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mrs-kmikaelson · 1 year ago

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Our Song and Dance²

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: not as long as before but still long, murder, violence, death, exploitation of minors, mentions of forced prostitution, psychological "games," unrequited love, complicated relationships, suicidal tendencies (technically), complex mental health issues, and i make up small details ab smaller characters and some names (pls lmk if i missed anything) Words: 9.2K

Masterlist | Part 3

a/n: i just want to thank you all so much for the support! i was definitely insecure about this, but seeing all the love rlly makes it so worth it! this one is completely catching fire, then the next one is all mockingjay. hope u enjoy! also finnick and y/n's song is def american pie.

“Let The 75th Hunger Games begin. May the odds be ever in your favour.”

Ten seconds later, a cannon fired and you were immediately jumping off the pedestal into the water. Once upon a time, you were a swimmer. This was your edge. You were good in water, as was Finnick, so your worry for him eased.

You swam until you reached rock, climbing on to it and running along the path like your life depended on it because it did. Once you were at the Cornucopia, you ran for your sword, grabbing it and then swiftly pivoting to stab the person coming up from behind you like it was instinct—and it was.

Your mind didn’t have to fully be there; your body knew what it was doing. You’ve danced this dance already, and you’ve perfected it. You stabbed another man from behind, letting him fall to the ground when you pulled your sword away. You grabbed throwing knives, running to find Finnick, and you caught him at just the right moment.

Katniss had just drawn her arrow when you came up from behind her, bringing your sword up against her neck. Alliance or not, you’d slit her throat if she posed a threat.

“Careful, Everdeen,” you warned, making her tense.

At that moment, Finnick held up his forearm, flashing his bracelet. He smirked, completely unbothered, and taunted, “Good thing we’re allies, right?”

Her breath was shaky but her voice was still menacing. “Where did you get that?”

“Where do you think?” You retorted, still holding the blade close to her skin.

You watched as the amusement on Finnick’s face disappeared, his gaze being directed away from you. “Behind you.”

You quickly moved your sword away from her neck without cutting her, spinning and bringing it down on another guy’s neck instead. You turned back to a gasping Katniss, ignoring her state that was much like the one you were just in. “Don’t trust 1 and 2.”

Cannons fired as Finnick walked around you. “I’ll take this side. You go hold them off,” he told her.

You nodded. “I’ll find Peeta.” You didn’t walk far before you spotted him, shouting, “He’s over here!” All three of you ran over, finding him in the water against a pedestal, fighting off a tribute.

Finnick jumped into the water, swimming over while Katniss drew her arrow, seemingly waiting to get a good shot, but then both boys were submerged underwater. She brought her arrow down, breathing heavily as a cannon fired.

You waited in anticipation, a body floating up to the surface. For a second, you thought the kid died, but then he emerged out of the water, panting, and you both let out a breath.

The look on her face as she thought Peeta died was more convincing than any other performance you watched them put on, more convincing than the kisses, and the engagement, and the sweet interviews. Whatever was going on between them, you knew now that it wasn’t all fake.

Seems that you had more in common with the Girl on Fire than you thought.

You glanced over at the island, seeing the sets of Careers standing together, forming an alliance as they usually did. Katniss noticed this, too, so as soon Peeta and Finnick were out of the water, you all went running in to the jungle.

This was a Quarter Quell. There was more to it than just changing up the reaping; the entire arena was special. The Gamemakers were sick. You knew that you were in for a hell of a ride.

Right now, you just had to keep running. You could worry about food and water when the time came, and you’d find Johanna eventually. She was smart; you knew she wouldn’t be one of the first to die.

You ran and ran until Finnick called for you all to stop, crouching down to make a game plan. It turned out that you were gonna need water a lot sooner than you thought with how hot it was. At least freezing to death wasn’t something you had to worry about.

Katniss stared at you and Finnick quite obviously. You weren’t sure if she was trying to be discreet or not; you weren’t sure if she knew how to be discreet at all. The firing of the cannon made her finally look away.

Even though you were just running for your lives, a smirk still made its way onto Finnick’s face. “Well, I guess we’re not holding hands anymore,” he chuckled. You snorted, but Katniss wasn’t as amused.

“You think that’s funny?”

You narrowed your eyes, answering before Finnick could. “I don’t know what you think this is, Everdeen, but in case you failed to notice, it’s kill or be killed out here.” You pointed to your ear. “Every time that cannon goes off, it’s music to my ears. We don’t care about any of them.”

Her jaw clenched. “Good to hear,” she quipped, pulling a machete out of its sheath on her back. You scoffed at her pathetic attempt to threaten you.

“Look, you wanna face the Career Pack alone? Be my guest. It’s your funeral,” you shot. “Besides, what would Haymitch say?”

“Haymitch isn’t here.” She stared straight into your eyes and you stared right back at her, unblinking. In your peripheral, you saw Peeta glancing between you.

“Let’s keep moving,” he interrupted, standing up, but you didn’t look away from Katniss until she stood up first.

Once you were up and walking, Finnick put his hand on the small of your back, probably to calm you down. For some reason, he insisted on working with them, so you’d just have to stifle your urge to argue with her.

Eventually, though, you knew you would be doing a lot more than arguing. If Katniss and you were as alike as you thought, then you knew that she’d stab you in the back for Peeta, the same way you would for Finnick.

The actual tributes in the arena weren’t always what you had to worry about. You were reminded of this when Peeta hit the wrong branches and went flying backward, sending you all with him.

A wall where he hit was revealed, like a glitch, before it was replaced again with the glamour of the jungle. A force field, you realized. Then your attention was drawn back to Peeta by Katniss’ cry of his name.

You shuffled over to them as Katniss panicked. “He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing.” Finnick rushed over, pushing her out of the way.

She instantly reached for her bow, going to grab an arrow, but you shoved her arm. “What the hell is wrong with you? He’s saving his life,” you snapped. Her hand fell, realizing you were right as she watched Finnick give him CPR.

She looked like she took a moment to collect herself and then she crawled over. “Peeta? Peeta?” She cried. Finnick grunted, switching between compressions and mouth-to-mouth, continuously checking for a heartbeat that wasn’t there. “Please wake up. No,” she sobbed, “please wake up.”

For the first time since The Games began, you really did feel bad for her. If you were in her place, you didn’t know what you would do.

Just as you thought Peeta was dead, he gasped back to life. Finnick moved back, letting them have their moment.

“Be careful, there’s a force field up there,” he breathed.

She tearily chuckled, leaning in to kiss him. You and Finnick shared a look. Katniss was kidding herself if she didn’t think she loved him. You tuned the rest of their conversation out. Peeta could’ve died, just like that, and Katniss would’ve probably fallen apart.

You knew that if Finnick died, you died, too. You couldn’t let that happen. You had to protect him.

Little did you know, he was thinking the exact same thoughts about you.

Once Peeta could stand, you were all back on your feet, looking for freshwater while simultaneously trying to spot where the force field started and ended. After Katniss did a little experiment with an arrow, you figured out that the arena was a dome. You just so happened to be at the edge.

Didn’t matter, though, because there wasn’t a sign of freshwater anywhere. Since you couldn’t satisfy your need for water, you’d just have to compensate with your need for sleep.

“It’s getting dark soon. We’ll be safe with our backs protected. We should set up camp,” Finnick suggested. “Take turns sleeping. I can take first watch.”

Katniss gave a little scoff like he was saying was absurd. “Not a chance.”

You stepped forward, so fed up and desperately wanting to give her a reality check, but Finnick held a hand up, signalling for you to stop. The only reason you did was because you saw the look on his face. As much as you wanted to tear Katniss a new one, you’d much rather watch him do it.

He stood up, sticking the end of his trident into the ground. He was calm, but annoyance laced his voice. “Honey, that thing I did back there for Peeta? That was called saving his life. If I wanted to kill either of you, I would’ve done it by now.” He picked up his trident. “Same goes for Y/N.”

Then he walked off, and you followed soon after hearing Katniss say something to Peeta about taking the first watch. If you were just watching The Games, then maybe you’d feel a little more compassionate towards her, but you weren’t watching. You were in them with her.

Your compassion sort of needed to disappear to ensure your survival, so all you were was annoyed. But she was a pretty good archer, so having her on your team didn’t hurt, unless you were counting how she was a pain in your ass.

However, your annoyance was quick to fade as you fell asleep, tired, hungry, and dehydrated.

When you woke up, it was to the sound of Panem’s anthem, pictures in the sky of the tributes that had died. Most of them were people you previously had conversations with in the Capitol, yet some of them were still people that you killed.

You couldn’t be friends with everyone in an arena.

You counted eight pictures in the sky. So there were sixteen left, including you four. If you were still mentoring, you would’ve probably been reflecting over how quickly those lives could just come to an end, but you didn’t have time to stop and think about the cruelty of life.

Your thoughts were directed away from the dead by a chime. You looked up to see a silver parachute, slowly falling to the ground. Katniss opened the silver casing, revealing some sort of metal tool and a note from Haymitch. You quickly identified the tool as a spile.

The three of you brought it to a tree, waiting to see if it’d work. Peeta came and found you not long after. You were just staring at it, praying for water. If there was a God, they answered, because water came pouring out of the spile like it was a fountain.

You were so relieved that you laughed, drinking and splashing some on your face.

After that, you were the one taking watch as everyone slept. Every year when The Games came, you had trouble sleeping more than a few hours each night. Now that you were back in the arena, you really couldn’t sleep at all. You’d make sure you got an hour every day, just to keep yourself sharp, but otherwise you’d prefer to let Finnick sleep and watch over him, anyway.

You were all startled by a loud banging, almost like an alarm. The only reason you could think of for its presence was to signal that it was midnight, but you were still confused. There were never alarms in any of the other Games. But, like you’d already figured out, this year was different.

Right after the alarm, you watched as lightning repeatedly struck the same tree in the distance. Nature didn’t work that way, and there was nothing natural about The Games, anyway. It wasn’t a coincidence, but you just couldn’t figure out what its purpose could be.

You spent the rest of your watch trying to put the puzzle pieces together, trying to figure out what the catch was with this arena, but you couldn’t make any of the pieces fit. You didn’t have enough. Katniss tried to stay awake, still distrusting of you, but she eventually succumbed to slumber, leaving you to yourself.

She hadn’t been sleeping long when you heard a different sound. You turned your head, seeing grey mist slowly crawl its way over to you. Your brows furrowed.

There were no natural occurrences in an arena.

You reached your hand out, like you were testing the waters, but you should’ve known better. As soon as the fog made contact with your skin, you fell backward, a scream leaving your lips. Your cry woke everyone else up.

Finnick immediately ran to you, but you shouted, “No, run! It’s poison- the fog is poison!” Either he was stupid or brave, because he ignored your warning and ran to you anyway, helping you up as quickly as possible before you followed Katniss and Peeta, doing your best to run, but the fog was following you, too.

It was harder to run fast in this part of the jungle. All of the branches and plants kept getting in your way, but you weren’t stopping, helping Peeta cut whatever was in your way.

You could’ve been running as fast as humanly possible, but the fog still would’ve caught up to you. It wasn’t nature at all. It was intended to kill.

You had to change directions as it suddenly appeared in front of you, too. It was like it was encasing you. Somewhere along the way, Katniss and Peeta ended up running on the path parallel to you. You skidded to a stop as you heard Finnick scream. Your eyes widened. “Finnick, come on. We’ve gotta go!” You ushered him forward, and then he went running to Katniss and Peeta who came to a stop, as well.

When you got there, Peeta was groaning on the ground, blisters all over the side of his face. “I can’t carry him,” Katniss panted. “Peeta, please, stand up. We have to go.”

If you could carry him, you would, but he’d crush you if you tried. Finnick was in no condition to carry Peeta alone, so you slung one of his arms around your neck, telling Katniss to get the other. “Finnick, go. Get ahead of us.” You motioned for him to go forward.

He looked hesitant, and in any other situation, he wouldn’t, but none of you had the time to argue, so he listened and ran forward, taking Peeta’s blade and cutting the branches in your path.

The three of you cried out as the fog hit the backs of your necks, but then you were all rolling down a hill that you couldn’t have noticed in the state you were in.

You were whimpering on the ground, so consumed by the pain that you almost forgot that you were supposed to be running. You turned over and, to your surprise, the fog didn’t come any closer, travelling upward instead of forward, like it hit a wall. And then it just disappeared altogether.

You let out a shaky breath, resting your head on the ground before you were reminded of where you were. Resting wasn’t an option. You’d rest when you were dead, and you weren’t gonna speed up that process.

So you crawled over to the lake a few feet away from you. This was a gamble, but you had to take some risks if you wanted to survive. Cautiously, you stuck your hand in the water. This elicited another scream from you, but the pain in your hand slowly faded as the blisters were practically washed away.

“The- the water,” you stuttered, “the water helps.”

As Katniss and Peeta made their way over, you pushed yourself into the water, moaning at the pain. Tears leaked out of your eyes, but after a minute or so, the excruciating pain subsided to just a sting.

When you were both okay, Katniss and you got out of the water, dragging Finnick over. As soon as the water touched his skin, he was screaming, trying to fight against it. “Shh, shh,” you hushed, holding him down. “It’s gonna help.” You ran your fingers through his hair, and a few more tears fell down your face, even though you weren’t in pain anymore.

Not physical pain.

But watching him struggle like this was a pain you couldn’t help.

You and Katniss helped him as he shivered while Peeta went and got your weapons. You stayed in the lake even after all your blisters were gone, just cooling off and getting yourselves together.

In The Games, your physical came first, but you wanted to keep an eye on mental health or at least not let it get to a point where it’d affect your body. Though, you supposed there was no healthy mind in The Games, and there certainly wasn’t after a victor left them.

Annie was an example of a worst case scenario, but you knew this because you lived it, too.

Finnick’s hand found yours as you sat together, holding it tightly. This was his way of making sure you were still there. Your way was putting your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart.

After a while, though, that steady rhythm was interrupted and his heart started beating faster. This caused you to look up, and when you did, you were met with the sight of apes coming toward you.

Katniss grabbed an arrow while you and Finnick slowly stood up, bracing yourself by readying your weapons. You glanced around, seeing that they were coming in from all directions. Fucking Gamemakers, you thought.

You realized you could see the Cornucopia from where you stood, so all you had to was fend them off and make it there.

Suddenly, one jumped at Peeta, then the rest of them got up from their perched positions. Katniss was firing arrows left and right while you and the boys slashed away. If one got too close, you stabbed it.

Katniss was pulled underwater by one, but you killed it before she ran out of air. There were too many to just kill all of them, meaning you had to start running for the beach.

Peeta and Katniss both fell, so you ran to help her while Finnick went for Peeta. You stabbed the ape in front of her, grabbing her hand and taking her running with you. When you reached them, there was someone lying on the ground that hadn’t been with you before.

“Who is that?” Katniss questioned, but you recognized her by the face paint.

“A morphling,” Peeta responded, pulling her up. “Help me get her!”

You let Katniss help him while you helped Finnick get the apes closest to you, taking off as soon as you could. You both stumbled, rolling onto the beach, but the apes didn’t go farther than the edge of the sand. You held your blades out at them, but it was like you really didn’t need to.

You were reminded of the fog and it how was stopped by an invisible wall, the same way these monkeys looked to be stopped by something.

A cannon fired, and they retreated into the jungle. You swallowed, turning to see Katniss and Peeta leaving the water, the Morphling left floating dead. Like clockwork, a hovercraft came in, picking her up like she was an object.

You scoffed. Just when you thought you couldn’t think any lesser of the Capitol, you were proven wrong.

When Peeta spoke up, his voice was both defeated and confused. “She sacrificed herself for me and I didn’t even know her name.”

“Her name was Trayne,” you cut in, making them both look at you, but your eyes were focused on the hovercraft taking her out of the water. “Trayne Carter.”

They both paused, absorbing that. It was like, for the first time since you entered the arena, you were reminded that these people weren’t just your opponents. They were people that had lives.

Just like you.

A look then passed over Katniss’ face as she turned to Peeta. “You think she sacrificed herself?”

“Looked like it.”

Your brows knit together while she voiced your thoughts. “That doesn’t make any sense.” It didn’t, but you had a long list of things you had to make sense of and more pressing matters at hand, so you couldn’t busy yourself by thinking about it.

Finnick found fish that was edible, so you all sat in the shade and ate for the first time since before The Games started. This time, you were the one to reach out for his hand, holding on to it like you’d die if you let go.

You were pretty much in silence until a scream sounded from far away but close enough that you could hear it. You let go of Finnick’s hand as Peeta remarked, “That’s new.”

You all stood up, grabbing your weapons. In the distance, there was a rumble. Something was rustling the trees ahead of you. When it got closer, you realized that something was water. The wave came crashing past the trees and into the water, stopping once it hit the Cornucopia.

Like it couldn’t go past it.

Cannons fired, and the hovercraft returned, picking up bodies from the jungle while you all watched, captured by the sight. You were broken out of your trance by Katniss drawing an arrow. “Someone’s here.”

Her and Peeta ducked while you and Finnick waited to see who it was. It took you a moment since they were covered in blood, but you soon realized who it was. You let out a sigh of relief. “Johanna.” You jogged over to them. “Johanna!”

“Y/N?” She laughed as she saw you and Finn. Her tough exterior came down as she went to hug you, like she was just as relieved to see you. Once she let go of you, she even hugged Finnick.

You glanced, identifying that the people she was with were Beetee and Wiress, then looked back at her. “What the hell happened?”

Katniss and Peeta came over just as she started explaining. “Well, I got ‘em out.” She gestured to them. “We were all the way deep into the jungle where I thought it was gonna be safe.” A humourless smile arose on her face. “That’s when the rain started. I thought it was water. It turned out to be blood. Hot, thick blood.”

You narrowed her eyes at her explanation. Fog, apes, waves, blood rain. There was some sort of connection there, you just couldn’t grasp it.

Wiress came over, looking lost, mumbling, “Tick tock.”

“It was coming down-”

“Tick tock.”

“-it was choking us.” She scoffed. “We were stumbling around, gagging on it, blind.”

“Tick tock.”

“That’s when Blight hit the force field.” She exhaled, shaking her head as Wiress continued to mumble. “He wasn’t much, but he was from home.” You reached out, putting a hand on her shoulder.

You understood what she meant. You’d felt the same feeling before, when the male tribute from district 4, Bay, died during your Games. You didn’t always know the person you were going in with, but you became bonded by the experience. That loss was unlike anything you’d ever felt to this day.

Wiress kept going on in the background, making you glance at her. “What’s wrong with her?” you finally asked.

“She’s in shock,” Beetee replied, coming out of the water. “Dehydration isn’t helping. Do you have fresh water?”

“Yeah, we can get some.”

“Tick tock. Tick tock.” You turned to see Wiress had grabbed onto Johanna’s shoulders. “Tick tock. Tick tock.”

Johanna grabbed onto her forearms, trying to get her off. “Listen- stop it!”

She had pushed her onto the sand when Katniss yelled, “Hey, lay off her!” She went and shoved Johanna, making you rush over.

You shoved Katniss away from her, pushing her hard enough that she staggered backward. “Back off, Everdeen!” you warned as Finnick held Johanna back from retaliating, but she shouted back.

“What’s wrong with you?! I got them out for you!” She struggled against Finnick. “Let me go, Finnick!”

Peeta came over to help balance Katniss. Her eyes were wild, like she wasn’t the one who instigated this. “For me? What does that mean?”

The question wasn’t directed at you, but you responded, anyway. “I don’t know and I don’t care, but you better watch it, Everdeen.” You stepped forward, looking her right in the eye as she stared back challengingly. You lowered your voice. “You’ve played with fire before, but I am telling you right now, I will light your ass up the next time you try me.” She opened her mouth to say something, but you cut her off, “Don’t underestimate me again.”

You walked off before you could hear her reply. If she said another thing to you right now, it was highly likely that you’d do something you would or wouldn’t regret. You weren’t gonna test it.

You decided to take Wiress into the water and help her clean herself up to calm down. She smiled at you crazily. “Tick tock.”

You sighed, “Yes, tick tock.”

“Tick tock.” She repeated herself over and over again, reminding you so much of Annie. Wiress was one of the smartest people you had ever met, yet she was reduced to this every time she was in a bad situation. She won her Games through a loophole, and in turn, that loophole sucked her in until she was too deep to get out.

As you rinsed her hair, she gasped, “Tick tock. Tick tock!” Immediately afterward, lightning struck the tree in the distance, the same tree as the night before. You tilted your head. The tree, fog, apes, waves, blood rain. Wiress looked up at you. “Tick tock.”

“Tick tock,” you echoed, eyes darting around the arena. The tree, the fog, the apes, the waves, the rain.

“Tick tock.”

“Oh, my God.” You cupped your hand over your mouth in shock. “It’s a clock.”

“Tick tock.”

You pulled her out of the water, engulfing her in a hug. “Wiress, you’re a genius!” When you let go, you ran with her to the others. “It’s a clock!”

They all looked to you. Finnick furrowed his brows. “What?”

“It’s a clock!” You pointed to the Cornucopia. “The arena is laid out like a clock!”

Peeta came forward. “Holy shit.”

You ran your hands threw your hair, all of the puzzle pieces falling into place. “It’s, um- there’s a new threat every hour. They- they can only stay in their wedge, though.” You pointed at the tree. “It starts with lightning, then blood rain, fog, monkeys- that’s the first four hours. Then at ten, that big wave hits.”

Finnick chuckled slightly under his breath. “Wiress, you’re a genius.”

Peeta then cut in, suggesting you all get to the Cornucopia, so that’s what you did. Just as you were getting there, he pointed out, “Look, the tail points to twelve.”

Katniss filled in the blank. “That’s where the lightning strikes at noon and midnight.”

Wiress sat down on the rocks, singing to herself while the rest of you gathered around Peeta who mapped out the clock in the sand and what you already knew.

You crossed your arms. “Okay, what else?” You turned to Johanna. “Did you guys see anything?”

She snorted under her breath, “Nothing but blood.”

Peeta replied, “Doesn’t matter. As long as we steer clear of whichever sector is active, we’ll be safe.”

You shook your head. “Yeah, safe from nature.” As if you jinxed it, Wiress gasped immediately after you spoke. You turned so fast you could’ve gotten whiplash, in time to see Gloss pulling a knife out of Wiress’ neck.

Katniss worked fast, shooting him in the chest, but he wasn’t working alone. Right after, Cashmere came running at her. Johanna pushed Katniss out of the way, embedding her axe into Cashmere’s skull.

The other half of the Careers revealed themselves, Brutus throwing staffs at you that you narrowly dodged. Katniss’ arrow missed Enobaria as she threw a knife at Finnick, grazing his arm.

“Bitch,” you swore, throwing a knife of your own at her head, cursing again when it hit her shoulder instead. You went running after her, chasing her around the Cornucopia, but you suddenly lost your footing.

Gamemakers.

The island spun around. You grabbed onto the rock as best as you could, digging your nails into it so hard that they started to bleed. You were determined to stay alive, to keep Finnick alive, but your hold wasn’t strong enough. A scream left your lips as your fingers slipped. Finnick yelling your name was the last thing you heard before you went flying into the water.

Once upon a time, you were a swimmer.

You never thought you’d die by drowning.

And you refused to let that be the way you went out.

You fought hard against the current, using all your force to get above water. You gasped as you surfaced, taking in a large breath of air and coughing as you swam to the rock closest to you.

“Y/N!”

Finnick came running over to you, pulling you up and crouching down to your level. He ran his fingers through your hair, eyes darting all over your body with concern. “Are you okay?”

You coughed, nodding, and then he immediately embraced you tightly. His heart was beating just as fast if not faster than yours. For a moment, you couldn’t hear anything but that beating. You couldn’t hear the water, or the birds, or anyone else around you. You couldn’t even hear the music.

It was just the two of you.

And then that moment ended far too quickly.

Johanna brought you back to earth, heaving, “Let’s just get what we need and get off this bloody island.” You nodded against Finnick’s chest, letting him help you up. You muttered to him that you were fine, but he completely ignored you, helping you walk.

He was good, you thought. You would’ve been good together, in another life. It would’ve been nice to have been loved by this man, but life was never so kind to you.

You made it back to the beach, sitting on the sand under a tree. You weren’t relaxing like before; the time to relax had passed. You were nearing the end of The Games; it was time to plan for survival.

“So, besides Brutus and Enobaria, who’s left?” Katniss asked.

You looked right at her as you answered, “Maybe Chaff. Just those three.” You maintained eye contact with her, knowing that she was thinking the same thing as you. It wasn’t just those three. It was also all of you, sitting here.

Alliances always came to an end in the arena.

You knew Finnick must have caught onto this, but he pretended not to. “They know they’re outnumbered. I doubt they’ll attack again. We’re safe here on the beach.”

Safe for how long? you wondered. Even if the three of them were killed by the horrors of the jungle, you still wouldn’t be safe. None of you would be, as long as you were together.

“So what do we do? We hunt ‘em down?” Johanna questioned, looking to all of you for an answer of some sort, but before any of you could formulate one, you heard a girl scream.

A little girl.

“Katniss, help me!”

Katniss shot up immediately. “Prim!” You remembered that name from the year prior. That was her sister. Your eyes widened, trying to stop her, but she was up and running into the jungle.

You ran after her, hearing the others follow suit. “Katniss! Katniss, stop!”

She was running so far ahead of you that you almost lost sight of her, but you found her stopped, shooting down a bird. “Katniss!” She turned to you, breathing heavily. “Are you okay?”

Before she could even respond, you heard your own name being called. “Y/N!”

Your head shot up, eyes wide. Katniss was trying to talk to you, but it was like her voice was muffled to you. “Y/N-”

“Mom?”

“Y/N, it’s not real-”

It was almost like Katniss wasn’t there at all. You ran farther into the jungle, screaming, “Mom?!”

Katniss was shouting your name, but the only voice you could hear was your mother’s. “Y/N!” Katniss ran in front of you, grabbing ahold of your shoulders. “It’s not her! It’s just a jabberjay-”

You cut her off, shoving her away. “How do you think they got that sound, Katniss? Jabberjays copy!” Her eyes glazed over at your words, and then a new voice joined the mix, making her shake her head fervently.

Whatever she was saying now, you could barely pay attention to it, hearing someone else call your name, the voice of a person you never thought you’d hear again.

“Bay?” You gasped. Tears came to your eyes. It escaped you that Bay was dead, that you held him in your arms as he died. All you could focus on was just how real his voice sounded.

Jabberjays swarmed around you, the voices now louder than ever. Katniss grabbed your arm and you, not there, let her drag you away, running away from the voices instead of toward them.

Your mother’s and Bay’s voices mixed together, screaming your name, your mother who you hadn’t spoken to in years and the boy who you let down. You screamed, too, trying to drown them out, but they were too loud.

Soon, Johanna, Peeta, and Finnick came into your vision. They were saying things, but they fell upon deaf ears. You couldn’t hear anything but the screams.

You hit a wall, banging on it. Finnick stood on the other side, trying to speak to you, but you couldn’t hear it at all. The dam in your eyes broke, tears running down your face like a waterfall.

You sunk to the ground, hands on your ears, sobbing.

“Y/N!”

“You killed me!”

“No, no, no,” you wailed, but they weren’t stopping.

“You killed me, Y/N!” Bay.

“You broke my heart.” Mom.

“I’m dead because of you!” Bay.

“I lost my daughter.” Mom.

“It’s all your fault.” Bay.

“You’re a monster.” Mom.

“You killed me.” Bay.

“You’re not my daughter anymore.” Mom.

“You’re a killer.” Bay.

“I don’t ever want to see you again.” Mom.

“You killed me.” Bay.

“You deserve to die.” Mom.

You don’t know when they stopped. You still heard the echoes of their voices in your head when they were gone. “Y/N!” Someone touched your shoulder, making you flinch. “It’s done. The hour’s done- it’s okay.”

You shot up, seeing Finnick right next to you. “My mom? Where’s my mom- Bay. Where’s- where’s-”

He grabbed your shoulders. “They’re not here, Y/N. It wasn’t real.”

You panted, shuffling back away from Finnick, but he didn’t let you get far, pulling you to him. You tried to fight against it, but he wasn’t letting up. Eventually, you gave up trying to fight, letting him hold you. He pet your hair, whispering to you.

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You let the sound of his heart calm you down. It wasn’t real, you told yourself. Bay was dead. Your mom was okay. Finnick is alive. That’s what mattered.

After a few moments, you got up, Finnick watching you wearily. Johanna didn’t say anything, shooting you a look. You knew what she meant. You nodded, telling her without words that you were okay. You had to be okay. She nodded back.

You looked over, seeing Peeta still calming Katniss down on the ground. “Okay? They won’t touch Prim. Alright?” She shakily nodded, collecting herself.

“Your fiancé’s right. The whole country loves your sister.” You looked back to Johanna, seeing her standing on a rock. Her voice was both assuring and bitter. “If they tortured her or did anything to her-” she paused, chuckling, “forget the districts, there would be riots in the damn Capitol.”

She glanced to you and you saw the sheer fire in her eyes. Oh, you’d give anything to burn down that city with Snow in it.

“Hey, how does that sound, Snow?” She shouted, looking up to whatever cameras were in the sky. “What if we- what if we set your backyard on fire? You know, you can’t put everybody in here.” She turned back to you, seeing you all staring at her. “What? They can’t hurt me.” She shrugged, her voice was lowering as she looked to the ground. “There’s no one left that I love.”

You knew that Katniss and Peeta couldn’t have known the true depth of her words, but Beetee did. Finnick did. You did. Anyone watching at home- they couldn’t have understood. They must’ve thought she was crazy, but did any of them have even the slightest idea of who you all were? Did they know that she wasn’t always like this, that they made her this way? You were kids and the Capitol stole your innocence like it was nothing. For you and Finnick, they did it by selling you, and for Johanna, they did it by killing her family.

It may not have been fair to call Katniss lucky, she lost a lot, but at least her sister was alive. At least she still had a family. At least she wasn’t completely dead inside, like Johanna. Like Finnick.

Like you. Johanna ended up walking off, giving the excuse that she’d get you both water. You all made your way back to the beach after that. You sat there, staring off into the distance. This place could’ve been beautiful, you thought. But now blood had been spilled all over it.

What was beautiful about that?

You didn’t have all the answers. Right now, it felt like you didn’t know anything. All you knew was that the man you loved was alive, arm wrapped around you, heart beating. Did he know that he was the only “sure” thing you had? Did he know how much you loved him?

It felt like you were supposed to tell him. You were gonna die soon; The Games would come to end, and so would your life. It felt like he was supposed to know. If you were gonna die, then shouldn’t he at least knew how you felt about him, how in love you were with him?

The answer you came to was no. You weren’t gonna complicate things—God knew this was already complicated enough, this thing you had. You didn’t have time to learn new steps to the dance. You just wanted to let the music play and dance until you couldn’t dance anymore.

You had been sitting there for a little while when Katniss broke the silence. “Who’s Bay?” You turned to her, but she wasn’t looking at you, staring at nothing like you were.

“Katniss-” Finnick tried to interject, but you stopped him, putting your hand on his without looking at him. If you looked him in the eye right now, then he’d be able to tell just how broken you felt. He could read you so easily. You didn’t want him to read you right now when you didn’t have the energy to fake it.

You didn’t want him to see you getting ready to die.

You weren’t exactly Katniss’ biggest fan, and she wasn’t yours, but here you were, sitting together in the same arena. She was you. She was you before everything got bad, worse than it already was.

Soon, you wouldn’t be allies anymore. Soon, one of you would die. So you’d bring down the mask, just for a second. Before you ended up on different sides, you’d show her that you were just like her.

“Bay…” you faltered, “I guess I didn’t know him all too well. Lived in the same district for fifteen years, but I never even spoke to him before we were in that arena, and by then, it was too late.” A burning sensation grew in your throat. “He died in my arms. He- he was gonna take the money from winning and take care of his parents, make sure they didn’t have to worry. He didn’t get to. So I did. I took care of ‘em- didn’t even dent my pockets.” A humourless chuckle left your lips. “You know, my mom and I don’t talk anymore. Says I’m a different person, and she’s right. So, sometimes, I think Bay was just better off.”

Katniss finally turned to you. She didn’t say anything- she didn’t have to. You saw the look in her eyes; she understood. But you wished she didn’t. You wished that nobody had to understand. You wished that Johanna didn’t understand, that Finnick didn’t understand. You wished that you could’ve all just been kids for a little while longer.

That’s when you got up, walking over to where the sand met the water. You wanted to admire this place before you were gone.

You heard someone walk up behind you, immediately knowing it was Finnick.

His voice was quiet, even though you were far from everyone else. “You never told me about Bay’s parents.” If only he knew all the things you didn’t tell him.

But you didn’t say that. Instead, you just said, “I know.” He didn’t say anything else after that, wrapping arm around your waist and pulling you to him. You stared off into the distance together, just like those cold nights at the Capitol you spent together.

Sometimes, saying nothing with him was the equivalent of saying everything.

Sometimes, it was better than saying anything.

You hadn’t been standing there for too long when Johanna came over, telling you guys that Beetee had a plan. You joined the others, listening to him explain how he wanted to lure the Careers to the beach then electrocute them as lightning struck the tree at midnight.

It was risky, and it all counted on the Brutus and Enobaria being at the beach in the first place, but you supposed it beat going into combat with them. You could take them if you needed to, but if there was a plan you could implement to avoid that, then you would.

If this plan worked, then the Careers would die instantly, leaving only the six of you in the arena. But only one of you would walk out, and it had to be Finnick.

Despite how the two of you had been at each other’s throats, you didn’t want to kill Katniss. You didn’t want to kill Peeta, the boy who reminded you so much of Finnick. You didn’t want to kill Beetee, who had made you laugh so many times you were at the Capitol. And you certainly didn’t want to kill Johanna, who was perhaps one of the only friends you had.

You hoped it wouldn’t be you, that you wouldn’t be the one to kill them. You didn’t want to kill anymore. You just wanted this to end.

You were so consumed by these thoughts that you missed the looks Finnick and Johanna shared and the look Beetee threw their way.

By nightfall, you were back in the jungle, making your way to the lightning tree. Beetee said something science-y, then you got started, wrapping the wire he invented around the tree.

“Typically, a lightning strike contains five billion joules of energy. We don’t want to be anywhere in the vicinity when this hits,” he said, finishing one last wrap before walking over to you, coil in hand. “You three girls, go together now. Take this. Unspool it carefully. Make sure the entire coil is in the water. You understand? Then head to the tree at the two o’clock sector. We’ll meet you there.”

You nodded, grabbing the coil as Peeta cut in, “I’m gonna go with them as a guard.”

You snorted, “What, golden boy, afraid we can’t protect ourselves?” Even in the dark, you could see the redness climb up his neck. “Don’t worry, your fiancé’s gonna be fine.”

“She’s right. They can protect themselves just fine. You’re staying here to protect me. And the tree,” Beetee dictated.

You glanced between Katniss and Peeta, spotting hesitation in both of them. It was happening, you realized. They were already moving to the other side of the board.

“No, I need to go with her.”

“There are two Careers out there. I need at least two guards.”

“Finnick can protect you just fine on his own- Y/N and I could trade places.”

Katniss now spoke up, “Yeah, why don’t Johanna, Finnick, and Y/N stay with you and Peeta and I’ll take the coil?”

“You want to face the Careers by yourself?” You narrowed your eyes. Katniss looked to you, trying to maintain an unwavering expression. “You do realize that you’ve only been at this a year, right? Not only that, you’re from 12. These are people who trained their whole lives just to kill.”

Katniss didn’t have a response, just as you expected. Finnick must have caught onto the tension, questioning, “Is there a problem here?”

Beetee responded speedily, “Excellent question.” Katniss looked back to him, and you knew that she knew her fight was over. She was out of her depth here.

After a second, she replied, “No. There’s no problem.” Not yet, but knowing her, there would be one soon. You and Johanna waited for her to say her goodbyes to Peeta before getting ready to go.

You were walking away when you suddenly came to a stop. You passed the coil to Katniss, then walked back to the tree. Finnick’s brows raised as you beelined for him, but then his eyes just closed as your lips met his.

The music was louder than it’d ever been, like it knew that the beat could drop any minute now. This kiss was equal passion and softness. You kissed him like you’d never get do it again, and that could very well be true. He kissed back just as passionately, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer to him.

You knew Finnick didn’t love you. You knew he had a girl waiting for him back home, but if you were gonna die, then you just wanted to do that one last time. You wanted one last kiss from your one true love, even if you weren’t his.

When you eventually pulled away for air, he still didn’t let you go, resting his forehead against yours as you both breathed heavily. “I- I need to go now.”

He ran a hand through your hair, opening his eyes to look into yours. “I’ll see you at midnight?” You smiled, hoping he didn’t see how sad you were.

“Yeah, I’ll see you at midnight,” you said, knowing how probable it was that you wouldn’t.

Then you walked away.

The jungle was dead silent except for the sound of your footsteps and crickets. All you had to do was get to the beach, then get as far away from it as possible. You wanted to meet Finnick at midnight.

But that wasn’t gonna happen.

Katniss suddenly stopped. You looked to her, seeing her trying to pull the coil to no avail. “There’s something…” She pulled it again, and then the wire snapped.

You saw Brutus, knowing Enobaria couldn’t have been far away. You pulled your sword out of its sheath while Katniss drew an arrow, but before either of you could do anything, you were falling to the ground, eyes rolling to the back of your head.

Your head spun. You didn’t need to see it to know that you were losing blood—you could feel it. Get up, get up, get up, get up, you chanted, but it was as if your limbs were frozen.

You heard Katniss scream. You mustered up the strength to turn you head, seeing Johanna leaning over her, cutting into her arm. She shushed her, then looked up and cursed under her breath.

“Both of you, stay down,” she grit out, then she threw her axe at targets you couldn’t see, running away from you both. She did this, you realized. For some reason, you were shocked, but didn’t you always know this would happen? Didn’t you always know that you’d end up against each other in the end?

Didn’t you already know this would end in your last breath?

You did, but you still found yourself questioning: was this it? Was this how you died? Did Johanna just leave you to die?

Suddenly, you could hear Finnick, screaming yours and Johanna’s names. You wanted to scream back, to tell him you were right there, but it was like your mouth couldn’t form the words.

This was it. This was how you died.

You’d been preparing for this since the Quell was even announced, but you just weren’t expecting it, not yet. There were still people left.

At that thought, it was like the world stopped.

There were still people left.

You couldn’t just leave Finnick to fend for himself.

You shot up as if you had just been doused in cold water, reaching beside you to feel that your sword was still there. Your eyes searched for Katniss. She was just right next to you, but now she was nowhere to be seen. You didn’t even know that she left.

You shakily stood up, dots dancing around your vision the same way you were. You still had dancing to do.

A cannon fired, and you started running, screaming Finnick’s name, not caring if alerted anyone of where you were. You ran faster as you heard the sky booming.

Soon, Finnick came into your vision, Katniss not far from him, aiming an arrow up to the sky.

And then you saw nothing.

The last thing you remembered was being blasted backward, sparks everywhere, lightning.

And then the music stopped.

When Finnick woke up, it was like he almost forgot where he was, and then he remembered what happened. Katniss shot an arrow at the force field.

He ripped the IV out of his arm, pushing past the aching in his bones and sitting up, looking around. Katniss and Beetee were lying down in front of him, still asleep. He furrowed his brows. There was no one else.

His eyes darted around the room, looking for you, looking for a sign that you were here, but he couldn’t find one.

“Y/N?” His voice echoed in the empty room. You didn’t answer.

He got up, calling your name louder. “Y/N?” Still no answer.

This was impossible. You had to be here, you had to be on the hovercraft somewhere, you just had to. His mind went to the worst case scenario, but that couldn’t be. You had to be here.

He went for the first doors he saw, expecting to see you on the other side, but he was only met with Haymitch and Plutarch. His heart beat faster now. Where were you?

He ignored Haymitch completely, turning to Plutarch. “Where is she?” It should’ve been an easy answer, but the Gamemaker had an expression that Gamemakers rarely had. Sympathy.

No. This can’t be happening.

He stepped closer, venom in his voice. “Where is she?”

Haymitch intervened. “Finnick, maybe you wanna sit down-”

“Where the fuck is my girlfriend?” They both gave each other a look that infuriated him even further. “Is someone gonna tell me where she is or are you two just gonna stand here all day?”

“Finnick-”

“Where is she, Plutarch?”

The greying man stared at him like he was hesitant to speak, which was saying something, because Plutarch always said whatever was on his mind. When he spoke, his voice was quiet, like he was trying to calm down a rabid animal. “Her tracker was never removed-”

“Okay, so where is she?”

“We couldn’t get her, Finnick.” His ears rang.

They couldn’t get her.

“We couldn’t get Johanna and Peeta, either-”

All of a sudden, Finnick charged at him, but Haymitch quickly went and stopped him, holding him back. “You said you’d get her out! You told me she was gonna be safe!”

“Calm the hell down, Finnick!”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” He pushed himself out of Haymitch’s arms, turning and glaring at him. “Katniss is here! Of course, you’re calm- my person is still out there!”

“She’s still alive.”

“Yeah, for how long?”

Plutarch cut in, “They won’t kill her, Finnick. They know how valuable she is.”

“You don’t have to make someone’s heart stop to kill them, Heavensbee,” he spat. “If anyone should know that, it’s you.” The Gamemakers were creative. He knew that the Capitol would spare no expense to hurt you.

After what they did, rebelling like this, you’d be the one to answer for it. Even though you didn’t know a thing about it.

“Listen, kid, you need to calm down now.” Haymitch looked at him with hard eyes. “You need to pull it together. When Katniss wakes up, she’s gonna be confused and angry, just like you. We need her. If you want any of this to mean something, if you want any chance of ever seeing your girl again, then we need her. So you need to cool it.”

Finnick ran a hand through his hair, mind moving seventy miles per hour. The Capitol had you. They had you. You were supposed to be here, and they had you, and he didn’t even get the chance to tell you. There was so much to tell you, and what if he never got that chance again?

Haymitch was right. If he wanted to see you again, to have that chance, to ever dance with you again, then he had to pull it together. He had to be strong.

For you.

“Okay, what do you need me to do?”

Your death was always expected, at least it was to you. When you pictured an ending in your head, this was it. You knew it was coming. What you didn’t expect was ever waking up again.

But you did.

Your eyes opened to a dark room, fluorescent lights flickering on the ceiling. This wasn’t the arena, but you’d soon learn that you didn’t need to be in an arena to play a twisted game.

Am I alive? you wondered.

Your question was soon answered. No, you weren’t alive. You were in Hell.

Because, sitting in a chair across from you, was the Devil himself.

President Snow smiled. “Hello, Ms. Y/L/N.”

“It appears that you and I have a lot to discuss.”

Taglist: @avoxrising @mxacegrey @littleshadow17 @lovelyteenagebeard @nasyanastya @catastrxblues @zodiyack @zulpix-blog @mushroomelephant @muggies

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buckets-and-trees · 1 year ago

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Mmph, my🐱

Because this is how he’s gotta be looking at you when you’re at a neighborhood block party, right? After he sees you happen to have charmed the very shy little two year old girl who lives three doors down from you. Her four year old brother is shepherding both you and the little girl who won’t let go of your hand around to get snacks, play on the swings, and back and forth from the play room of the house throwing this get together.

He can see it.

American pie, white picket fence dream.

(Better put this behind a read more for some breeding and some questionable consent…)

You’ve already fooled around a bit. Not the first few weeks as the new couple in the neighborhood, but this week the proximity finally caught up in a moments of weakness that finally coincided for both of you. He knows you’re not a prude, but without a need to even discuss it, you had drawn a nice, comfortable line between the two of you. The logical thing if you’re going to play house to spy on the neighbors for as long as it takes to get their secrets. Both of you are such professionals it’s why he had no qualms taking this unconventional approach with you.

But then one late night less than a week ago…

And with the damn broken, it seemed a shame to waste a good thing.

He is on you the second he closes and locks the front door that night. It’s a kiss to consume you, and you half moan, half giggle when he presses you up against the wall and grinds his erection into your stomach. He’s a quick study and he’s already figured out enough ways to turn your brain off.

When he pushes you down to your knees, you go eagerly, and you unzip his pants and take his cock out without instruction.

He enjoys the warmth of your mouth until the saliva is dripping sloppily out of your lips and he can see you’ve finally slipped one hand down beneath your skirt to touch yourself.

That’s when he pulls you off, and in one swift moment raises you back up, twists you around, and shoves you against the wall. He flips up your skirt, pushes the wet gusset of your panties aside and sheathes his cock in you in one full thrust. You were wet for him, but not stretched, but you’ve already confessed that you don’t need him to prep you every time, that sometimes you like the pain of it, if being split open by his thick cock.

He can hear how far gone you already are in the baseness of your moan, which is perfect, because a couple of times you’ve let him fuck you a couple of times without a condom already, but he’s not pulling out tonight.

You realize that a moment too late.

In the throes of your first orgasm for the night, he continues pumping, he twitches inside you, and you try to move your hips, but he pins you and keeps thrusting.

“Steve, you need to - ”

“I need to fill your sweet cunt and see your belly swell with my children, sweetheart.”

You gasp and then cry out.

“What I saw tonight? You with those kids? Too sweet to pass up.”

He keeps thrusting until he’s spilling his hot seed in your womb, and he taps your needy clit to pull another short orgasm from you and you whimper his name.

He will take you again on all fours on the hardwood floor of the entryway before throwing you over his shoulder and then taking you apart until you’re mindless and docile and pumped so full of his cum before midnight that it’s dripping out of you. It won’t matter because he’s got plenty more for you, and he will keep you full all night, fucking you a few times through the haze of your sleep. You won’t be able to move in the morning with your exhaustion, which will be perfect for him to go to the bathroom and flush your birth control away.

As for him? He can do this all day, as many days as it takes to root his seed in you and get you to see this his way.

He even thinks it could be easy to sway you into his fantasy.

Sure seems like it with how you moan and cry at first but with cries that turn to keening.

Um… happy accidental Sinday!

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

I do not do tag lists, but FOLLOW @buckets-and-stories and TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS to be updated any time I publish a new work!

#Steve Rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers smut #tw: dubcon #aspen wrote something

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lostreverb · 3 months ago

Text

sent from above

(kai anderson x reader) in where you try to make your boyfriend's day a little sweeter

content: angst, use of knives (nothing crazy)

a/n: kai brainrot + maternal instincts combo goes crazyyyy

You sit on Winter's bed, watching as she sifts through boxes from her closet.

"You really do like my brother, don't you?..." She says with a solemn cadence.

You nod. "I do."

With a sigh, Winter hands you a faded piece of paper. It feels delicate, like it might crumble in your hands. "This is it…"

You trace the faded cursive carefully. "I won't tell him. I'll say I found it while cleaning. Thank you so much Winter."

"Uh- Yeah, no problem. Just… remember that he’s—"

"I know."

For weeks, Kai's paranoia has been ramping up, and you wanted to do something—anything—that might ground him, even briefly. So you'd gone to Winter, asking if she still had one of her mother's old recipes.

As anything was with Kai, this was a risk. This gesture could easily be turned against you; he might even accuse you of using his mother’s memory to manipulate him.

But for some reason you don't care.

Later, you're plating the dish when you hear the heavy clomp of combat boots, quickening as they approach, then coming to an abrupt stop.

"Perfect timing." You look up at your boyfriend and smile, holding the dish up slightly. "I made something for you."

Kai slowly walks to you, silent, calculating. He steps close—so close there’s barely space between you, with only the plate in your hands separating you.

"Apple Pie. The all-american dessert." Your words come out in a low murmur.

"Correct." He flicks open his pocket knife, carving off a bite and balancing it on the blade. "Open."

You part your lips instinctively, and he guides the piece to your mouth. As you bite down, the sweetness of the pastry mingles with a faint metallic tang from the knife's edge. Kai pulls it back with a slow precision, leaving a sharp taste lingering amid the warm notes of apple and spice.

Then, in a slow, deliberate motion, he turns the knife around, offering the handle to you. His eyes hold yours, dark and watchful, as you take it and mirror his gesture, bringing a piece to his lips. He leans forward, just enough to take the bite. As the familiar taste hits him, there's a shift—a crack in his steely facade. And for a split second, you see the boy he used to be, before everything turned dark.

Without a word, he raises a hand, a silent command for his guards to leave. They exchange glances but obey, slipping out of the kitchen.

Now, it’s just the two of you, alone.

He speaks in a whisper, but each word drips with a mix of wonder and suspicion. “She sent you… didn’t she?”

The words hang in the silence, and for a moment, his intense gaze softens, his brow knitting as if he’s trying to make sense of what he’s just said. “I knew it,” he breathes. “I knew she…”

He pauses, staring at you with a vulnerable intensity you've never seen before, like he's fighting to believe in something beyond his hardened reality. It's as if he's convinced that his late mother, somehow, some way, has sent you into his life—an angel, perhaps, to guide him, to protect him from the shadows he can't escape. The idea fills him with a fierce, quiet hope. His mistrust, his paranoia, all of it seems to melt away as he stares at you, searching for some sign, some proof of his mother.

You set the plate carefully on the counter behind you, keeping your movements slow and gentle, as if any sudden motion might startle him. Stepping forward, you raise your arms and slide them around him, feeling the tension that coils through his frame. Your hands find their way to his back, moving in soothing, slow circles, the warmth of your touch grounding him.

At first, he stiffens, caught off-guard by the unexpected embrace, his arms remaining at his sides. But gradually, as your hands continue their gentle rhythm along his back, he softens against you, letting the rigidity melt away. His shoulders drop, and you feel the faint rise and fall of his breath, a steadying rhythm that seems to settle him, little by little. Your touch is careful, maternal—each motion reassuring, as if you’re somehow reaching into the lonely places he’s kept hidden, places starved of comfort.

You press your cheek lightly against his shoulder, and the silence stretches between you, filled with a sense of calm that seems almost foreign to him. You can sense him leaning into the embrace, accepting the warmth you offer, maybe even craving it, though he would never say so.

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx @oceanblvd111 @andiloveher @vi0l3tgard3ns

#IM SORRY I WANNA TAKE CARE OF HIM #evan peters fandom #evan peters #kai anderson #kai anderson x reader #ahs #ahs cult #american horror story #kai anderson fanfic

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fandomnerd9602 · 1 month ago

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A Family Christmas

Bambi!Wanda x Reader

You couldn’t believe how blessed you were. It was your second Christmas with your human-deer hybrid mate Wanda Maximoff and your first Christmas with the twins Billy and Tommy. Within the span of a year, you had an entire family under your apartment roof and your couldn’t be happier about it.

It was roughly one week to Christmas when you woke up the way you always loved waking up - with your girl and you in a tangle of limbs, holding each other close.

“Good morning my buck” she whispered, peppering your lips with kisses.

“Good morning my doe” you replied. You could practically feel her little doe tail wiggling with delight.

“Oh my!” She exclaimed, her face in utter shock, “it’s one week until Christmas!”

“Wait what?!”

“We didn’t buy the presents yet!” Wanda practically jumped out of bed, the blankets and plushies flying left and right.

“Baby it’s fine!” you chuckled, trying to reassure your mate. “We’ll just have Natasha watch our boys while we go to the store”

Wanda looks to you adoringly, a little giggle escaping her lips, “I love it when you say our boys” She leaps into your arms and kisses you happily.

“Baby?” you manage to say through the numerous kisses

“Hmm?”

“At this rate, you’re gonna keep me distracted to New Years” you give her a little wink. Your doe couldn’t help but blush.

The plan was set. Natasha and Pietro took the boys back to the cave as you and Wanda left on a quick little errand. Your yuletide journey took you all over the small town of Westview to find the perfect gifts for your boys.

You and your mate browsed the downtown streets, walking hand in hand. While Wanda was busy buying a toy or two for the boys, you went off on your own little mission.

You swung by the local jewelry shop where you found the perfect gift for Wanda. You stopped by the record shop and found a gift for Yelena. You stopped by the thrift shop and found a gift for Natasha, one for Kate and one for Pietro.

You quickly rushed home and wrapped the gifts. Wanda had a certain amount of giddiness and glee as she wrapped the gifts for the boys.

You hid yourself separately from your mate and began wrapping her gift.

The day of Christmas had arrived and everyone was giddy with glee. Natasha, Yelena, Kate and Pietro arrived not long after the boys woke you and Wanda up.

Everyone loved their gifts. Billy loved his stuffed Hedwig owl plushie. Tommy loved his new green track suit, it was his favorite color and everything. Kate loved the little arrow necklace that you found her. Yelena loved her autographed album of Don Maclean’s American Pie. Natasha loved the the Spy who Loved Me collectible poster you got for her, it was her favorite Bond movie after all. Pietro loved his new leather jacket.

“Makes you look like the Fonz, bratok” Wanda chimes in.

Pietro simply gave her the Fonzie’s thumbs up.

Finally came your gift to your mate, the love of your life, your loving doe. You placed the small Christmas gift box right in her hands.

“Merry Christmas my doe” you gave her forehead a kiss.

Wanda giggles. She tenderly unwraps your present and gasps.

Nestled in that small box was a gold necklace with a small scarlet red Ruby pendant that was encapsulated by two gold antlers. It was beautiful to Wanda. It captured what you loved about her as well as her favorite gemstone.

“Detka” she looks to you with a smile and tears forming in her eyes. “I love it! So much!”

You hug her tight and kiss her tenderly. She lets out a soft little moan against your lips.

“Merry Christmas my buck” she whispers in your ear.

You look at her. You look to your boys. Your brother in law and your best friends. What more could one person need for Christmas.

“Merry Christmas, my doe”

Tags @lifespectator @supercorpdanbeau @scarletquake-n7 @olsenmyolsen @russianredassassin @multi-fandom-enjoyer @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @julieromanoff @dudesweet17 @moonlit-imagines @moonlit-ficrecs

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taintandviolent · 2 months ago

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Thankful ; Jimmy Darling x Reader

summary: 🦃 It's Thanksgiving, and the troupe is enjoying a collaborative dinner. You're sat next to Jimmy Darling, who you've been flirting with on and off for the past week. After dinner, you discover that he's still hungry.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 1.9K! | food mention, mentions of arousal (both male and female), semi-established relationship, semi-public making out and cunnilingus.

a/n: requested by @american-horror-whore! I hope this was everything you wanted bby!! thanks for the request, I so so so missed writing for my boy. also happy early thanksgiving to my followers!! i'm super thankful for all of you guys! divider by @/strangergraphics

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

It’s Thanksgiving, and you’re feeling mighty thankful. That was for sure. You scoop the last bit of sweet potato casserole into your fork, smiling over at Eve as she recounts one of her favorite stories from days past. You’d been a member of the show for a month now, but they’d wasted no time in making you feel like you’d been there since the beginning. You’d found a specific sort of camaraderie there, the kind that only comes from shared experiences and understood feelings. It must be similar to a sort of sorority or something.

Jazz drifts from the record player in the corner, serenading everyone with a relaxed romanticism. The wooden table is stuffed with dishes; almost everyone had pitched in to make something for the dinner. You’d made the stuffing, and helped Ethel with the turkey. As a little extra decoration, you’d gathered some of the fall leaves and scattered them along the table, which paired nicely with the candles that Elsa had brought in from her tent. Everyone was in good spirits, but especially Jimmy Darling, who, like everyone, had been indulging in a little of his mama’s hooch.

He’s drunk, his complexion flushed and healthy. He keeps leaning into you, letting one of his large hands make a fist in your skirt, hiking it up and tugging it towards him. You scoot closer – as close as you can without being on his lap. Your cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, but you can’t help it; the butterflies that he gives you take control of your system the second he’s in the room.

“Hey dollface,” Jimmy suddenly murmurs next to you. “Pass the pie, would ya’?”

“Only if you cut me a piece too, Jimmy…”

You don’t wait for an answer before pushing yourself up off the bench just enough to reach the plate of pumpkin pie, carefully sliding your hand underneath the ceramic dish. Desiree had baked it along with the sweet potato casserole that afternoon and you were fairly certain that everyone had been eyeing it the entire dinner. The top of the pie was a perfect orange, glazed and delicious, while the crust was a delicious looking golden brown. To top it off, it was still warm.

You set the pie in the space between you, smiling politely at Jimmy as he got to work cutting out a slice with his fork. The first one goes to you with a bright, crooked smile; he was always such a thoughtful, handsome gentleman. Admittedly, that was part of the reason that you two had been courting each other for a week now, secretly meeting to kiss and explore each other’s warm bodies in the dead of night. You weren’t embarrassed of him, nor shy, but he was very aware of the rest of the troupe’s prying eyes, specifically Elsa’s and thought it better if for now, you two kept things quiet.

Eve’s eyes flit to yours, a tender smile on her lips. You think she knows, but she’s got enough sense not to say anything. You blink slowly and turn your attention back to Jimmy, who has his hand on your bare thigh now, fingering the silky hem of your nylons. Underneath the table, you toy with Jimmy’s ankle, rubbing your own against it and lifting the pant leg. He lets out a little moan through closed lips – inaudible to everyone but you – and squeezes the meat of your thigh. With a mean poker face, Jimmy takes a forkful of the pie and shoves it into his mouth. To everyone else, he just looks a little buzzed – which he is. But to you, he looks buzzed and horny; from the way those brown eyes are half-lidded and heavy to the way his jaw hangs slack every time he looks over you, scanning your body and kneading your thighs like dough. You pick up the tiny nuances of his arousal and gobble them up as quickly as you do the pie.

The rest of the dinner goes on with laughter and shared stories until Elsa announces that she must get her sleep. Ethel stands up to begin clearing the empty dishes. You get to your feet and help her, knowing full well that she intended to do it all herself.

Once you finish, you head out of the main tent, wiping your hands on the back of your dress. Everyone’s dispersed. Jimmy’s gone – probably stumbled back to his trailer in a drunken food coma. You laugh to yourself and head back to your caravan.

Just as you pass his trailer, Jimmy emerges from the shadows, a flash of skin as his conjoined fingers wrap around your smaller wrist with ease. “No, no… where do you think you’re goin’, sweet face?” He tugs you back towards his trailer. “Baby, c’mere…”

His back hits the metal exterior of his caravan with a thud and he pulls you atop of him, wrapping both his arms around your lower back. Maybe it was fate, maybe it was coincidence. Whatever it was, had put your trailers next to each other the day you’d rolled in. That made it very easy for you two to canoodle whenever you wanted without attracting too much attention.

Hidden in between the two trailers, amongst the sound of rustling grasses and distant cars, you press your lips against his plush, pink ones and dive in. Kissing Jimmy is like licking the inside of a honey pot; it’s addicting, warm and the saccharine notes of his kisses coat your tongue. Every single time. You fall into the familiar rhythm of kissing him, grinding your hips back against his as he urges them into yours. You’ve been here before, many times in the last seven days, but it hasn’t gotten old yet.

Your nimble fingers reach up, pulling the shirt buttons from their slits until you reach his belly button, and stop, too distracted with the way he’s kissing you to continue. “Oh, Jimmy,” you say against his skin. The chill of the November air contrasts with the heat that rolls off his bare skin.

“I’m still hungry,” he growls into the curve of your ear, peppering feverish kisses along the nape of your neck. You can’t help but chuckle softly as you lean your head to the side, amused that at a time like this, Jimmy’s thinking of food. With your hands planted firmly on his pectoral muscles that are exposed through his half-open shirt, you gently push him off and look into his coffee black eyes.

“Well, Jimmy, there’s plenty of leftovers – you should’ve eaten more! We can –”

“No, baby. Not that kind of hungry.” His hips punctuate his sentence as he drives them into the soft flesh of your upper thigh.

Feeling the rigid bulge against your thigh, your breath catches in your throat. You reach down and pull his head off of you, his lips still poised to kiss. You let out a giggle and move your hands down his neck.

“Yours or mine?” You ask, flipping the collar of his shirt between your fingers.

“We’re facing yours.”

Bracing yourself against his trailer, you push yourself off of it, and grip the collar of his shirt like a leash on a dog, towing him in the direction of your quaint little caravan. You carefully walk up the steps and throw open the door, muttering a word of warning to not trip. He does anyway, too drunk and too horny to watch his feet.

As soon as you’re inside, Jimmy’s got his hands wrapped around your waist and he doesn’t hesitate before lifting you up onto the small kitchen counter. Giving you room to sit, he pushes the tins of coffee and tea back against the wall. His hands slip underneath the fabric of your dress, ghosting along the curve of your ass and to the roundness of your thighs, his fingers leaving trails of heat everywhere they go.

“Mmm, baby, you feel like you’ve got a fever. Your body’s on fire…”

You hum, adjusting your hips on the counter. “There ain’t a single person to blame for that besides you, Jimmy….”

He chuckles and lets his hands continue their journey, sweeping around to the front of your kneecaps, which he gently pulls apart. His inky hues connect with yours as he slowly lowers, getting to his knees in front of you. You watch him with quirked lips, indicating amusement, though your eyes are bleeding lust.

Jimmy takes your dress in his hands, lifting it up to expose your center. The satin of your panties is already stained with arousal. It��s leaking into the fibers and creating a wet spot.

“Hooo’, baby… look at that.” His smile is proud, delighted that he’s responsible for it.

“I hope you saved room.” You tease.

“Oh, honey…” Jimmy runs his thumb along the clothed slit, and you shiver. “I always have room for dessert.”

His fingers hook around the elastic of your panties and yanks them down. He leaves your garter belt on, as it poses no nuisance to him. Now free of fabric, your cunt clenches visibly as he nears her. His lips part, pressing an open mouthed kiss to your slick folds. Your hand snaps to his shoulder, gripping it hard. “Fuck, Jimmy… I…”

Your hand moves to gather the dress of your skirt up, pinning it in place. The other hand finds a home in Jimmy’s soft, brown locks, pulling tight as his tongue laps at your cunt with a flat tongue. You mewl happily. What a sight; your nylon-covered legs over the shoulders of the most handsome man you’d ever met, his head buried between your thighs.

His tongue flexes, points, and flicks at your quickly swelling clit. You shudder and clamp your legs around his head, a full body reaction. “Huh… Jimmy… oh my god.”

He kisses her again, his tongue stretching down to meet your leaking entrance. Now he’s the one vocalizing; you’re sweet, pink and wet and he can’t help himself. Another kiss, but he closes his lips around your clit to suck on it gently.

He pulls away, just for a second to ask: “Feel good?”

You nod hurriedly and tighten your grip in his hair, pulling his head back and forth onto your cunt. Your middle finger twirls around a single curl and you hum a string of expletives, forcing his tongue deeper into your folds.

“Mm! – yeah! – baby! –” Jimmy says in between your forced thrusts. He’s not used to you taking control like that, but like hell he’s going to complain.

The white hot coil in your stomach winds tighter, creating an inexplicable pressure in your lower abdomen. Jimmy’s relentless, as if he knows this, and keeps at it. Not that you had any plans of loosening your grip on his locks. Mirroring your strength, Jimmy’s hands grip your thighs tight, pressing them open as far as they’ll go. You throw your head back and a deep moan escapes your lips, expelling some of the built up tension.

“Fuck, fuck… Jimmy… right there… right there….”

Jimmy suckles your swollen clit, and brings one hand to your entrance, teasing an intrusion with the tips of his fingers. They breach it, just enough to make your whole body tense up, and the coil snaps. All at once, you buck your hips forward, forcing Jimmy’s digits inside your cunt, his nose bumping into the flesh above her. He feels every shuddering clench, and rides it out, lapping at her like an ice cream cone.

Once the slick pulses subside, he pulls back and brings his palm to his face, wiping his glistening chin. For a second, he admires it, tilting his hand back and forth, watching as the collected spit and arousal catches the light.

“Mm-mm-mmm! Now that’s something to be thankful for, baby.”

Through labored pants, you mutter a response. “Oh, I’ll show you thankful, baby. Get on the bed.”

#Jimmy Darling #Jimmy Darling x you #Jimmy Darling x reader #Jimmy Darling x y/n #AHS Freakshow #American Horror Story #American Horror Story Freakshow #myfics #requests #female reader #x reader

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holylulusworld · 1 year ago

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Kidnapping Miss America

Summary: It was an easy job. They had it planned well. They weren’t prepared for you.

Pairing: Criminal!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader x Criminal!Jake Jensen

Warnings: bitchy reader, arguments, banter, biting (not the sexy kind), violence against kidnappers, mistaken identity, fighting for dominance, dumbass kidnappers (kinda), grumpy Bucky, tension

A/N: Here's the dream pairing we have been waiting for...😂

Words: 2,7k

“Fuck, she’s heavier than she looks,” the guy carrying you inside the hideout pants. He complains loudly as you hang over his shoulder. “I thought she was a model or something.”

“Hey, asshat! Say that again and I’ll scratch your eyes out! Never call me heavy again!” You wiggle in his tight hold. “I will kill the both of you and rip your balls off if I see one hair of your dick!”

The other guy chuckles at your antics. “Yeah, never call her heavy again. That’s not nice. And I won’t show you my dick. I don’t get hard for bitchy bitches.”

“Who asked you?” You growl and blindly grasp for your second kidnapper. “How about brightening your horizon and learning some new words? Bitchy bitches my ass.”

“She has claws and teeth,” kidnapper number one drops you to the ground, making you cry out as you land hard on your ass.

“You fucker!” You jump up faster than the guy can blink. They believed you were a damsel in distress and didn’t restrain your ankles or wrists. Now they regret their lapsus because you jump at the guy dropping you to the floor. “I’ll kill you.”

“What the fuck!” The guy exclaims as you tackle him. He ends up on the ground, you on top of him. You dig your nails into his chest and twist his left nipple. “OUCH!” He squeaks ungracefully as you do it again.

The second guy snickers behind you, but you won’t have it. You get up and rip the blindfold off your eyes. “Bastard!” You kick the first guy’s balls before jumping at the second guy. “I’ll kill you!”

“Help me!” The second guy calls for help as you sink your teeth in his neck and repeatedly bite him like a feral dog. “She tries to rip my flesh out! BUCKY! HELP!”

“I’ll get my pound of flesh!”

“Whoa, is this how Miss America acts? I thought you all dream of world peace and American pie!” The first guy slowly gets back up. He limps toward you to drag you off the second guy. “Let him go, you crazy bitch!”

“Eat shit, loser!” You snarl and twirl around to punch the first guy’s nose. “I’m not some girl you can just kidnap! Who do you think you are?”

“What the fuck, Jensen!” The first guy cups his aching crotch. “I wanted to make fast cash, not get my balls rearranged.”

You snicker as the first guy pleadingly looks at you. He’s much taller than you and strong. It shouldn’t be too hard for him to take you down. But he seems to be afraid to get close to you now.

“He said this is an easy job to make fast cash! All we had to do was grab Miss America and make sure she couldn’t win this contest,” the second guy, Jensen, grunts. “That’s not my fucking fault, Bucky!”

“Of course, it is your fucking fault! You listened to that dumbass,” Bucky bites back. His balls are bruised, and he won’t take this lightly. “I can’t believe I listened to you! I could’ve made more with poker tonight. Instead, I got my balls bruised.”

“More like your ego, wannabe kidnapper,” you chuckle darkly. Bucky’s eyes darken and he takes one step toward you.

You grit your teeth and ball your hands into fists, preparing for a fight.

“What are you? A ninja or shit?” Jensen panics as you look like you know what you are doing. “I think she wants to use karate or something.”

“It’s called Krav Maga, dumbass,” you snap at Jensen and get ready for his attack. “Come and get some.” You prepare for a fight with both men. Two tall guys against you, a fair fight. Your trainer didn’t call you firecracker for nothing.

“I think she’s crazy,” Bucky looks at his accomplice. “Jensen, this was a stupid idea. Miss America is a crazy bitch.”

“Dude, I’m not a miss nor Miss America,” you grit your teeth at Bucky. “You are the crazy one here if you think I’ll just roll over and let you pervs touch me!”

“Wait!” Jensen raises his hands in surrender. “You are not Miss America?” He cocks his head to look you up and down. “Hmm…yeah. I guess those girls don’t have a nice ass like you do.”

“Did you just call my perfect bottom fat?” You narrow your eyes. “Say that again if you want to lose a testicle. I dare you four-eyes!”

Jensen looks offended and pouts. He sniffs and turns away for a moment while his partner in crime tries to charm his way out of this situation.

“It’s a perfect peach,” Bucky shamelessly stares at your ass. He hums and cups his crotch again. “If I didn’t risk another kick to my crotch I’d offer you to take care of your peach.” He grins like he made you the nicest compliment.

“Calling my ass peach won’t get you out of trouble! You kidnapped me, the bookkeeper of the year, and I missed the prize-giving because of you. They wanted to give me a golden pencil and a coupon.”

“Bookkeeper of the year?” Bucky groans. “Jensen don’t tell me we were at the wrong place. Again…”

“How shall I know?” Jensen shrugs. “Dude said she’ll be in the room and wait for us to grab her! It’s not my fault he gave us the wrong information.”

“Seriously? You wanted to kidnap Miss America?” You snort. “Dude, they protect her better than the president. Did you honestly believe Miss America is sleeping at a sleazy motel? She sleeps at the four seasons!”

“Great. We grabbed the wrong girl then,” Bucky sighs and runs one hand down his face. “We fucked up big time.” He pouts and stares daggers into his partner’s skull. “You fucked this up, Jensen!”

“He gave us the wrong information! That’s not my fault.” Jensen sniffs. “Why do you always blame me? I’m only the tech nerd to you. You do not respect me at all.”

“Aw, are you having relationship trouble? Do you want me to wait outside so you can make up?” You tease.

Jensen drops his gaze and sighs deeply. He shrugs and mumbles an apology under his breath.

Somehow, you pity these two. They don’t seem to be the smartest criminals and you can’t help but feel sorry for them.

Bucky slowly sits down on the worn-out couch. He switches the TV on, to distract himself from thinking about the money they lost tonight. Bucky switches through the channels, making comments about the shows. “Boring…nonsense…wait..”

“What is it?” Jensen gapes at the TV. “Pump up the volume. I want to hear this.”

You look at the TV, listening to what the reporter has to say. According to them someone tried to kidnap Miss America and got shot. They didn’t make it out alive.

“Whoa, this could’ve been us.” Bucky huffs. “Take that, Walker. I knew it was a stupid idea to work with that fucker! He gave us the wrong address to get all the money!”

“You only work with idiots, huh?” You sit next to Bucky. “So, tell me, how much money do you make with crimes.”

“Not much lately. We used to make a lot of cash, but our concurrent fucked us over,” Bucky grumbles. “We need fast cash to keep our business running and stop Rumlow from taking over our club.”

“How do you usually make cash if you don’t kidnap women?” You grin darkly as Bucky’s frown deepens. “Come on, we are kidnapping buddies now. You can trust me.”

“You kicked my balls, lady!” Bucky snaps at you. “I don’t trust you at all. My balls don’t trust you. And my gut instinct doesn’t trust you.”

You snort. “Fine, I’ll go home, grab my prize on the way, and tell Rumlow greetings from you two losers…”

Jensen stares at you with wide fearful eyes as you make your way toward the door.

“Rumlow?” He hiccups. “You know Rumlow?”

“He prefers when I call him Brock and rub his shoulders after a long day,” you look over your shoulder to flash Bucky, who suddenly stands behind you, a smirk. “Did I forget to mention that I’m his bookkeeper?”

Jensen makes an odd noise. He wrings his hands and tries to not show he’s scared to hell and back at the mention of Brock Rumlow.

“What? Not so cocky any longer?” You turn on your heels to jab two fingers into Bucky’s chest. “Miss America my ass. I’m worth more than that bony bitch!”

Bucky looks you up and down. He hums and immediately pounces on you. “You’re right,” you squeak when he throws you over his shoulder again. “Rumlow will pay us a fucking lot of money to get you back.”

“Uh-Bucky,” Jensen watches his partner restrain you to the heater. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to treat her this way. Rumlow will kill us,”

“Aw, your little partner is scared,” you snicker. “How about you two play by my rules from now on, and I help you get more money than you could ever spend?”

Bucky crosses his arms over his chest. He sniffs and turns to leave the room. “I don’t trust you.”

“Wait, maybe she can help us,” Jensen doesn’t want to end up dead because they kidnapped you. If you are willing to help them, he’ll do anything to get in your good graces.

Bucky sneers as his partner looks at you like a lost puppy. “Get out of the fucking room, Jensen. We don’t negotiate with girls kicking a man’s balls.”

“It’s called massage,” you giggle and snort as Bucky turns around to glare at you. “Don’t tell me you never got kicked in the balls before. You scream awful first date.”

“Watch your tongue!” Bucky points his index finger at you. “I’m an awesome first date. The ladies never complained.”

“Yeah, because you bored them to death.” The look he gives you makes you giggle again. “You’re not used to a woman talking back, huh?”

“What you said about the money,” Jensen clears his throat to get your attention, “is it true? Can you help us?”

“Well,” you look at the handcuffs around your wrist. “I will talk if your partner takes these off again. If not, you will regret putting your hands on me.”

“How do you want to help us? Talk,” Bucky barks while his partner expectantly looks at you. “I don’t have all night.”

“I got more than enough time,” you stretch your body and yawn. “How about you get some food and beer first? I’ll talk after I eat. You fucked my day up.”

“Uh-I don’t have much money with me,” Jensen looks inside his wallet, sighing deeply. “I got ten bucks. What do you have, Bucky?”

“Guys,” you sigh and shake your head. “How did you survive for so long without my help?” You get up from the couch and grab your bag. “Christ, you should have at least one hundred bucks with you. You never know if you need to run.”

“What?” Bucky furrows his brows. “What do you mean you must run away?”

“I’m working for a dangerous criminal who likes to kill people if they look at him for too long. I have a plan, always.”

“Making plans is my job,” Jensen grins proudly. “Not this one, of course. Walker made the plan this time.”

“Hmm…” you open your wallet and hand Bucky fifty bucks. “Here, get us some food and beer. I think you know where my car is. Get it here, and don’t get caught. I trust you that you don’t run off and leave me alone with your partner.”

“I’m not your servant,” Bucky grunts and snatches the money out of your hands. “Why do you need your car?”

“I’ll tell you if you come back with food and beer…”

“Here,” Bucky slams the beer on the table. He drops three paper bags filled with takeout next to the beer, huffing as you are busy playing the blind man’s bluff card game with Jensen. “What are you doing? She’s still our hostage.”

“Jakie and I discussed the most important things,” you coo, and grab one of the bags. “I hope you brought some dessert too. This is going to be a long night.”

“Yeah? How about you answer my questions first,” Bucky grunts and slams his fist onto the table. “Why are there three suitcases and shit in your trunk?”

“Uh-“Batting your eyelashes you try to not give away too much. “That’s none of your business. I was about to go on vacation.”

“Vacation for how long?” Bucky steps closer and snatches the card from your forehead. He crumples the card up and flings it across the room. “I’m done playing games. Talk.”

“Stop barking at me like a feral dog,” you snap at Bucky. "Jake and I had a great time without your grumpy ass around."

“Stop messing with me,” the brunette pants heavily. “We’ve got no time for this shit.”

“Fine. I kinda stole the access data for Rumlow’s offshore bank accounts and his black book. I know where he’s hiding every single buck.”

Bucky licks his lips while his partner in crime nervously shifts in his seat. “He’s going to kill all of us, Buck. We need to get out of town!”

“Relax, Jakie!” You wave his concern off. “Rumlow is busy with another poker game. He’s out of town for a week. More than enough time to get out of town and transfer all of his money to my bank account in the Bahamas.”

“Bahamas? You think he won’t find you there?” Bucky huffs. “You’re stupider than I thought if you believe for one second you can rob Brock Rumlow and get away with it.”

“Aw, sweet cheeks,” you pat Bucky’s cheek. “I already robbed every single buck. I only need to get out of town, and this country.”

“She robbed all of his money,” Jensen hiccups. “What if he believes we had something to do with all of this?”

“You know,” sizing Jensen up you smirk, “I could need help hiding the money. You’re smart and reliable. If you are willing to follow me, we can be Gods.”

“Do you listen to yourself sometimes?” Bucky huffs. “Rumlow will flay Jensen and you alive. You have no survival instinct at all.”

“I got survival instinct,” you bump your chest into Bucky’s trying to intimidate him. “I kicked your balls, remember? I could have easily broken your neck too.”

“I’d like to see you try.” He dares to grin. “I doubt you’ll be able to wrap your hands around my neck. Little peach.”

“Well, if you are the survival expert you should join me and Jakie,” you challenge. “Your business is dead. So, I heard.”

“We could buy an island!” Jensen dreamily sighs. “Cocktails on the beach. The sun kissing my skin.”

“You’ll get sunburn,” Bucky grunts. He crosses his arms over his chest while eying you warily. He cocks a brow when you open a beer and take a large swig.

“I’ll pay you,” you run your fingertips over his bicep. “What’s your price? How much does your service cost me?”

Jensen watches you sip on the beer. He hums and imagines helping you for free to touch your peach. “I’ll do it for free!”

“Jensen!” Bucky mutters.

“Aw, he only wants to be a good boy for me, right?” You turn on your heels to pat Jensen’s cheek. He smiles widely. “I got more money than you could ever dream of. I only need someone to help me hide it and a bodyguard.”

“Bucky,” Jensen pleads.

“Fine,” the brunette throws his hands up. “If we die, I’ll blame you, Jensen.”

On your way out of town, you relax in the passenger seat staring at your bank account. Fifty million dollars should be enough to start a new life.

While Jensen takes a nap in the back seat, Bucky is driving the car you rented using a fake identity. He’s still a grumpy ass but you know, he’ll do anything to protect you. If only for the money you promised them.

Soon you will leave this country and your old life. Rumlow will regret firing you. He will remember your name till the end of his life.

Tags in reblog.

#bucky barnes #jake jensen #bucky barnes x reader #jake jensen x reader #Kidnapping Miss America #jake jensen x you #female reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n

196 notes · View notes

kremlin · 8 months ago

Note

I do computer work but it's not very hard and kind of boring. How do I get to do hard computer work? Do I have to go to grad school?

hi i tend to miss these because of slipshod ublock custom filters im too birdbrained to fix.

i worked for a large american technology company which sold business machines internationally for close to a decade until laid off in successful accounting fraud scheme a few years ago. started as developer, erm, pardon me, i started as

junior developer

which is a role similar to routinely-executed court jester and human meatwave conscript meant to soak up enemy bullets to cause exhaustion of enemy bullet supply and finally guy that comes in big gross truck with a pump and a tank and a big hose used to suck the shit+piss out of portable toilet/malfunctioning sewer etc. this is for when you are 20 years old or so and they hit you with this work to calm your ass down a bit. my case was cloud bullshit on ancient rickety php stack. 5% keystrokes/clicks are php, 95% remainder is jira and other members of the axis of evil. LOT of dick sucking and butt fucking. Going into men's bathroom and making eye contact with cubicle neighbor before entering stall and fearlessly making disgusting noises. microwaving fish lunch thrice daily. you get the idea. meager paycheck but six figures takehome technically

next is staff dev, wait, god damn fucking tumblr, you can't adjust fonts mid-paragraph, and Big Text is just another type of font, in case you wanted Big Specific font. fucking fuck hold on. next step is

staff developer

no effective change besides greatly increased workload (click those motherfucking jira buttons!! suffer coworker's asinine bad-faith code review comments that HE AND HE ALONE must manually accept your responses to, on HIS time, before you are allowed to click the jira buttons that start the human meat sausage factory to get your 20 line maximum change into an RC and then release and then push candidate and then prod push!! pay raise one thousand dollars annually (lol). Emails. Now you deal with project manager too. speculate as to what sorts of grievous head injuries that man must suffer daily to describe his logic. his job is like the guy from office space that brings documents from one desk to another but he randomly reorders the words on the page in-flight. make plausibly-deniable wife fucking jokes about his wife in earshot. you're almost at the top of the suffering function. next is, no fucking cute font this time, senior developer, sounds cool right, lol, lmao, "senior" "developer" is like "tallest" "midgit".

no pay increase no workload increase but now manager emails you about extremely, extremely personal issues he's facing and also makes his most difficult problems from his boss your problems. one week will pass and then they will hit you with the "we're considering you for a team lead position". answer:

answer no as this is the prescribed path, you take that role, you are maxxed out in workload, you are dealing with forty employee's worth of bullshit, another one thousand dollarinos a year raise, employer has solved efficiency problem with your sanity and burnout as variables. you're supposed to quit or kill yourself within seconds of hitting 30 y/o. don't fall for tricks. say "NO" in a creative way such as "i have tabulated some data and made it into excel pie chart quantifying diff. departments work output and am considering sending it to whoever Dave is, the guy that is one or two or three report levels over your boss' head, you know, his boss' boss' boss or whatever. or say "you are harassing me sexually, racistly" that kind of shit. make threat clearly.

was worth mentioning before, throughout all of this make as many friends and as much of a splash for yourself as possible as its time to trade on that goodwill, tell your boss you want an open relationship and you're going to fuck and suck other managers, and then find the good one with the good team of old fucking geriatric guys who could never be fooled into working more than a reasonable amount daily and also can kill people with their minds since they have been sitting on the bleeding edge of computing since 1969. their boss will usually be, suspiciously, one report rank higher than everyone else. e.g. their boss has a whole other boss + his reports under him. usually small team. go to their boss, say, hi, look at me, look at my beautiful plumage and captivating mating dance, please hire me, pleassseee. his team will say no, they will say things like "I don't know about that kiddo", "That guy seems like a candy-ass", they will read your papers and look at you in the eyes and say it is not compelling, the boss will kind of hire you anyway. if he doesn't you're fucked. if he does you're now a

STAFF ENGINEER

for fifteen minutes and then

ADVISORY/SENIOR/SPECIAL ENGINEER

and the suffering is over. no code minimal jira + squad of gremlin zerglings under your boss whom you can rank-pull and delegate bullshit to, they will be mostly suckers, take advantage of this. 80% of keystrokes/clicks will be in production of beautiful wonderful lovely .docx and .xlsx's, what a godsend, only in an emergency are you allowed to fuck with your zergling's code, usually in a cool way with bullshit procedure removed.

i worked on high performance computing shit. "what the fuck do you mean 2PB or so in and out a day on flash memory", "what the fuck do you mean special infiniband intel MPI library on CD-R stored in Craig's filing cabinet???". Meetings with company people: webcams off, responses optional, snideness allowed. Meetings with client: you must have your dress shirt starched and white glove the shit out of those motherfuckers. timezones = skill issue. i don't care where germany is, i don't give a shit, wake up at 3am for a 20m meeting i take on the toilet or while eating a boiled lobster complete with cracker + lobster bib. customers countable on one hand, invoices to customers not countable with 32 bits. no fucking mistakes ever allowed except for like whitepaper drafts, you cannot fuck the pumpkin on this one, your actual job relies on your ability to hit a button and suck down a week's worth of compute and millions of dollars, boiling swimming pool's worth of TDP, one mistake that leads result data to being able to be characterized as flawed and your balls are getting ripped off. Quarterly IRL meetings = normiepilled normiemaxxing. Dress sharp. leave at 5pm on the dot, go to bar with Old Fucker coworkers, drink wrecklessly with them, have a blast, let them give you a tour of a lab you are absolutely 100% not allowed to be inside, buildings that have posted weight limits per sq. ft. exceeding 250lbs, such a blast. every paycheck a FORTUNE every dinner a banquet every meeting an email every keystroke life or death. you get to meet /lib/doug mofos too one of whom i wrote a very poor kind of poem thing about. thats about it. hope this helps

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callsignhood · 1 year ago

Note

What would be König's favorite ans least favorite type of humor? My friend and are think it's funny to default to 'die/kill them' in funny contexts. Like 'gotta feed the cats' gets a response of 'hunt down a deer and skin it. cheaper than buying a brand', and 'then perish' is used *so* often. Would König understand this type of humor? Would he like it? Would he hate it?

I personally think he has a serious tone when he talks, and he can’t help it since his German is influencing his English to be more nerdy? For example, he says “Leave the warfare to me!” and “Finally some worthy adversaries!” and of course the “I’ve got a person of interest in my sights!” ☝️🤓 He is literally a big dork istg

He’d rather not joke around too much since his social anxiety would hold him back a lot. But it doesn’t mean that he lacks the sense of humour. He just needs a little push of stress, and it would be one of the ways to calm him down.

I imagine him getting patched up, mumbling “They really shot my ass down this time” while biting down the pain. Or if he’s patching up others, he’d say “Scheiße, you better go for a lottery after this, they beat you up like a piñata and you’re still alive.”

And yes, he will understand dark humour and give a chuckle or two, he’d use them if he’s texting to Nikto or Horangi lol. Something close to: “If they give me another American apple pie shit again, I’ll crack their heads open like eggs to bake a decent Apfelstrudel.”

He will hate jokes that are making fun of people’s appearance. He’s definitely uncomfortable with his own, that’s why he wears his mask almost like his second skin. He could just use a simple balaclava but no, this man throws a T-shirt over his noggin to cover everything except his eyes.

(He’d like puns too…especially the stupid ones)

#konig cod #könig cod #könig #konig #konig call of duty #könig call of duty #konig ama #könig ama #könig headcanons #konig headcanons

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queen-of-deans-booty · 10 months ago

Text

Worth The Wait: Part Two

Pairing: Jensen Ackles x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~900

Warnings: fluff

Request by anon: Hey can i request a J2 x reader imagine where the reader is actress and singer that was nominated for a Oscar or something like that and became one of the few people that have a EGOT (the achievement of having won all four of the major American entertainment awards (i.e. an Emmy, a Grammy, an Oscar, and a Tony) and obviously everyone is so happy for her, spn fans, her fans, her friends, famous people, her family, spn cast and especially her boyfriends that they weren’t with her for some reason?

Summary: You've been working endlessly to put your own album out, and now you've been nominated for a Grammy... the only award that keeps you from being an EGOT winner. Will you win tonight? Will you finally be out on that prestigious award list that only nineteen people have ever been on?

Square Filled: pie (2022) for @spndeanbingo

Author’s Note: the asks says jensen and jared to be the love interest for the reader, but i only made it for jensen

This is it. This is the moment I’ve been working my ass off for. I can do this. Even if I don’t win, it’s an honor to be nominated.

After working on Batman vs. Superman, you worked tirelessly on putting out your own album, your very first. Your fans have been asking for one since they’ve heard you sing in movies and on Broadway. You’re just giving the people what they want. Well, they loved it so much that you’re nominated for some of the categories for the Grammys.

If you win just one category, you’ll be an EGOT winner. Only nineteen people have earned that prestigious award in history, and you can be one of them if all goes well tonight.

“I know you’re nervous but you’re going to do great. I’m going to be right here next to you. Even if you don’t win tonight, you’re still a winner in my eyes,” Jensen smiles.

“Thank you,” you smile and kiss him just as the limo arrives at the Grammys.

The cameras are on you the second you get out of the limo. There is a staging area before the area where the pictures are taken, so you and Jensen take the chance to touch up your makeup and both your outfits.

There are millions of people watching on their TVs at home so you make sure to put your best smile on when you go out there. As soon as the press sees you, they call your name in hopes you pose for their cameras. Jensen makes sure you get some good solo ones before joining your side.

You pull Jensen close and kiss him quickly which will make for a good photo. You spend ten minutes smiling at a bunch of different cameras before moving past them to the section where celebrities like to hang out before being seated inside.

Two reporters are off to the side interviewing anyone who wants to talk to them, and they spot you and Jensen easily.

“Mr. and Mrs. Ackles. Wow, you two look stunning,” one of them says.

“Thank you.”

“Do you have a bit of time for us?”

“Actually, we do,” you smile and step forward.

There is a camera pointed at the mini stage you’re on so that viewers at home can watch this.

“We are here with the lovely Jensen and Y/N Ackles. I have to say, you two look amazing.”

“Thank you. I love both your dresses as well,” you smile.

You four talk about being nominated, who you’re wearing, what it means to be here, and anything else they want to know.

“I’m just excited for tonight. It doesn't matter if I leave with an award or not. Everyone here is a winner in my eyes.”

“Thank you for coming out. That was, again, Y/N and Jensen Ackles.”

You and your husband leave them to go find your seats inside. You’re pretty nervous so you’re glad that Jensen is here with you. That, and alcohol usually clams your nerves. A few of the people who are nominated are performing but you’re not one of them. You’d love to be performing one of your songs from your new album but they didn’t ask you to do it.

Nonetheless, you enjoy the performances that everyone else puts on.

Mariah Carey walks on stage to give out the award for Best Pop Vocal Album and you start to bounce your leg. This is the first category that you’re nominated for so you’re extremely nervous.

“You’re going to do great,” Jensen says against your hair as he kisses your head.

“Thanks,” you whisper back.

“I am so honored to present this award for Best Pop Vocal Album. The nominees are Chemistry by Kelly Clarkson.” They play a snippet of one of her songs before moving on to the next nominee. “Endless Summer Vacation by Miley Cyrus.” You love Flowers. She did such a good job on the song. “GUTS by Olivia Rodrigo.” You’re not a fan of hers but you can see how she’s successful. “Midnights by Taylor Swift.” Now there’s an album you can get behind. You love her so much and hope you can collaborate with her one day. “Finally Free by Y/N.” Jensen grabs your hand when she mentions your name. “And the Grammy goes to…” She takes her time opening the letter and smiles when she reads the name on it. “Finally Free by Y/N!”

Tears immediately come to your eyes when your hit single starts playing over the loudspeakers. The cameras are on you to gauge your reaction but you don’t pay them any attention. Jensen kisses you and encourages you to go up there on your own.

You leave him at the table and join Mariah Carey on stage who hands you the award with pride.

“Thank you so much,” you try not to cry. “I can’t believe this is happening. Words cannot express how grateful I am not only to my fans but to my husband who has stood by my side through thick and thin. He is my rock and my biggest supporter. I also thank my team for putting this amazing album together so effortlessly.

“I have been striving for this award since I won my second Emmy. By winning this award, I have managed to make it onto the EGOT list which is the biggest achievement I could have ever gotten. I couldn’t have done it without you. Thank you so much from the bottom of my heart.”

Tears fall freely but you’re grateful for winning this award. Everyone cheers for your win even as you’re walking off stage. Jensen meets you backstage and pulls you into his arms.

“God, I am so proud of you!” he smiles happily. “You did it!”

“I can’t believe this is happening right now.”

“As soon as this is over, why don’t we get celebratory pie?”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” you grin and kiss him.

Follow my library blog @aqueenslibrary where I reblog all my stories, so you can put notifications on there without the extra stuff :)

#jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #jensen ackles fic #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles fluff #jensen ackles fiction #jensen ackles fan fiction #jensen ackles fan fic #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fluff #spn #spn fic #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #spn fluff

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whimsimille · 8 months ago

Text

PSHYCHOCHROMIA

Seo Moonjo (Patient) x Reader! (Doctor)

Chapter 1: Hues of grief

"Motherhood is owning a second heart that beats outside your own body. It's joy, yet sorrow," mused Grandma Anastasia Song, a poetess with a first name as American as the apple pie from the small bakery down the lane and a surname as Korean as the homemade kimchi fermenting in the earthenware pots in her backyard.

She held Ae-ra close to her flaccid chest, completely absorbed in the pixelated murmurings of an old video from three weeks ago—a precious moment captured right inside the delivery room named "Ae-Ra's Grand Entrance!"

Though the image was shaky and Min Ju had, thankfully, skillfully avoided anything too anatomical, Anastasia saw your sweat-slick hair sticking to your forehead, heard your desperate cry, "I am doing it!" when one of the nurses urged you to push, and noticed a few droplets of blood on the surgical cloth—not many, but enough to create what her mother would have described as a "beautiful spectacle." Naturally, in English.

“A second heart, huh?” Sneering, you felt the spring in the tattered velvet armchair dig into your thighs while you watched as she moved in her rocker to become more at ease. With the hand she wasn't using to hold your daughter, she took another bite out of the freshly baked cookies that were cooling on the side table.

Gooey filling seeped down her chin and the delicate crust crumbled under her teeth and spattered in Ae-ra’s blanket as she rocked both of them—it tasted exactly how Mrs. Johnson's made them back home. Some tastes never really left her mouth or heart, even if she has been absent from America for decades.

“Yes, it is. A child means another heart. It expands to make room for all that love. And when they leave, well, it shatters a little too." She mused between bites. In the already hardened fabric of her sweater, there were small crusts of biscuit glued by saliva.

Once the recorder hummed to a stop and the grainy footage ended for the fifth time, you crouched in front of the vintage TV, fingers trembling slightly as you took out the video tape, taking care not to disturb the old thing.

“So, yes, you must be ready, dear. Your second heart is bound to stop beating very soon.”

Your breath stopped.

What?

Suddenly, the quaint house, with its worn-out red bricks and peeling white paint, felt too quiet, too still. The cheerful chirping of the sparrows nesting in the ancient birch tree outside, the rustling of the leaves in the wind that carried with it the scent of blooming azaleas, the distant laughter of children playing in the park down the cobblestone path—everything was drowned out by the deafening silence in the room.

Swiveling around, you observed Anastasia cradling Ae-ra, running her thumb, sticky with the remnants of the chocolate-covered cookie, over the tiny lines of your daughter's palm as if she were a cartographer mapping territories on a yellowing parchment. It was unsettling how calm she remained while predicting such a dreadful fate for her great-granddaughter.

"What happened, Halmoney? Is something wrong with Ae-ra?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Grandma reassured you. "It's just... time. Life is fleeting, my dear. It's like the wind blowing through a field of wheat: constant movement but soon gone before we know it."

Ae-ra cooed softly in her great grandmother's arms, blissfully unaware of the weight pressing down on your heart. She kicked her little legs playfully and batted at the lacy edge of her baby blanket, giggling when it swirled around her face like a cloud.

You watched as Anastasia smiled tenderly at her, wrinkles crinkling softly around her eyes, before they focused on the bright autumn leaves rustling outside. "Your grandpa is waiting for her in the afterlife now," she said quietly, "and soon she must join him."

Dumbstruck, you stood there, words failing you. Your mouth opened and closed in a futile attempt to voice your disbelief, much like a fish gasping for air on dry land. Your stupor was broken only when you felt the front of your blouse getting damp. Excess milk seeped through the fabric, making you look like a dairy cow in the middle of milking.

It was past time to feed your baby.

"For heaven's sake, don't say such things, Halmoney!” You exclaimed, clenching your chest in an attempt to stem the flow. Jesus, that was fucking painful.

Anastasia simply chuckled at your reaction, her wrinkled face crinkling even more at the corners. "You're as stubborn as your father, my dear. Always quick to deny what you don't want to hear. Just like that time when he refused to believe his favorite tree in the backyard had to be cut down. But truth, my dear, is like an ocean. It's vast, endless, and you cannot simply fence it off."

Then she turned her attention back to Ae-ra, her expression softening. "Now, come on, take Ae-ra and feed her. Unless you want your breasts to swell up like balloons. Believe me, you won't get to do this for longer.”

Inspired by the Sisters of the Harvest Moon, a group of women who, like the ancient Druids, found divinity in the waning of the moon and natural cycles, Anastasia's eccentric beliefs had their origins. They believed that mirrors were doorsway to fucking entire dimensions and that a child who looked too long into an old Venetian mirror would be blessed—or ill-starred, depending—with dreams of the future. The Sisters left an imprint on your grandmother 's life, seeping into her from 10 and extending well into her Doc Martens-clad teenage years until 18. They wore ropes on their belts—to beat, not to measure—and they never saw a child's ear in their way that they didn't want to twist.

Perhaps that’s why you didn't let out the primal scream building in your chest at that moment, your almond-shaped eyes wide as saucers. Because, in the end, her childhood was made out of convoluted beliefs and harsh discipline, and she wasn't predicting the death of your Ae-ra out of some perverse pleasure. In the end, she wasn’t trying to make you lose your grip on sanity; leap across the room and yank out the collection of vintage hair pins—an assortment of pieces from the 1950s, studded with tiny pearls—that were failing to control the silver curls haloing around her head in a style that would've made Einstein proud.

In the end, the old woman was fucking right.

It was June, the third year without your baby, and you were throwing up in a bed of hyacinths as if trying to expel the grief lodged deep within you.

You only knew they were hyacinths because Mom had some planted in your garden back in Jeju, and for days she talked about how the landscapers from the local 'Kim's Gardening Services' put them in lopsided. You didn't know flowers could be lopsided. That's what you thought about as you sat there in the dirt, staring dizzy at the flowers, wet and blue and bright.

Outside Westlake Psychiatric Ward, an iron and gray monolith with no dreams or aspirations, the hyacinths had been planted.

It was located in the oldest part of Gonjiam Hospital. The original Victorian-style brick building had long been surrounded and swallowed by larger and generally uglier extensions and annexes. "The Caged Mind Asylum" was at the heart of this complex. The only indication of the dangerous nature of the occupants was the row of security cameras perched on the fences like vigilant birds of prey.

At the reception, every effort was made to make everything seem quite friendly: ample blue sofas, rustic and childlike paintings and drawings of the patients hung on the walls. It looked more like a garden to you than a forensic psychiatric hospital for jailed people whose families had abandoned them because they could not afford the hefty cost of adult diaper changes and the fact that, besides being criminals, they were out of their minds.

It's strange how quickly we adapt to the frightening world of a psychiatric hospital. We become increasingly comfortable with madness—not just the madness of others, but our own. You believe that we are all mad, just in different ways.

And that's why—and how—this place was more than just a place—it was a job. You, Song Y/N, with your PhD from Seoul National University and your internship at Massachusetts General Hospital, were supposed to be inside. You were meant to be standing tall and confident in front of the imposing white doors on your well-tailored scrubs. Instead, you were outside, staring at a puddle of puke and trying to catch your breath. And the sky was falling—wet, wet and blue and bright.

Soon enough, your husband, or what was left of him, would come looking for you to ask how your day has been with his usual pathetic monotone, and you'd have to summon a convincing smile. You'd avoid telling him that your day has been merely a puddle of clear water mixed with remnants of your breakfast—crunchy slices of apples from Mrs. Lee's fruit stall and homemade kimchi. Then, you'd steer his attention to something mundane, something safe—like the weather or the incessantly leaky faucet in the kitchen that the local plumber promised to fix since last Tuesday.

There are many reasons why you ran out of that place for crazy people like you, but here's the overarching one. The only one that really matters.

Ae-ra.

How can a tiny four-year-old, with a presence so radiant and a laugh that echoed like a cathedral bell, be gone so soon and be silenced so abruptly?

It's been three years. Three years of questioning, of doubting.

There is no reply from Him. Never. Not even a whisper in the wind nor a hint in the rustling leaves. The Almighty remains silent, devoid of answers. Every time you have screamed, raged at the sky, your voice echoing against the hard concrete of the city buildings, there is only silence returned. You call out names like "God," "Jehovah," and "Yahweh," clutching your rosary beads bought from the small gift shop adjoining St. Peter's Basilica during your honeymoon in Rome.

Every night, under the vast expanse of the inky sky, you wrestle with the notion of divinity. Your fists clenched, your knuckles white, the metal of your wedding ring biting into your skin.

What you remember most about those early years was the sheer physicality of it all. Small fingers on the cheek. A belly on a hip. Legs climbing onto the lap. A hand slipping silently into your own. And all this amid the haze of sleeplessness. It was Min Ju who slept badly, but Ae-ra had her moments. And for what seemed like months, mornings would shock you awake, finding the three of you sprawled across the sheets like battered objects washed up on the shore. Yet there was such joy in that physicality. Bodies entwined. Pressed up against each other. Safe.

No amount of medication or counseling at the esteemed Johns Hopkins can satisfy the void that exists right now.

Shit, you’re not even a romantic; you never have been. Poetry and grand gestures are not things you believe in. But this... this is a different kind of story. A story of love that no heart can forget. Not when it loves somebody that way, and not when it still beats for them even when they are no longer around.

And so, you live quietly, one day at a time, with a scar that no amount of time can heal—a wound that is always fresh. But that's fine because you've lived through entire disasters in silence, you know how to create silence. It's like this: turn on the radio very loudly, then suddenly turn it off. And so it captures the silence. Starry silence. The silence of the moon changes. For everything, you created silence. It is in silence that the noise is heard more. Between the hammerings, you heard the silence of your grief and your blood pumping through your arteries.

Because, in the end, isn't that what survival is all about?

“Doctor?”

Since your childhood, Mom has often told you about your peculiar habit of associating colors with feelings, people and events—a trait that you had passed onto your daughter. Both of you stood out like sore thumbs in the conventional world.

Ae-ra had been the subject of many parent-teacher meetings and counseling sessions. However, you never felt the need to consult a doctor, as you knew it was an inherent trait, not a disease that could be cured with pills. Maybe the influence of Anastasia and The Sisters had seeped into both of your lives more than you realized.

For both of you, everything had a distinct color. It wasn't simply about the physical appearance, like a tree being brown and green. No, it was more profound than that. If a flower was dying, then its color would be a sickly gray. If a bird was bound to die, its red feathers would be spotted with black. If a person was brimming with happiness, the fingertips they used to cover their mouths would radiate a bright, sunny yellow.

At the moment, as strange as it might sound to others, the voice that called out to you reminded you of the creaky floorboards that groaned under your father's weight as he entered the house after a hard day. Blue on the porch, but within the brick walls: red, the same shade as the dinner table cloth that often became more interesting than meeting your family's gaze.

It was a voice that jolted you back to reality and made you turn your head with a sense of urgency, away from the flowers and the vomit. It was a voice that belonged to Nurse Jungwoo.

Blue was stitched to the courteous tilt of his head when he greeted the other nurses and staff, the soft-spoken words he used to comfort manic patients, and the gentle touch of his hands while administering medication. But you had observed a shift in him sometimes, particularly when he'd watch people engage in heated squabbles over dumplings left on the lunch tray or when he had to bathe former soldiers haunted by the ghosts of their pasts—his normally calm demeanor would turn a burning red, his eyes narrowing and lips pressing into a tight line as he fought against the men’s screams and pushes.

The transformation led you to ponder if one day you might see these white labyrinthine corridors stained with the purple hue of his frustration, or if you might stand at the end of a confessional room and see his purple fingers wrapped around a gun, pulling the trigger without hesitation. Just like your father had done.

"Are you okay, Dr. Song?" Yoon's voice held an awkward concern. His usual shy smile, the one that reminded you of a child peeking out from behind their mother's skirt, was replaced by a worried frown. "You've been sitting there for a while now. Can I get you some water? Or maybe a cup of chamomile tea from the cafeteria? It's surprisingly good, you know. They just got a new brand— Twinings, I think it's called. Very soothing."

After glancing at his outstretched hand, its end slightly stained with the pale blue ink from the Bic Cristal ballpoint pen he preferred for taking notes, you looked at his face and then at your heels, partly covered in grass and dirt.

Politely rejecting his offer of assistance as well as his worried smile, you got up, dusting the dirt off your coat. His concern was touching, but unnecessary. You gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder to let him know that you were grateful, though.

Fishing a battered packet of Marlboro cigarettes from your pocket, you realized you'd been more than a week without smoking—you had sworn to yourself that this time you were quitting for good. But, hey, here you were, faltering already.

You lit one, irritated with yourself. Any therapist worth their salt would see smoking as an unresolved dependency—something that should've been dealt with and overcome long ago.

"You sure I don't have another patient to attend to now?"

Grass crunched beneath your heels as you shifted your weight, the vomit now concealed beneath a layer of disturbed soil.

With an arched brow, you watched as Jungwoo curled into himself, his hands disappearing into the pocket of his pale green scrubs. You knew why. Your gaze was a soft, heavy paw on him. But if the paw was soft, it took it all away, like that of a cat that hurriedly grabbed a mouse's tail. The drop of sweat went down through his nose and beautiful mouth, dividing his smile in half. Just that: without an expression, under your mascara coated eyelashes, you were looking at him.

"So…" You leaned against the wall, the cold bricks biting into your back. Your lab coat rode up slightly, exposing a sliver of skin above your waistband. You noticed Jungwoo's eyes flick down, then quickly back up, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.

"Oh… Yes, yes!" Jungwoo responded, bouncing on the balls of his feet, one hand still tucked behind his back. His other hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a nervous tic you'd observed before. "I apologize, Dr. Song. You do indeed have a new patient, though I don't believe it's one you will be particularly eager to attend to."

Your lips curled up in a humorless smile as you took another puff of your cigarette. "I'm never eager to attend to criminals, Jong. So, who's the unlucky soul that has the pleasure of my company next?"

“Officer Hwa brought this one from the maximum-security jail downtown. The one in barbed wire and manned by guards that look like they eat nails for breakfast?" Yoon attempted humor, but it fell flat, and his eyes flickered with regret.

“And?”

“Well... It's… Seo Moonjo.”

Psychopathy, in bygone times, was synonymous with the concept of "evil." Individuals who reveled in inflicting harm or death on others have been chronicled since the time Medea took up an axe against her own offspring, and likely even prior to that. In 1888, the same year Jack the Ripper held London in the grip of terror, a German psychiatrist coined the term "psychopath" from the German word psychopatische, literally translating to "suffering soul."

This clue—the idea of suffering—was your gateway into understanding that these monsters were also in anguish. Viewing them as victims rather than perpetrators enabled a more rational, compassionate approach in your dealings. Psychopathy or sadism didn't just spring into existence from nothingness. They were not viruses, randomly infecting someone out of the blue. They bore a history, a prelude rooted in childhood.

Your belief was that experiences such as bruising knees from running in the backyard or losing a tooth soon to be claimed by the Tooth Fairy, were reactive. This means that to truly empathize with another human being, we ourselves must first be shown empathy—most importantly, by our parents or caregivers.

And Moonjo? Seo Moonjo seemed the type of man that naive young girls would send love letters to, sealed with their cheapest lipstick or a pair of lace panties. Because, despite his monstrous deeds, his square jawline, sharp features, and the way his tailored suits highlighted his lean physique rendered him attractive in the eyes of many.

Just yesterday, after returning home exhausted, brain pounding on your skull because Min Ju couldn't bring himself to sign the divorce papers, feet bloated, you watched in the news as women who had once trusted him with their children's dental care were now protesting in front of the prison. They claimed he was an angel, a helper sent by God.

But, hell no. Moonjo was no angel. He was a beast, a wolf in sheep's clothing, concealing his true nature behind the pristine white of his doctor's coat. His dental procedures were carried out with a precision that was unnerving. Seo Moonjo was a cannibal, a murderer, and a pyromaniac who eradicated his adoptive family in a spectacle of blood and fire.

Of course, you had dug deep into his case, folded the paper news, and pushed it in between the convenience store bench's slats. It was what your mother called a scandal sheet, full of the local murders he had committed and fake suicides and beatings and robbings, and just about every page about the deceased twins and that weird porn addicted man that lived with Moonjo in the Eden Studio had a half-naked lady on it with her breasts surging over the edge of her dress and her legs arranged so you could see to her stocking top or cats with their small, shiny guts exposed in trash bags.

From this extensive research, you suspected that there had been no one in his life—a caring grandmother, a favorite uncle, a benevolent neighbor, or a mindful teacher—to see his pain, to acknowledge it, and to help him process it. Anger, fear, and shame were too dangerous for the small child to deal with on his own. He didn't know how to deal with such emotions, so he didn't. Instead, he disowned these feelings; he didn't allow himself to experience them. He sacrificed his true self, along with all that unfelt pain and anger, to the Underworld, to the murky world of the unconscious.

This resulted in him losing touch with who he really was. The man, who was impeccably polite, genial, and charming, was provoked somehow. And the terrified child inside him lashed out in response, reaching for a knife and a lighter.

Moonjo could be a suffering soul.

Right?

Damn it. Just stop. You're already pushed to your limits, and you can't afford to shoulder his case either.

“Look, honey. I'm already swamped with other patients. It's just not feasible to add Seo Moonjo to my already overflowing plate. Can you imagine the added stress?" You mutter, eyes squinted shut, as you picture the growing pile of patient files on your desk. "Remember that Kwon guy? The one who had a schizophrenic episode and killed someone? Or that Kyung girl who defended herself against her rapist? Those were hard, sure. But Moonjo—he's on another level. He's someone who has committed a series of heinous acts and revels in them. This isn't like juggling a couple of extra appointments or adding a few more hours to my workday. This is like... like... stepping into a goddamn war zone without any armor!"

Suddenly, as you started to pace around the garden, an idea struck you. Your eyes snapped open, the cigarette almost fell from your lips and you swiftly turned to Jungwoo, who was watching you with wide eyes. "You remember that doctor, don't you? That one with the crooked nose?"

“Dr. Jung Hyun-Jae?”

“Yes, yes… Dr. Jung would be a more suitable choice for this case. He's been needing more challenging assignments, hasn’t he? It would be a perfect opportunity for him to sink his teeth into a complex case. Plus, it might distract him from his recent fixation with Nurse Ioona. She's been complaining about his constant attention. Where's Officer Hwa? I need to explain the situation to her and suggest Dr. Jung as an alternative.

Jungwoo’s eyes darted around nervously before he settled them on a pretty lavender (how ironic it was, right?) from the garden. He reached out for it and gently twirled the stem between his fingers. “Well… Officer Hwa left. She did want to speak with you and rambled about how you were the only one capable of handling Seo Moonjo, but… I noticed you sneaking out through the fire emergency door and figured you were trying to avoid any additional work or confrontations. So I went ahead and filled out Moonjo’s report. Your first meeting with him is scheduled for today. It's on your wall calendar, right under the post-it note about picking up milk and eggs.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the news catching you off guard.

This son of a bitch. Motherfucker. Idiot.

You clenched your fists to stop the urge to transform him into a purple puddle of limbs for real now. He was still new, still learning the ropes. And there was a good intention behind his actions. So, instead of lashing out at him, you sighed heavily and crushed your cigarette beneath your heels. You were in for a long day.

"Alright. Just...alright. But I'll need to juggle my schedule around, shuffle some patients here and there. This is going to be like solving a Rubik's cube blindfolded.” You muttered, rubbing your temples with the base of your palms, the onset of a stress-induced headache making itself known.

“He's out on the patio. Chained to four officers and three nurses because he asserted his right to a smoke break. Should I fetch him while you change your coat and prepare yourself for the consultation?" Jungwoo asked, his gaze shifting from the crushed purple petals in his hand to your clothes.

Change?

Looking down, you noticed the stain of vomit on the fabric of your lab coat, a gift from your husband on your first day at work. It had your name, Dr. Song Y/N, stitched in an elegant script on the left pocket. Fuck. Fucking great!

“Please, honey. And bring me some black coffee if you can; make it extra strong. I hate tea, it reminds me of the cough syrup my mother used to force down my throat as a child," you replied to Nurse Yoon without even looking at him again. Blood had risen to your face, now so hot that you thought you were with your eyes injected, while he, probably in new deception, should think that you were colored because of the cold wind.

What type of image were you inside his bambi eyes? A grieving mother or an insolent doctor?

Let's spin the Lucky Wheel, shall we, Mrs. Song?

Jungwoo, ever the diligent worker and one not to mingle in your business, had the courtesy to look sheepish as he handed over a thick manila folder (one that you weren't sure you had seen him bringing with him) stamped with the words "CONFIDENTIAL: SEO MOONJO.".

"I will, of course. But, first, here's the case file, Dr. Song. I've highlighted the most important parts," he said, extending the massive file towards you as if it were a bomb about to explode. The folder was thicker than the latest edition of the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders, a psychiatric bible that you often referenced. Its contents, as you anticipated, were likely far more disturbing.

"Thank you, Yoon. I appreciate it," you sighed, taking the heavy folder from him. You opened it, your eyes scanning over the pages filled with police reports, psychiatric evaluations, and a collection of distressing photographs that made your stomach churn. All evidence of Moonjo's crimes.

"Also," Yoon continued, biting his lower lip in a nervous habit you were becoming all too familiar with, "I've arranged for some extra security during your consultation with him. Officer Hwa insisted, said it was non-negotiable. I hope that's alright."

You nodded, appreciating the concern, although you couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance. The last thing you needed was more people watching and more eyes to witness your struggle to maintain control. But you understood—the higher-ups wanted to ensure no harm would come to their staff at the hands of a dangerous psychopath.

Or maybe they just didn't want another bloody body in this institution and lawsuits on their hands.

After a significant period spent working within the asylum, it became evident to you that even in a place of death, there existed a social hierarchy. In comparison to the general hospital wings, the accommodations located in the main building were significantly larger and more expensive. Suites were rooms named after well-known Seoulites that had once been in the psychiatric unit, home to one of Korea's most notorious sociopaths. The Bah Suah suite was where Seo Moonjo was staying. To get there, one had to navigate past the under-stair canteen, home to vending machines offering various food and drink options and hard plastic chairs.

What was most crucial, however, was shedding this ugly uniform.

Your office was located in the oldest, most decrepit part of the hospital. Spiderwebs clung to the corners, and several corridor light bulbs were burned out.

As soon as you turned the doorknob, the door creaked open. The first thing that prompted a slight smile was the smell inside. It was distinct from the rest of the hospital. It didn't reek of antiseptic or bleach; instead, it oddly reminded me of an art gallery. A blend of canvas, paints and brushes, varnish, and wax. It took a moment for your eyes to adjust to the dimness, revealing an unfinished artwork leaning against the wall—an unexpected object within a hospital. About twenty metal art shelves stood out in the shadows, and on a table, a pile of both your sketches and those of patients towered upwards—an unstable tower of paper reaching for the sky.

It had been a considerable amount of time since you had leaned over a canvas, staining your fingertips and the tip of your nose with hues of color. The inspiration simply wasn't there anymore. The paintings gradually lost their meaning. Even when Min Ju would sit in a chair and watch you work after a shift at the firm, nothing changed.

For years, even before your marriage, you enjoyed painting his face. Strong jawline, pronounced cheekbones, elegant nose—sitting under the spotlight—he resembled a statue. A hero. However, something was off nowadays, and you couldn't tell what. Perhaps you were forcing the issue. You couldn't capture the shape of his eyes or their color accurately. The first thing you noticed about your husband when you met was the sparkle in his eyes—like a tiny diamond embedded in each iris. But now, you couldn't capture it. Without corresponding to his entire face, the brown eyes were intraducible. As independent as if they were planted in the flesh of an arm, and from there they looked at you: open, wet.

It might be a lack of talent, or maybe Min possesses something more that doesn't translate into a painting anymore. It all came out lifeless every single time.

Well, maybe because that was what he had become for you: a dead entity, lifeless, a walking shadow that prefers clandestine meetings with the girl next door—Kim Ji-ah, the one who sold Dabang coffee from her little shop—rather than signing the divorce papers and emptying your house of his remnants. You yearned for him to take his collection of smelly socks, stained shirts—and god, those lipstick marks that were an egregious shade of red—and just leave. Useless.

Dropping the huge file somewhere in the mess and slipping into a fresh coat, you caught a glimpse of the note left by Jungwoo. Precisely where he promised it would be. Pinned to the wall calendar, right beneath the post-it note about the local grocery store—a place you could never bring yourself to enter, not without your gaze drifting towards the adjacent drug store, contemplating the prospect of acquiring an unhealthy amount of Paracetamol.

"Consultation 1. Seo Moonjo at 3 p.m." accompanied by a cartoonish drawing of a devil's face and a pitchfork in red marker—the kind of doodle one would expect from a schoolboy, not a professional nurse. You couldn't help but laugh at the irony of it.

Stepping out of your office, you felt the familiar cold air of the hospital corridors creep into your bones. The aged linoleum floor creaked under your weight as you made your way towards the Bah Suah suite. It was a walk you had done countless times, but with the impending consultation with Seo Moonjo, it felt different, heavier.

Navigating through the maze-like corridors, you passed by the under-stair canteen, which was buzzing with the sound of vending machines dispensing Lotte Choco Pies and cans of Chilsung Cider. Nurses and staff were huddled in corners, whispering about the latest hospital gossip over cups of instant coffee. Their eyes flickered towards you, hushed whispers growing quieter as you walked past them. You paid them no mind.

Just as you rounded the corner of the last hallway, you almost collided with Nurse Park Ji-Yeon, a recent graduate of Yonsei University's Nursing Program. Her arms were filled with a stainless steel tray laden with countless medication cups and water glasses and you noticed how her hands were stained lime green. Youthfulness, naivety and playfulness.

“Dr. Song, I didn't... I didn't expect to see you here," she stammered, her cheeks flushing a red that was reminiscent of the cherry blossoms that adorned the hospital grounds in the spring. You admired Ji-Yeon's work ethic and dedication; her timidity was often eclipsed by her eagerness to learn and assist patients. She was like a mirror image of your younger self, fresh-faced and pretty much graced with green.

"You need to watch where you're going, Ji-Yeon. Those are important medications you're holding," you advised her, bending down to pick up a bottle of pills that had rolled under a rusted hospital bed. Sertraline, prescribed to Mr. Kim in Song Joong Ki. You placed it back on her tray, ensuring it was secure.

"I will, Dr. Song. I apologize," she replied, bowing as charmingly as she could muster while equilibrating glasses of water. "I was just heading to administer afternoon medications to the patients in Ward C when… I heard about your consultation with Seo Moonjo," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper, as if the mere mention of Moonjo's name would summon him. Her eyes flickered at the closed door where the meeting would happen. “Is it true that he...that he indulges in...cannibalism?"

Your fingers massage your temples, a dull ache throbbing behind your eyes. Great. The rumors about Moonjo were spreading rapidly in the hospital's atmosphere like a malignant tumor . "We shouldn't speculate about patients, Ji-Yeon. It's unprofessional and contrary to the Hippocratic Oath we took."

"But he's a monster, isn't he?"

"Every patient, regardless of their actions, is a human being first and foremost, Ji-Yeon. The term 'monster' has no place in the lexicon of a healthcare provider. It's our duty to provide care and treatment without judgment or prejudice."

You’re so hypocritical, Y/N.

"But what about the things he's done? The people he's hurt?"

"Even so," you retorted, "our job is to heal, not to pass judgment. Justice is the court's responsibility, not ours. We are here to ensure that he is physically healthy and to provide the medical aid he requires."

Before she could respond, you waved her off dismissively, effectively ending the conversation. "Now, get going. Those medications won't be administered themselves. And who knows, Seo Moonjo might be coming to look for his pills," you admonished, leaving the young woman standing alone in the corridor, her mouth agape in stunned silence.

Two minutes later, you arrived at the Bah Suah suite, the heavy metal door cold under your touch, signaling that the old AC was already running. Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself for the consultation and pushed open the door, stepping into the room that soon would hold the man known as the 'Cannibal Dentist' of Seoul.

The therapy room was a small and narrow rectangle, as empty as a prison cell, or maybe even more so. The window, barred, remained closed. On the little table, a shocking pink box of Kleenex tissues stood in stark contrast with its cheerful color—it must have been left there by Mrs. Chen; you couldn't imagine Jungwoo offering tissues to the patients.

You sat in one of the two faded and battered Eames lounge chairs. Minutes passed. No sign of Moonjo. What if he didn't show up? Maybe he hadn't agreed to meet you yet; maybe he hadn't finished his pack of Marlboro. And he'd be totally within his rights.

Impatient, anxious, nervous, you gave up sitting and suddenly stood up and went to the window. You looked out through the bars of the grid. The yard was three floors below. The size of a tennis court, it was bounded by large exposed brick walls, too high to be climbed, although undoubtedly someone had already tried. Every afternoon, the patients were led there to get fresh air for half an hour, whether they wanted to or not, and in this cold weather, it would be understandable if they resisted. Some isolated themselves, talking to themselves, or walked back and forth like restless zombies, going nowhere. Others formed groups, chatting, smoking, arguing. Voices, shouts, strange excited laughter reached you.

At first, your eyes failed to pick him out. It was only after scanning over the throng of people that you spotted him - a tall figure, as pale as the moonlight, leaning nonchalantly against the brick wall of the patio. A predator perfectly at ease in the midst of his prey.

Jungwoo navigated his way through the crowd, making a beeline for him. He exchanged a few words with the nurse stationed closest to the infamous serial killer - a petite woman named Eun-ji with a heart-shaped face and a sharp bob cut that framed her face. She nodded, her eyes wide behind her rectangular glasses.

Yoon approached Moonjo with extreme caution much like a wary zookeeper approaching a particularly unpredictable animal. You knew exactly what he would say, you had rehearsed it with him other times. He would inform the towering man that you, the in-house therapist, had requested a meeting with him. He would emphasize that it was a request, not an order.

Moonjo remained as still as a statue as Jungwoo spoke, offering no indication of agreement or refusal. That was a good sign, you thought.

After a moment that felt like an eternity, Yoon Jungwoo turned on his heel and retreated, his hands buried in the pockets of his scrubs. A sinking feeling of defeat washed over you - he wasn't coming. You berated yourself internally for being so naive. This had been a colossal waste of time and energy, and you had missed your precious 30-minute power nap for this fiasco.

But just as you were on the brink of surrendering to your disappointment, to your utter surprise, Moonjo stirred. He took a step forward, following the retreating figures of the policemen and nurses across the courtyard until they were swallowed up by the hospital’s imposing structure.

So, he was coming after all. You cleaned your hands in your jeans and put your hands on your knees to stop your legs from bouncing. You tried to quieten the nagging voice in your head, the voice that sounded uncannily like your father, chastising you for not being good enough, calling you a fraud, asserting that a woman's place was in bed, awaiting her husband's return from work, naked and submissive.

Shut up, you thought, repeating it over and over: Shut up, shut up…

Two or three minutes later, there was a knock on the door.

"Come in," you called out.

As the door creaked open, the personification of the monstrous deeds you had meticulously studied in countless newspaper clippings and confidential case files stepped into the room. His imposing figure, garbed in the standard-issue uniform of the Westlake Psychiatric Ward—a drab ensemble of worn-out hues that could only aspire to be called beige—filled the doorway. His eyes, the first thing you notice, were a striking shade of obsidian and held an unsettling gleam as they flickered over the confines of the consultation room before settling on you.

Words precede and overtake you; they tempt you and change you, and if you're not careful, it will be too late. Things will be said without you having said them. Or, at least, it wasn't just that. Your entanglement comes from the fact that a carpet is made up of so many threads that it can't resign itself to following just one thread. Your entanglement comes from the fact that this story is made up of many stories. And not all of them can be told—a truer word could, from echo to echo, bring your high glaciers crashing down the gorge. So you will no longer speak of the drain that was in you while he was staring at your face. Otherwise, you will think about how headlines or news articles could never do justice to the presence he commanded. His skin was luminous, almost translucent—a canvas of alabaster with the occasional vein peeking through the surface, like coloured threads embedded in white marble. He was a statue that came to life.

Moonjo’s raven hair, unconventional in its length for a man, covered his nape and framed his forehead in an innocent way. His smile, filled with teeth, was clear of any obstructions, allowing you to glimpse the unique shape of his insanity—water and desert, populace and wilderness, abundance and need, fear and challenge. Moonjo has in himself the eloquence and the absurd mudness, the surprise and the antiquity, the refinement and the roughness. Moonjo is baroque.

Still, right now, he is the first thing in your whole life that you look at and see no ounce or mention of color.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Song.”

"Good."

You locked eyes with him, noting the spark of anticipation dancing in his gaze, before shifting your attention to the small assembly of officers and medical staff flanking him. Jungwoo is curling into himself while holding a paper bag from the cafeteria in his hand. This wouldn't do. Screw Officer Hwa and her requests; you wouldn't attend to someone while being vigilated like this.

Officer Park Seo-Jin, a woman as stern as the harshest Spartan matron, with her sharp, hawk-like features and a redish hair and attitude that brooked no nonsense, met your gaze. Adjacent to her stood Nurse Lee Min-Ho, a fresh addition to the hospital staff, nervously clutching a clipboard. He was a blue one.

Maintaining your gaze on Officer Park, you said in a firm voice, "Officer Park, I would like to conduct this consultation with Mr. Seo in privacy. You and your team may wait outside, perhaps in the waiting area. There's a coffee machine that makes a decent brew."

The officers exchanged surprised glances, clearly taken aback by your request. Officer Park's frown deepened, her lips forming a thin line as she locked eyes with you. "Dr. Song, with all due respect, I don't think that's a good idea. Given his history and Officer Hwa’s requests, it's better if we—"

"I understand your concerns, Officer Park, but I assure you, I can handle myself. I've been trained to do so. I believe Mr. Seo here can attest to that."

Moonjo tilted his head and smiled like the Cheshire cat as he noticed the thick file on the table behind you, eyes traveling over it greedily, like a grade-schooler staring at a chocolate fountain. He knows what lies inside. And he was fucking entertained. "She's right. I don't bite...unless provoked."

Officer Park looked like she was about to argue further as she shot a glare at Moonjo—a glare so icy it could rival the sub-zero temperatures of the Arctic tundra—but you held up a hand, stopping her.

"I appreciate your vigilance, but I've dealt with patients similar to Mr. Seo before. My training is extensive and comprehensive. I know what I'm doing. Please wait outside."

After a moment of silence, Officer Park reluctantly agreed, her gaze lingering on you with a mixture of concern and admiration. "Let’s go then, boys. Out we go, or Miss Cold here will chop our heads off," she grumbled, shuffling towards the door. She paused at the threshold, her hand on the knob, before turning back to look at you. "You call us the second he steps out of line, you hear?"

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, the officers and nurses filed out of the room and as the door closed behind them, Jungwoo handed you a cup of black coffee, brewed with beans from a local roaster. The mug was warm in your hands, the black liquid inside steaming and swirling. It was just as you liked it—strong and bitter.

"Thank you, Jungwoo," you said, accepting the coffee. "And...thank you for understanding."

With a nod and a faint, yellow smile, Jungwoo retreated. He cast a last glance at you and Moonjo, his brows furrowed in worry, before finally disappearing behind the door.

As the door closed behind Seo Moonjo with a dull thud for the second time, echoing through the empty therapy room, the canvases on the wall seemed to lean in curiously, like ghosts that had seen better days. He walked with a hunched gait, shoulders slightly rounded, hands clasped together behind his back—an unsettling calmness about him that chilled you to your very core. Now, just the two of you, the air felt colder than before he entered, like he brought along a personal blizzard that set your nerves on edge.

Slowly, he takes a seat across from you, his legs crossed at the knee elegantly, like an art model posing for a painting session. His hands were large, rugged and bruised with what looked like fresh scratches from tools or rope. It took all of your self-control not to recoil at the sight of them. He leaned forward slightly, folding those monstrous hands on the table between you, atop a worn-out copy of Freud's 'The Interpretation of Dreams', and locked eyes with yours - unblinking, unwavering.

A moment passed where neither of you moved or spoke. You could feel his eyes raking over your face, examining every line and shadow on your own. It was disconcerting how easily he made eye contact. You forced yourself to return it, resisting the urge to shield yourself with your pencil and notepad. You wished you could paint over this unnerving moment, transform it into a stunning piece of art, and hang it in the vibrant hallways of the Louvre rather than being trapped in this dreary room.

Therapy is not your forte; art is your passion. But here you are, trying to understand this man who's been called a monster by everyone outside these walls. Inside them too? Who knows? Maybe there's more to him than meets the eye... or maybe they're all just stories that should never be told in this place that reeks of silence and stares back at you like a judgmental wallflower no matter what you do or say next to Seo Moonjo right now.

"Well then, Mr. Seo. Shall we begin?"

“Of course, jagiya.”

#lee dongwook x fem! reader #lee dong wook x reader #imagine #lee dong wook #lee dongwook x reader #jeong jian #seo moonjo x reader #seo moonjo #hell is other people #strangers from hell #hot as hell #yoon jongwoo #min jieun

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