses. Sukuna arrives, they hash it out, blah, blah, blah. None of that is important. What is important however, is when he shows up the next day and the kid, Itadori is there. He’s athletic, strong—willed. All this praise from a certain teacher. Satoru asks Megumi to lead him towards her in order to grasp and explain the important matters at hand.

Then, there’s you.

It’s a slap across the face, it really is. He is royally fucked. You haven’t noticed him yet, he would know. The six eyes would tell him. In fact, he wishes you had some sort of cursed energy so he could preface what he was walking into. Your door is ajar. You’re still so welcoming, so open like the years before. Dressed in a black blazer and blue button up. Your pencil skirt shifts as you pace around your classroom, your heels make a soft click, click, sound.

Across from you, there’s Megumi. Then, there’s Itadori and his fellow occult members at your side. Satoru needed to get a grip. This was life or death, yet he was too consumed with the thought of getting ripped to shreds in the eye of your storm.

He moves, only an inch. But it’s like you knew he was approaching, coming into your space. It was the same magnetic field that pulled you into the wondrous depths of Gojo in that bar you first met him in. He finally steps in, the electricity buzzes like static. Eyes meet, breathing stops. You had to be insane, you had to be. The man who haunted your dreams, here. In the flesh? You wanted to see the heaven in his eyes like the first night you met.

Oh, you’re absolutely insane. Mental. Act cool, act casual. Act normal, just please don’t let him affect you.

❛ ♪ MEGG—UUU—MMI! YOU STARTED WITHOUT ME ∿ ? HOW COULD YOU, SAVE SOME ACTION FOR ME. WILL YA? ❜

Megumi was unimpressed with Gojo’s dramatic speech. Stating that he was late and unreliable. On the other hand, the others with entranced with this mystery man in your class room. You shift, rocking on your heels in short intervals. This was uncomfortable. Suffocating, even. Why was he here? What else did you not know about Gojo? Was he ignoring your presence as a whole? Shit, he’s looking at you.

❛ HEYYY. IT’S BEEN AWHILE, HASN’T IT? HOW HAVE YOU BEEN STAR GIRL? HM? IT’S FUNNY. YOU’VE ON MY MIND LATELY. ❜

Speechless, that’s what you are. Gojo simply slinks back into your life and it’s like he casted a spell on you. Megumi sneers at the thought of his sleazy mentor having his way with you. Quite frankly, from what he could tell. You were too sweet, passionate and honest for a man like Gojo. Too grounded to be caught in the webbing of his life, unbeknownst to him. You were always caught in his web.

After a beat of silence, Sasaki, Itadori, and Iguchi are desperately searching for answers by glancing at you and Gojo. You dismiss your beloved students with a weak wave. Megumi comes to your rescue by telling his elder off. ‘Stop harassing every poor individual you lay your eyes on Gojo—Sensei.’ He actually listens to the boy, settling into a chair. He’s waiting, watching your every move. He wants a reaction. And he’ll get it.

You clear your throat, opting for a tone and octave softer than your usual speech.

❛ I CAN SEE THAT NOW. IT’S BEEN AWHILE. AND YOU’RE STILL CALLING ME THAT? ❜

Is this what you were doing now? Dancing around the past you two shared years ago? Letting him seep and trickle back into your life like nothing happened? Gojo hard to read, you can’t tell if he’s entertained with the whole situation. Or, if he’s dreading it.

A new day comes.

And Gojo is in your home. Strictly because you need protection. (And he talked his way into being the person who watches over you and the fingers instead of anyone else.)

Satoru was selfish, he knows that. He can have his way, and he will. Because he’s strongest, the rules can bend to his grip regardless of what anyone says. But with you? He doesn’t even need to try. Satoru doesn’t build a home when it comes to you. Instead he tunnels through your chest and makes one. You let him.

Your home was cozy, quaint. It showed bits and pieces of your personality. Who you are as a person. Satoru almost feels guilty for a moment. He never really did see you for you. You were more of a convince. A body he was lucky to have. That's pretty fucked up, right? Lingering thoughts would bounce around his head as he continued to scope the perimeter of your home. From his peripheral vision, he can see the door pry open.

❛ OUUUH, BACK FROM WORK ARE YOU? HOW WAS IT? ❜

You were way too exhausted to deal with Sator during this time of day. Also, how the fuck did he remember where you live? How did he get in? They're all questions you want to voice of course but you end up flopping on the couch instead. Lids would fall close in response. The sounds of Satoru's footsteps drawing near sends an (un) pleasant shiver down your spine.

[biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer]

hiii, could you do gn!reader/mc stargazing with Geo :3??? (only if you're comfortable ofc)

Celestial (Geo x MC/Reader)

If only I could stargaze one day. 😔

Enjoy anonnie, have an awesome day/night! <33 Thanks for letting me write this for you.

Anyway, you're in a established relationship with Geode, so rejoice.

- Signed by biggest-geo-oogami-enjoyer

Celestial: in a way that relates to the sky or things outside this world.

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

When Geo texts a 'query' your way, you don't know whether it's an order or a request. "Do you want to hang out tonight?" "Uh, sure?? Where?" He then sent you an image of one of the nicer parks in the city, which thankfully happened to be in a safer area as well:

You sighed, pondering whether to allow yourself sleep or 'hang out' with Geo.

Obviously you pick the latter. who sleeps anyway

You give the affirmative, to which he promises to show up within 20 minutes.

You get ready, bringing only the essentials and a couple packs of dried fruit (because only cool people eat dried fruit).

When he arrives, wearing a dark turtleneck and jeans, you (understandably) almost die from his sheer superiority beauty.

You get in his car and he drives you both off to the location.

It's always silent in the car, although he trusts you enough to play his favourite Japanese songs.

It took him 2 years to admit which ones he liked.

Anyway, when you show up, the weather and temperature is perfect (as Geo willed it), and almost nobody else is there.

He sets up the blanket, food (he brought food with him omg what a 11111/10 guy amirite /srs) and whatever else he deemed necessary (a lot of hidden weapons and a bunch of books).

You both lay down under the starry sky and admire them, talking about constellations, hell, you both point some out during the night.

After a while you're snacking on Geo's dick (im sorry) food and snuggled up in a bunch of blankets, while he's calmly reading a Japanese novella.

You eventually curl up on the blanket to fall asleep, to which Geo notices and asks if you want him to wake you later or to take you home now.

You ask to stay a bit longer, to which he obliges.

Until you're out like a light.

Then he bridal-carries you to his car, getting a few side-eyes from nosy strangers, places the belongings in his cars' boot and then takes you home.

You don't even notice until the next morning that you were out, to which he simply teased you. (dw we enjoy that here)

Yeah, you both have a banger time. 10/10, both parties would do it again, so every full moon, Geo will ask you if you wanna stargaze with him again. <3

[resowrites]

Holy Grail - drabble.

Summary: Henry develops a fixation for a certain part of his pregnant wife’s body…

Pairings: AU!Henry Cavill x Wife!OC

Warnings: fluff, banter/British humour, sexy talk, language, dialogue heavy, nondescript OC body type/appearance, hastily written/lightly proofread.

WC: 635

A/N: My work must not be copied, reposted, or translated elsewhere. Likes, follows, reblogs and comments are thoroughly welcome and appreciated! Gifs/pics not my own. I hope you all enjoy and thanks for visiting!

Holy Grail - drabble.

"Whoa--"

"Henry, get out, I'm trying to get dry!" He quickly turned around as she grabbed the towel from the bed and clutched it to her chest.

"I'm sorry! I came in here to fetch Kal so I could give him his tea!" But the pooch was still fast asleep at the foot of their bed.

"Well you better get out of here before he wakes up, you know how protective of me he is at the moment."

"I know, the soppy git…"

"He's soppy?! You almost had a panic attack yesterday when you thought I ate shrimp! And he picked up following me into every room from you!"

"Yeah well at least I don't guard you when you're in the shower--"

"Well thank God for Kal, otherwise you'd be leering at me through the glass!"

"At least then I'd get a look at them! Come on, drop that towel, and lemme see if I can't tune in for the news and weather--"

"Out, now! I wanna get dry in peace."

"Then here, let me help…" Henry took a few steps forward only for her to dart under the bed so she could fetch something. "What the hell is the broom doing under there?!"

"I had to bring it up last night to squish a spider on the ceiling and now I'm going to use it to get rid of another pest."

"My lady may call me whatever she wishes. For she is beautiful, rich, and got huge… tracts of land!"

"That's it! I'm not enduring Monty Python quotes. You're banned from my presence the rest of the evening. Be gone!" She tried to jab with the broom only for him to dart out of the way.

"Aww come on, when was the last time we got to knock boots?"

"Last bloody night!"

"Then you should be warmed up by now!"

"God give me strength… anyway I thought you just wanted to cop a feel?"

"Well I'll take whatever I can get--"

"Yeah well by the time I'm finished with this broom, you'll be able to sweep the floor!"

"Charming, all I wanted was to enjoy the beauty of my pregnant wife! Honestly, it looks like you're holding up two ten-gallon hats--"

"God you belong on a bloody list… can't you go one night without being a pervert?"

"No, but I'll tell you what, you flash me lefty and I'll give you a hundred quid."

"A hundred quid?"

"Yeah, would you prefer cash or bank transfer?"

"Is that all you think I'm worth?!"

"Well, it's not like you're giving me a handful!"

"And how much would you pay for that? I was thinking of redoing the kitchen…"

"What? Why? I did a good job of the tiling!"

"Henry, two fell off just this morning!"

"Then let little Henry have a dance in your ballroom and I'll fix it for free!"

"Will you also disappear back downstairs?"

"God, you always want to get rid of me!"

"Yeah, cos you get on my sodding tits!"

"I bloody wish!" She looked up at the ceiling and prayed for guidance.

"Henry, give me one good reason why I should have sex with you tonight."

"I can do better than that, I can regale you with song."

"What?!" Henry cleared his throat.

"Every sperm is sacred, every sperm is great. If a sperm is wasted, God gets quite irate!" She perched on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands.

"I can't actually believe I'm having your child…"

"I can, especially after last night. Now get thee to bed, and let's go for round two--"

"Really? You're reciting Shakespeare now?"

"Well I thought that might do the trick--"

"Fat chance."

"Why not? I can leave the money on the bedside table--" she chucked a pillow at him.

To be updated on when I post please follow @resowrites and turn on post notifications.

@elizabetharegina @fanfictionaddiction99 @luclittlepond @caffeinatedfestivalsheep @summersong69 @ushijimbo @geralts-yenn @livesinfantasyland @jackjanira

[runningfrom2am]

michigan cherry // part two

summary: walking into a saloon in a nowhere town, billy meets a singer who he just can't get off his mind after she slips through his fingers; onto another town, another show- following nothing but the stars in her path. until he sees her again. another nowhere town and equally dusty saloon, but this time, the band of kids who made up her family is nowhere to be found. he's running away from something, and she is storming full speed toward something else, and tangling into each other's lives may just get both of them exactly where they want to be.

pairing: william h. bonney x fem!reader

wc: 1.6k

masterlists / nav / requests

tags/warnings: singer!reader (she’s giving very much lucy gray), probably a little bit ooc billy but hey i tried- anyway he’s a sweetheart, use of guns and violence, murder and violence but i try to keep it non-descript, oh also she’s an orphan sorry (once again, lucy gray vibes), strangers to friends to lovers trope eee

the song in this chapter is "Nothing You Can Take From Me" by The Covey Band !!

a/n: sorry 'bout this :)

my asks are also open to talk about this series! (i do have emoji anons open now too!)

send me any and all of your thoughts! here!

series masterlist // pinterest board // playlist

"You can kiss my ass, then keep on walkin'!"

Josie's singing from up by the horses makes you giggle as you're helping Max load up the back of the wagon with your instruments.

"Jay, you know you ain't supposed to say that word!" You call out, a fond smile on your face as you glance over the front bench of the wagon and down at her as she feeds one of our horses an apple.

"You get to say it!" She rebuffs stubbornly, and you turn back as Max nudges you with his sister's fiddle case for you to pack it.

"That's 'cause she's full grown, little miss." He laughs, his brown eyes sparkling even in the dimness of the night. "You can say it too, but not just yet."

"Soon?" The little girl asks hopefully, her mousy brown hair bobbing around her chin as she climbs up onto the wagon with you as you tuck the fiddle away next to the small drums belonging to the kids.

"Maybe one day, as a treat, I'll let ya do that line for me. Maybe." You offer in exchange. "But until you're eighteen, you gotta watch your mouth."

Max hands you your guitar case last, and you tuck it behind the rest of the instruments and toss a blanket over the top of it to keep it covered in the night.

Josie claps happily as Sarah lifts Harvey onto the wagon, and you're all ready to go. Onto another town, more shows, and more nighttime rides through the country's beautiful trails under the night sky.

You climb over onto the drivers bench while Max hops up the other side and settles in next to you. "We got everyone?" He asks, taking the reins and glancing back over his shoulder at the three kids getting comfortable in the back.

"All accounted for!" Sarah calls back, making sure the kids are sitting down as Max flicks the reins and the wagon starts to move slowly in the direction out of town.

"On with the show, then!" Max calls cheerily over the kids singing in the back.

You look back over your shoulder as you hear some very normal shouts coming from the saloon, smiling a bit to yourself as you turn back to face the trail.

"No Billy tonight either, hey?" Max asks quietly after a solid half hour of comfortable silence between the two of you up front, the kids yapping in the back having slowed to a steady stop as they fell asleep by the relaxing and steady rock of the wagon.

You look over at him, a slightly sad smile on your face as you shake your head. "Nope."

"He'll find you." He says, gently bumping your shoulder with his and glancing over at you, a small smile on his face. "And if he can't, someday soon there will be posters from Silver City to Detroit with your face plastered all over 'em. "Come see the world's best singer live in show!" They'll say. Trust me, he won't be able to miss you then."

You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head and leaning it against his shoulder. "He may have to squint at it, it'll have all of us squeezed on. "The best band America has ever seen"." You correct him.

"No." He shakes his head, scrunching up his nose a bit. "You're tyin' us all together. On and off the stage. Without you singing, we're mediocre at best."

"Hey!" You chuckle, sitting up and smacking his arm playfully. "That ain't true and you know it."

The old wagon creaks underneath you with every divet in the dark path, and it's a comforting background noise to your hushed conversation.

Max has been your best friend your whole life. A little boy a year or so older than you and his baby sister dropped off the same way you were, with a funny accent you one day learned was Parisian. You picked fun at him, sure, but he was a good sport. Neither of you would have had it any other way.

Though, you had tried, once. The two of you at fourteen years old telling other kids at the home that you were getting married, a childish and adorable dream in hindsight, but at the time made all the sense in the world. Then you had kissed him, just to try it, and both of you laughed so hard you woke one of the nuns. She dragged you back to your room, and after that, you never spoke of it again.

You were best friends, yes, but neither of you were quite right for one another. And he told you that one day you would just know.

Max had never seen you look at someone the way you looked at Billy that night a few weeks ago. What really drove it home was how you didn't immediately have to leave and then begin spewing distasteful words about the man who had just bought your water and honey shot for you. You just had this sweet, almost bashful smile on your face and you kept humming to yourself as you helped him pack up the wagon just like you did tonight. You said nothing, and to Max, that said just enough.

He had seen plenty of men and boys look at you the way Billy had that night, but you were sharp as a tack in mind and wit- and if you weren't put off by him? Hell, Max saw no harm in you chasing some kind of happiness outside of the music you make.

"It's... kinda true." He chuckles, looking back at the sleeping kids. "You could easily go big on your own."

"I don't want to." You shrug, looking down at your hands in your lap. "What's wrong with what we've got goin' on here? I'm happy as a clam the way we are."

"Sure, nothin's wrong with this life, but..." Max lets out a quiet sigh, looking over at you again with the reins still clasped loosely in his palms. "I don't know... I want more for you. And for them. Wouldn't it be great for them to have a home? For the kids to go to a real schoolhouse, meet other friends, have their own beds to sleep at night?"

You nod quietly in agreement. You were happy, the kids were happy for now too, but what you had wasn't normal and you knew that. What all of you had always wanted was a home, and now that you were on your own, you still didn't have it.

Max gives you a small smile, not wanting to get you down on it. "Shoot for your dreams, little girl." He says teasingly after a moment, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and squeezing you gently. "For the stars."

"Oh, please, I-" Your small laugh is interrupted when he quickly retreats his arm from your shoulder.

"Shh..." Max hushes you quickly, looking at the path up ahead, squinting at the dim lantern light flickering in the back of a wagon up ahead that seems to be stopped across the path.

"What? Wha-"

He hushes you again more urgently this time, head turning when he hears hoofbeats not belonging to your horses coming from up ahead as well.

"Get in the back with the kids." He whispers, pushing on your arm to get you to go.

"Max, it's fine, I'll just stay here."

"Go lay down, pretend to be asleep. I'm sure they just need help with a broken wheel or something, but I don't want you talking to strangers out here." He whispers. "I'll handle it."

You sigh, knowing how stubborn he is about this kind of thing, and climb over the bench and into the back of the wagon with the others. You curl up next to Harvey and drape an arm over him, holding him close for a bit more warmth and gently stroking his hair as you ride closer to the stopped wagon.

Eyes closed, you listen intently as you feel the wagon come to a stop and hear Max climb down, his boots hitting the ground with a quiet thud against the grass.

"Hey, you alright here?" Max asks, and then the subtle but chilling click of a gun being loaded.

Your blood runs cold, but you don't move.

"What have you got in the back?" And then another click, and footsteps getting closer.

"Nothing." Max says, and you can only hear the tremble in his voice because you know him. "Just my family. Just the kids. I promise, we haven't got anything you'd want."

"You've got kids with you and not a dime to your name? I don't believe that for a minute. You gotta feed 'em somehow." A man's voice says, deep and gruff without giving you any sense they'll be sympathetic to the cause. "You won't mind if we just take a look, right?"

You squeeze your eyes shut and hold Harvey a little tighter, grateful that he's still snoring quietly in your arms.

"I do mind." Max insists, sounding more angry than you're sure you'd ever heard him. "We're unarmed, all there is back there is children sleeping and some old instruments. So no, you can't look."

Kids and instruments, yes, but there are kids and instruments and you. A pretty girl with her show dress still on, hair done up just the way you like it, and the old necklace you believe might have one day way back when had belonged to your mother. Maximilien wasn't about to let them get to any of you if he could help it.

The hair standing up on the back of your neck and the goosebumps on your arms send a shiver down your spine when you hear footsteps approaching the back of the wagon and see the flickered light of a lantern getting closer.

"No! Hey!" Max calls out, and there's a shuffle that makes you jolt a bit, a crack that tells you someone's thrown a punch, and right as Harvey tries to quickly sit up while you hold him down, a gunshot pierces your ears followed by the sound of someone's body slumping to the ground.

You know whose body it was. After all, Max wasn't lying about you being unarmed.

no taglist this time around!! my fics usually get over a hundred requests to be added to the taglist so instead i made a library! follow me over on @runningfrom2am-library and turn on notifs to get updates when i post new parts!!