#i love you rain world i hope you never die

[zorostitties]

Intertwined; 1

⤕ Luffy and you were like two sides of the same coin: opposites in every way, but similar in what mattered the most. Tied by a vow made with the purity of a child's heart, life keeps trying to tear you apart - but the vow that intertwined your destinies would not be broken so easily. Or, Luffy promised to marry you someday when you were kids. This is how he keeps his promise.

pairing: monkey d. luffy x (f) reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, arranged marriage, fluff, angst, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, toxic family relationships, death/grief, when i say slow burn i mean it

rating: 18+

word count: 6k

A/N: I've had this fic in mind for ages but finally managed to squeeze the words out of my brain thanks to the encouragement of my followers 🥹 This fic is an attempt to write Luffy in love in the most beliavable/close to canon way possible. Let's hope I'll succeed :D - This is a afab!reader insert, so no physical traits will be described EXCEPT that I'm giving you reading glasses because Luffy needs to give you a silly nickname based on your appearance like he does to everybody. - If you like the fic, PLEASE interact with it so I can keep motivated to write the next parts 🥹 And per usual, English is not my first language. Enjoy!!

⤕  Masterlist  ⤕ Also on AO3 ⤕ Taglist open!

- PART 1 -

"A secret shared by us alone, a smile the wind would carry. In the yard, just you and I knew how the world was merry."

- Cecilia Meireles

➛ 8

Heavy rain fell over the Goa Kingdom the night you killed that man.

Alex Husquid was his name. A small nobleman, heir to the Husquid fortune and businesses. Born and raised at the Dawn Island, probably never left the East Blue and probably never would have wanted to, since his source of power and prestige was located here. Married to a woman called Frida. Father of three healthy boys, all around your age.

Just a common, law-abiding citizen in this god forsaken corner of the world.

But his successful whiskey business pissed someone bigger than him, which meant he had to die.

You didn’t know who your contractors were – you never did. They hid behind Den Den Mushis with voice distortion or faceless messengers. Discretion and secrecy was the soul of the business; that went both ways. The contractors didn’t know who you were either. Didn’t know your face, or your brothers’ faces, or your mother’s, or your father’s, or your grandfather’s…

No one should see the face of a Scarpia family member and live to tell the next day.

Your breathing echoed inside the mask made especially to hide your small face. Your grandfather threw the runes made of bones the day you were born, and the runes said that your animal – the one that would represent your soul the most – was the wolf. And so, your mask was the image of a wolf’s face. Eerily white, contrasting with the black raincoat you wore.

The wolf is an auspicious animal, your grandfather said. Lone. Smart. Ferocious. Good to business.

The entire family expected you to honor this mask that night.

It was your first trial – the first time an assassination was assigned to you, the first time you’d have to take a commission on your own. Up until then, you’d only assist your brothers or watch them work from far. But you were eight years old now, and that was the right age to be initiated. You had trained enough. You were ready.

Just a small commission. Alex Husquid was a nobleman, but not that noble. This little and humid archipelago in the East Blue was far from being important. Not a death that would cause a stir. It honestly even felt that your father was belittling your capabilities with this commission. Why were you assigned to kill a short ugly nobleman at the end of the world, while Crowley who was only one year older got commissioned with Marines or troublesome pirates in the New World?

Because I’m the girl, you thought with resigned anger.

Well. Whatever.

It’s not like you wanted to impress them anyway. This was boring. The travel to the East Blue was boring, this commission was boring, having to stare at Landon’s ugly mustache the entire travel was boring. The only good thing that came from this initiation is that it also happened to be your birthday. The only day in the year where you had permission to do whatever you wanted.

So you just had to get this over with.

Alex Husquid was alone in his office, scribbling something on his desk. You watched him intently from the roof of the nearest house. Heavy rain fell over your head, lightnings illuminated the night sky from time to time, thunders roared. This storm would be your perfect ally.

Alex had left a breach on his window, probably to let some fresh air enter the room despite the rain.

That mistake would cost his life.

It wasn’t hard to jump from the roof into his room. Your feet made no noise when they touched the carpet. Your presence, barely a breeze from outside. But despite your best efforts, it called Alex’s attention.

Your father and grandfather had talked about it many times – and you had seen it from far, too, observing your brothers work. Humans have a weird sixth sense. They somehow always know death is near.

And death, to him, came in the form of a child.

Alex got a bit startled, but sat down again on his leather chair. All he saw was a kid wearing a white wolf mask. All he thought was that one of his sons put a funny costume to spook him.

A smile was beginning to take form on his chapped lips.

He didn’t have time to complete it.

You focused on your right hand. Your nails grew, sharpened like blades. When you launched yourself towards him, you made no noise – no disturbance in the room despite your inhumane speed, no wrinkles on the carpet. Silent. Fast. Unnoticeable. Like it should be.

Your nails slit his throat faster than his mind could comprehend. A deep cut, deep enough so he wouldn’t be able to scream. His eyes widened. He gagged in silent despair. He looked at the figure of a child standing over his desk, their face hidden behind a white wolf mask, and tears welled up his eyes.

He would be dead in a minute.

You knew it’d take a long time for anyone to find his body. The entire house was asleep. So you decided to stand there and watch until life completely left his body – until he stopped trembling, until he was soaked with his own blood, until his eyes were empty.

Just an uninhabited corpse.

Boring.

You flew out the same window you used to enter.

While landing on the nearest roof, you looked down at your right hand. Your nails were back to normal; your fingertips were bloody. You frowned. That wasn’t a clean cut. You’d have to work on that.

“Congratulations on your first solo commission, Young Mistress.”

An instinctive huff emerged from your chest. Of course, you knew he’d be around – he was always around, this boring old man. You turned around to face Landon and his annoying mustache.

The butler wore his usual boring black suit and boring white gloves and boring umbrella to protect him from the rain. Despite his words, he had the same blank expression over his features. Hell, was he boring.

“I should note, however, that you were sloppy. Your target noticed your presence. You also caused unnecessary mass bleeding. A good assassin is always–“

“Clean.” You concluded for him with annoyance.

Landon didn’t seem to care. He never seemed to care about anything.

“It’s past midnight. It is now your birthday. What do you wish to do?”

“I wish to be left alone.” You didn’t bother looking back at him as you took off your mask and shoved it inside the bag crossed around your chest. “Do not follow me.”

Landon wasn’t surprised. You spent most of your time trying to run away from him, his lessons, his unstoppable and overwhelming watch. Sometimes you managed to get some time alone. Most times you didn’t.

But it was your birthday, so today he had to obey.

Not that you’d have much to do in this boring island at this boring kingdom at the least interesting part of the ocean.

At least, you’d be truly alone for the next 24 hours.

You jumped from roof to roof away from Landon, satisfied to know that he wasn’t following you for once – and wondering if this island could entertain you in the only day of freedom you had.

The town was boring. As expected.

Small. The buildings weren’t very tall, there weren’t many nice stores or restaurants. It was even funny how the people living at this part of the island walked around with high chins and chests full of pride… their city, their properties and titles were nothing compared to the magnificent islands of the New World. But they were just simple minded creatures, you knew; they never planned to leave this place. They would never understand that the world was vast and that they didn’t matter on the grand scheme of things.

So you didn’t waste much time there.

Then there was the giant junkyard at the other side of the city, separated from it by a high wall. Mountains and mountains of trash, rubble and junk extended for maybe two or three kilometers. It smelled as bad as you’d expect and a strange gray fog hovered in the air. Gray Terminal was a suitable name, indeed.

Surprisingly, that place was a bit more interesting than the town.

Poor people gathered like vermin over meat around the junk mountains. Scavengers looking for anything valuable. In the span of maybe thirty minutes, you saw a few fights popping here and there. It was a bit entertaining to sit and watch how normal people fought. But you decided to leave not only because the place really smelled bad, but because your good clothes and your neat pigtails would probably draw unwanted attention.

So you walked into the woods nearby – and finally, things got interesting.

One or two hours of walking took you deep into the forest. It was very obviously a rainforest with the heat and humidity expected from it, which made you take your raincoat and jacket off, shoving them inside your backpack. You quickly realized you were, in fact, climbing a mountain. The human sounds were replaced with the sounds of nature – leaves shuffling, birds chirping, and the noises of many other unknown animals.

What caught your attention at first was the sheer size of the trees – the deeper you got into the mountain, the bigger they got. Some seemed to be taller than thirty meters. Some branches were thicker than actual tree trunks.

But you soon found out that the trees weren’t the only giant things there.

The floor shook beneath your feet in regular intervals. Steps of something extremely heavy.

You expanded your perception to a wider radius than what your eyes could see and your ears could hear – and came to a conclusion. Immediate danger.

You swiftly jumped up to the nearest tree, standing on its lower branch – which was still pretty high, probably eight meters away from the ground, and waited in complete silence.

What came from between the trees made your eyes widen.

A bear. But not just any brown bear. That thing was colossal. Ridiculously big. Its claws seemed to be as tall as you.

And finally, you were excited about something.

You immediately took the small notebook from your backpack and started sketching the beast, silently regretting not bringing a Den Den Mushi to take a picture of it (you knew Landon would put a tracking device on it if you brought one with you, so you decided not to). You sketched the creature as fast as you could before it could disappear inside the forest again, making quick annotations around the drawing.

You knew that many islands had strange and unique fauna and flora, though you’d only read about it in books. You’d never seen abnormal animals like that, and honestly didn’t expect to find anything like this out of the Grand Line.

A small smile grew on your lips.

Your birthday wouldn’t be that boring, after all.

You looked down at the notebook and tightened your eyes. Oh… the bear came and went so quickly that you didn’t have time to put your round reading glasses on. After taking them from the backpack, you could see with clarity that you missed many details. You sat down on the branch and made the finishing touches.

It was time to move on.

You began to feel a little hungry past noon.

Not that you weren’t used to not eating for long periods of time. A good assassin must be in control of all of their physiological necessities at all times. What if a commission takes place at a critical environment? What if you need to be undercover for long periods of time to study your target? Things like hunger should be brushed aside. You’d only eat when your body begged for it.

But you were so entertained that your rumbling belly was just an afterthought.

Only a day wouldn’t be enough to catalog all of what you’ve found. Who would’ve thought this insignificant island would have so much to offer?

Going deeper into the mountain, you saw even more strange animals. Giant tigers and more bears and alligators in a river nearby. Why did the fauna at this island became so gigantic? What must’ve happened in their evolutionary process? In the span of only a few hours, you filled more than twenty pages with sketches and notes.

Morpho menelaus, you scribbled at the top of the page while checking your Insect Encyclopedia to be completely sure. It was pretty unmistakable: the beautiful blue wings of the butterfly resting in front of your eyes couldn’t be replicated by any other species. You held your breath, made sure to not produce any sound as to not scare the butterfly away. Why didn’t I bring a Den Den Mushi?, you scolded yourself for the hundredth time. It would’ve made your life so much easier.

You were almost finishing the sketch. This butterfly had a very specific black pattern at the tip of its wings and you wanted to convey it perfectly. You rushed to catch its details before it would go away–

“What are you doing?”

You gasped and turned around in a jump.

Of course, you knew there was something approaching – but it didn’t exude immediate danger, so you assumed it was just a squirrel or something.

It definitely wasn’t a squirrel.

It was a… boy.

The stranger looked at you with round, curious dark brown eyes – so dark that they almost looked completely black. A bit shorter than you, but definitely your age; his hair was a mess of black, almost completely hidden under a straw hat that was too big for his head. His olive skin was covered with dirt, just like the rest of his clothes – a red tank top and battered jeans shorts. He had a thin curvy scar under his left eye and a bandaid over the bridge of his nose.

He blinked.

You blinked.

But slowly, your surprise dissipated. A frown set on your face.

...Boring.

You turned around. The butterfly had obviously flown away. An annoyed sigh went past your lips.

You started to walk away.

“Hey! I’m talking to you!” He whined. His voice was annoyingly high pitched. You heard the tap tap of his sandals fast approaching. “What are you doing here? Are you lost?”

“Do I look lost?” You groaned between gritted teeth. Why did you even answer him?

“Well, then, are you stupid?”

This made you turn to look at him.

He didn’t seem bothered by your angry face.

“Why the hell would you want to climb Mt. Colubo alone?” The boy continued. “Never seen you ‘round Foosha or downtown. You’re from High Town, aren’t you? With those fancy clothes and all?”

You went back to walking.

He followed.

“This forest is pretty dangerous, did you know that? It’s not a place for the weak.” Then what are you doing here, too?, is what you wanted to ask, but you resigned to stay silent. “It’s full of monsters and poisonous snakes and bandits. They’ll want to steal you.” More silence. “By the way, my name is–“

“Shhhh!” You shushed him angrily before jumping to the branch of a tree.

You immediately opened your notebook again and started scribbling while crouching down.

To your distaste, you heard him jump after you. “What are you–?”

“Shhhh!” You shushed more aggressively this time. “You’ll scare it away!”

The boy tilted his head to the side and finally found what you were looking at while sketching rapidly.

“Ooooh,” he was surprisingly quiet this time.

Onychocerus albitarsis, you wrote at the top of the page. Commonly known as Scorpion Beetle. The brown, black and white insect moved slowly, its long antennae scooping the wood beneath it.

“This one’s pretty poisonous, did you know that?” He said. You didn’t need to turn your head to know he was looking from over your shoulder.

“Hmm.”

“I learned it the worst way.” He hissed as if remembering the pain of the sting. “You ain’t never seen one before? There are plenty of these here.” Silence. “None at the High Town, I guess? Yeah, I don’t think these stuck up people like insects.” More silence. “Is this why you’re here? To see insects?” He leaned away slightly. “Are you some sort of insect hunter?”

You paused for a second.

Shit. He definitely saw the family crest embroidered on the back of your shirt: the red symbol of a scorpion. You were sloppy once more. No one was supposed to see that family crest.

At the same time, there was no way this boy would know what it meant, so you decided to brush it aside.

“Well, I’m a pirate.” He seemed proud of himself, a sonorous smile in his voice. “Huh, not yet, but I’ll be one day. I’m gonna be the King of Pirates!” Silence. The boy hummed after a few seconds. “You’re pretty boring, did you know that, Four Eyes?”

You whipped your head at him for the first time.

“What did you just call me?”

“Four Eyes.” He was, once again, unbothered by your ferocious glare. His eyes fell over your notebook. “But you draw pretty well. Not better than me, though. Oh! It’s gone.”

You turned back in time to see the beetle flying away.

You sighed deeply and got up again while looking at him angrily. The boy got up, too. He either didn’t understand why you were angry or simply didn’t care.

“...I only wear glasses when I need to read,” you said between gritted teeth.

He blinked.

“And?”

You rolled your eyes and jumped to the floor again.

“Where are you going now?”

“Why are you following me?” You retorted. From the corner of your eye, you saw him rest both hands behind his head in a relaxed position.

“I got nothing better to do and I don’t see other kids here often.” Then, he opened a wide grin – you could probably see all his teeth with that smile. “Let’s be friends!”

You looked ahead again, feeling your stomach twirl.

Your father’s deep voice echoed inside your mind.

A Scarpia family member does not have friends.

Friends are weaknesses. A Scarpia only needs another Scarpia.

You tightened your fists.

No one should see the face of a Scarpia family member and live to tell the next day.

If you followed these rules to a ten, you’d have killed that boy already.

It’s what your father would have wanted. It’s what your brothers would have done. You’d seen them doing that before. This weird straw hat kid had already seen your face unmasked and the family crest on your back. If Landon were here, he would even have finished him for you.

It wouldn’t be hard to kill him. He wouldn’t even notice you slicing his throat with your nails.

But…

He wasn’t a commission. You didn’t want to dirt your fingertips with blood if you didn’t need to. There was no way this boy even knew what the Scarpia family was.

So you quickened your pace without looking back.

He followed.

You started running.

He followed.

You sprinted.

“Hey!” He yelled…

And followed.

You ran in zigzag in between the trees, climbing thick vines and jumping down cliffs, trying to mislead him – but damn, that boy actually seemed to know where he was going, differently from you. He was slower, but that was definitely an advantage. Shit, stop following me! Leave me alone! Why are you following me anyway?! How are you keeping up?!

Why– why are you laughing?!

Actually laughing. Not in a mocking way. He laughed at the top of his lungs, that huge grin never leaving his face.

“I’m gonna catch you!” He yelled.

“No, you won’t!” You yelled back. Why were you yelling?

“Just you wait!” And he laughed again.

That stirred something inside you.

You focused all of your strength in your legs; you visualized the energy in your body gathering there like white lines. The burst of adrenaline. A technique to be used in an escape situation.

When you got impulse to step forward, the floor cracked beneath your feet.

You sprinted away – so fast that it almost felt like flying. The world around you went by in a confusing blur, wind howled on your ears with the speed. As you didn’t know the area, you didn’t know exactly how many meters you ran – five hundred meters? Seven hundred? Your record was nine hundred meters, and you hoped to reach a kilometer soon, preferably before Crowley could do it.

It took a lot of effort to stop.

You rested both hands over your knees, panting. That was the disadvantage of this technique: it was too tiring. You couldn’t do it more than once a day and you still didn’t know how to take turns, always sprinting on a beeline. Your father could do it as many times as he wanted and change directions in the blink of an eye. You hoped to reach his level someday.

Well. That was enough to mislead that weirdo, at least.

You straightened your back and dried your sweaty forehead with the back of your hand. You had aimed north, which meant you went higher into the mountain… you’d have to find your compass inside the backpack to be sure. Luckily, you had been marking the trees as to find the way out easily–

And that’s when someone slapped the back of your neck.

You turned around in a jump, already taking a fight stance–

It was that boy.

He grinned so wide that it looked like his cheeks would rip apart.

“Tag! You’re it!” He announced before turning around and– and–

And running away.

You stood there, completely shocked, following him with your eyes.

How… how…?

Did he reach you in a minute and half?

He ran over five hundred meters in a minute and half?

Who the hell was that boy?!

He realized you weren’t following after a while. He turned around, still smiling – but confusion covered his features.

“You’re it!” He yelled from there as if reminding you.

He was distancing himself from you. You should take that opportunity to run in the opposite direction and finally get rid of him. But something made you stop – something that completely silenced the voice of reason, the voice of your father.

Curiosity.

“How did you do that?” You asked. He frowned.

“Huhhhh??” He put his hand in a shell near his ear. Oh. He was quite far.

“How–“ You cleaned your throat. Screaming was not something you were used to do. “How did you do that?!”

“Do what?!”

“Reached me so fast?!”

“Oh!” He grinned again – but there was something a bit mischievous about it this time.

You watched, confused, as the boy spun his right arm around many times.

You watched, shocked, when he threw his arm after taking impulse and it stretched.

It stretched and stretched and stretched to a tree standing by your side. He entangled his stretched arm around the trunk; his arm distended as if it was a rubber band and he came flying towards you.

You watched, jaw dropped, when he landed in front of you. His arm untangled from around the trunk and went back to normal with a very sonorous snap.

He grinned proudly.

“Like that!”

It took you a few seconds to recover.

“...You ate a Devil Fruit.”

He nodded.

“The Gomu Gomu no Mi. I became the rubber man!” He pinched his own cheek and it stretched too, before releasing it with, again, a sonorous snap. As if he needed to demonstrate it even more.

That was definitely a surprise.

You didn’t even think someone from this small island, so far from the Grand Line, would even know what a Devil Fruit is – let alone eat one.

You frowned slightly.

“My father says Devil Fruits are for the weak. Someone should be strong based on their inherent body capabilities alone.” That was hammered into your head over and over again… and you noticed with some distaste that you kind of sounded like Landon.

The boy crossed his arms. The smile never left his lips.

“Well, your father’s an idiot!”

Your jaw dropped again.

That scrawny dirty looking boy just called Scarpia Drachen an idiot.

And at that moment – something very very strange and very very unusual happened inside of you, something you couldn’t control, and it was like you could hear Landon’s annoying husky voice echoing in your ears that you should always be in control of your body and your reactions–

But you couldn’t help it.

You laughed.

You covered your mouth and bent over slightly, the other hand gripping the fabric of the shirt over your stomach. I shouldn’t laugh! This is so so so disrespectful! I will be scolded for sure!

But– But Landon wasn’t there. Or your father. Or any of your brothers.

Just the weird stretchy boy.

And he thought that was funny, too. He giggled as if proud of himself.

“By the way, how did you do that?” He asked, crossing his arms. “You ran so fast that the ground cracked! That was faster than Ace! Is that an insect hunter ability or something?”

You didn’t know who the hell Ace was and you didn’t feel like asking. You straightened your back after swallowing the laughter. “Yeah. We… we train to be faster than everybody.”

Why were you talking to him? Why did you answer his question? Why hadn’t you mislead him yet? What was wrong with you? No no no– that was wrong. You needed to get away from him as fast as possible.

But, for some reason, you didn’t move.

The straw hat boy grinned mischievously again and rubbed his hands.

“But I bet you’re not faster than me! I already know your technique, it won’t surprise me anymore!” He started walking on his back at a fast pace while still grinning at you. “C’mon, you’re it!”

But you still didn’t move.

“Do you… want me to chase you?”

“Duuuuh, that’s how it works, Four Eyes!”

You still didn’t understand.

“Why? Is this some sort of training?”

He finally stopped running.

“How come, why?” Now he looked confused. “Because it’s fun!”

The boy grinned.

It… seemed so easy for him. So obvious. Like you were the stupid one there.

...Fun?

Fun was the opposite of boring.

You weren’t bored searching for animals and cataloging them. You liked to draw, you liked to be left alone. You knew that the right thing to do would be to distance yourself.

But he was jigging from side to side excitedly and that made your heart beat faster for some reason. The same way it was beating faster when you were trying to mislead him. Because of adrenaline, you knew – that was the obvious answer. But maybe… maybe…

It was because it was fun.

You started to walk towards him. He laughed excitedly and turned around.

Then you were running.

Then you were sprinting.

He changed directions either with his legs or gripping tree trunks with his abnormal ability to drastically take turns. You ran after him, unable to use that burst of adrenaline again, but that wasn’t necessary… if you did it, you’d reach him quicker and it would all be over too soon. It wouldn’t be fun.

So you caught him without cheating. But he wasn’t angry or disappointed when you did – he just laughed at the top of his lungs and yelled, my turn!

And then you were being chased.

And then you were laughing.

And then he caught you and it was your turn to yell you’re it!

And then you were breathless and your stomach hurt from laughing but you didn’t want to stop.

Because… because it was fun.

“I wanted meat!” He whined unhappily.

You side eyed him while munching your slice of watermelon. Even though he kept complaining, he was eating his anyway – and it was a bit scary how fast he ate and how big his bites were. He was finishing his… second? Third watermelon? You weren’t counting.

When both of you got way too tired – and that took a lot: the sun was starting to set – you decided to rest for a bit and eat something. A clearing nearby had a plantation of watermelons. It was obviously cultivated by someone, but turns out he had no idea who it was or if they would mind if you’d take some. You certainly didn’t mind taking them.

You’d been sitting side by side, facing a cliff with a gorgeous view of the forest and sunset ever since.

“And how would you find meat?” You asked absentmindedly while munching.

“Isn’t it obvious? I’d hunt! There are tons of weird animals here!” He took another big bite and tilted his head at you. “You’re kind of slow, aren’t you, Four Eyes?”

“My name’s not Four Eyes,” you said between gritted teeth. You didn’t even realize you were still wearing the glasses… you took them off and shoved them inside the backpack.

“What’s your name, then?”

You froze.

You hadn’t given him a name. He hadn’t told his either, even though you’d been playing for the past few hours.

But you couldn’t give him your real name. That was a basic rule: no one should see your face. No one should know your name. Every interaction with an outsider had to be calculated and well-thought out for the safety of the family.

The straw hat boy had already seen your face and the family crest.

But… it’s not like he had any idea what the Scarpia family was, right? So giving him a fake name would suffice.

“...Wolfie,” you lied after the first thing that came to mind. You immediately regretted it, realizing how silly it sounded after the made up name left your mouth, but it was too late to correct it now.

He nodded and swallowed a big bite before grinning. His mouth was all dirty with watermelon juice. “My name’s Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna be the King of Pirates!”

He didn’t seem to notice how stupid your “name” sounded… great. “...You already said that.” You looked ahead again. The sky had pretty hues of pink and orange as the sun disappeared slowly behind the horizon line. The treetops swayed softly with the wind, resembling sea waves of green. “Why do you wanna be a pirate?”

Why were you asking?

You had no idea. You weren’t supposed to find more about this Luffy boy. You weren’t supposed to be interested. But at the same time – you’d never see him again anyway, so what was wrong with making a question?

Right?

“Is it for the treasures?” It should be, you remarked, given how ragged his clothes were. Well, there was nothing wrong with wanting a fortune.

Luffy’s eyes gleamed with excitement.

“Pirates are the coolest people in the world!” He declared, gesticulating widely and setting the half eaten watermelon aside for the first time. “They go anywhere they want, do whatever they want and take what they want! They are free!” The more he talked, the more excited he looked. “My friend Shanks– he’s a pirate, too, and he goes on all sorts of adventures. He told me about it, all the islands and people and enemies he faced!” Luffy held the brim of his straw hat softly. “I made a promise that I’d become a great pirate like him so we can meet again in the sea someday!”

You hummed quietly.

The watermelon tasted sweet, way too sweet. You took another bite and munched it slowly.

“Freedom, huh?” Your voice was just a little bit louder than the wind. “Must be nice.”

“Right?” Luffy elbowed your arm excitedly. “The world is so much bigger than Mt. Colubo or Foosha Village or the Gray Terminal. There are so many islands out there! So many weird monsters and strong guys to fight!” He tightened his hands in fists and punched an invisible enemy. “That’s why me and Ace train everyday. To get even stronger!”

You side eyed Luffy again. He had an interesting ability, you had to admit, even though you were taught to despise Devil Fruit users. And yeah, he was definitely faster and stronger than the average kid your age. But… he was far from being strong. He was very killable, in fact. If he actually wanted to go to the seas someday, he had a long way to go.

Whatever. It was none of your business.

But even so – his speech about how vast the world is was kind of… touching, in a way. You knew about that, too. You’d been to many places, following your brothers in commissions or being taken to harsh environments to train. But you’d never… paid attention to anything. Everything was just training or business. Everything was boring.

But you thought Dawn Island was boring at first too – until you had the time and freedom to explore it and find all these giant animals and insects. Until you could look closely.

Maybe he had a point.

You swallowed another bite before speaking.

“There is an island I’d like to visit someday, you know.” You started slowly. Hesitantly. Luffy was paying attention, which somehow made you nervous. You weren’t used to that – someone actually listening to you. “I mean… an archipelago on the Grand Line. The islands are full of giant insects.”

“Giant insects?!” Luffy widened his eyes. “Do you think there are giant beetles there too?!”

“From what I’ve read, yeah. Beetles larger than houses. Spiders taller than giraffes. And carnivorous plants, too, big enough to eat a person.”

The straw hat boy giggled excitedly and bounced a bit while still sitting. He seemed unable to not move for a long time, you noticed. “You could fill entire notebooks with your drawings there!” Luffy eyed you up and down with somewhat of a smug expression. “Why haven’t you been there yet, though? You don’t look broke. I bet you have enough money to travel wherever you want.”

Your shoulder dropped a bit. “The Boin Islands are far. Very very far. And… I don’t think my parents would let me.”

Because it’d be useless. A waste of money and time. It wouldn’t make you a better assassin in their opinion… so what was the point?

Luffy filled his chest and pointed at himself with his thumb proudly. “No problem. I’ll take you there when I become a pirate! My ship will be huuuge with, like, two masts and a big crew. No storms will sink us. We’ll get there and see all the giant bugs!”

For the hundredth time that day, you had the strange, instinctive reaction to giggle. You had the even stranger thought that, yeah, traveling with him would be fun.

The straw hat boy stretched his arms and cleaned his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Hah… the sun’s setting, I should get back before Ace gets worried.” Luffy got up and looked down at you excitedly. “Come with me, Wolfie! The forest’s even more dangerous at night, but our place is safe. We got meat for dinner, too.”

It was a bit insane how he could think of eating more after chomping so many watermelons.

But… his reminder that the sun was setting filled you with sudden sadness.

It took you hours to get to the top of the mountain… it’d take more hours to get down. If you didn’t leave now, Landon would climb it to find you – he always found you somehow – and to see you with this boy would put you in serious trouble.

It would put him in serious trouble, actually. In danger.

So you sighed and got up, too, taking the backpack from the floor and putting it on your back.

“Sorry, I have to go now.”

Luffy quirked one eyebrow. “You sure? Ain’t you gonna get lost? Is someone coming to pick you up?” He put his hands on each side of his waist. “I’m serious, the forest is really dangerous at night! Not even us go around when it’s dark!”

“I’ll be fine.” It was a bit interesting how this boy, much weaker than you, seemed so worried for your safety. That was also unusual.

You stood there awkwardly, not knowing exactly what to do. You also weren’t used to goodbyes.

“Hm… I’ll… get going then.” You started to walk backwards while gripping the trap of the backpack nervously. “It was… it was nice meeting you.”

Luffy smiled and nodded. “See ya!”

You hesitated before turning around.

See ya. He probably thought he’d see you again soon. That was funny.

No. That was a bit sad.

Your eyes kept glued to the floor, shoulders dropped, as you made your way down the hill slowly. Maybe you could go back and spend a little more time with him… maybe meet this Ace he kept talking about. You could play a little more. Sketch a few more insects.

No no no. Landon was nearby. He’d kill Luffy on the spot. He had permission to kill anyone he deemed a threat to your safety or your education – and he’d do it without consulting your opinion.

It was better for Luffy to never see you again.

...Your steps slowed even more.

For the first time, you remember Alex Husquid – the man you killed as soon it turned midnight. How you stood there and watched as his eyes emptied. How it made you feel nothing but boredom. Just a commission, after all, like any other.

But why the idea of seeing that same thing happen to Luffy bothered you so much?

This… this weird short boy you met just a few hours ago?

Why did the fact that you’d never see him again made your heart tighten like that?

You suddenly stopped on your tracks.

Wait.

Maybe… maybe you could. Maybe you could see him again.

You turned around, ready to run up the hill again to find Luffy– but turns out he was still standing there, watching you go.

Your heart throbbed loudly. Your hands were sweating. That was wrong wrong wrong. But even so–

“Luffy!” You called. He smiled from far and waved. “Can I… Can I see you again next year?”

Luffy narrowed his eyes and put his hands over his knees. “Huuhhh?!”

Oh– right. You were already too far.

You tightened your hands into fists, feeling a mix of anxiety and embarrassment, before screaming:

“Can I see you again next year?!”

This time, your voice echoed through the woods.

Luffy widened his eyes in surprise. “Next year?! That’s too long!”

You were immediately taken aback. Was he brushing you aside?

“I… I live very far!” That wasn’t a lie. “Can I come or not?!”

Luffy straightened his back.

He grinned again – one of his big, big grins, so big that his eyes closed tight, so large that you felt your own lips curving up, too.

“Of course! I’ll be waiting for you!”

Why were you bouncing a bit? Why did a light weird squeal went past your lips?

“Okay! Let’s meet right here!”

“Okay!”

“Let’s play even more next time!”

“I’ll be even faster than you!” He giggled smugly.

“No, you won’t!” Oh no– you still had to leave. You turned around slowly and waved him a last goodbye. “Bye!”

Luffy waved back excitedly.

Finally, you turned completely and walked down the hill.

Then you were running.

Then you were laughing.

It was probably because of the adrenaline, you knew, but you also knew that it was because you had fun. Because you had something to look forward to – someone to look forward to.

And that was far from being boring.

No rain fell over the Goa Kingdom the day you made your first friend.

[starl1ght444]

jason todd x reader

── .✦ angst

[ jason bought you, your favorite flowers for the first time ]

long story — [8.2k words count]

second person writing

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

phase one ; blooming [dating]

you loved carnations.

jason learned that on your third date. It was a small, throwaway moment—something you said while sipping a lukewarm latte in a dingy coffee shop tucked away from gotham’s chaos. you’d been talking about nothing in particular, just bantering like usual, your legs tucked under you in the booth as the sky darkened outside.

“they’re not fancy,” you said, absently stirring cream into your coffee, “but they’re strong. they last longer than most flowers, you know? and they come in so many colors.”

jason raised an eyebrow. “you really into flowers?”

You shrugged. “they’re just… comforting. It’s like a reminder that something can be soft and still survive.”

he didn’t answer. just stared at you for a moment like you were something he hadn’t figured out yet—like he wasn’t sure if you were real.

you weren’t like the people in his world. you didn’t carry trauma like a weapon. you didn’t flinch at loud sounds or look over your shoulder in paranoia. you had a softness to you that he hadn’t expected in gotham. and he didn’t know what to do with it.

when he walked you home that night, you paused at a flower stall outside your building. rain was drizzling, the kind that clung to your lashes and curled your hair, and you stopped to look at a small bouquet of pale pink carnations.

“they’re my favorite,” you said, smiling. “someday I’m gonna fill my whole apartment with them.”

jason rolled his eyes. “flowers are a waste of money. they die in a week.”

you blinked. just a second. just enough for him to notice. “well,” you said, voice light, “some things are worth it, even if they don’t last.” he didn’t understand what you meant. not then. not yet.

you started seeing each other more often—slow at first. you were cautious with your heart, and jason was dangerous with his. but he started staying the night. started showing up at your place with bruises and bullet grazes and that haunted look in his eyes. you never asked where he’d been. you only asked if he was hungry. If he was okay. If he wanted to talk.

he never did. not about the big stuff. but you’d find him in your kitchen at 2 a.m., heating up leftover pasta, or sitting on your couch with your cat in his lap like he belonged there. and he did.

he didn’t say “I love you,” not for months. but he watched over you like he did. he’d show up outside your job with a scowl and coffee if you had a rough day. he knew the fastest route from your place to every hospital in the city. he installed cameras at your front door and never told you. — you noticed. you just didn’t say anything.

carnations bloomed on your windowsill. a new one every week. you bought them yourself—white-blush and lavender. you kept waiting, hoping maybe jason would walk in one day with a bunch in his hands. not because you needed them, but because you wanted to know he’d remembered.

he didn’t.

one night, curled up with him under a ratty old blanket, you brought it up gently. “I used to get flowers when I was little,” you said. “my dad would bring me carnations on my birthday. I think that’s why I still love them so much.”

jason looked at you from where he lay on your chest, his brow furrowed. “didn’t know your dad was around.”

“he’s not.. not anymore.” silence settled between you.

“I used to think… if someone brought me carnations, it meant they really saw me,” you admitted. “not the ‘I’m fine’ version. the real me.”

jason didn’t say anything. — you didn’t push.

the first time you told him you loved him, he froze.

It had been a good day. one of the rare ones—no crime scenes, no emergency calls, no red hood business dragging him into gotham’s underbelly. you’d spent the afternoon in the park, lying in the grass, his head on your stomach as you read a book aloud.

that night, wrapped in each other’s arms, your fingers tracing lazy circles on his back, you whispered, “I love you.” — jason’s whole body tensed.

you felt it. every muscle. then he pulled back. looked at you like he was trying to memorize your face. “you don’t have to say it back,” you murmured.

he didn’t. but he kissed you like he meant it. held you all night like he was terrified you’d disappear. you told yourself it was enough.

phase two ; budding [fiancé]

It wasn’t a proposal. not really.

It was three in the morning, and jason was sitting on the edge of the bathtub while you brushed your teeth, eyes half-lidded with sleep, his hair a mess from the pillow. you wore one of his old shirts, threadbare from a hundred washes. he wore the quiet panic of someone who had never believed they’d live long enough to consider a future.

“hey,” he said, voice low. you glanced at him in the mirror, mouth full of toothpaste. “If I asked you to marry me, what would you say?”

you froze mid-brush. he didn’t flinch or try to recover it with a joke. he just watched you—blue eyes soft and serious, hands clasped between his knees. you spit into the sink and turned to face him.

“Is this the part where you propose with a ring made out of dental floss?” a breath of laughter left his nose, and the tension eased from his shoulders.

“I’m serious,” he said. you stepped closer, cupped his jaw with a wet hand. “then ask me like you mean it.”

jason paused. his eyes searched yours, and when he spoke again, it was barely a whisper. “(y/n) (m/n) (l/n), will you marry me.”

and you—heart pounding, love swelling in your chest like it would break your ribs—smiled. “yes,” you said. “of course I will.”

he pulled you into his arms, buried his face in your stomach, and for the first time in a long time, he let himself breathe like it was safe.

the ring came later.

It wasn’t new—wasn’t even something he’d gone out to buy. one night, you found him sitting in the closet, the small wooden box in his hand. It had belonged to catherine todd—passed down, like love that tries to survive the storm.

“she kept it hidden,” jason said quietly, running a thumb over the aged velvet. “I think she always meant to give it to me… if I ever found someone.”

you sank down beside him on the floor, resting your head on his shoulder. “she’d be glad you did.”

he gave it to you that night, no speeches or ceremony. just slid it onto your finger while you sat together on the floor of the hallway, bathed in moonlight from the window. as jason kissed the ring on your finger.

It fit perfectly.

planning the wedding wasn’t easy. you didn’t want much. jason didn’t want attention. but it was yours—intimate, quiet, full of stolen glances and laughter that didn’t belong in a city like gotham.

dick cried during the vows — roy forgot the rings.

alfred gave you a smile that nearly brought you to tears.

jason kept his hand in yours like it was the only thing tethering him to the world. you didn’t walk down the aisle with roses or lilies or orchids.

you held a bouquet of white carnations, tied with a silver ribbon. jason saw them, saw the way your fingers curled around the stems, and something flickered in his expression. he didn’t say anything. but you caught the way he looked at them—like they were a language he hadn’t learned yet.

life settled into something that almost resembled normal. at least, your version of it.

your mornings were soft. you’d wake first, kiss the scar on jason’s temple, whisper something into his sleep-dazed hair. he never told you what it meant to wake up to that. but he held you tighter every day.

sometimes he cooked breakfast—burned eggs and all. sometimes you did. the coffee was always too strong, but neither of you minded. the routine mattered more than the taste. — your nights were more complicated. jason still went out. still fought gotham’s darkness with red and black. but he came home now. always came home.

and he talked more.

he told you about things he’d buried—things no one else knew. his mother. the pit. the dreams he still had where the coffin never opened. the pain of coming back to a world that had moved on without him.

you never asked for those stories. you only listened, threading your fingers through his, anchoring him with silence and steady breaths. — one night, after a particularly rough patrol, he came home soaked in rain and blood. you helped him out of the kevlar, your hands gentle, your voice quiet.

he sat at the kitchen table while you cleaned a deep gash along his ribs. “I thought I was gonna die tonight,” he muttered.

you paused, heart in your throat. jason looked up at you. “and the weirdest part? I wasn’t scared for me. I was scared you’d be alone.” you pressed gauze to the wound, leaned in, and kissed his forehead. “you’re not dying, jason.”

“someday I will,” he said, a sad smile tugging at his mouth. “and you’ll have to go on without me.”

“then you better keep surviving,” you said, voice firm. “because I’m not planning on loving anyone else.”

he pulled you into his lap, held you there like he was trying to fuse your heartbeat with his.

you kept carnations in the apartment. a vase in the kitchen. one on the nightstand. always fresh. always soft. jason never brought them home. but he started noticing them—more than before.

he’d run his fingers along the petals absently while sipping his coffee. tuck a fallen one behind your ear with a fond little smile. you caught him once, standing in front of a grocery store flower display, just staring at them. — but he walked past.

you didn’t mention it.

you never asked for them anymore. not because you didn’t want them. but because you wanted him to want to bring them. — some small part of you still hoped.

one afternoon, you were lying together on the couch, your legs draped across his lap. he was reading something—an old paperback with cracked pages—and you were watching the sunlight paint gold across the hardwood floor.

“do you think we’ll ever leave gotham?” you asked suddenly.

jason looked up. “you want to?”

“I don’t know. sometimes.” you shrugged. “sometimes I imagine a house with a garden. somewhere quiet. I’d grow carnations.”

he smiled, brushing your ankle with his thumb. “you and your damn flowers.”

you chuckled. “they’d be all over the place. kitchen, bedroom, porch. even in the bathroom.”

jason leaned down, kissed the inside of your knee. “If you want a garden, I’ll build you one.”

you reached for his hand. “I don’t need a garden. just you.”

but still, in the back of your mind, you pictured it—soft soil and early mornings, dew on petals, and jason beside you, older, whole. — you didn’t know it would stay a dream.

phase three ; blooming [marriage]

married life with jason was unexpectedly sweet.

you never imagined the red hood would be the type to make tea in the mornings or memorize your grocery list, but he did. he kept your mugs on the lowest shelf so you didn’t have to stretch. he learned how to braid your hair, poorly but determinedly, just so you’d smile.

your new apartment was bigger, higher up—safer. there was a little balcony with just enough space for a few flower boxes, and you filled them with carnations in every shade. jason helped you plant them, dirt under his fingernails and a look on his face like maybe, just maybe, he was starting to understand why you loved them so much.

“you said they’re strong, right?” he asked one evening, watering them carefully.

you looked up from your book. “yeah.”

he watched a pale yellow bloom tremble in the breeze. “they remind me of you.”

you didn’t cry. but your throat ached as you crossed the room and wrapped your arms around him, resting your cheek against his shoulder. you were happy. really, genuinely happy.

jason had been changing—slowly but surely, like stone shaped by water.

he didn’t punch walls anymore. he let himself laugh more, sleep more. he still fought, still bled for gotham, but he came home more often than not. he started going to therapy, though he never told anyone but you. he even made peace with bruce—if only in small pieces, quiet dinners, and fewer arguments.

“I think I’m finally starting to feel human again,” he told you once, curled in bed with you at dawn. “you made me human.”

you kissed his chest, hand over his heart. “you were always human, jason. you just forgot for a while.”

you talked about kids more openly now.

“we could adopt,” you said once, the thought half-formed in your mind as you watched him fix the hinge on a closet door. “someday. maybe.”

jason looked up, surprised—but not alarmed. “yeah. maybe. I’d want them to be safe first. you to be safe.”

“we’re close,” you said. “gotham won’t be forever.”

he stood, brushed the dust off his hands. “no. just a little longer. then we’ll go.”

you imagined a place with less noise. a porch. a yard. real mornings without sirens. carnations blooming around the edges of a little house.

jason kissed you that night like he could already see it too.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

the last morning was warm.

you watered the flowers on the balcony while jason made eggs and toast, humming some rock song under his breath. the windows were open. the world felt light for once.

you had plans to meet barbara for lunch, to run errands, maybe grab groceries. jason had patrol later that evening but promised to be back before midnight. you kissed him at the door like it was any other day. — he kissed you twice.

“text me when you get there,” he said. — “I always do.”

you smiled, leaned back against the doorframe, watching him disappear down the hallway with a peace in your chest you hadn’t felt in years. you didn’t know it was the last time.

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

you weren’t supposed to be anywhere near Ivy’s old sector.

the lab had been quiet for months—dormant, some said, shut down after the last run-in with her plant toxins. but something pinged on the surveillance net—unusual bio-activity—and you, being who you were, decided to check it out.

It was just a recon mission. you were careful. you always were.

you never saw the vines until it was too late.

jason got the call from babs, her voice tight and scared.

“something’s happened,” she said. “(y/n)… we lost her signal near Ivy’s old territory.” he didn’t hear the rest.

he was on his bike in seconds, tearing through Gotham like the city itself had betrayed him. he didn’t stop at lights. didn’t slow for anything.

he found the lab half-collapsed, tendrils of greenery coiling through the wreckage like veins.

he screamed your name.

he dug through debris with bare hands, shoving aside branches that moved like they were alive. the air was thick with the scent of earth and blood.

then he saw you. — your body was tangled in vines, arms limp, head turned slightly to the side. you looked peaceful.

but you were too still.

and around you—blooming like a cruel, beautiful grave—were carnations. each one having a meaning.

white — purity, innocence, remembrance

pink — gratitude, admiration, undying love

purple — unpredictably, capriciousness, free spirit

all curling around the vines like some terrible mockery of love.

jason dropped to his knees. — “no,” he whispered. “no, no, no—please..please.. (y/n).. no no.. please…”

he tore at the vines with shaking hands, not caring that they cut into his skin. he gathered you into his arms, blood staining your shirt where the toxins had entered.

you weren’t breathing.

“come on,” he choked out, pressing his forehead to yours. “you’re strong. you’re stronger than this. you said—you said they were strong.”

he rocked with you in his arms, howling into the air like something feral. screaming like his heart had been physically ripped out of him. sobbing into your shirt, the same one he had watched you put on this morning asking if you looked good. and of course you did, jason was always mesmerizing by you. and right now he was spiraling into a new unknown feeling.

bruce was the first to arrive. then dick. then tim.

they found jason cradling you, his jacket wrapped around your body even though you were already cold.

he didn’t look up when bruce knelt beside him. “she’s cold.. i put my jacket...and she’s still cold.. i couldn’t save her,” jason whispered. “I wasn’t there. I promised I’d be there.”

“I know,” bruce said softly, eyes glassy. his daughter-in-law peacefully covered in blood and carnations. he never truly got to tell you how much he appreciated the way you helped jason grow into the man he had become— you taught jason everything he couldn’t. jason slowly became emotionally mature, your marriage teaching him how to love and be  patient everyday.

dick stood nearby, hands over his mouth, unable to speak— the way he watched his younger brother holding his lifeless wife in his arms. tim just stared, stunned— not being able to believe the scene in front of him, as the wind tugged at the scattered petals around you.

“look at them,” jason murmured, brushing a blood-streaked carnation with his thumb. “she loved these. I never… I never brought her any. n..not once.”

jason looked up at bruce with hollow eyes. “I was going to. this week. I swear. I saw some at the store. I almost bought them.” — looking back down at you, squeezing you hard. trying to look for any sign of life left in you.

bruce placed a hand on his shoulder. “she knew.”

jason shook his head. “I should’ve told her more. I should’ve done everything more.”

Dick finally stepped forward, kneeling across from his brother. “you did love her, jay. you loved her more than anyone. she knew. she felt it.”

jason’s face crumpled. “she died alone, dick. In pain. In fear.”

“no,” bruce said gently. “she died trying to help people. that’s who she was. that’s why you loved her.”

jason buried his face in your hair, silent now, his grief no longer words—just broken, shaking breath. staying like that, planting himself on the ground sobbing into you. tracing your body trying to remember every detail about you, like you always did for him. “i love you (y/n).. i love you.. please.. god we were going to leave.. we should’ve... i can’t.. (y/n) please baby, wake up… what am i supposed to do.. sweetheart please.. pleaseplease.. you’re so strong.. my beautiful wife.. we were gonna adopt.. you would’ve been a p..phenomenal mother..my sunshine.. please babygirl.. i can’t do this without you.. im so sorry.. im sorry..god please” jason holding your hand, rubbing his moms ring — the ring he vowed to love and protect you forever.

they had to pull him away eventually. jason fighting each one of them, not ready to let go of his wife. “please.. stop.. please.. a few more minutes.. please.. i can’t..please..i need her” he sounded defeated. bruce helping him up while he still clung to you. carrying both of you out of the building. struggling, not because of holding you two — but struggling not to sob along with his sons.

phase four ; wilting [death]

the funeral was three days after they pulled your body from the vines.

gotham had turned grey that week. the sky hung heavy, like even the clouds mourned you. the streets were quieter. the city somehow knew it had lost something bright.

they dressed you in soft fabric. nothing flashy. just something gentle and familiar. jason picked the dress. he remembered how it looked on you the first time you danced in the living room, barefoot and laughing.

you had flowers around you. carnations. barbara brought them. white, pink, red—your favorites. jason couldn’t stop staring at them.

he hadn’t cried since that night. now, at the funeral, he was quiet, but this time it was different. empty.

a shell wearing his face — everyone was there.

dick stood beside him, barely breathing. tim sat stiffly, not blinking. bruce kept a hand on jason’s back, grounding him, like he was afraid he’d float away.

barbara gave a speech. so did roy. even alfred, voice trembling, spoke a few words about love and grace and the way your laughter changed the manor the few times you visited.

jason didn’t hear any of it — he just looked at you.

laid out in the casket like sleep had taken you mid-sentence. lips soft. lashes resting against your cheeks. skin too pale, but peaceful. like you were waiting for him to say something.

the carnations framed your face like a crown.

and jason— he hated them.

not because they were ugly. not because they were yours. but because they were there, blooming, when you weren’t breathing. —because you always asked for them, and he never brought them.

and now they were here. too late.

someone touched his shoulder after the service. maybe dick. maybe bruce. maybe god himself—jason didn’t look.

“she loved you,” the voice said. “she never doubted you.”

but jason didn’t believe it.

not when he’d failed you in the most final way possible.

the grave was at the edge of the cemetery, under a weeping willow. the headstone was simple. your name. your birth and death dates. and a small engraving at the bottom:

“still the light in the dark.” he visited the next day. and the day after that. and the next. — he came without flowers. he didn’t know how to carry them.

weeks passed.

the apartment stayed quiet. your shoes still by the door. your toothbrush still in the cup. your pillow still untouched. the only thing touched were parts of your clothing. lingering perfume you’d sprayed on your shirts — jason needed the items to help him sleep. craving any ounce of you he could find. clinging onto the fabric imagining it was you. your body laying on top of his, cupping his face and kissing him endlessly. whispering about the good life they had. it broke jason. everything reminded him of you. it was killing him in a way he couldn’t grieve properly.

he didn’t move anything.

he didn’t patrol much anymore. bruce didn’t force it. dick stopped asking. jason barely responded to texts. calls went unanswered. roy left voicemails. barbara stopped by once and found him curled on the living room floor, clutching one of your sweaters, rocking slowly.

“it still smells like her,” he whispered. barbara didn’t say anything. just sat beside him and cried quietly.

he didn’t dream of you. not really.

just flashes. the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled. the sound of your laugh in the kitchen. the scent of carnations on your skin. the feel of your hand in his—soft and warm and alive. soft words leaving your lips — “i love you jay, i love you, i love you” you said like a prayer to him. your sweet voice haunting him in a way he hoped he’d never forget. wanted these cruel dreams, just to listen to you until his brain slowly fades it away.

then he’d wake up. and the cold would remind him. you weren’t coming back.

one night, he sat in front of the flower shop you used to visit. they had carnations in the window. he stared at them for an hour. then he walked inside. — the woman behind the counter gave him a curious look. “need help?”

he cleared his throat. “just… just the carnations.”

“any color?”

he looked down. his hands were shaking.

“all of them.”

he brought them to your grave the next morning. the sun hadn’t risen yet. the cemetery was still wrapped in mist, cold and soft. the carnations trembled in his grip. red, white, pink, purple, yellow, orange, lavender— tied with a pale ribbon. the kind you would’ve picked.

he knelt beside your headstone, laid the flowers gently across the grass. “you deserved these,” he whispered. his voice cracked. “i should’ve brought them sooner.”

he brushed his fingers across your name, eyes stinging.

“i thought they were pointless. i thought flowers died too easily.” his breath hitched. “but they were never about that, were they? they were about love. about life. about choosing something beautiful even when everything else was dark.”

he laughed, bitter and broken. “you knew that. you were that.”

the wind shifted, gentle and cold, like a simple answer.

“i miss you,” he said. “god, i miss you so much it fucking hurts.” he pressed his forehead against the stone. “i don’t know who i am without you.”

days blurred. he kept bringing flowers.

sometimes he talked to you. sometimes he just sat. sometimes he cried. he never stayed dry-eyed for long.

he stopped going to the apartment eventually. moved back into one of the safehouses. colder. emptier. more fitting.

he stopped shaving. stopped eating well. he looked thinner, paler, his eyes sunken like the weight of grief was dragging his soul down with it. — no one could reach him.

not dick, not bruce, not even alfred.

roy visited once. found jason standing in the rain at your grave, drenched and shaking. “you need to come inside,” roy said.

“she’s alone,” jason whispered. tears and rain mixing together, not knowing which was which.

“she’s not,” roy said. “you carry her everywhere.”

jason shook his head. “it’s not enough.”

roy didn’t know what to say. because maybe jason was right. and roy didn’t leave his side. they both sat in the rain. his best friend holding him and rubbing his shoulder in a ‘i’ve got you’ way. sitting in silence while jason continued to cry.

jason would be walking down the street, trying his best to clear his mind when he would see a little girl walking with her dad holding hands while the girl had a carnation, a small reminder. the ghost of you she saw in that little girl. — crushing him. these flowers were now everywhere he went. he couldn’t get away from them. it was a sign just like roy said — that you were everywhere.

jason never moved on. he didn’t date. didn’t laugh like he used to. he existed. he survived. that was it.

every year on your anniversary, he brought nine carnations. three white, three red, three pink. one for every phase of your life together—dating, engaged, married.

every year, he whispered the same thing. “you were the best thing that ever happened to me, i love you eternally sweetheart. i miss you.. every.. every fucking day.. it’s so difficult.. you were my favorite person…god i hate this city.. i gutturally hate ivy for taking you away from me…i miss you..so much.. please know that… i love you (y/n) todd”

and one night, sitting by your grave, his back against the cold stone, he looked at the flowers and finally said it aloud: “i think… i think i was a carnation too.”

his voice was hoarse. the wind tugged at his coat. “strong. stubborn. quiet. always trying to survive. but…” he blinked slowly. “i needed care. i needed you. you were the one who watered me. gave me sunlight. made sure i didn’t wither.”

he closed his eyes. “you kept me alive.. and now—” he didn’t finish. he didn’t need to. because the silence answered for him.

the carnations on your grave never wilted for long. he always replaced them — always brought fresh ones — always sat with you. — in every lifetime, you had been his light. his warmth. his reason.

he was just a flower with cracked petals. and you— you were the hands that kept him blooming. and without you, he wilted. and never truly grew again. stuck in the endless cycle of grief. still having dreams of you, bright and beautiful. a cruel reminder of what he can’t have anymore. “i use to be scared that if i went you’d be alone.. now.. i..”

jason was alone. he shut everyone out. he knew it wouldn’t be what you wanted. jason was afraid of actually accepting your death, grieving properly and moving on. you were the most impactful person in his life, and couldn’t imagine moving on from you. he was only alive for you, knowing you had dreams and passion about life, it was taken from so you abruptly that jason wanted to find comfort in your activities. his routine meshing with your old one. “i built a flower bed.. right outside that coffee shop where we had our first couple date.. i know you’d love it. a couple kids painted it for me.. it’s stunning, just like you baby…” jason said kissing the headstone, placing a bouquet of carnations down.

*. ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻*ੈ✩‧₊˚

i love jason 🫂 i should write something sweet next time, or would ya’ll like more angst? — have a good day / night xx !!!

i hope this was an okay read!! i could’ve gone more in depth at some parts, but i kept training off :p !!!! mwaahh byyee <3

[sleepyc63]

if you support generative AI and are a rain world fan you played the game with your eyes closed

[abyssyby]

welded by water

— you take the time to explore the base he offers you as your home, wandering through countless doors. but your favorite will always be the one that leads to him.

ʕ ꈍᴥꈍʔ: OR SYLUS SWIMMING IN A POOL 😩 sylus’s birthday is in 3 days & i’m unwell ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ he’s gonna be celebrated for the first time and my heart bleeds i love him sm. anyway! this idea was born out of that one ingredient story where he pulls u in the pool I SCREAMED its so romantic & thinking abt sylus in a private pool changed my life 😵‍💫 i hope you enjoy!! ❀-urs

sylus x reader | fluff, romantic tension, smoochie kisses, sylus in a swimming pool hehehe

tw: suggestive touches, very brief description of drowning

You knew the base was big. You barely found your way around to the training room, feeling as if the halls shift and shuffle like an enchanted maze. Usually, Sylus would show you around— lead you by the elbow pushing forward, clasp your hands together to pull you to a secret garden, hike you up his hips and carry you to his bedroom. 

But today you decided exploring would be a good thing. Equipped with Mephisto on your shoulder (a ceasefire between you two today), you walk down the dim crossroads and forks of the building with confidence. 

You’d asked permission before, to walk around and open doors. Sylus merely hummed, lips pressed to your shoulder, saying, “Everything I own is yours.”

You didn’t take that lightly. You refused— tried to— but you knew he was certain. Every word uttered from his lips weighs like a stone in water. You knew, in your heart, he would claim the world and say that all he has conquered is yours to take and use according to your will. 

So here you are, assuming responsibility. Knowing the kingdom where you lay claim. With your phone on the notes app open, you tap tap tap away at directions and take stock of the rooms there are in his— your home.

It’s fun to discover to an extent. Although, when all Mephisto can give you is a head nuzzle and a squawk, you quickly lose interest by the fourth armory. Light fingers trace a line down from the bird’s head to his beak, “Where’s Sylus?” 

Mephisto shakes, his metallic feathers fluttering like real ones except they sound like windchimes— extremely thin iron tendrils clinking against each other like rain. One of your many favorite things about him.

The bird takes off to fulfill your request. This time, he waits for you to keep up. He leads you past an artificial greenhouse, another showcase room displaying his many gem collections, the boxing gym and then…

Mephisto perches himself on the top of the doorway of two double doors. If you’re correct, you should be west of the house. Maybe a wall of the whole structure. Beyond the threshold could be taller windows and maybe the sky. Maybe a telescope. With all the things you’ve seen, an observatory wouldn’t be surprising.

“Bet you three nut-bolts it’s an observatory.” you say and lean your weight into your shoulder against the door. “Though, I never thought him to be interested in astrono…” 

The words fizzle and die on your lips as you’re kissed by a faint blast of moisture and the sound of splashing echoing loud through the hall. Your gaze is drawn upwards at the high ceiling reverberating the sound, and then across the molded crowns of the walls. You follow the pattern, bewildered gaze racing down the curves of the large french windows. The stars— no, the galaxies, splattered like paint onto glass. The moon shines through the glass, and reflects unto the rippling water of the swimming pool. 

The pool where Sylus swam with refined grace. Running through laps with no signs of tiring. Breaking the surface of the water for breath, and then going back under to pop up again on the other end.

You’re too engrossed by the look of it all— how a room with a pool can rival the size of a library, can also feel like an observatory. You file your initial guess as a win at that.

Carefully, you step inside. Almost as if afraid to disrupt the sanctity of it all. But you push forward, into the candle-like glow of the lamps around the pool.

You make your way to the edge, sit cross legged and watch him swim. Up and down. Fast, faster. Silently and then with more force. A faint beeping signals his stop, and he emerges from the water like a god that commands the seas. The moonlight shines on his hair and transforms it into liquid silver melting over his eyes. 

Warm and cool reflect of the wet planes of his body, creating an ethereal illusion glimmering an otherworldly glow. 

And his eyes, so dark and yet brighter than a dying sun, find you. Hold you captive in their focus. Your stomach caves and your chest burns at his perception. 

The little jolt he gets in his chest whenever he finds you staring at him like that never fails to fluster him. What a gift to see you in general, but he cannot deny that he loves when you seek him out. When you emerge from your world and join him in his. When he finds you sitting there, staring, waiting for him. 

He swims from the other edge of the pool towards you. A swan through the water with practiced grace. And when he reaches your dry little island, he pulls himself up by his forearms to greet you. “Done exploring, sweetie?” 

You swallow. Happy he is here, but you often tend to forget how he looks beneath all his designer refinery and comfy, steal-able clothes. Strangled, an “mhm” manages to wriggle its way out your throat. 

“Cat got your tongue?” he smirks, catching the way your pupils scramble down so quickly and clumsily over his body. Beneath his cool exterior, his heart spasms with endearment. “Kitten?” 

And he’s back— love of your life, most annoying man on the planet. Stupid, cocky look dripping along with the droplets of his face as he challenges you. You dig through your pocket and find a coin. 

Swift and easy, you toss it into the pool. It plops and leaves ripples right by his hip. A beat, and then he tilts his head at you in confusion. “Made a wish?” 

“Enriching this pool.” you explain. “It lacks gold, and I’ve always seen you as someone who should be swimming in it.” 

“Is that a compliment?”

“Don’t take it then.” you huff.

He chuckles, turning your upturned nose back towards him with wet fingers, making you scowl. He grins wider, “No, no. it’s just… not enough.”

Your eyes widen. “Oh. I’m sorry, would you like me to throw in a hundred in there?” 

He snorts. “Sweetheart, you can do better than that.”

“Your black card drowns then.”

He laughs, whole and soulful. And it echoes through the hall as this beautiful symphony. “None of that is enough to enrich the pool.” 

“Calling yourself broke isn’t as humbling as you think.”

“Darling.”

“What?”

“Hold your nose.” splash! In a single movement, he’s grasped your hand and pulled you into the water. Your arms flail, but his touch never leaves you as he hauls his soaked little dragon li up to the surface.

“Sylus!” you screech, finding his shoulders and pulling yourself flush against him for leverage. You didn’t expect it to be that deep. His arms wrap around you tightly as he chuckles. 

Truly, how delightful is your misery.

“Now it’s enriched.” he says slowly. Glancing down at your downturned lips and your angry brow. A request you recognize and melts you right away.

Your distance makes it easier to curl your fingers on the nape of his neck and tug his lips to yours in a slow, languid kiss. 

You breathe, “How’d you know my wish?”

He grins, pressing one, two, three kisses to your lips in rapid successions. He has no answer, but he lets you know that he wished for it too. 

You’re pulled further into the pool, his movements smooth and unhurried as he kisses you again. A man starved. The first drop of water in the desert. 

You cling tighter, worried when your feet can’t find the ground. But he guides your thigh up and taps the back of your knee so you wrap your legs around his waist. 

“Sweetie.” he murmurs, motions taking pause. He delights in the way you push more, chasing his halted kisses with your soft lips. “Mm, beloved.”

“Yes?” you almost whine, irked by the interruption. Every fiber of his soul frays and blows into the wind at the sound anyway.

“Look.” he says, only because he knows you’ll love it. Gentle fingers wrap around your chin, turning your head towards the length of the pool. With your stillness, the water follows suit, and reveals an endless mirror for the endless sky. 

“Oh,” your lips part, your eyes widen, and you get the urge to cling onto Sylus’s strong shoulders a little more. You press your cheek to his to marvel at the beauty he beholds you.

The flecks of lights dance on the warbling glass you swim in, the lunar touch transmutes the water into silk. The sky is on your body and both are doused in starlight. 

“Beautiful.” you breathe, touching the silver surface carefully, watching the tiniest waves disturb the image. 

“Yes.” he says, but his fingers find your cheek. And his eyes have never left your face, waiting and watching for this reaction exactly. Delighting in the cosmos as well— on your skin, in your eyes. He thinks: Gorgeous. Ethereal. Divine.

All mine. 

You turn to see his drunken gaze at you and smile at the implication of his words. Noses brush and kisses resume. 

“I think this is my favorite room.” you say, but your head is filled with him who holds you in his space.  

His amusement takes form in a laugh, low and suave. “Yeah?” 

You hum. Brush his hair back— bundles of moonlight slipping through your fingers— plant your palms on his chest, and lean your forehead on his. 

His warm hands travel up your back, pushing you impossibly closer to his warmth. Until you’re welded by the sparks of light in the sky. Until you meld together in a warm loving tangle of limbs and breath. He says, “It’s all yours.”

But amongst all the wealth, the treasures and the rooms he chooses to share with you, he is the only one you truly desire. Him, and your soul asks nothing more. 

𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 𓇢𓆸 ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ more sylus thoughts ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆

thank you for reading!

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 19

˗ˏˋ redefining stances ˎˊ˗

"You have always put people in different categories: friends, dating and fucking. And the idea of someone redefining that makes your chest twist inwardly, because that's just not how it works. Never has."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 15k

content: parental expectations, inner monologue, anxiety attacks, body reactions, redefining terms (friendship), fights, communicating (kind of...), subtle propositions, blowjob, handjob, embarrassment and insecurity / self-doubt (f), guiding (m), orgasm, cumming on face, hanging out plans.

✧ author's note ✧

WHEEEEEEW. okay. hi. hello. greetings. blessings upon your crops.

So first of all, I must humbly report that the new goal system (Tumblr and Wattpad having to align like twin stars) is working beautifully. It gave me a luxurious (dare I say scandalous) nine-day window to edit, tweak, breathe, and cry. And I only did one of those things on the floor (take a wild guess). I’m keeping it for now, besties. Let’s see if it continues to save me from myself.

Now. This chapter. Yeah. She’s 15k. And I would say “I don’t know how that happened,” but I would be lying through my teeth. Ask Koopsy. The BJ scene alone was 3k at one point. And then I had time. And we all know what happens when I have time. I rewrote it. And suddenly it’s eight. I regret nothing. It’s unhinged but like… in a deliciously purposeful way.

I especially loved dragging some vulnerability out of our girl—Y/N’s still that stubborn “keep it all inside or die” kind of girlie, but you’ll see her starting to leak, emotionally. And the way Jungkook isn’t being mocking when she cracks a little? When she masks her insecurity and he just sees her? HELLO. I giggled. I kicked my feet. I twirled my hair.

Also?? This chapter really digs into how fundamentally opposite they are when it comes to emotional frameworks. Like, Y/N hears “friendship” and sees expectations, accountability, people expecting her to care back. Hard pass. Meanwhile Jungkook is like “let’s label this so we can safely not fall.” LMAO. It’s giving defensive strategies 101. It’s giving textbook avoidant-anxious overlap. It’s giving both of you need therapy immediately and maybe a hug.

BUT. You’ll also see a little growth. A spark. A whisper of a maybe. She doesn’t fully shut down. She doesn’t say “no.” She’s simmering. And as someone with trauma? That simmer is progress. That’s real. That’s human. That’s our girl doing her best with a backpack full of emotional grenades.

Anyway. This is your 4x VERY slow emotional slow burn reminder. If you’re here hoping they’ll acknowledge feelings soon—first of all, who are you? Second of all, no. Third of all, this is not a customer service inbox. You don’t get to file complaints. You get to suffer. That’s the deal.

Enjoy the chapter, scream in my inbox, or join the crying circle on Tumblr where the rest of Kiki Nation gathers to chant “girl what the hell” in unison.

Welcome if you're new. Godspeed if you’ve been here.

Kiki out.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Pancakes smell like rain and roses and a home you can't go back to.

The smell is soft at first, curling around the edges of your consciousness as you blink against the morning light filtering through the blinds. Warm and familiar, it drags you back—not to this kitchen, not to this apartment, but somewhere far away. Somewhere softer. Somewhere safer.

Pancakes always smelled like home. Like rainy mornings where the sky was a patchwork of grays and blues, stitched together by streaks of silver rain that blurred the world outside the window. Mom would hum as she worked, her voice low and steady, blending with the sound of batter hitting the pan and the hiss of butter melting into golden pools.

She never measured anything—not really. Just a spoonful here, a dash there, warm milk poured straight from the carton into the bowl without hesitation. She’d laugh when Dad complained about her ‘eyeball method,’ but he never said no to her pancakes. Not once.

The kitchen always smelled alive on those mornings—like butter and sugar and coffee mingling in the air, weaving through the faint floral scent of the potted roses Mom kept near the window. She swore they dulled the smell of food, but they never did. The pancakes always won, their buttery sweetness overpowering everything else until it felt like you could taste them just by breathing.

You loved those mornings. Loved how they made the house feel lived in for once—like more than just walls and furniture and people passing each other on their way to somewhere else. On rainy days, it felt like home. Like something worth staying for.

Maybe that’s why pancakes were your favorite. Not because of how they tasted (though they were always perfect—soft and fluffy with just enough sweetness to make you grin through a mouthful), but because of what they meant. Because they were more than breakfast; they were a memory stitched together with rain and roses and laughter that echoed long after the plates were cleared.

You close your eyes now, letting the smell wash over you like a wave, pulling you under until all you can think about is that kitchen—the one with the chipped tiles and mismatched chairs where Mom would stand with batter-stained hands and Dad would sip his coffee too loudly just to annoy her.

And for a moment—for one fleeting second—you’re there again.

Home.

The problem with perfect memories is they're usually lies.

And then it's gone.

The mirage of home evaporates like morning dew on grass, leaving behind the acrid aftertaste of something that never really existed. Not like that. Not with the softness your mind painted over the jagged edges.

Those pancake mornings? They always came with conditions.

‘Straight A's this semester, honey? Pancakes on Sunday!’

‘Piano recital went well? Let's celebrate with breakfast tomorrow.’

‘SAT prep finished early? I'll make your favorite in the morning.’

Always a reward. Always a transaction. No matter how much vanilla extract Mom added to the batter, you could still taste the expectation underneath—bitter and metallic, like pennies on your tongue.

Makes sense why you can't enjoy things without earning them first. Why everything has to be deserved.

The scent wafting through the apartment shifts now. No longer just butter and sugar and rain-soaked roses, but something sharper. Something that stings the back of your throat and makes your stomach twist.

Guilt.

Because who the fuck resents pancakes? Who looks at a mother standing over a hot stove, humming while she makes your favorite breakfast, and thinks: this isn't enough?

You do, apparently.

You who had everything—the nice house, the private school, the parents who ‘just wanted what was best.’ The ungrateful daughter who still squirmed under their touch, who counted down the days until college like a prisoner marking time.

You don't have the right to feel trapped by love. You know that.

People would kill for what you had. For parents who showed up. For a home without holes in the walls. For pancakes on Sunday mornings.

So entitled. So privileged.

The voice in your head sounds like Mom when she's disappointed—soft and somehow, sharp at its core. She never raised her voice. 

Never had to. 

Just that quiet, ‘I expected better from you,’ that cut deeper than any scream.

Your teeth grind together, jaw clenching so hard it aches. 

There's a pressure building behind your eyes, hot and insistent, but you refuse to let it out. 

Not over fucking pancakes.

Not over the way Dad would look at your report card before he looked at you. 

Not over the way Mom rescheduled your life without asking, because ‘Yale doesn't accept students who waste time on sketching.’

Not over the way they both pretended your opinion was valued while systematically stripping away every choice that mattered.

‘We're just guiding you. We're just helping. We're just doing what parents are supposed to do.’

The smell of pancakes is suffocating now. Cloying. Sweet in a way that coats your tongue and makes you want to scrape it off.

And still, there's that whisper, that insidious little thought that's been following you since you left: Maybe if you'd been better—more grateful, more deserving—it wouldn't have felt like a cage.

Because that's the real fucked-up part, isn't it? You miss them. Miss the security of those Sunday mornings. Miss knowing exactly what was expected, even as you chafed against it.

Miss feeling like someone cared enough to map out your entire life, even if they never bothered asking which direction you wanted to go.

The guilt surges again, stronger. 

What kind of monster resents safety? What kind of daughter hates being loved?

The kind who runs away to New York and still wakes up in the middle of the night, heart racing, thinking she's late for a lesson she never wanted to take.

The kind who changed her major three times before settling on English, just because it was the one subject Dad thought was ‘impractical.’

The kind who buys her own groceries and pays her own rent and still can't shake the feeling that she's doing everything wrong. That somewhere, someone is keeping score, and you're failing.

The kind who smells pancakes and wants to cry.

Not because you miss home.

But because part of you is afraid it's following you here, to the one place that was supposed to be yours. Just yours. With no expectations attached.

The smell is coming from the kitchen. Someone is making pancakes in your kitchen.

And you don't know whether to smile or scream.

Your fingers clutch your phone, because the pressure building in your chest has to be channeled somewhere. 

The numbers glare back at you, accusatory.

8:00

8:00

8:00

Panic bubbles out of you.

Late. You're late. You're always fucking late. Dad's voice in your head, that disappointed sigh. ‘Time management reflects character, dear.’

You bolt upright, heart hammering against your ribs, and then—

Nothing is right.

The sheets aren't yours. Too dark, too soft. The wall is wrong—black, with one accent wall in deep red that you've definitely never painted. There's a carpet beneath your feet when you swing your legs over the edge. Your water bottle isn't where it should be. Your clothes aren't where you left them, you’re naked.

This isn't your room.

This is Jungkook's room.

Jungkook's bed.

And suddenly last night comes rushing back in fragments that make your skin heat up.

Not the usual—not the snarky comments across the kitchen table or the silent treatment when you're pissed at each other. Not the avoidance of the last four days where you both pretended the other didn't exist.

No, last night was... talking. Just talking. Both of you just... existing in the same space without trying to burn it down.

And then—

Jesus Christ.

You press your palms against your eyes, but that doesn't stop the memory. Him between your thighs, making those sounds like he was the one getting pleasure from it. The way he looked up at you, eyes almost black in the low light. How he touched himself while tasting you, like he couldn't help it.

And then after, when you both should've retreated to separate corners to lick your wounds and rebuild your walls—you didn't. You fucking climbed into his bed. Told him to stay. Like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

What the actual fuck is wrong with you?

You can't even blame alcohol. Two glasses of wine over the entire evening doesn't equal drunk. Doesn't equal stupid decisions. Doesn't equal... whatever the hell last night was.

So what was it?

You drag your hands down your face, feeling the heat in your cheeks. 

Are you really that easy to disarm? One decent conversation, one night where he's not being a complete ass, and suddenly you're sleeping in his bed like some kind of...

Like what? Not a girlfriend. Not a friend with benefits, because friends actually like each other. 

Just... a girl who got confused. Who let her guard down. Who maybe wanted, just for a night, to not fight everything and everyone.

Including yourself.

You grab one of Jungkook’s discarded black T-shirts (oversized ones, because he thinks he’s cool or something) and some clean boxers to entertain your thoughts. 

But it’s no use.

Your fingers dig into your scalp, tugging at your hair. You want to bang your head against the wall until these thoughts scatter, but then you remember—again—that it's not your wall. It's his. This entire space belongs to him, and you're the intruder here.

Except he didn't say no, did he? When you suggested, he didn't really hesitate. Much. Just huffed, carried you and then plopped right next to you. Like maybe he wanted it too.

And for one brief, stupid moment last night, curled up in sheets that still smelled like him, you thought… maybe this could work.

Maybe you could actually be friends.

Real friends.

The kind who talk about shit that matters. Who know things about each other that have nothing to do with sex or power plays. The kind who don’t pretend silence is neutrality and eye contact is war.

But friends means caring. And caring while fucking is a road that leads straight to complication city, population: you, crying on the bathroom floor at 3 AM wondering why you weren't enough.

Fucking is one thing. Dating is another.

Being friends? That’s a whole different monster.

And you’re not naïve enough to believe people can safely be all three at once—not without bleeding somewhere.

Sure, people who date usually start as friends. And yes, most people who date also fuck.

But you?

You don’t date. You detonate.

And Jungkook? He’s got matchsticks for fingers and a mouth that knows exactly where your fault lines are.

So, no. He doesn’t get to be all three. Doesn’t get to orbit your life from multiple angles. Doesn’t get to slip into your day like heat and leave like regret.

He’s not dating material.

But he is fuckable. Dangerously, addictively, ruin-your-life fuckable.

So that’s where he stays. Logically.

You check your phone again. Still 8:00 AM. But it’s Saturday, which means—

Your new job. Barnes & Noble. 10:00 AM.

The panic recedes, leaving behind a hollow sort of relief. 

You're not late. You have time. Two whole hours to figure out how to look Jungkook in the eye without thinking about his mouth between your legs or the way his voice sounded when he talked about his ex or how he looked when he seemed actually, genuinely concerned.

Two hours to rebuild all those walls that somehow, without you noticing, started to crumble.

You're not sure it's enough time.

The heel of your palms dig into your eyes as you let out a sigh that feels like it's been trapped in your chest for days. 

Fucking pancakes. The whole place reeks of them, sweet and buttery and—

Pain slices through you, vicious and unexpected.

"Fuck—" 

Your body curls in on itself automatically, a reflex you can't control. It feels like someone's taken a rusty knife to your insides and decided to twist. Your hand flies to your lower abdomen, pressing against it like that'll somehow help. Like you can hold yourself together through sheer force of will.

The IUD. Has to be.

It's been nagging at you for days now. Little pinpricks, the occasional twinge that made you wince but was easy enough to ignore. 

But this? This is something else entirely. This is your body throwing a full-scale revolt.

You sink back onto Jungkook's bed, chest doubling over toward your knees. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Just like Mom taught you, back when panic attacks would hit in the middle of the night before big tests. Back when your chest would get tight and the world would spin and everything felt like too much.

‘In through your nose. Hold for four. Out through your mouth.’

‘Good girl. That's my good, brave girl.’

The memory of her voice is so clear it's almost like she's here, sitting next to you on this bed that isn't yours, in this room that smells like someone else. Guiding you through the pain like she always did. Always so calm. Always so sure.

Even when you hated her methods, you never doubted she knew what she was doing.

The pain ebbs, receding like a tide that's bound to come back. It leaves you empty and oddly fragile, staring at the dark gray carpet between your bare feet. The urge to slide back under Jungkook's covers is almost overwhelming. To just hide there until the world feels less overwhelming.

Something soft and warm brushes against your ankle.

Griffin looks up at you with those unblinking amber eyes, his tail a question mark behind him. He makes that little chirping sound that's not quite a meow, more like he's asking if you're okay in the only language he knows.

"Hey, buddy," you murmur, reaching down to scratch under his chin where he likes it best.

He leans into your touch, purring loudly enough that you can feel the vibration through your fingertips. 

Such a simple thing. Touch and response. Need and fulfillment. No conditions, no expectations. Just connection.

It makes your throat feel tight in a way that has nothing to do with pain.

Griffin bumps his head against your palm, demanding more attention. Typical. Exactly like his owner—always taking more than he's given.

The thought makes you snort softly. 

You stand, slower this time, wary of another attack from your rebellious reproductive system—yet nothing happens. Small mercies.

When you open Jungkook's door, the smell of pancakes hits you like a wall. Rich and sweet and somehow wrong. Not like home. Not quite. Different ingredients, different hands.

And there he is. In a fucking Sonic the Hedgehog T-shirt and matching pajama pants. Hair a mess, like he styled it with a fork and an air fryer. Flipping pancakes like he’s got his life together.

Standing in the kitchen with his back to you, shoulders moving slightly in time to whatever's playing through those expensive headphones. Completely in his own world. Completely unaware that you've been having an internal crisis in his bed for the past twenty minutes.

Completely, infuriatingly normal. Like last night changed nothing.

Maybe it didn't. For him. 

Maybe it didn’t. For you.

Or maybe it did. 

You sigh, dragging yourself toward the kitchen because someone needs to make sure he doesn't burn the whole fucking place down. The security deposit is half yours, after all.

Jungkook doesn’t show any sort of acknowledgement, headphones clamped over his ears, head bobbing so violently you're genuinely concerned it might detach from his neck. 

Like his brain doesn't have enough problems already without the potential concussion.

Now that you're closer, you can actually hear him—not just humming, but full-on rapping? along. 

Or trying to. 

The tinny leak from his headphones gives you just enough to recognize that god-awful song that's been all over TikTok lately. 

Gang Baby, NLE Choppa.

Of course that's what this idiot listens to while making breakfast.

He spots you in his periphery and doesn't miss a beat, turning just enough to start mouthing the lyrics directly at you. His eyebrows do this ridiculous waggle when he gets to the part about let me B-A-N-G and let me fuck some.

You curl your lip in disgust, which only makes him snort and rap more enthusiastically.

"Real classy, Rogue. Nothing says 'good morning' like misogynistic garbage at—" you check your phone, "—8:12 AM." 

He pulls one side of his headphones away from his ear. 

"Sorry, what? Couldn't hear you over this absolute banger."

"I said," you position yourself next to him at the counter, peering at whatever he's mixing in that bowl, "you have the musical taste of a horny fourteen-year-old who just discovered his dad's Playboy collection."

"Hey, don't hate. NLE Choppa is a lyrical genius."

"Oh yeah? What's next on your sophisticated playlist? 'Me So Horny'? Maybe some 'My Neck, My Back'? Real breakfast ambiance."

"Those are classics," he grins, completely unashamed. "But I reserve those for special occasions. Seduction purposes only."

"Has that ever actually worked on anyone with more than two brain cells?"

"You tell me, Nix." His voice drops half an octave, eyes flicking down to your lips for just a second before he turns back to his bowl. 

You make an incredulous sound. 

“What the fuck are you making, anyway?"

"Protein pancakes, babyyyy!" He drags out the word, lifting the spatula like it's a trophy.

Your face must show exactly how you feel about that because he laughs.

"What? Gotta maintain these gains." 

The fucking idiot actually flexes then, one arm curling up while he continues to stir with the other.

You swat at him, connecting with his bicep. 

Firm. Solid. Warm. 

You pull your hand back like you've been burned.

"God, you're so fucking stupid."

"Stupid hot, maybe."

You ignore that, moving toward the coffee maker. The one thing in this apartment worth waking up for.

"Ah ah," he tsks, reaching behind him. "Already made you some."

You pause, watching as he passes a mug over to you. 

Your mug. The dark blue one with the chip on the handle that somehow ended up being yours even though you can't remember buying it. Steam curls from it, carrying the rich scent of coffee—strong, with just a hint of hazelnut. 

Exactly how you like it.

You bite the inside of your cheek, wrapping your fingers around the warm ceramic. 

“Thanks," you mutter, the word almost painful to push out.

"So," he says, pouring batter onto the griddle, "you're eating some pancakes, aren't you?"

You purse your lips, hesitating. 

On one hand, protein pancakes sound like something a gym bro invented to justify eating dessert for breakfast. 

On the other, your stomach reminds you it's been empty since those chips you inhaled around midnight.

"Come on," he pushes, "you need protein to maintain that ass, Nix."

Your jaw actually drops. "Excuse me?"

"What?" He grins, ducking his head when you swat at him again. "I'm just saying, would be a pity to throw that to waste. You've got an amazing—"

"Ughhhhh, okay! I got it!" You cut him off before he can finish. "I don’t wanna hear it at this hour. I'll eat your stupid pancakes, my god."

He looks far too pleased with himself, flipping a perfectly golden pancake like he thinks he’s an actual chef or something. 

"They're not stupid, they're nutritionally optimized."

"Is that what your protein powder labels call them? The ones with the half-naked bodybuilders flexing on the front?"

"Hey, don't judge my fitness journey."

"Oh, I'm judging everything about you, Rook. It’s my whole brand.”

He just chuckles, sliding the first pancake onto a plate and pouring more batter. The domesticity of it all is somehow ridiculous.

It feels too normal. Too easy. Like you've done this a hundred times before.

Like maybe you could do it a hundred times more.

Dangerous thought. Very dangerous.

You take a long sip of coffee, letting the bitter heat scald away whatever the hell that feeling was.

Jungkook slides a plate toward you, two perfectly golden pancakes stacked and steaming. 

And honestly; they actually smell... decent. Not like the protein chalk you expected.

"Bon appétit," he says with a ridiculous flourish of his hand. "Try not to fall in love."

"With you or the pancakes?" You grab a fork from the drawer, sitting on one stool and poking at your breakfast suspiciously.

"The pancakes.” He says with a smirk, joining you in the adjacent stool. “I’m too much for you to handle.”

You roll your eyes, taking a reluctant bite. Fuck. They're good. Like, actually good. Not gritty or chalky or tasting vaguely of chemicals like most protein-enhanced food.

His smug grin tells you your face has already betrayed you.

"Don't," you warn, pointing your fork at him.

"Don't what?" He leans forward, one elbow propped on the table. "Don't mention how your eyes just rolled back in your head? Or don't point out that I'm right about something, and that's clearly causing you physical pain?"

"Don't be insufferable before 9 AM." You take another bite, speaking around it. "I haven't had enough coffee to deal with you at full throttle."

"What about last night? You seemed pretty happy dealing with me at full throttle then."

"Seriously? We're doing this now?"

"Doing what?" He stabs his own pancakes with his utensil. "Having breakfast? Talking? Being... you know, normal?"

"Normal. Is that what we're doing?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, last night was..." He shrugs, taking a bite of pancake. "Nice. You know? We actually talked. Didn't try to kill each other. Maybe we could do that more."

Oh god. This is exactly what you were afraid of. This weird, awkward morning-after attempt to redefine things. 

He's going to want to put a label on it now, isn't he? 

Turn your convenient arrangement into something messy with expectations and feelings and other terrifying shit.

Friends. Or friends with benefits or whatever stupid idea he’s about to come up with. 

No. Absolutely not.

"We talked," you say carefully. "We also fucked. Let's not make it weird."

"How is it weird to suggest we could be, I don't know, actual friends?"

And there it is. 

"Friends." You stab at your pancake with more force than necessary. "Right. Because that's what people who've seen each other naked are. Friends."

"I mean, yeah? Friends who fuck. It's a whole thing. People do it all the time."

You look up at him, fork frozen halfway to your mouth. 

“And how's that worked out for you in the past, Rogue? These fuck-buddy friendships of yours��all solid, drama-free arrangements, were they?"

His eyebrows furrow. "I'm not suggesting we start braiding each other's hair and sharing deep dark secrets. Just saying maybe we don't have to pretend we hate each other 24/7."

"I don't hate you," you say automatically, then immediately regret it.

He scoffs. "Progress."

"Don't get excited. I don't like you, either."

"Sure you do." He grins around a mouthful of pancake. "You like parts of me, at least."

"Your modesty, definitely. That's my favorite part."

"Not what you were saying last night."

You throw a napkin at him. It flutters pathetically halfway across the space between you. 

Stupid napkin. Stupid Jungkook.

“Can we just—can we just eat? Without dissecting our relationship status?"

"What's there to dissect? We live together. We fuck sometimes. We talk sometimes. We don't hate each other. Seems pretty straightforward to me."

"Nothing's ever straightforward. Sex is one thing. Friendship is another. Put them together, and it's a disaster waiting to happen."

"Why? What's the issue? You really think if we start being decent to each other, suddenly the whole arrangement falls apart?"

"No, I think if we start being 'decent' to each other, suddenly there are expectations. Suddenly I'm supposed to care if you're having a bad day, or listen to your problems, or worry about your feelings when we're fucking."

"Wow. The horror." He rolls his eyes. "God forbid you acknowledge I'm a human being and not just a convenient dick."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Then what did you mean? Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you think I'm too fucking stupid to understand boundaries. Like I'll immediately start writing your name in hearts or some shit just because we've upgraded from roommates to friends."

"I didn't say—"

"I don't want to date you, Nix. I don't want to be your boyfriend. I just thought it might be nice to not act like we're in some cold war every time we're in the same room. But if that's too much emotional labor for you, fine. We can go back to pretending the other doesn't exist unless we're naked."

The sting of his words surprises you. Why do you even care? This is what you want—no messy emotions, no expectations. Just the convenience of living together and occasionally hooking up. Clean. Simple.

Except now it feels anything but.

"You're twisting what I said."

"Am I? So you're not freaking out about the terrifying prospect of actually being friends with the guy you've been sleeping with?"

"I am not freaking out." You are absolutely freaking out. "I just think it's... cleaner. If we keep things the way they are."

"Cleaner." He snorts. "Right. God forbid anything in your life gets messy."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've got your shit locked down so tight you're about to snap in half." He stands up, grabbing his mug of coffee. "You think I don't see it? How hard you try to control everything? How fucking terrified you are of anything that doesn't fit into your perfectly organized boxes?"

Your grip on the fork tightens. "Oh, please. Tell me more about myself, Rook. You've known me for what, one month? Clearly you're an expert."

"I may not know shit, but I see enough. I see you'd rather cut someone out completely than risk them having any kind of power over you.”

"Fuck you," you spit, but it comes out weaker than you intended. 

Because he's not wrong, and that's the worst part.

"Yeah, we've established that part works great." He drops his plate on the sink and it clatters noisily. “Look, forget it. You want to keep pretending we're strangers who occasionally fuck? Fine. Works for me. Less work anyway."

"That's not what I said." You stand up. "I just don't see why we need to redefine everything. Why can't we just... let it be what it is?"

"Because I don't even know what the fuck it is! Am I your roommate? Your fuck buddy? That guy you hate but tolerate because the rent is cheaper split three ways? What the hell am I supposed to tell people when they ask about you?"

"Why are people asking about me?"

"Jesus Christ." He throws his hands up. "That's what you focus on? Not the point, Phoenix."

"Then what is the point? Spell it out for me, since I'm clearly too stupid to get it."

"The point is, I talk to you more than I talk to most of my actual friends. I see you every day. I know how you take your coffee and what you look like when you come. So excuse the fuck out of me for thinking maybe, just maybe, we could drop the whole 'we're just roommates who tolerate each other' act and admit we might actually be friends."

You stare at him, chest tight with something you can't name. 

Can't or won't. 

This is exactly what you've been avoiding—this messy, complicated conversation that blurs all the neat lines you've drawn.

"I don't do friends with benefits," you finally say, voice quiet, your plate joining his. "It never works. Someone always ends up hurt."

"Who said anything about hurt? It's not that deep, Nix. We're not in a fucking rom-com."

"No, we're in real life, where things get complicated and messy and people have expectations they don't even realize until they're disappointed."

"The only expectation I have right now is for you to stop overthinking everything for five seconds."

"I'm not overthinking. I'm being realistic."

"You're being paranoid. And kind of insulting, if I'm honest. Like I'm some lovesick puppy who can't handle a casual arrangement."

“I’m paranoid? That’s rich coming from you, Ro. Real fucking rich."

His eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're a fucking hypocrite." The words tumble out, hot and fast. "You want to talk about being friends? About opening up? That's hilarious coming from the guy who deflects every personal question with some stupid joke."

"I don't—"

"You absolutely do. Every time." You step closer, jabbing a finger in his direction. "Ask about your financial situation? Oh, it's fine, just selling a kidney next week, ha ha. Ask about your ex? Turn it into some bullshit story about how she 'graded' you after sex, like it's all a big fucking joke."

His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. "That's different."

"How? How is it different? You want me to be all open and friendly, but all you do is deflect and crack jokes.”

"I didn’t say anything about being all open and—”

"Then what are you saying?" You throw your hands up, frustration making your voice rise. "Because it sounds like you want all the benefits of friendship without any of the actual vulnerability. You want me to be your friend when it's convenient, but god forbid I ask about anything that matters."

"What do you want to know, Nix? What deep dark secret are you dying to hear? How I'm drowning in debt because my ex fucked up my credit? How I can barely make rent some months? How I wake up in the middle of the night panicking about money? Is that friendly enough for you?"

The sudden honesty knocks the wind out of you. Your mouth opens, closes, opens again like a fish gasping on land.

"That's what I thought." He tilts his head, motion clearly angry. "You don't actually want to know that shit. You just want to point out that I don't share it to win an argument."

You both stand there, breathing hard, like you’re studying each other.

But then Griffin rubs against your ankle, completely oblivious to the emotional warfare happening above his head and you…

You, honestly, feel tired.

Bone-deep tired. 

It's too early for this much... whatever this is.

"Look," you sigh, the fight draining out of you. "Maybe we're both right, in our own way. And maybe we're both being assholes."

He blinks, clearly not expecting the shift. 

After a moment, his shoulders drop a fraction.

"I’m listening.”

"Last night wasn't terrible," you say, choosing your words carefully. "Talking. Whatever. Maybe we don't need to define everything right now?"

"Revolutionary concept." His voice has lost its edge, that familiar sardonic tone creeping back in. "Not immediately labeling every interaction. Who would've thought?"

"Shut up." 

You pick up your coffee mug again, taking a sip to hide the relief washing over you. 

Crisis averted. Boundaries preserved. 

For now.

"So what are you saying?" he asks, leaning back against the counter. "We just... see where things go?"

"I'm saying maybe we don't have to be strictly roommates or strictly friends. Maybe we can just... exist in the same space sometimes without trying to kill each other. And if it turns out we don't hate it..."

"We can revisit the friend thing?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe." You shrug, aiming for casual. "If you manage not to be completely insufferable."

"Tall order." He's almost smiling now. "I'll have to suppress all my natural charm."

"If that's what you call it."

You roll your eyes, relieved to be back on solid ground. 

This you can handle—the banter, the back-and-forth, the careful dance around anything too real. 

This is safe.

Under control.

"Just eat your protein pancakes, Rogue. Don't you have gains to maintain or whatever?"

"Can't skip arm day," he agrees, flexing dramatically. "These biceps don't maintain themselves."

"God, you're insufferable."

"Yet here you are, eating my pancakes, drinking coffee I made you." He gestures at your mug with his own. "Almost like you tolerate me."

"Stockholm syndrome, obviously."

"Obviously." He hums thoughtfully for a moment. "So, we're good?"

"We're..." you search for the right word, "...fine. For now. Let's just take it a day at a time, okay? No pressure, no expectations."

"I can do that." He nods, looking almost relieved himself. "One day at a time. Starting with today, where you admit my pancakes are fucking amazing."

"They're edible."

"They're incredible and you know it."

"They're protein powder with extra steps."

"They're a culinary masterpiece that your taste buds aren't sophisticated enough to fully appreciate."

"My taste buds are perfectly sophisticated, thank you very much."

"Says the girl who eats chips at midnight."

"At least I don't drink protein shakes for dessert like some kind of psychopath."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it. My midnight chocolate protein shake would change your life."

You make a gagging sound. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Your loss." He shrugs, then glances at the clock. "Don't you have to be at work at 10?"

"Yeah, but it's only—" you check your phone, "—8:30. Plenty of time."

"If you say so." He moves towards the space between the entryway and the couch. "First day, right? Gonna sell some books to the masses?"

"That's generally what happens at a bookstore, yes."

"Well, don't let your sparkling personality scare away the customers."

"I have excellent customer service skills, I'll have you know. I can fake being nice for hours at a time."

“You sure ‘bout that? Haven’t seen you be nice for more than thirty seconds."

"That's because you don't deserve my niceness."

"And the customers at Barnes & Noble do?"

"They're paying for it. You just get the real me."

"Lucky me," he snorts. "So, you nervous? First day and all?"

"It's a retail job, Rogue, not brain surgery. I think I can handle scanning books and saying 'have a nice day' without a panic attack."

"Just asking." He takes a sip from his mug. "Making conversation. Like normal people do."

"Yeah, well." You shift, suddenly uncomfortable with how... normal this feels. 

Like you're actual roommates having an actual conversation. 

Like maybe this friend thing isn't so impossible after all. 

"I should probably start getting ready."

"Right, sure." He nods, glancing at his room. "Wouldn't want you to be late for your first day of shaping young minds through literature."

"It's Barnes & Noble, not the Library of Alexandria."

"Still. Books. Knowledge. Power. You know."

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot of shit for someone who reads, like, one book a year?"

"Hey, I read." He looks genuinely offended. "I just finished that one about the guy who—"

"If you say 'Rich Dad, Poor Dad,' I'm going to throw this mug at your head."

"I was going to say 'The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck,' actually."

"Of course you were." You can't help the laugh that escapes. "How original. Let me guess, you also have 'The 48 Laws of Power' on your nightstand?"

"Whatever, man." He shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Suck my dick."

The words come out light, amused—a casual dismissal that’s not angry or bitter, just a throwaway line, the kind of thing he'd say to Yoongi or any of his friends when they're giving him shit.

But something about it—the vulgarity or maybe the signature shitty and playful challenge in his eyes—makes you reckless.

"Okay."

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes sliding to the side as the word slips out. 

Casual. 

Like you just agreed to pass the salt, not... that.

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His body goes rigid, one foot already pointed toward his bedroom. He turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch his profile.

"Huh?"

You cross your arms, teeth worrying the inside of your cheek. A shrug lifts your shoulders—noncommittal, like this isn't making your heart hammer against your ribs.

Your eyes drift back to his. Meet and hold.

"I said okay."

He turns fully now, coffee mug dangling forgotten from his fingers. 

"Okay... what?"

"Sucking your dick." 

You watch his throat bobble, the muscles in his neck working as he swallows. Like he’s processing what you just said. Like you just suggested something completely alien, something that requires a full system reboot. 

And okay, fine, maybe it wasn’t the most casual thing to drop into conversation. But still. 

You arch an eyebrow, scowling at him because why is he overthinking this? Does he not want you to do it? Don’t all guys want to get sucked off? Isn’t that, like, a universal truth or something? What’s with the hesitation?

The longer he stands there, frozen and dumbfounded, the hotter your frustration burns. It’s not like you even want to do this (okay, you do, but that’s not the point). 

The point is he’s always the first one to be like “bet” whenever you throw out some reckless suggestion. 

Pushy without being pushy—he knows boundaries, sure, but he’s still the guy who’ll smirk and say “you won’t” just to see if you will. 

And now? The one time you actually offer something? He’s looking at you like you’re speaking Simlish.

You move toward him, until you're face to face. 

His mug wobbles in his grip, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

You look up at him through your lashes. 

"I said I can suck your dick if that's what you want."

A shaky exhale escapes him, warm against your face.

"Nix..." His voice has dropped an octave, rough around the edges. "Don't fool around. That's not nice."

"I'm not fooling around."

Slowly—so slowly it feels like time has stretched into something thick and syrupy—you sink down to your knees.

The kitchen tile is hard, and really, it should be uncomfortable. Should snap you out of whatever madness has possessed you.

It doesn't.

Jungkook bites down on his lower lip, the sharp edges of his teeth digging into the flesh like he's physically holding back a curse. You can see the evidence of his interest already straining against his pajama pants.

His fucking Sonic pajama pants.

Because of course. Of course this would happen while he's wearing cartoon hedgehogs. Of course this

moment—where you're on your knees in front of him, heart pounding, breath shallow—would come with this absurd detail that makes it real in a way that's almost uncomfortable.

Your hands come to rest on his thighs. 

Strong. Solid. Warm. 

"I mean, we've been hooking up for a month now. Almost." Your voice sounds different to your own ears. Lower. A little breathless. "You've eaten me out multiple times, but... I haven't sucked your dick. Not even once."

Your eyes drop deliberately to the bulge straining against ridiculous cartoon fabric. It should be funny. 

It's not.

"Is it because you didn't want me to?"

He shakes his head. Fast. Emphatic. A jerky motion that tells you everything you need to know.

"So why didn't you ask me?"

He doesn't answer. Can't, maybe. 

His throat works again, adam's apple bobbing. His pupils are blown wide, dark and hungry as he stares down at you.

Your fingers play with the waistband, slowly—so fucking slowly—pulling it down just enough to reveal his hip bones and the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the elastic.

"Have you thought about it at all?"

"Yes." The word comes out strangled, like it fought its way past whatever restraint he's trying to maintain.

Your eyes snap up to his.

He curses when your eyes lock onto his again—the control you have, even down on your knees.

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." He exhales, surrender in the sound. "Yes, I've thought about your beautiful plump lips wrapped around my cock, Nix. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Heat blooms in your cheeks, spreading down your neck, across your chest. 

You hadn't expected him to be so... explicit. So honest.

"Maybe." Your thumbs brush against the skin just above his waistband. "What else have you thought about?"

His mug clatters onto the counter beside him, abandoned and his now-free hand comes to your face, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. 

"Thought about how you'd look," he murmurs, voice pitched low enough that you have to strain to hear it. "On your knees. Just like this. Those big eyes looking up at me while you take me in your mouth.”

Jesus. 

Your body responds instantly, a rush of heat between your thighs that makes you press them together unconsciously.

When did Jungkook get so... articulate?

His thumb presses slightly against your lip, just enough to part them. "Thought about how warm your mouth would be.

How good it would feel. How you'd sound."

"How l'd sound?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, confidence returning as he watches your reaction. "The little noises you'd make. The way you'd moan around my cock when I pull your hair."

Oh.

Your hand moves higher, finding the hard length of him through his pajamas. He hisses through his teeth when you palm him, fingers wrapping around his shape.

"Like this?" you ask, squeezing gently.

His hand moves to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands at the back of your head. 

Not pulling. Not yet. Just holding.

"Getting there." His voice is strained now, tight with need.

"But in my head, there's a lot less talking and a lot more—"

"Sucking?"

His laugh is half groan. "Yeah, Nix. A lot more sucking."

"Hmmm" you murmur. "Where's all that big talk from earlier?"

"Temporarily relocated," he manages. "Blood flow issues."

That startles a laugh out of you, breaking the tension for just a moment. Trust Jungkook to crack a joke while you're literally about to have his dick in your mouth.

Your hands pause, giving his bulge another soft squeeze before—

“Wait—couch.” He grabs your wrist, stopping your motions. “Let’s do this properly.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah? Better for your neck and knees and all that. Let’s go.”

You roll your eyes but follow as he then drops onto the couch, sprawling like he owns the place—which, technically, he does, but still. His left elbow hooks over the cushion rest lazily, and his knuckles come up to rest against his cheek as he leans into it. 

The picture of nonchalance. 

Except for the way his hips shift slightly, rolling upward in a small, deliberate motion as he spreads his legs wider.

Your eyes narrow. 

That little buck of his hips? The way his thighs stretch out as if to frame you? It’s not subtle. 

Neither is the look he’s giving you now—those half-lidded bedroom eyes that always seem to appear when he’s horny. His lips curve into something smug, and god he’s so obvious it’s almost embarrassing. Like one of those guys in bad romance novels who lounges around shirtless, flexing for no reason except to remind everyone they have abs.

“So?” His voice is low, dragging out the single syllable like a challenge.

You cross your arms tighter over your chest, glaring at him because—what? Is this supposed to be seductive? Is this his idea of foreplay? 

“You’re already making me regret this, you know that?”

He snorts, the sound sharp and amused as he tilts his head slightly. “I don’t know why I doubt that.”

Your only response is a scoff—short and derisive—as you step closer. The floor feels uneven beneath your feet, though you know it isn’t. It’s just your nerves playing tricks on you. 

Because this is real now. This is happening. You’re about to suck cock. Rogue’s cock.

You want this. You do. You’ve been curious about this for longer than you’d care to admit—curious about him, about what he likes and how he reacts and whether he’ll look as smug when he’s falling apart under your mouth. 

But still… You haven’t exactly done this much before.

David—the forgettable high school boyfriend who thought foreplay was optional—had pretty much stuck his dick in you and called it a day. He didn’t even know girls could orgasm until you brought it up once during an argument (and even then, he seemed skeptical). 

Your life hasn't been that tragic since then, thankfully.

A few hookups here and there have shown you that men aren't a total lost cause after all—some of them even know what they're doing! But sucking dick?

That's... different. It's not something you've done often enough to feel confident about it.

Sure, you know the basics—you've read enough spicy books and fanfics to have a decent idea of what works (English majors don't judge; they research). 

But knowing what works in general isn't the same as knowing what Jungkook likes. 

And this is his cock you’re talking about—his stupidly perfect body and his stupidly perfect everything else.

And now here you are, kneeling between Jungkook’s thighs while he looks down at you with that stupid smirk of his.

You glance up at him expectantly, hoping for some kind of cue or instruction or… anything really. Like he always does, talk shit with that big mouth of his. Dirty talk or whatever. 

But all he does is blink at you for a moment before he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his Sonic pajama pants and starts pulling them down.

His cock springs free, standing there like it owns the place. 

And okay, yeah, you’ve seen it before—plenty of times, actually. 

You’ve had it inside you, for fuck’s sake. 

But this? This is different. This is up close and personal, inches from your face, glossy and flushed and looking way too proud of itself.

Beautiful isn’t the right word. It’s a cock. A literal penis. 

There’s nothing beautiful about it—it’s just a piece of meat, veiny and slightly curved and standing at attention like it’s waiting for applause or something. 

And yet... you can’t look away. 

Why is it so glossy? Is that normal? Does he always look like this when he’s hard? You don’t know why your brain is spiraling into a full-blown analysis of his dick right now, but here you are, mentally beefing with it like it personally insulted you.

Be so fucking for real right now.

And again—there he is. Silent. Watching. Not saying a single goddamn word.

Which is weird because usually, Jungkook doesn’t shut up during sex. He’s all about the dirty talk—filthy little comments that let you know exactly what he likes, what he wants, what he’s thinking. 

But now? Nothing. Just this expectant silence that makes your skin prickle with self-consciousness.

You hate him for it.

Your hand wraps around him before you can overthink it anymore. Because okay, fine—you might not be an expert at this, but you’re not completely clueless either. You’ve sucked cock before (not a lot, but enough to know the basics), and you know how jerking off works. 

So that’s what you do: start slow, your hand moving down his length in a steady stroke.

He hisses softly at the contact, his hips shifting slightly against the couch cushion. When you glance up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already looking down at you—his lips parted just enough to catch your attention as his tongue darts out to wet them.

And still, he says nothing.

“What?” You grunt the word out before you can stop yourself, frustration bubbling up in your chest.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, too quickly—like he wasn’t expecting you to call him out.

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, but his face gives nothing away.

“Okay,” you mutter under your breath, pulling back slightly as doubt creeps in around the edges of your confidence. “I’m doing everything wrong. Forget it.”

You start to stand up—because honestly? 

Fuck this. 

Fuck him and his smug silence and his stupid perfect dick that’s making you second-guess yourself when you were perfectly fine five minutes ago.

But before you can fully retreat, his hand shoots out to grab yours—not rough or demanding, just firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low and almost... gentle? “Hey, no. Don’t do that.”

You stare at him for a moment, then look away because suddenly eye contact feels like too much.

There’s a beat of silence before he swallows audibly, like he’s pondering what to say. 

“Do you want me to…” He hesitates for half a second before continuing, his tone careful but curious. “Verbally tell you what I like?”

You purse your lips tightly, the edges pressing together in a way that’s almost painful. 

Because somehow, saying yes to that—admitting you need him to tell you what to do—feels like losing. And you don’t want to lose. Not here. Not to him. Not when he’s sprawled out like some kind of smug king on the stupid couch, looking at you like he’s waiting for you to figure out how to solve a puzzle he already knows the answer to.

He doesn’t push, though. His hand stays on yours, warm and steady, as you let him pull you gently back down. 

Your knees hit the floor again, and the carpet feels rough against your skin, grounding you in the moment even as your brain screams at you to get it together.

“Okay,” he says after a beat, his voice soft but probing. “What’s up?”

Your eyes snap to his, narrowing slightly at the question. “That’s what I should be asking you.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. 

“C’mon. Usually you’re so mouthy. You literally made me beg yesterday just to eat you out. I don’t get this sudden prude thing you’re pulling.”

Damn him. Damn him and his ability to read you so well it feels like he’s got a script for your every thought and reaction.

“I’m not acting prude,” you snap defensively.

“Really?” His lips twitch upward. “Because you’re staring at my cock like you’re mad at it.”

Your jaw tightens as embarrassment flares hot in your chest. 

“I’m not mad at it,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

“Then what’s the problem?” He tilts his head slightly, genuinely curious now. “Tell me.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by how simple he makes it sound—like voicing whatever’s swirling in your head is the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s not tied up in knots of insecurity and doubt and whatever else is making your throat feel tight right now.

Because he’s right. You could just tell him. That would solve everything, wouldn’t it? But somehow, the thought of saying it out loud—of admitting that maybe you’re not as confident about this as you’d like to be—feels like stepping off a cliff without knowing if there’s anything to catch you at the bottom.

Why does it feel like losing? Like humiliation?

His brow furrows slightly when you don’t respond right away, and then he asks—carefully, hesitantly—

“Okay… have you done this before? A blowjob?”

The question makes your stomach flip for reasons you can’t quite explain. Your eyes drop to the floor as heat creeps up your neck and into your face. 

“…Yus,” you mumble under your breath.

“Yus?” He repeats incredulously, leaning forward slightly like he didn’t hear you right.

“Yes,” you say louder this time, still staring at the carpet like it holds all the answers to life’s mysteries.

“But not often,” he guesses—and fuck him for being right again.

Your head snaps up at that, ready to fire off some kind of retort about how that’s none of his business or how he should shut up because clearly he’s not an expert on everything either—but then he laughs.

Out loud.

And it stops you cold.

Because it’s not mean or mocking or anything close to what you expected—it’s just… laughter. Light and genuine and almost disbelieving in a way that makes something inside you loosen just a little bit.

“What?” You demand sharply.

“Oh my god,” he says between chuckles. “Phoenix—is that what this is about? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You glare at him because what else are you supposed to do? Admit he’s right? Again? Absolutely not.

He notices anyway—of course he does—and his grin softens into something closer to understanding as he leans back against the couch cushions.

“Bro,” he says lightly, shaking his head like this is all so obvious now. “It’s totally chill.”

You scoff quietly, looking off to the side because meeting his eyes feels impossible right now.

“I mean it, you want to try, right? You want to experience it or whatever? Nothing wrong with that.” He pauses for half a second before adding with a small smile: “Let me help you, aight?”

You don’t say yes. Of course you don’t. You never say yes.

You run your tongue across your upper lip instead, slow and lazy like you’re tasting the tension, and shrug—shoulders stiff like maybe it costs you something to agree. 

Which, okay. It kind of does. Dignity’s already dangling by a thread.

But he reads it. Of course he does. Like you’re a fucking cartoon strip and he’s already memorized every panel. 

He just grins—guffaws, really, because apparently this is hilarious to him—and tilts his chin toward his cock like that’s normal. Like this is a fucking TED Talk on Applied Dick Science.

“Spit.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Spit on it.” 

Like it’s nothing. Like you’re asking him if he wants oat milk in his coffee and not literally hocking a loogie onto his dick.

Your face does something between a grimace and a snort. “What are you, a porn algorithm?”

“Relax. It’s not a kink thing. Just helps with… y’know. Glide.” A shrug. So casual. “Friction’s not your friend, Nix.”

You squint at him. “So now you’re a physics professor.”

“Professor of good head,” he says under his breath, eyes twinkling like he thinks that’s clever.

You exhale slowly through your nose. Not quite a sigh. Just enough to say fine, sure, without actually giving him anything. 

Then your eyes flick down, then back up.

And maybe you don’t mean to hold eye contact for as long as you do, but whatever. Your gaze locks on his, and his mouth hitches slightly at the corner.

One of those small, lazy smirks that says he’s watching everything you do. Which he is.

You drop your eyes again. Shift forward. Palms to thighs. Inhale once through your nose, just to clear whatever mental fog is still clinging.

Then you lower your face toward him, mouth hovering just above the head of his cock.

And okay. It’s a little intense up close like this.

Flushed dark pink at the tip, that little bead of precum catching the light. Skin taut where it stretches up and around the curve. 

And yeah, it’s pretty? Like, stupid pretty. Which only pisses you off more because it’s a dick. You shouldn’t be thinking aesthetic right now. You should be—

He hisses.

Literally just from your breath.

Like, your breath grazes the head and he inhales sharp through his teeth, a low sound punching out of his chest that he probably didn’t mean to make.

Your eyes cut up automatically.

And you absolutely, one hundred percent bite back a smirk. Can feel it twitch at the edge of your mouth, creeping in before you catch it.

He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his face. A slight arch of his brow, a ghost of a grin that says ‘don’t get cocky’, which is rich coming from him.

You don’t let the moment stretch too long.

You glance down once more, tilt your chin forward, and—

Let spit fall from your lips.

Slow and steady.

A warm trail that splatters right onto his cockhead with a soft, wet noise you pretend not to react to. The drool stretches in a thin line as it drops, catching and sticking in places before sliding down the shaft, slick and messy in a way that feels weirdly intimate and way too graphic for how not romantic this is supposed to be.

You hear him exhale again—less sharp this time, more like a breath he didn’t know he was holding—and when you glance back up, your eyes meet his.

Big. Wide. Intentional.

Because yeah, you’ve read enough porn. You know this trick. Know the effect eye contact has. 

Especially from down here. Especially when your lips are half an inch from his dick and your saliva’s still glistening on it.

And okay. Fine. Maybe it’s a little performative. 

But he does it, too. Every goddamn time he’s between your legs, he’s watching you like it’s a sport. 

So maybe it’s not just for you. Maybe it’s projection.

It definitely is.

Because the second your spit hits his cock and your eyes stay locked on his, Jungkook makes this—noise.

Not a grunt. Not a moan. Just this tiny sound, like a choked-up breath dragged out of his throat against his will. The kind of sound you’d miss if you weren’t listening for it. 

But you are. And you do. 

Your fingers wrap around him without thinking. Automatic, almost. Like your hand just knows what to do now. It’s not a tight grip, not at first—just enough to feel the weight of him, hot and heavy and fucking ridiculous in your palm.

You give him one slow pull. A test run. Casual. Clinical.

And his head tips back instantly.

“Ahh—god, yeah,” he groans, voice pitched low and raw like it just escaped him.

You blink. Stare. Something tightens low in your stomach, unexpected.

But before you can fully process the way that noise slithered into your spine and curled up there like it pays rent, he’s looking down again. Immediately. Because apparently the view of your hand jerking him off is not something he’s willing to miss.

His gaze drops to the contact like it’s life or death, pupils blown and mouth slightly parted. He looks wrecked already, and you’ve barely done anything.

Kind of gratifying. Not gonna lie.

So you keep moving. Slow. Measured. A couple more strokes, just to test what rhythm feels natural. Your hand adjusts automatically, finding that friction-slicked spot between too loose and too tight. Thumb brushes the underside near the head, not on purpose, but—

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s—”

Pauses. Swallows. Licks his lips like he’s trying not to rush it. 

“That’s good, but… here.”

His voice is soft now, like he’s trying not to scare you off. Like if he speaks too loud you might slap his dick and walk out. 

And then his hand’s there. His actual hand.

The tatted one.

It swallows yours whole like it’s got a god complex. His fingers are longer, rougher, his palm calloused from guitar strings or camera work or something equally shitty—and it lands on top of yours like this is how. Like he can’t not touch. Like the need to guide is stronger than the need to just sit there and enjoy.

And okay, that’s kind of hot.

He doesn’t even do it weird. No pervy whisper, no ‘lemme show you, baby.’

Just—grips your hand, adjusts the angle, and starts moving it the way he would. His pace. His pressure. His exact rhythm.

He’s demonstrating. Demonstrating. The way he does it.

Which—Jesus. Okay. That’s a thing you’re watching now.

You track everything. How he drags you up to the head and tugs just a bit harder when you get there. Not painful, just… firmer. Intentional. Then down again—not all the way, not to the base. Just past halfway. Controlled. Like there’s a limit he doesn’t cross.

You assume it’s a sensitivity thing or maybe it just doesn’t feel good that far down. Maybe it’s one of those ‘my dick isn’t a joystick’ scenarios. 

You don’t know.

But you clock it. Catalog it. 

Mental note: no base. No excessive tug. Got it.

He lets go of your hand after a few strokes, slowly, and leans back just an inch—enough to say ‘your turn’. Still watching, though. Like a perv. Like a mentor.

Like both.

You copy what he showed you. Try to mimic the pressure, the pace, the not-too-tight but not-too-flimsy grip. Try to keep the motion smooth even though your brain’s busy yelling ‘are we seriously learning how he jerks off right now? is this real life?’

Apparently yes. It is. And it’s working.

Because he makes this sound. This little hhuhh in the back of his throat, barely audible but very much real. Not exaggerated. Just… a reaction.

You hold back a grin. Barely.

Pride hits low and hot in your chest like you just got an A on a test you forgot to study for. 

Not because he said something—but because he didn’t. 

That little exhale? That shift in his hips? That subtle fuck, yeah cue without words?

Validation.

Your eyes flick up. You want to see it. Read him.

But he’s not looking at you.

Still staring at your hand. Brows drawn, mouth slack.   

And then—

His front teeth catch his bottom lip. Plush, pink, a little too soft for how filthy he is, and he bites. Not hard. Just enough for it to dimple inward and make something flicker behind his lashes. 

The kind of flicker that screams overthinking, like maybe the feeling’s a little too good, and he’s trying to ground himself with pain or pressure or… whatever the fuck goes on in his chaos brain when he’s like this.

Then comes the sound.

Somewhere between a hiss and a grunt, like his body can’t decide if it wants to breathe through it or fuck into it. 

Rough at the edges, low, weirdly conflicted.

His head dips again.

“Also,” he breathes out, voice crackly and uneven now, “do… do this. Look.”

His hand comes up before you can ask what this is.

Big, again. His palm wraps around yours like he’s your goddamn training wheels. Not even pretending it’s not a tutorial anymore. 

His fingers press lightly into your skin, adjusting your grip—less on the full stroke now and more—

“There,” he mutters, repositioning your thumb, sliding it higher. 

Right to that spot beneath the crown. Soft little groove. Just barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention.

Which, apparently, he really fucking is.

“You feel that?” he says, voice dipping. “Right under. The… fuckin’—yeah, that. That’s the spot.”

You nod a little, but your eyes don’t leave your hand, now with your thumb angled like a pressure point. Like you’re disarming a bomb with one finger.

His voice drops again.

“Okay, now when you stroke—” his hand moves yours with his, slow and controlled, “—pull up like that, and when you hit the top, tighter there—yeah, squeeze just a little—and your thumb… drag it with you.”

He does it again. Once. Then twice. Demonstrating like this is a team sport and you’re in pre-game drills.

That spot.

That frenulum, or whatever the technical term is. 

Doesn’t matter. What matters is how his breath stutters when you pass over it, how his mouth goes a little slack while he watches.

“That’s the shit, Nix,” he says, almost like it’s to himself. Like he’s taking mental notes on his own cock. “That right there.”

Then he lets go again. Fingers slip away from yours, slow. 

And he licks his lips as he leans back into the couch, arm flopping over the top cushion like he’s trying to play it cool again, even though he’s still watching you like a fucking hawk.

So. You try.

You mimic the motion exactly. 

Same rhythm. Same pressure. Same thumb glide up the underside, and—

“Fuck.”

That one’s not breathy. Not soft. Full-bodied groan. Low and honest, punched out of his chest like his lungs just gave up the ghost for a second.

You do it again. And again.

Thumb dragging against that spot every time you pull up. Your grip tightening near the crown, loosening at the glide down.

He melts.

That’s the only word for it. 

His whole body sinks into the cushions like gravity just tripled. Thighs open wider, neck drops back over the edge of the couch, mouth hanging open now like he’s past the point of pretending he’s unaffected.

“Fuck, yeah—that is…” he pants, lips parted, eyes fluttering before he forces them open again, zeroing in on your hand like it’s holy. “That’s fucking perfect, Nix. Jesus Christ, you’ve got magic fingers or some shit.”

Your smirk barely hides itself.

He’s a talker. You knew that. But this? This is next level.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be good with your hands,” he groans, eyes flicking from your fingers to your face and back down again, tongue dragging across his bottom lip like he’s trying not to say more but can’t help himself. “Just like that, just like that—shit, that’s so fucking good—”

Your thumb twitches tighter without thinking, and his hips flinch.

And it’s so fucking dumb, the way your stomach flips at the reaction. Like you’re the one being touched. Like you got your nerve endings scraped raw by one tiny squeeze.

But there it is—his hips flinching, a twitch so fast you might’ve missed it if you weren’t laser-focused on every damn micro-expression crawling across his face. 

His mouth opens for half a second like he’s gonna say something, maybe crack a joke, maybe tell you to go harder—but then—

He chokes a breath.

Like it gets stuck somewhere between his ribs and throat, all tangled up in want.

It is shaky, and it hitches like it costs him something to let it out. 

Like just existing through this is work.

And you see it—the way his pupils expand even more, ink bleeding into every millimeter of brown. 

He’s not blinking. He’s not moving, not really. Just chest rising and falling way too slow, like he’s afraid any sudden motion might snap this thread thin tension.

You lick your lips before you can stop yourself. Because he’s staring. Still. At your hand, yeah, but also your face now. 

Like watching you react is part of the pleasure. Like your mouth is more interesting than porn.

And okay. Maybe you’re a little into that.

Maybe that’s why your hand tightens again. Just a little. Not even on purpose this time, more like instinct. Your thumb swipes over that spot again, light and smooth and mean, and his chest fucking jerks.

Then—

A noise. Escapes him. Not a groan. Not a moan either. It’s like a stuttered-out puff of sound that crackles in his throat on its way up, all gritty and broken, like it got caught in static.

And right after that, so soft you almost miss it, he says:

“Your mouth.”

You freeze.

Your pulse jumps like you’ve been caught doing something wrong. Even though you haven’t. Not really. Just… hand stuff. Just skin and muscle and spit and heat.

But his voice? It’s not filthy when he says it. It’s awestruck. Like he’s seeing a fucking shooting star. Like it’s something to be whispered.

Your mouth.

It echoes weird in your head. Bounces off all your internal walls.

You blink up at him, eyes dragging from the handjob, and you look at his face.

And the expression there?

Jesus. He looks like he’s praying.

Not to God. Not even to you. To the feeling. To the moment. To the idea of your mouth on him.

And for some reason, your voice is already moving before your brain can catch it. “What do you want from my mouth?”

You don’t say it cute. Don’t coo. You’re not flirting. You’re daring. Like if he says something you don’t like, you’ll bite down instead of suck.

He blinks. Laughs, almost. Not like it’s funny—more like it surprised him. The way you said it. Like you slapped him with your voice.

Then, low and kind of incredulous: “What do you think I want, Nix?”

And he grins when he says it. Real slow. Not smug. Not sleazy. Just… real. Like that’s the stupidest question you’ve ever asked and he’s giving you a minute to catch up. To get there on your own. Like maybe you’re the dumb one for asking when the answer’s right there, hard and twitching and shiny in your grip.

You glance up through your lashes because fuck it, might as well lean into the trope while you’re down here. Might as well make it mean something.

And you swear to god—something inside him glitches.

Like his whole respiratory system shorts out. You hear it, barely—a tiny gulp, some micro sound buried deep in his throat like a trapped hummingbird. 

Fragile and desperate. 

Faint little flutter.

But it’s real.

Like a ‘fuck’ slips out of the space around you. Not even from his mouth. Just—exists.

As if the universe itself groaned.

And you know he felt it too because he looks at you like you just made the sun blink.

His hand lifts again, slow.

Fingers curl gently around your face, brushing the hair out of your eyes—not rough, not fast. Just… precise. Like he needs to see you. Like eye contact is currency and he’s suddenly flat broke.

You don’t move. Just let him. Let his thumb skim your cheek. Let his gaze drag over your face like it’s got weight behind it. Like you’re something he doesn’t want to blink away from.

And then—his voice. Low. Warm. Calm in that way that feels like it’s trying to keep a leash on something unhinged underneath.

“Suckle the crown a bit while you keep your hand moving. Up and down. Not fast, just… keep rhythm.”

You blink. 

That phrasing. 

Suckle.

What the fuck is he, a medieval warlord?

Still.

Your pulse stutters.

Because he says it like he’s thought about this. Like it’s not just a ‘hey, mouth on cock now’ moment, but something he’s imagined. 

Something he’s replayed in his head with specificity.

“Focus on the tip. You don’t gotta go all in yet. Just use your tongue. Like… tease the slit a little. Then suck around it. Not too hard. Gentle. Like you’re figuring it out.”

Your brows twitch up just slightly, but you nod.

Because yeah. Okay. That you can do.

And your hand’s still on him—hasn’t left. Just slick and steady, lazy little drags up and down his shaft with your thumb gliding right under the head like he showed you.

You shift forward. Let your lips ghost over the tip. Let him feel your breath first. Not teasing, not on purpose. Just… checking the temperature.

You feel the tension ripple through his thigh when you finally close your lips over him—soft, just the crown. Mouth warm and wet as it envelops the head, not too much suction yet. Just heat.

And then—yeah. You suckle. Gentle at first. Not a full draw, more of a tug.

His reaction is immediate.

Lips part. Chest jerks up half an inch.

One of those sounds again. Low. Raspy. A curse swallowed before it could hit air.

Your hand doesn’t stop. You keep it moving—slow pumps that glide down, then back up, thumb still catching that spot he likes every time you reach the top.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice low and rough around the edges. “That’s it. That’s—fuck—that’s the perfect pressure. Mmhm. Yeah.” 

His words come in stilted bursts, like they’re being dragged out of him against his will. 

“Keep… keep moving your hand while—ughhnn—keep sucking the tip.”

You do as he says because what else are you supposed to do? You’re not about to stop now—not when he’s making noises like that, not when his cock twitches every time your tongue flicks over the slit. 

But there’s this nagging thought in the back of your mind, this tiny voice that won’t shut up: 

Why isn’t he telling you to take the whole thing already?  

Isn’t that what most guys want? The whole deep-throat porn star routine? You’ve read enough smut (done it a couple times too) to know how this is supposed to go—or at least how it usually does. 

But Jungkook? 

He seems… content. Like he’s not in any rush to shove himself down your throat.  

Maybe he doesn’t want to rush it? Or maybe he’s just weird like that?  

Your eyes flick down to your hand. Analyze the movement. The rhythm. The way your fingers wrap around him, snug and slick, dragging up and down with just enough pressure to make him twitch but not enough to push him over. 

You remember how he did it. The angle. The squeeze. The way his thumb skimmed that spot under the head like it was a fucking button.

You mimic it again. Just to see.

And that’s when he exhales. Soft. Controlled. Like he’s trying not to let it out but can’t help himself. 

The sound drips from his lips like water hitting a rooftop—quiet, but sharp. A little hiss of breath that makes your thighs clench.

Then—

“Look at me.”

It’s not a command. Not barked. Just… said. Low and even. Like he’s asking for something simple. Like it’s no big deal.

But you don’t.

You kind of… ignore him. 

Not on purpose, really. 

It’s just—you’re embarrassed now, okay? 

You don’t want to look up and see his smug face while you’ve got his tip in your mouth like some idiot who doesn’t know what she’s doing. So you keep your eyes trained downward, focusing on the task at hand (and mouth).  

“Nix,” he says again, more pointed this time. “C’mon. Eyes up.”  

You want to bite him for that tone alone—like he’s daring you or something—but reluctantly, you glance up through your lashes. More of a glare than anything else because fuck him for making demands right now.  

He huffs out a laugh at your expression, shaking his head slightly like you’re hopeless or something equally annoying. 

“No, not like that. Like… big. Wide.” He pauses for half a second before adding with a grin: “Make your eyes pop.”  

You pull off his cock with an audible pop of its own because what the actual fuck is he talking about now? 

Your brows knit together as you scowl up at him, and he looks back at you with those stupid boba eyes of his—round and inquisitive like he doesn’t realize how ridiculous he sounds right now.

“Make them pop?” you echo, incredulous. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

He looks at you. Blinks once. Then shrugs, like he’s just now realizing how stupid he sounds.

“I don’t know, man. Just—make ‘em all wide and cute.”

You stare.

Then scoff. Loud. Disbelieving.

“You want me to look dumb and innocent while I suck your cock? That’s what you’re into?”

His eyes widen. “No—Jesus, no. Not like that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? Because you sound like a creep.”

He groans. “God, you’re always so fucking blabbermouthed.”

“And you’re always so fucking vague,” you shoot back.

He glares at you. “I don’t mean, like—virgin vibes, okay? I mean that look you get. When you’re being a little shit. When you’re pushing buttons and pretending you’re not. That’s what I like.”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Then closes again.

He leans forward slightly, voice dropping. “I want you to suck my fucking cock like it’s all you want, while pretending you’re not sucking my soul through it. That’s what I’m talking about. Not some weird creepy thing.”

“Oh.” 

You blink once before pursing your lips thoughtfully again. 

“…Okay.”

Because okay indeed. You know what he means.

You hate that you know what he means.

He rolls his eyes, but his cock hasn’t softened. If anything, it’s thicker now. Heavier. The head flushed a deeper pink, veins more prominent. Like he gets off on arguing with you. Like this whole back-and-forth is foreplay.

And maybe it is. He’s already said twice he likes it when you’re mouthy.

Is this what he wants? You pretending you don’t know what you’re doing while you absolutely do?

You take a deep breath before shifting forward again—this time making a conscious effort to widen your eyes as much as possible while looking up at him through your lashes.

Big and round and innocent or whatever. Like you have no idea what effect this is having on him—even though the way his breath catches in his throat tells you exactly what kind of power you hold right now.

And yeah… maybe this is what he wants: you, pretending not to know exactly what you're doing while totally knowing anyway.

So that’s what you give him.

Wide eyes locked on his face as your lips part once more—and then slowly close around the head of his cock again.

And then, your hand moves faster.

Not sloppy. Not rushed. Just—more. More pressure, more rhythm, more confidence. Like your body’s finally synced up with his. Like you’ve figured out the exact tempo that makes him twitch and grunt and grip the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

And he’s feeling it.

Hard (okay that was kinda funny, don’t deny it). 

You can tell by the way his thighs tense under your palms, muscles flexing every time your fist glides down his shaft and back up again. By the way his abs jump when your thumb flicks under the head. By the way he’s breathing now—through his teeth, through his throat, like he’s trying not to make noise but losing the battle.

You keep your mouth soft around the tip. Suction just enough to make it wet and warm and tight. Tongue moving in slow, deliberate waves underneath—right there, under the crown, where he’s taught you he’s most sensitive. 

And it’s funny, because you can feel it. The way he jerks every time your tongue drags across that spot, the way his cock pulses in your mouth like it’s trying to say yes, that, again, more.

And you don’t stop.

You keep eye contact, too. Big, wide, innocent. Like you’re not doing anything special. Like you’re just here, hanging out, casually ruining his life with your mouth.

He looks down at you, and his face is—fuck.

Wrecked.

Brows scrunched, mouth half open, eyes glassy like he’s buffering. Like his brain’s trying to load the next thought but keeps getting stuck on your lips.

Then he groans.

Low and guttural and sharp, like it got dragged out of his chest with a hook.

“Oh my—fffuckkkk—”

His voice breaks halfway through the word, like his throat just gave up. His hand shoots out, grabbing the back of the couch, knuckles white.

“Fuckin’—god, Nix—”

You swirl your tongue again, slow and mean, and he whines.  Actually whines. Like a kicked puppy. 

“I’m gonna—” he pants, hips twitching up into your fist, “—I’m gonna bust a fat nut, I swear to god—”

You snort around him. Can’t help it. The phrase is so fucking stupid, so him, and so hot in the dumbest possible way.

He hears it. Groans again. Throws his head back against the couch cushion and drags a hand down his face like he’s trying to physically hold himself together.

“Don’t laugh at me, you little—fuck, that tongue—”

You do it again. That wave motion. Just to be a menace. Just to see if he’ll break.

He does.

"Y-you have no idea," he pants, Adam's apple bobbing frantically as he swallows between words. "No fucking clue what you do to me when you—hnngh—when you stare up at me with those goddamn eyes while my cock's in your mouth."

His voice is all over the place now. Cracked. Desperate. Like he's trying to keep it together but you're not giving him a single inch of relief.

"Angel," he breathes, and okay, that’s a first (but at least it’s not ‘baby’, ew?) "You're gonna make me cum so hard. So fucking hard I might black out."

Your tongue flicks again—right against that sensitive bundle—and his whole body jerks like you've touched a live wire.

"Christ,” he hisses through clenched teeth. "I can't—I can't even—"

You keep going.

Hand stroking faster. Tongue teasing. Mouth suctioning just the tip, just the crown, just enough to make him lose his mind.

"Nix," he warns, voice strained and desperate. "I'm right there. Right fucking there. You're about to make me—"

His cock pulses against your tongue, the tip growing impossibly harder, slick and hot and heavy in your mouth as his whole body gets visibly ready to detonate. 

“Nix,” he pants, voice raw and desperate. “Nix, I’m—I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna—”

His breath catches. Swallowed back like it’s too big to spit out. His whole chest stutters with it, like the air’s too thick to pull in, like the pressure’s building faster than he can handle.

“Y’tongue,” he gasps, barely coherent, hips twitching up into your fist. “Stick—god, god god—stick it out f’me. Stick that pretty tongue out f’me, Nix. C’mon—”

You don’t hesitate. You just do it. Mouth popping off the head with a wet little tsk, tongue sliding out slow and flat, glistening with spit and still tinged with the taste of him. 

You hold it there, just like he asked.

And he groans.

“Look at—” he starts, but you’re already there. 

Already staring up at him with those same wide, round eyes he asked for. 

Tongue out, lips parted, face tilted up like you’re waiting for it.

He jerks forward, one hand flying to his cock, wrapping around himself and taking over. 

Fast. 

Rough. 

Desperate. 

Like he’s been holding back too long and now he’s got seconds left before he combusts.

“Yeah—ahhh—shit—ah—ah—fuck—”

And then—he breaks. Makes these little grunting, bitten-off noises—like he’s trying to hold them in but can’t. Like every spasm punches another sound out of him. Cums. Hard.

Hot, thick ropes strip across your face—cheeks, lips, chin. 

Some of it hits your tongue, sticky and salty and obscene. 

It drips down your jaw, slides over your skin in messy, wet streaks, and he’s still going. Still twitching. Still jerking himself through it like he’s trying to drain every last drop.

“Oh my god—” he chokes out, voice cracking. “Oh my fucking god—”

His head tips back, eyes blown wide and mouth slack with disbelief.

“You have the prettiest fucking eyes, Nix.”

And he sounds so, so wrecked while he says it, that you can’t help but believe him.

Like it’s the filthiest thing he’s ever said. Or maybe the most honest. 

You don’t know why your chest twists into knots. 

You don’t know why his eyes, hazed, dizzy, looking down at you is suddenly one of your favorite views. 

But you did it. You excelled at it. 

And Jungkook liked it. 

That’s what matters. 

He gives his cock a few lazy strokes, working the last drops out like he’s wringing water from a sponge, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths.

Your eyes catch on the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone and the way his lips are parted just enough for his tongue to dart out to wet them.  

“Fuck…” he mutters. “Fucking hell.” 

Another breath, deeper this time, like he’s trying to find his footing again. 

“That was fucking amazing.”  

You smile—small, sly, the kind of smile that doesn’t need to try too hard. 

“That easy, huh?”  

He snorts, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from where it’s fallen into his eyes. 

“When you’ve got a mouth like yours? Yeah.”  

The compliment shouldn’t make your cheeks warm. It’s just Jungkook being Jungkook, all cockiness and shameless flirting. But still, you feel a flutter of… something. 

Pride, maybe. Or just the lingering high of having him completely at your mercy.

You push yourself up from your knees slowly, legs stiff from being on the tile for too long. There’s a moment where you think he might reach out to steady you—his hand twitches like it’s considering it—but he doesn’t. Just watches as you stand and brush your hands down your thighs like that’ll somehow make this whole thing feel less messy.  

“Gonna clean this mess up,” you say, already turning toward the bathroom before he can respond.  

“Want me to help?” His voice follows you—soft but not hesitant. Like it’s just something he’d offer anyone without thinking twice about it.  

You pause mid-step, glancing over your shoulder at him. 

He’s still seated on the couch, pants and boxers shoved down his hips, shirt rumpled and sticking to his skin in places. He looks ridiculous and hot at the same time—like someone who just got thoroughly wrecked but hasn’t quite figured out how to pull himself back together yet.

And for some reason—maybe because he asked so easily—you feel your throat tighten awkwardly.

“Uh…” You hesitate, fingers brushing against the edge of the doorway as you try to find the right words. “No. No, I’m fine.”  

He doesn’t say anything at first—just purses his lips slightly and nods like he’s accepting your answer even if he doesn’t entirely believe it.  

It should be awkward, but it’s… not. Not entirely. Just unfamiliar. 

New territory you’re not sure how to navigate.

“…But thank you,” you add quickly before darting into the bathroom like a coward.

When was the last time you thanked Jungkook for anything?

You lean against the door for a moment, eyes closed, trying to process what just happened. Not just the blowjob—that part’s easy enough to compartmentalize—but the rest of it. 

Not the banter either, you do that too. 

The almost-friendly moment afterward.

It felt… nice. Easy, even. 

Like maybe being friends with Jungkook wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Maybe that’s why you step out after cleaning your face, instead of hiding in your room like you normally would. 

Maybe that’s why your eyes search for his as you enter the living room.

He’s already sprawled out like nothing happened. One arm stretched across the back cushions, legs spread wide in that annoying way men always seem to take up space. He’s even cracked one of the floor-to-ceiling windows open, letting in a cool breeze that’s slowly clearing out the lingering scent of sex.

Griffin’s curled against his side, purring loudly as Jungkook absently scratches under his chin. The cat gives you a lazy blink when you appear, like he knows exactly what you’ve been doing and is judging you for it.

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. Your eyes drift to the TV—some car restoration show you don’t recognize playing—before finding their way back to him.

“So,” you start, the word hanging awkwardly in the air between you. “Do you have plans this afternoon?”

He looks up, one eyebrow quirked in mild surprise. “After you get off work, you mean?”

“Yeah.” You shift your weight, suddenly feeling awkward. “I’m done at five.”

Why is this awkward? You just had his dick in your mouth, for fuck’s sake. Asking about his schedule shouldn’t feel more intimate than that. 

“No plans.” His fingers continue their gentle scratching behind Griffin’s ears, the cat purring so loudly you can hear it from where you’re standing. “Why? You offering something better than my thrilling agenda of watching YouTube guitar tutorials and ordering takeout?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “There’s this new exhibit at the MoMA I’ve been wanting to check out. Photography thing.” 

You shrug like it doesn’t matter either way. Like you’re not actually inviting him to do something that doesn’t involve getting naked. 

“Thought maybe you’d be into it. Being a film major and all.”

“Phoenix wants to hang out with me? Voluntarily? Without the promise of orgasms? I’m shocked.”

“Forget it,” you mutter, already turning toward your room. “It was just a thought.”

“Hey, no—wait.” He sits up straighter, disturbing Griffin who gives an annoyed meow. “I’m in. The photography exhibit sounds cool.”

You pause, glancing back at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods, and for once, there’s no teasing edge to his voice. “I’ll meet you after work? We could grab dinner after, if you want.”

“Sure.” You try to sound casual, like this isn’t the first time you’ve made actual plans together. “There’s this place in the East Village I’ve been wanting to try. Nothing fancy, just… food.”

“Food is good. I’m a fan of food.” He grins.

“Great. I’ll text you when I’m done.” You head toward your room, needing to get ready for work. 

“Sure, Nix.”

As you close your bedroom door, you can’t help but wonder what the hell you’re doing. This feels suspiciously like the friendship you’ve been so adamantly avoiding. 

But maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be the end of the world to actually enjoy his company with your clothes on for once.

Besides, you need to keep him occupied until eight. Yoongi had been very specific about the timing when he texted you this morning about Jungkook’s surprise birthday dinner.

Keep him out until 8. Taehyung and Hobi are setting up. Don’t mention ramen.

And yet, he hasn’t even spoken about his birthday to you. 

What kind of person doesn’t mention their own birthday? 

The same kind who makes protein pancakes and pretends everything’s fine when it’s clearly not, probably.

You check your phone. 9:15. Plenty of time to get ready for work and figure out how to navigate this strange new territory where you and Jungkook do normal people things together. 

Like friends.

The word still feels foreign, uncomfortable. 

But not entirely wrong.

goal: 500 notes.

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© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[saberlibrary]

weeping dragon

pairing: neuvillette x fem!reader

summary: neuvillette thinks he isn’t deserving of your love.

content: cliche !!!, reader trapped in his house bc of rain, lil antsy but happy ending

wc: 800

a/n: mm hii!! first fic here! I hope you enjoy it I kind of wrote it in twenty minutes and I’m just publishing it without beta reading bc (we die like men) I’m just too in love with neuv and I want to share it with the world lolol

Neuvillette couldn’t bring himself to even think about making a move.

He kept many secrets, and every time he faced your bright smile he would remember it was not his place to disturb your peace. After all, how could a young woman like you endure the dangerous claws of a dragon?

You had stopped by his house to discuss the latest trial and his emotions got the best of him, causing a rain to start pouring.

A storm was approaching; lighting was seen through the window and low thunders could be heard. Neuvillette plagued himself under his breath, hoping there would be a day where he could better control his feelings.

“Here,” he said as he handed you the cup of tea. You watched the lighting curiously, “I do not think the storm will pass for a few hours. You should stay. For the night, I mean.”

You took the cup of tea and averted your eyes from the window to Neuvillette’s face. You studied him with caution, as if it was the first time you ever saw the man — even though you worked together for many months.

“Are you okay?” you asked, ignoring completely his offer.

The words got stuck in his throat and, for a few seconds, he really thought he wouldn’t answer. The man sipped on his tea, his mind racing while trying to figure out why you would ask that all of the sudden. “May I ask why are you asking me such a question?”

It was a small gesture, but he saw it all the same; the way you flexed your hand. There was something you wanted to grab?

Something you wanted to hold?

“They say… It rains when the Hydro Dragon weeps. Yeah, that's what they say,” you murmured and once again looked out the window. To the storm. “The Hydro Dragon. That would be you, right?”

Neuvillette almost choked on his tea, every part of his body malfunctioning and leaving him with only one thing for sure: in his entire existence, this was the first time he was left completely and utterly speechless.

Your warm and comforting eyes turned to him, and you grabbed his cup of tea to put it alongside yours on the coffee table. “Neuvillette,” you spoke his name as if it was a piece of poetry you were yet to learn — eager to do so, “Talk to me.”

And then— your hands, so small and fragile if compared to his, touched him. Your fingers traced his, and you embraced his hand between yours. He could feel the warmth of your skin contrasting against his cold one, pulling him closer, closer, closer.

“When did you figure it out?” was the first thing he said, scared it may be recent. If so, there still is time for you to run, for you to escape. To turn your back and never see him again. It’s probably the best for you, he knows, but this little selfish part in him can’t stand the thought of seeing you gone.

“A month ago or so, it doesn't matter,” you’re quick to cut the subject. “I didn't mention it because I knew you didn't want me to. I’m just worried, that's all.”

Worried.

She is worried.

The realization clicks in Neuvillette’s mind, for the first time in so long acknowledging that maybe, just maybe, he was too, deserving of someone’s concern and care.

“You are saying it does not matter,” he repeats as if to confirm what he just heard.

I pushed you because I cared about you. I pushed you because you made me feel good and comfortable. I pushed you because I thought my true self would frighten you.

Yet, you’re here. And you’re telling me it doesn’t matter.

“It doesn’t. Never did,” you frown. “I just wanna know, no— I need to know why it is raining, Neuvillette. Why would you weep? I’m here with you, talk to me.”

Without giving it a second thought, Neuvillette’s right hand finds your lower back and in a split second you're pressed against his chest, the tightest hug you have ever been given. He’s much taller than you, and you can feel perfectly as he inhales your scent and hugs you tightly.

“Neuv—”

“I thought I had to restrain myself from you. I thought I was no good,” he finally speaks his mind, distancing himself enough for you to see his face; the weeping Dragon. Oh, the melancholy in his eyes.

The eyes of someone who almost lost something precious.

“Neuvillette,” you whispered. “There’s nothing better for me than you.”

And it was true; so you pulled on his hair just enough to have him connecting your lips, a sigh of relief escaping him as if there was nothing in this world he had anticipated more.

[mareastrorum]

I love what Brennan is doing with faith in Divergence so far.

The skies of the Riftenmist peninsula in Gwessar (not yet Tal’dorei) have been choked with ash and smoke for decades. Most of the short lived races have never seen a clear sky.

Starmian saw the rain when he was younger. He knew it existed once, and his faith was that it would again. He told Nia about it and used it as encouragement that this struggle would be worth it. She watched him die moments before the rains finally came.

Luz was a Moonweaver worshiper in a land where any reverence for a Prime Deity was systematically crushed by the Strife Emperor. Even prisoners in a labor camp, the bottom rung of society, looked upon them with scorn—because if they were good, why did they let this happen? Why would any idiot worship the goddess of a moon that most living people had never even seen it through choked skies? For all they know, the Betrayers could have destroyed it, too, so what is she even the goddess of anymore? Even Sehanine’s epithet seemed like a fabrication. Perhaps it was true once, and in this barren wasteland, how could anyone say that it’s still true? Then Luz died fighting for people who did not share her faith and who thought she deserved scorn for her belief. After the fight ended, the skies parted and the moon shone down on those same people: a crescent, a sabre, and a smile all in one. Sehanine wasn’t with them anymore, but she still provided what help she could through those willing to forge a connection through the gate.

Their faith mattered both to them and to the world even when they didn’t live to see the result. The point of faith isn’t to see it proved true: it’s to bolster your resolve when all the world is against you. Faith is hope when you have no evidence in hand. Faith is vital to surviving a world fraught with danger. Whether it’s placed in a god, in other people, or in the mere idea that things will get better: faith matters.

It’s exactly the kind of story a lot of people need right now.

[bvidzsoo]

Thousand Miles, just to get you back

 𖥧 District 7 ꒷ this beautiful district is lush with trees, from which these citizens supply our lumber and paper, victors: Blight, Johanna Mason

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: victor!Jeong Yunho x victor!female reader

 𖥧 Warning: suggestive, sexual tension, cursing, ptsd, violence, blood, gore, use of weapons, murder, decapitation but not too graphic, mental manipulation and trauma, alluding to forced sex work and sexual assault, if I missed any, lmk!  𖥧 Word count: 28.7k  𖥧 Rating: mature, nc-17  𖥧 Genre: Hunger Games!au, rivals to lovers!au, set during the Quarter Quell, Catching Fire book  𖥧 Summary: You didn't want this, but then again, you were sure nobody wanted to face the repercussions of being a victor. You hated your life and you hated everyone around you, never trusting a soul again. Whatever President Snow has put you through after your Games was unforgivable and your only solace lay in Finnick Odair, who understood you and your pain. But it didn't end there, no, it never would with Jeong Yunho, another victor, always breathing down your neck and hogging you as if his life depended on it. You didn't like him and you didn't trust him after what he'd done to you despite being your mentor in your Games. And when the 75th Hunger Games come around and President Snow announces that the tributes this year will be the reaped victors, your world comes crashing down, forcing you to do things you never thought you'd do again. But if it meant Panem would be free, you'd do it again.

A/N: Hello, my lovelies! This part took longer but the word count is also...higher. The story is set during the Catching Fire book, but of course, I took creative liberty and changed up some things, I hope you'll enjoy them! I apologize if the action packed scenes are lackluster, I really tried my best while not making it too graphic. I think Yunho's part is my favourite from my HG series, although Mingi's has a special place in my heart. President Snow can die in a ditch for what he did to Katniss and Peeta, no matter how much I like his character, I'll always hate him! This part is really angsty imo so buckle up, you'll be going through it with our MC. I don't think I have anything else to say other than I hope you enjoy and that I love hearing your feedback, so don't be shy! <3 Thank you for reading! divider

            For the past two days, the sky had been covered in dark rainclouds, lightning flashing across the sky every few minutes, the thunder shaking the earth as I stood perched on the windowsill with a cup of warm chamomile tea with plenty of honey in it to make anyone nauseous, even those who enjoyed sweet things. My eyes followed the raindrops as they rapidly slid down against the window, forehead pressing against the cool surface as I could see the reflection of my eyes in it. The house was quiet, so quiet that those who didn’t know would’ve thought the mansion was vacant. Because the victors' houses could easily pass as mansions, bigger than even the mayor's house, it was quiet and cold inside too, the harsh rain welcomed as it cooled the relentless summer heat with which everyone seemed to be struggling. It was truly a blessing to be forced to stay inside my house, with no one to bother me for days on end as nobody from the district was brave enough to venture out in such a harsh downpour. Not that I had anyone in the district who cared for me, I was on my own.

Everyone I once loved was gone. It was solely my fault. I had naively refused President Snow’s little bargain when I looked him in the eyes with an arrogant look and told him to ‘get fucked’. My family, gone for almost five years now, were dead before the train could even take me back to District 7 from the Capitol. Our house, small but spacious enough to house my parents, my two siblings and me, was empty when the train had dropped me off. At first, when no one from my family awaited me on the platform, I had a feeling they might’ve been planning a surprise for me, I wouldn’t put it past them. But when I returned to an empty and cold house with a single note lying on the kitchen table, I knew. It was my fault that all of my loved ones were six feet under, their lives taken away by my foolishness. I would never stop blaming myself, I didn’t want to stop blaming myself. The constant numbness that was wrapped around my heart was a harsh wake-up call to the horrors of the world I was forced to live in.

The Hunger Games had seemed like a nightmare, they were a nightmare, but what came after was the real nightmare. The terror, the pain, the uncertainty and the coldness that followed after having returned home, forced me to face the reality that I was no more than a pawn President Snow could play with however he wished, it hurt. I had been an independent person my whole life. I didn’t need anyone and I knew I would survive on my own if the circumstances forced me to, hence the reason I remained confident that I would return alive from the Games, and the arrogance to put my ego aside and keep my family safe, at last, weren’t worth it. If sleeping with countless men was what would’ve kept my family alive, if only I had known this back when Snow proposed it to me, I would’ve accepted it. I would’ve ignored the disgust I felt and done it without trying to rebel against the only man who could cut off my wings. And he did, he did cut off my wings, right from the root, ripping them out without mercy. At last, my family’s death was in vain. They were gone and I still bedded a different man each night spent at the Capitol, each one of them sent by Snow as a constant punishment to remind me that just because my loved ones weren’t here anymore to be held over my head, he could still do it, Snow could still torture me.

And so, turning my back on everyone and living in solace had been completely my choice. I didn’t want to speak to anyone, I didn’t want to see anyone, I didn’t want to be touched by anyone. I was disgusted by my own body and could never look at myself for too long. Whether my hair was long or as short as a boy's, men would still want me. Whether I ruined my face with makeup or kept it neat, they would still ravish me. In the end, nothing I did mattered. Beauty was pain sometimes, but I was too scared to maim myself, to ruin the pretty face every man in the Capitol lusted after. Snow knew too that I couldn’t do, and he enjoyed my silent pain mixed with rage, grinning at me whenever we crossed paths, taunting me with words against which I couldn’t fight back. It would be a never-ending cycle until my last day on earth and I had accepted it, numbing myself to all emotion to the point that I was just a soulless walking body, uncaring, unfeeling.

My body jolted from its slouched-over form as rapid knocks disturbed my peace, becoming louder and louder the longer I ignored them. The rain was pouring harder, lightning more frequent across the sky as thunder shook the ground, making me flinch when instead of knocking, my doorbell was being rung relentlessly. I knew who it was, I knew because today was a big day. President Snow would make his annual announcement about the Hunger Games, the same old speech, the same old rules. But something felt different, ever since Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark became victors, there were whispers in the districts, feeble words of a different future which felt closer and closer to us. Something was changing and I, as usual, wasn’t included in the grand scheme. I was a mere spectator, twirling around Snow’s fingers however he wished me to. When the doorbell’s rings turned into aggressive bangs against the front door, I released an irritated sigh and stood from my spot, storming towards the one that dared disturb my solace.

“What!” I snapped as I yanked the door open, not surprised that I had forgotten to lock it once again. Of course it was him, it was always him. I hated his face, I hated his voice, I hated his presence. I hated his whole being, and so I didn’t wait for an answer as I went to slam the door in his face, but he was fast, arm already pushing against the door as if he could read my mind.

“The muffins will get soaked, just let me in.” His boyish voice was loud as he spoke over the raging storm, his voice deep but somehow still soft. It was annoying, the ease he carried himself with, the constant serene expression on his face was infuriating. He never looked like he struggled and I was sure he just simply didn’t. He just floated through life, taking whatever it threw his way, just to laugh it off at the end of the day and start over the next one. I hated him.

“Get lost.” I hissed and pressed my full body against the door, wrestling against the desperate man on the other side of the door.

“Are you for real right now?!” He exclaimed, voice incredulous as I let one eye peek over the edge of the door, taking in his form. His hair was damp and his cardigan was slightly soaked by the rain, but as long as he stood in front of my door, he’d be protected by the balcony above his head.

“Yes!” I exclaimed and suddenly yanked the door towards myself, hoping it would throw him off balance and I could shut it in his face, but he was smarter, and thus, he swiftly slipped inside, grinning at me victoriously. I scowled as I slammed the door closed behind him, pressing myself up against the sturdy wood as he uncaringly shook his hair, like a dog, and then stepped out of his shoes.

“I made blueberry muffins,” He beamed as he held up the tray covered by a napkin, which was halfway soaked through, “Your favourite!”

He was right, blueberry muffins were my favourite, but they were from him and I’d rather not eat them.

“I don’t want them.” But by the time I was finished talking, he was headed for the kitchen as if this were his house. Albeit, the layout for the victor houses was the same, but this wasn’t his house and he shouldn’t just walk around as if he owned it. I hated it when he disregarded me, remaining his authentic self of a joy ball, pretending like he didn’t see my sharp glare nor hear my muttered insults. And I hated him, eyes glued onto his tall body as I followed after him to the kitchen. He was tall enough that he could see well the contents of the cupboards on the top shelves as he opened them, looking for a smaller plate. I could’ve told him where they were, but I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to talk to him unless it was a complete must. He made a sound when he finally found the right cabinet, back muscles straining even through the cardigan he wore as he moved around my kitchen as he belonged in it. His build was massive, not too muscular but certainly not as lean as it used to be, and he towered over most men of our district. People were tall here, we had to climb trees, yielding an axe as we worked with lumber, but Jeong Yunho seemed to exceed what was the norm. And despite his intimidating build, his face was gentle and soft, eyes twinkling with life in them and pink lips pulled constantly into a radiant smile. His cheeks were almost always rosy, not because he blushed easily, but because he was fair-skinned and even the smallest bruise would be visible on his body.

“But I baked them for you—”

“That’s exactly why I don’t want them.”

Yunho and I had been a mentor pair for a good five years now, sent off to the Capitol during the Hunger Games, forced to watch two children die each year. Children that we knew, that we swore to train and protect as best as we could, children that ultimately were just children and would die at the hands of bigger and stronger children. Because that’s what the Games were, a sick and twisted way of punishing the districts for daring to disobey the Capitol, for trying to overthrow it due to the mistreatment they constantly faced. So, they took children between the ages of thirteen and eighteen and sent them off to their deaths each year, except for the ones like Yunho and myself, who returned as victors. Yunho was barely two years older than me but the passing of time seemed to miss him each year as his face remained youthful, and only morphed into more handsome features, unlike myself, who struggled with bags under my eyes on the daily and did everything to look less pale but ultimately, I failed, looking older than my age or Yunho. It was unfair, even in this, he was better than me.

Yunho paused as his eyes met mine and he gulped, a flicker of uncertainty flashing through his features, only to be replaced by that annoying soft smile which was always present on his face, “My mother would be really disappointed if you refused them, Y/N. She helped too.”

His mother, Yunho’s family, were still alive. His older brother worked hard despite them being rich now due to Yunho’s income as a victor, and his father had retired to pursue a much simpler career. He liked fixing cars, so, now those used by the woodsmen were all brought to Mr. Jeong for fixing or maintenance. Occasionally, I even saw Peacemakers stop by, keen on keeping it hushed that they asked a simple mechanic from the district to fix their vehicles. It was cheaper this way, Mr. Jeong didn’t charge much, it was just a hobby, after all.

“Fine,” I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest as Yunho’s smile widened into a pleased grin, “Just leave them on the counter.”

He nodded and placed the blueberry muffins on the small plate before he threw the crumbs into the trash, rinsing the tray at the sink. I remained standing, keeping the table and even counter between us, never keen on standing close to Yunho. His scent was too strong, it irked my nose, and it made me sneeze too easily. Perhaps I was allergic to his cologne—to his whole being, perhaps. Once he was done, the tray left by the sink to dry, his eyes slowly shifted, landing on my tense face. I wasn’t happy to have him over, he knew it. Yunho knew I didn’t like him, yet he never stopped imposing on my peace of mind—it was truly disgruntling.

“You weren’t going to watch it, right?” His voice was quiet. Unfortunately, Yunho also knew me too well, much to my displeasure. I stopped watching the announcements three years ago, tired of hearing the same thing over and over again. I didn’t answer as I averted my eyes, jaw clenching at the warm ambers that swum in Yunho’s eyes that had the colour of warm chocolate, “I—I think you should, this year. I’ll stay, it starts in five minutes—”

“I don’t want you to stay.” I said, voice cold as my eyebrows furrowed, looking back at Yunho, “And I won’t watch it, Yunho.”

He gulped, but suddenly his happy demeanour dropped as he placed his hands on the counter, “You know the districts had been stirred with Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark’s win, I think we should watch it this year, together.”

“Just go, Yunho, before the nightfall.” Due to the big storms, electricity would be cut off at twilight and people weren’t allowed to leave their homes. The forest was eerily quiet, with the absence of the lumberjacks, the wolves became too brave, too daring, and they would venture past the District’s boundaries and inside the town, devouring whoever they came across. The Victor’s Village of District 7 was right by the forest, it wasn’t smart to go outside at night. But, in all true Yunho fashion, he shook his head with pursed lips.

“Snow’s speech barely lasts three minutes, maybe he’ll make it five now that he’s mad at Katniss Everdeen.” Then he grabbed a muffin and grinned, “I’ll have one if you don’t mind.”

My jaw clenched when he turned on his heels and headed for the living room, the anthem loudly flooding my otherwise quiet house as I heard the sofa creak, Yunho’s big body settling on it. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, telling myself that he would be gone before I could blink. Even if the wolves ate him, I wouldn’t let him stay the night, not tonight, not ever. Jeong Yunho wasn’t someone I could trust, his faux kindness and softness were all but a mask which hid his true intentions. I had seen beyond the cracks of his good manners and big heart, and I knew he wasn’t all that different from those from the Capitol. All those years ago, almost six now, he had been my mentor, the only person who was supposed to help me and protect me from the outside as much as he could while I fought for my life in the Games, instead, Jeong Yunho, everyone’s favourite golden boy, went ahead and turned on me.

My legs carried me over to the living room before I could register what I was doing, body tense despite knowing the same old shenanigans would happen this year too. Except that this year a Quarter Quell was happening, this year it was the 75th year of the Hunger Games, and that meant something unusual would happen. It was the third Quarter Quell and the last I’d heard of was horrible, the number of tributes had been doubled, meaning forty-eight children fought for survival and it was Haymitch Abernathy who became the victor, the now drunkard mentor from District 12. Katniss Everdeen was a smart girl, I watched her closely while she fought in that arena, but Haymitch also did his best when he realized the potential she had. Something Yunho never bothered doing for me while he was my mentor, it still left a bitter aftertaste in my mouth. Caesar Flickerman went on about the wedding of Katniss and Peeta before he announced that President Snow would take the lead now.

The sofa creaked under my weight too as I settled as far away from Yunho as possible, his chewing quiet as he cast me a quick glance, a small smile playing at his lips. I ignored him, my body shivering when President Snow’s face was the only thing I could see on the TV. Even after all these years, he still made me feel repulsed whenever I saw him, muscles tensing and my body wanting to coil up in a ball as if that could protect me from his cruelty.

“And now we honour our third Quarter Quell,” President Snow’s tone was determined, confident, and almost coy as a boy stepped forward, holding a box which President Snow opened. He reached inside it, moving envelopes around until his fingers gripped the one with a clear 75 on it. I gulped, feeling irrationally nervous all of a sudden as if I would be reaped next, as if I was back in time standing in the crowd of girls, awaiting the name of the female tribute who’d have to head to the Capitol this year. Yunho could never sit still for too long, always fidgeting or fussing around, but now, even his body was frozen, eyebrows furrowed as I stole a glance at him. He had finished eating the muffin and the little foil it had been in was now crumpled into his fist, “On the seventy-fifth anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels that even the strongest among them cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, the male and female tributes will be reaped from their existing pool of victors.”

The lights of the TV became a blur as I remained seated, staring ahead, ears ringing as President Snow’s words echoed in my mind. For a split second, the world stopped turning, my lungs failed to inhale the much-needed oxygen. And for another split second, I felt my body tremble, my mouth falling open as Caesar Flickerman’s shrieks of surprise and excitement echoed through the eerily silent house, Yunho’s body unmoving on the other end of the sofa. I couldn’t hear his otherwise loud breaths, I couldn’t even feel my own body. And when reality dawned more upon me, the very high chance that I was going back inside that wrenched Arena almost six years later, nothing else really mattered. The TV went silent with a sickeningly loud crack as the remote control flew into it, shattering it into pieces. My lungs were heaving for air as I sprung up from the sofa, a scream tearing through my throat as I stared at my reflection in the broken TV. I looked mad, my eyes were wide, my cheeks red, my body visibly shaking as my thoughts were clouded with suppressed memories, all the pain, suffering, mourning, the great feeling of loss of sanity, of control over myself.

I couldn’t do it, I couldn’t go back inside that Arena.

And before I could rationalize my thoughts, control my urges and blink away the red haze that’s settled over my vision, my fingers were gripping a heavy ornament from the side table, swinging it across the room as it crashed loudly against the display window of the massive cupboard on the other side of the room. It felt satisfying to hear something break, something of material that reflected my inner world perfectly, and made the fall less painful as my legs carried me over the bookcase, yanking off every book I could grab. My body wanted to destroy, desperate to release all the turmoil that clouded my senses, the trauma that bit and licked at my flesh almost mockingly, President Snow’s snake-like eyes burned in the back of my mind, always taunting, always elated as he watched others suffer.

My hand burned when I touched the sharp edge of the vase I had broken solely with my grip, but I couldn’t stop. The pain I felt muted the screams that threatened to tear past my throat, the tears that stung my eyes but never rolled down, and the hollowness inside my chest that only seemed to grow bigger, swallowing more and more of my being. I had no one to lose anymore, just myself. But I hadn’t been myself since I had won the Games, so was I really losing someone? I had no one to return to even if I won, President Snow has made sure of that a long time ago. There weren’t many victors in District 7, not that I was on good terms with anyone. I’d either return without the male tribute or neither one of us would. My lungs burned as I gripped another ornament off the bookshelf, less heavy but very breakable as I raised my arm high, freezing at the nimble call of my name.

My chest was rising and falling rapidly as if I had run a marathon, muscles tensing more when I remembered I wasn’t alone. No, someone was here with me, in the living room, someone who knew what it meant to go back into the Arena, someone whose cheeks were tear-streaked. I gulped, eyebrows furrowing as I looked at Yunho, fingers curling tighter around the porcelain doll. It had been my younger sister’s, was I truly going to break it?

“Y/N.” Yunho’s tone was low, harsh, and shaking. I gulped, my breaths ragged as they puffed through my nose loudly, and my jaw clenched when Yunho’s face contorted in pain, reflecting what I felt on the inside. But he couldn’t stop me, my bones shook with rage and fear and before I could think more about it, I threw the porcelain doll at Yunho, who easily caught it as if he had been anticipating it. It only angered me more as I grabbed another one, my younger sister used to have a collection, and flung it at Yunho again.

“Get out!” I screamed at the top of my lungs, throwing a third porcelain doll he caught again easily, my voice raw as I wanted to sob, but my throat felt tight, unable to release any shrill sounds. When Yunho failed to move from his spot, I screamed again and pushed everything off the coffee table with one strong shove, ready to flip the heavy table over.

“Stop, Y/N, just stop.” Yunho’s voice had lost its softness, it sounded panicked and pained at the same time, begging me as I refused to acknowledge him. No, he couldn’t stop me, nobody could. I wasn’t going back there, I wasn’t going to fight for my life again, he couldn’t make me—President Snow couldn’t send me back there, not again. Not after I lost everything in vain, I didn’t want to do it again, I didn’t want to relive the terror, the struggle, and I didn’t want to feel so alone when I returned, I was scared of facing the dark on my own again. I had barely learned how to cope with the night terrors on my own, with the numbness that chilled my limbs, with the desperate yearning for connections, for a gentle touch, for words that warmed my heart, I barely learned how to live without those. I couldn’t do it again, I couldn’t—I gasped when I felt strong arms wrap around my torso, immobilising my hands and body as the embrace was tight, “No! Let me go, Yunho, no!”

I pushed, I yanked, I even bit his shoulder until he was groaning, but he didn’t budge. He was sniffing, loudly and unashamedly, but his embrace only became stronger and tighter, more and more suffocating. I couldn’t breathe, I couldn’t think straight as his musky scent entered my nostrils, wrapping around me like a cocoon, his big body like a shield from the cruel world. My skin burned where he touched, and my limbs trembled as I tried to put space between our bodies again, but Yunho wasn’t letting go anytime soon.

“I’m here,” He muttered and I felt him raise his arm, freeing my left side, as his hand held the back of my head, pressing my face further into his neck. His skin was hot, but it was soft and it’s been too long since I came in contact with any other person, it made my knees weak as my mouth parted to hurl more insults at him, but I wasn’t able to voice them, “I’m here, Y/N, we’re in this together. I won’t let anything happen to you, we’ll get through this. Together. Like we always do.”

“No, no, no.” I muttered as my fingers twisted into his knitted cardigan, my heart racing in my chest painfully, “Leave, Yunho, just go.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” He snapped, but his arms weren’t holding me so tightly anymore. His long fingers felt cold against my scalp as they tangled against my long locks, slowly running them through my ginger hair, resting his chin against the top of my head. I loathed this, the warmth of his body, the willingness to offer me comfort, I hated him.

“I hate you, get away from me.” Yet despite my mouth speaking one thing, my body screamed another as my arms swiftly circled his torso, yanking Yunho’s body into mine. I wasn’t fighting my lungs for air anymore, I was able to breathe regularly once again, but everything felt so cold still, so numb. It wasn’t enough, Yunho’s big body pressing against mine so firmly, so eagerly as a reminder that he was here wasn’t enough anymore, and I felt weak when a whimper left my mouth, my head turning until I could hide it in the crook of his neck, nose pressing where his shoulder and neck met. His cologne was familiar, it was something I knew too well, it helped my mind relax as I felt Yunho shift his head away, warm lips pressing against the top of my head once, then twice, and then once again. His other hand dropped lower until his large palm pressed against the small of my back, and I shuddered when I felt his cold fingers slip underneath my blouse, skin on skin.

It was hard to think straight when Yunho was all over me, when his fingers explored and his mouth quivered with quiet sighs, his presence overbearing and insistent. It chased away the ever-present cold that settled into my bones, replacing it with a small flicker of something that made me hate myself. I couldn’t trust him, not after he so unashamedly tried to kill me, yet he was the only one who knew me. Yunho was the only person in this whole world who saw the real me, who saw past my coldness and walls I built to protect myself, he was the only one willing to stick around despite how off-putting I was. And it hurt, it burned, it consumed my thoughts in the dead of the night when a night terror awoke me, when all I could do was yearn for a body to hold, for soft words to be whispered into my ears, for lips that healed instead of ruined, for a touch that put me back together instead of breaking me further apart. And I wanted to take and take, to consume until nothing was left of him, until he couldn’t offer me anything more of himself because I had already taken all.

I felt tears streaming down my face when Yunho’s fingers gently traced my spine, driving my fingers to grip his cardigan harder, muscles cramping, but too afraid to let go. His hot breath fanned over my cheek as he lowered his head and I felt his insistent chocolate brown eyes on me, neither full of pity or regret, just understanding and yearning. Much without thinking, but because I didn’t want him to see me at my weakest, I turned my head further into his neck until my lips brushed against his flushed skin, making him shudder. And because my lips yearned just as much as the rest of my body, I let them explore his soft skin, gently pressing them against Yunho’s neck as he gasped quietly. His fingers tangled into my hair when I raised my head slightly, placing another kiss higher on his neck, and he was still gentle, he didn’t yank on the long strands despite being able to. My breath fanned against his hot skin as I let my mouth open, peppering his skin with gentle kisses until I reached his jaw, teeth nipping at the sharp bone. Yunho’s body was trembling and his head was angled lower, his breaths audible as he breathed through his nose.

The familiarity of his embrace was dizzying, the churning of my stomach nothing new as I detached myself from his warm soft skin, pulling my head back until I could stare into his eyes. They were darker, pupils bigger, and his lips looked slightly swollen like he had been biting the bottom one. Yunho’s full cheeks were flushed and his Adam’s Apple bobbed when he gulped, his eyes searching my face as his fingers untangled from my hair and instead gently traced my jaw, holding onto my chin as he tilted my head further up. My eyes fluttered for a second when our lips were angled perfectly against each other, Yunho’s breath fanning over my mouth making me shudder. Releasing my tight hold on his cardigan, I cupped his cheeks, almost keening as I pressed up on my tiptoes, my eyebrows furrowing as our noses pressed together, slowly nuzzling against each other. Yunho gulped again as his lips parted for his tongue to poke out, wetting the red flesh, and I blinked, dread settling deep in my stomach.

When Yunho leaned forward, pressing a slow kiss against my forehead, my body froze, my heart suddenly hammering against my ribcage. Something was wrong, the numbness was back, the pain, the terror. I couldn’t breathe anymore, Yunho’s musky cologne irking my nose as I could feel an oncoming sneeze, and I gasped when his lips tenderly kissed down the slope of my nose, making my fingers dig into his cheeks painfully. I was scared, I was scared because all of a sudden I realized I had something to lose. I have always had something to lose, even when President Snow thought he had taken everything and everyone away from me, he forgot about one person.

He forgot about Jeong Yunho.

As if his touch burned, I pushed him away, watching as confusion and hurt flashed in Yunho’s eyes upon my rude rejection. I could feel myself trembling, Yunho’s addicting warmth disappearing with him, making me shake my head as I felt my bottom lip tremble, “Get out.”

My voice was hoarse and filled with pain, and Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed as thunder cracked loudly in the distance, making me jump. It had become darker outside, way too dark for anyone to step out, but Yunho’s house was the one opposite mine. The wolves couldn’t have him, even if they wanted to. With a lasting stare, his eyes searching my face for a hint of whatever he had seen just seconds ago, Yunho sighed deeply, hanging his head low.

“Try to rest, please.” He muttered before he turned on his heels, and marched out of the living room, the door slamming shut louder than any thunder that’s ever shaken the house's foundation. Coated in darkness and loneliness, nobody witness of the sobs that wracked my body, I crumbled to the floor, curling in on myself as tears blinded me, making my muscles hurt as I gasped for air.

Everyone would suffer again, innocent and rebels alike.

            The floodlights of the open-air stadium were blinding and the air was relatively warmer compared to the constant rainy mood back in District 7. There was a breeze in the air, a whisper of unease and death brushing against our ears as every tribute seemed tense, but tried to hide it with wide and pleased smiles. Neither one of us was happy to be back and we would try to do something to change it, not that President Snow cared. The cheers of the crowd were deafening as the two horses pulling our chariot neighed loudly, ruffling their manes. My left hand was clutching the railing tightly for balance and to root me into the present moment, my right hand clammy against another warm palm. Yunho’s fingers were long and bony, his palm big and calloused, and somehow always cold. My skin crawled when our fingers had intertwined, a flicker of yearning awakening in my chest, but I was quick to drown it in the permeating numbness. I couldn’t feel anything for anyone, not now—especially not now.

The crowd only seemed to roar louder, probably enjoying the show, when all victors joined hands with their respective tribute partners. To us, to the ones who would have to risk their lives again, it wasn’t just a show, it was a last attempt to show that we stood here, together, unwilling to become jesters for the Capitol. But they wouldn’t understand, they never did. The districts, however, could see us and they would understand that we were united even if President Snow tried to tear us apart. We wouldn’t give up, not today and not tomorrow, never again. His tyranny had run on for too long, and his fragile reign was now threatened by the presence of the Mockingjay. The whispers of a riot in the districts had only gotten louder, more persistent, not just simple rumour anymore. The Peacekeepers had been more on edge ever since the 74th Hunger Games, under close surveillance by their comrades at the Capitol.

The chariot was finally taking us back beneath the stadium, away from the eyes of the Capitol and the cameras. My heart was racing against my chest, my veins filled with adrenaline, but dread as well, as every tribute returned backstage, our chariots coming to slow stops as Avoxes came forward to tend to the horses. My grip had been so tight against the railing that my fingers ached when I finally let go, all too aware of Yunho’s firm grip on my hand. With my jaw clenched, I turned my head to look at him, surprised to find him with an impassive expression on his face, lips downturned, and his eyes shaking. Yunho was always smiling, no matter the circumstances. I gulped and flexed my fingers, trying to pry them away, but Yunho didn’t want to release his own grip yet. It made me huff as I turned my body to face him, feeling anger lick at my skin.

“Let go.” I hissed lowly, mindful of the people around us who could overhear us. Nobody could know that I’d rather gut Yunho than be on his side, to everyone around us, we seemed like the perfect mentor pair, him being a sunshine and me the broody one. Nobody knew that behind cameras I would ignore Yunho’s existence, turn down his attempts at a conversation, and lock myself in my room whenever he’d come looking for me with another far-fetched excuse just to speak to me.

When he still hadn’t made a move, fed up, I yanked my hand out of his and leaned close enough for my breath to hit his cheek, my eyebrows deeply furrowed, “Get your shit together, Yunho. And stay away, everything is for show. I hope you haven’t forgotten—”

“How could I?” His chuckle was sarcastic, jaw clenched when he faced me, and for a second I froze, my eyes widening. It wasn’t even the sudden proximity that threw me off, it was the animosity on his face and the small snare on his lips, “You remind me each year of the same old things, you sound like President Snow at times.”

Appalled that he’d compare me to that man, I huffed and gripped the skirt of my dress, lifting it above my ankles as I stepped off the chariot, storming off. I was headed for the elevator so that I could return to our flat, and in my angry strut, I failed to notice a familiar face race after me. My heels were loud as I walked with purpose, glaring at anyone who blocked my path, and I didn’t greet back anyone as I knew they’d want to speak to me. I wasn’t here to mingle, I was here because Snow forced us to play another one of his games, and I was here to win. Before I could be-line it for the open elevator doors, fingers wrapped around my bicep and halted me, making me release a frustrated sigh as I whirled around intending to tell the person off, only for the words to freeze in my throat. The man holding me back wasn’t just anyone, it was Finnick Odair. And for the first time in a while, I felt my body fill with joy as my face relaxed, lips spreading into a wide smile, “Finnick!”

He chuckled as my arms flew around his neck, pulling his body into mine with little care if it was too aggressive or not, Finnick could take it. His torso was exposed due to his stylist’s poor taste, but it didn’t bother me as Finnick was warm and smelled of the sea and somehow the rain too. He felt like family, in his arms I knew I was safe, no matter what. It was funny, really, how easy it was to trust him, to let my walls down around him and just feel everything. I didn’t have to hide my fears when it came to Finnick, I didn’t have to hide my pain and struggles, because he knew. Finnick knew everything and he was often there to pick up the pieces when nobody else was. He understood and he knew what I needed because he needed the same thing. When in the Capitol, forced to be Snow’s muppets, Finnick was my pillar and I was his, the glimmer of light in the darkness, the embrace of a warm body that demanded nothing in exchange, just simple companionship and a shoulder to cry on.

“I thought I’d get a punch for touching you,” Finnick’s honey-like voice was teasing as he hugged me back just as affectionately, “I’m glad I was spared of a right hook, I’d look horrible for our interviews.”

I chuckled, mouth hurting from smiling so widely, “Even with a black, you’d still look dashing, Finnick.”

“Oh, my,” Finnick chuckled again, his arms loosening around my torso, but I was reluctant to let go. It felt nice to be in the arms of someone I trusted, loved even. It’s been too long since my mind could be at ease in anyone’s presence, in someone’s warm and loving hold. Finnick was like the older brother I had lost, always eager to help me out, and there whenever the burden of living alone got too hard. Living in different districts, the distance made it hard to cope with his absence at times, but at least I had one thing to look forward to whenever I was forced to visit the Capitol. I knew Finnick would be here, and I knew he would be just as excited to see me, “I fear my stylist wants to keep me naked for the interviews.”

I grimaced as I definitely didn’t want the mental image of a naked Finnick in my head, and finally let my arms fall from his body, stepping back to leave distance between our bodies, but not too far back. I enjoyed Finnick’s warmth, it felt like I was around the sun, “You should switch him with someone who doesn’t view you as just a pretty piece of meat to put on display. Wooyoung would be more than happy to design your clothes, he’s literally in love with you. He never stops gushing about your looks and body proportions whenever he sees you, it’s gotten sickening actually.”

“Wooyoung is spoiled and Snow loves objectifying me, so he’d never allow it.” Snow loved objectifying Finnick and me too, but thankfully, no matter how spoiled, my stylist, Wooyoung was, he’d never make me wear anything revealing or uncomfortable. He enjoyed working with raw materials, more specifically with tree bark as he claimed it let him explore creative ideas. With the disappearance of Choi San last year, the most sought-after stylist in the Capitol, Jung Wooyoung was the next hot topic. He certainly enjoyed the limelight, glad that San was finally gone and he could have his spot. The two had always been rivals, trying to claim The Best Stylist title, at least based on Wooyoung’s claims. You couldn’t fully believe whatever he said, he loved to spice things up just for the fun of it and spread rumours like wildfire. He was worse than the grannies back in District 7.

“Snow can go and die in his sorry excuse of a mansion, Finnick, at this point, he can’t do shit to me.” I hissed through my teeth, sharp eyes surveying the place as it was buzzing with jittery tributes, stylists and Avoxes, everyone doing their own thing. Most tributes were mingling before they would retreat to their own flats, and I averted my eyes out of fear that he’d come over when I saw Wooyoung storming towards Yunho, probably, you never knew with his sudden mood changes.

“Careful,” Finnick muttered, lips pulled into a sly grin, “the walls have ears everywhere here, darling, we can’t give Snow free material to hang over our heads.”

“As if he can’t just do that without having an actual reason.” I rolled my eyes and Finnick hummed as he grabbed a sugar cube out of the little pouch he had on his waist, turning around as he searched for his and Mags’ chariot. He smiled when his eyes fell on the old lady, and he nodded with his head for me to follow him. I fell in step with him as Finnick and I walked back to his chariot, and he fed the horses with sugar cubes before he popped one in his mouth. I smiled softly when Mags finally noticed me, her face always gentle and understanding. I bowed my head and kissed her on the cheeks, a lump forming in my throat when she pulled me in her arms with a tight squeeze, reminding me of a motherly hug. Anytime I saw Mags, I’d miss my family just a little bit more. She was a reminder that I’d never get to see my mother grow old, my father, nor my siblings. It was painful, but I gulped before more emotions could surface and cleared my throat, looking back at Finnick who was gazing somewhere behind me.

“Lover boy and his bestie are staring at us,” Finnick mused with amusement lacing his tone, “I don’t think your lover boy is too happy that you’re here with me, instead of being with him.”

I scoffed, turning my head to look where Yunho and Mingi stood, catching their gazes as Mingi flinched and quickly looked down at the ground, but Yunho held my gaze, jaw clenched and eyes slightly narrowed. I rolled my eyes and turned my back to them, grabbing Finnick’s bicep as I leaned closer to him, “I wish we could switch tributes—no offence Mags, but I don’t think I’ll be able to not kill him before the Games can even start.”

Mags snickered and shook her head at me as her stylist approached us, giving the old lady an exasperated look before she guided Mags away, making Finnick wave at her as I bowed my head slightly, “He can’t be that bad, honestly, I never understood why you hate him so much. He’s a genuinely nice guy, I bet he’d even sacrifice himself for you—”

“Enough, Finnick.” I snapped as my jaw clenched, emotions twisting in my chest at the mere prospect of Yunho jumping in front of me to take an arrow or a throwing knife to the heart. Yunho might’ve been genuine and loving in other’s eyes, but I knew who he was. He wouldn’t save me, jump in front of an arrow or a throwing knife, no, he’d send me poison disguised as bread just to take me out, his own tribute.

“Right, sorry,” Finnick mumbled as he grabbed another sugar cube, eyes falling on someone to my left. His smile turned into a sly one as he nudged my arm, pointing towards a tall girl with dark braided hair and a gorgeous black costume. She was the girl on fire, the Mockingjay, Katniss Everdeen, “Wanna go say hi? We should show her we mean no harm before she decides we are her enemy.”

“But we are her enemy, Finnick,” I mumbled but followed the man, making him wink at me with a knowing look on his face. If we put it that way, Katniss wasn’t our only enemy, we were each other’s enemies too, it was only natural when it came to the Games. No previous friendships mattered once we stepped inside the Arena and the canon went off, signalling the start of the Games. I remained standing behind Finnick as Katniss’ attention was on us, her hand slowly petting the horse.

“Do you want a sugar cube?” Finnick asked with his honey-like voice even warmer now, grinning charmingly. Katniss’ eyes narrowed as they glanced briefly at me before she focused on Finnick again, jaw clenching. She completely ignored Finnick’s hand, which was extended towards her and held a sugar cube in his palm.

“No.” She deadpanned and I snorted, masking it with a gulp when Finnick threw me a displeased look. It was hilarious each time a female turned Finnick’s advances down, it didn’t happen often and that’s exactly why I enjoyed it even more.

“Well, girl on fire, you certainly dress to impress.”

“As always.” I couldn’t help but mutter as Katniss and Mingi’s clothes had caught on fire before the parade was over, the roars of the people were so loud that they managed to make my ears ring. Katniss and Finnick ignored my comment and I let my eyes study the girl’s face more, she was way too young to be here. I was an adult, most of us were, but she was sixteen, just a child.

“Thanks, your costume is…lacking.” Katniss grimaced before she quickly averted her eyes from Finnick’s exposed chest and I chuckled again, surprised to hear her addressing me as well, “But yours looks nice—raw, almost.”

“It’s because it is raw, it’s real tree bark,” I explained as I let my fingers trace the corset, sturdy and protective around my torso. I extended my hand towards her, showing her that I meant no harm, just yet, “My name’s Im Y/N.”

“I know,” Katniss muttered as she shook my hand, her grip strong but not lasting, “I’m Katniss Everdeen.”

I hummed and nudged Finnick to suggest that he should introduce himself too, but he just popped the sugar cube in his mouth and smirked at Katniss, who looked clearly uncomfortable, “And he’s Finnick Odair, don’t let his cocky attitude make you feel uncomfortable. He’s just half the jerk he seems to be.”

Finnick scoffed and gave me a sharp look which I ignored as I studied Katniss’ face more, watching her fight a small smile off her lips as her eyes hardened instead, stance determined as she pulled her shoulders back, “Well, it’s not like I’m here to make friends.”

“Not friends, but maybe having a few people on your side wouldn’t help, girl on fire, not everyone is fond of you.” Finnick’s voice dropped as he took a step towards her, making her tense up. My jaw clenched and I averted my eyes because I knew he was right, “We are here because of you and the little stunt you pulled last year, Katniss. Don’t lower your guard.”

“Thanks for the advice, Finnick, but I don’t need it.” Katniss snapped, turning around to take off towards her mentor who seemed to appear out of nowhere. Finnick was about to say something, but I gripped his arm to stop him, my eyes meeting Haymitch’s blue ones. His eyebrows were furrowed as he took both Finnick and me in, a gaze filled with questions flashing over his face before he nodded at us in acknowledgement.

“Well, let’s get Mingi and then we can go.”

“Please, I can’t stay a second longer here.”

I watched as Haymitch and Katniss walked around us, making Finnick grimace as I turned my head to watch them walk towards Yunho, who was unsurprisingly beaming as he was surrounded by a few other tributes as well. Mingi, despite being just as tall as him, was hunched forward and hiding behind Yunho, his head lowered and jaw clenched. Song Mingi had stopped doing well after his Games, always so fidgety and scared of the world around him. But Yunho seemed determined to befriend him and he has never left Mingi’s side ever since his Victor’s Party. I couldn’t help but scowl at the two men before Finnick sighed loudly, grabbing my hand to grab my attention.

“There’ll be a bloodbath this year, Y/N, and I’m not going down so easily.” Finnick’s tone lowered and his eyes shook with conviction, and a flicker of anger, “Keep your ears and eyes open, study those around you, and stay close to the Mockingjay, you’ll know who’s your friend and foe then.”

With his cryptic words, he leaned forward to press a kiss against my cheek before he excused himself and headed for the elevator, his face tired as I watched him hug his torso when the female tributes from Districts 1 and 2 went and approached him like some hyenas, eyes filled with lust as they gazed upon him. People from Districts 1 and 2 were just as bad as those from the Capitol and I hated all of them. Sick of being surrounded by so many people I disliked, I grabbed the skirt of my heavy dress and raised it above my ankles as I stormed off towards one of the many elevators, waiting for one to open its doors as I ignored the insisted stares and whispers from the other tributes. Nobody really liked me, and I intended to keep it that way.

At least fewer feelings would be involved when I’d have to kill them, it wasn’t anything personal, after all.

            The days seemed to blur together when I was at the Capitol, yet at the same time, it felt like no time had even passed at all. As a mentor, all I had to do was focus on guiding the child I was given, making them the strongest and smartest possible. I had to strategize with them and help them build up their confidence if they lacked it, and I had to build them a persona that was easily likeable and cherished by the Capitol. But for that to happen, it also required me to network, to become someone liked by the Capitol. If it wasn’t for Yunho, I was sure not many would’ve liked me. We balanced each other out, where he was too soft and forgiving, I was rigid and hardly able to let go of a grudge. Nobody would willingly become a person disliked by many, but I had long stopped caring about other’s expectations and thoughts. I lived for myself and I lived the way I wanted—as long as President Snow allowed me to, of course. Nothing was made out of sunshine and rainbows in Panem, and if you wanted to have something that was only yours, you’d have to work hard for it, and even then it wouldn’t be enough. It was sickening, really, when I realized that I was at a great disadvantage this year.

I wasn’t a mentor any more, I was a tribute, a person not many would root for. People in the Capitol had twisted and sick fantasies and enjoyed brutality, but if one’s character wasn’t likeable, they would turn a blind eye to their efforts to win them over with their skills. And this meant that there wouldn’t be many rooting for me or sending me gifts and the bare minimum of necessities. I had to play it smart, who I’d team up with, who I’d betray, who I’d trust and who I wouldn’t. I couldn’t let just anyone into my circle of allies, and thus, when people who had no idea what the Games were about tried to give me advice, it only naturally made my blood boil. My stylists, who otherwise were rather acceptable people despite being from the Capitol, had seemed to think they knew better who was good and wasn’t to have in your team. They thought just because they watched us through a screen each year they could give us advice. I have held my tongue the whole week, not wanting to create an even more tense environment. It was already enough that I fled the room whenever Yunho entered it and didn’t speak nor look at him even at the other’s futile attempts.

Tonight was no different as we sat at the big table filled with tasty food to the brim, loud chatter filling the vast dining room. Yunho was to my left, unfortunately, and his musky cologne seemed to be stronger tonight than any time else, making my nose itch as I fought another sneeze away. I raised my hand holding the fork and rubbed at my nose, trying to get rid of the constant itching, it was irritating. But what was even more irritating were Yunho’s futile attempts at grabbing my attention or trying to stir up a conversation with me, it wasn’t happening. We were headed inside the Arena in less than two days and I wasn’t about to frolic around with him. I managed to avoid him so far, I had to remain focused on my own strategy. I wasn’t dying in that Arena, if President Snow thought it would be smart to send victors back, I would make sure to give him a headache lasting for centuries. Did he want a parade? I would gladly create a scene for him.

“Ah, just look at it!” Momo exclaimed, her full attention on the TV’s screen as they were replaying images of yesterday night’s interviews. It didn’t go as planned, of course, it didn’t. Everyone was revolted for having to return inside the Arena, and in a last desperate attempt, we had tried to show our unity to the districts that even if Snow tried to turn us against each other, at the core, we fought together for a better tomorrow, for a better Panem. My lips twitched into a satisfied smirk when I watched ourselves on the screen holding hands, raising them high up in the air as Caesar Flickerman’s panicked voice cut through the microphone, and then the lights went out. Snow hated it, I knew he hated it, and the knowledge of that alone made my whole evening more enjoyable. That is, of course, until Momo’s big and gleaming eyes were focused back on us.

“You are so brave,” She said, lips quivering. Out of the team that worked with us to make us look good, Momo was the least likeable. She was the typical Capitol resident, entitled and sheltered, a bit dumb, and overall annoying, “I wouldn’t be able to stand there, you even held hands to share a last moment together. It’s beautiful.”

Wooyoung, always the little shit, snorted under his breath as he raised his fork and bit the meat off of it. Wooyoung wasn’t dumb, he was far from it, and he seemed to dislike most of the people surrounding him despite not being that different from them. He said nothing as Minghao hummed from across me, his features blank as always. He rarely spoke, but when he did, he’d either say something that would scar you for life or make you wish he never opened his mouth. He was merciless, with everyone.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” My voice was laced with sarcasm and Yunho stopped moving around for a second, I could feel his wide eyes on the side of my face. It was the first time I had spoken tonight, “Sending us to our imminent deaths? Yeah, there’s just something so romantic about it, don’t you think so?”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the table despite the amused smile on Minghao’s face, who took hold of his wine glass and tilted it in my direction as a silent toast. I wasn’t fond of him, unsurprisingly, but he seemed to be the only person besides Yunho and myself who was aware of all the horror the Capitol inflicted on the districts. He was quiet about it, but his mask sometimes slipped and I could see the hatred in his eyes, the rage boiling underneath his blood whenever Snow was shown on the screen, giving one of his lame speeches.

“Well,” Yeri, a person full of life and passion, tried to diffuse the palpable tension, “how did your evaluations go? What did you do? You never told us about it.”

“Yeah, you didn’t!” Wooyoung exclaimed with a full mouth, making Yeri grimace as she averted her eyes onto her plate. We didn’t have the time to tell them about it, not that I was in the mood to talk about how I had showcased my skills. I did it in a certainly memorable way, I was sure the Gamemakers weren’t satisfied with it, but I wasn’t here to please anyone. Yunho cleared his throat as he leaned forward to grab his cup of water, eyes falling on me briefly. I ignored him and took another bite of my dinner, the rich aromas never ceasing to amaze me. If there was just one good thing about the existence of the Capitol, it was their food.

As Yunho realized I wouldn’t speak up, he cleared his throat again and intertwined his fingers as he placed them on the table, “I did what I did all those years ago but made it more interesting, I suppose. I’m good with an axe, so…I wasn’t trying to impress anyone, really. That’s not my goal—”

“But, Yunho!” Momo’s exclamation cut Yunho off as her eyes grew wide, “You are supposed to impress them! What if they give you a bad score? That would be terrible.”

I snorted under my breath, rolling my eyes, “The Capitol giving a bad score to their golden boy? Yeah, sure, and I’m President Snow’s wife.”

“You’d kill yourself first before they’d even pronounce you as his wife.” Minghao’s reply came fast, cutting through the growing tension due to my blatant jar directed at Yunho. But, yes, Minghao was right. I’d rather kill myself than marry Snow, it was a stupid and absurd example, just like Momo’s stupid assumption.

“You’d be surprised to find out they aren’t as head over heels for me as you think, Y/N.” Yunho rarely snapped back, but as I glanced at him, I noticed his jaw clenching and unclenching. I couldn’t say that I was satisfied to see him triggered, but it certainly made me feel a little bit smug. Watching Yunho’s perfect mask crumble always satisfied me, it was proof of who he really was. It’s a pity not many were able to witness it.

“Maybe, but—” Wooyoung paused for no reason, just to be dramatic, as his twinkling eyes fell on me, “they certainly like you more than they like Y/N.”

“Say something new, Wooyoung.” I huffed and grabbed my own glass of orange juice, my stomach heavy from how much I had eaten. I had to enjoy full meals before going inside the Arena, I knew there I wouldn’t have the chance to eat much. I hated it.

“Since it seems like the cat finally returned your tongue, tell us about your evaluation.” Wooyoung grinned, lips ghosting over the edge of his wine glass. My jaw tensed as I leaned back in my chair, pushing the plate just slightly away from me as a way of letting everyone know I wasn’t eating anymore. The Avoxes lingering just around us noticed and quickly came closer, taking the plates and silverware away before they disappeared to the kitchen. I didn’t want to entertain those who sat at the table with me, but I knew I couldn’t just stand and go to my room, that would’ve been too rude, and I knew Minghao would very shamelessly drag me back. But just to prolong my moment of silence and peace of mind, knowing the reactions that would soon follow, I took a big gulp of the orange juice and made sure to savour it. Wooyoung scoffed as he rolled his eyes and Minghao, surprisingly, seemed rather interested as his eyebrows raised. Momo had her mouth hanging open as she sat on the edge of her chair and Yeri seemed nonchalant, but I knew she was just as curious as everyone else.

As for Yunho, his torso had turned to face me and his warm chocolate-like eyes were insistent, as if he was trying to penetrate my mind and read my every thought. Irritated, I held the glass in both hands and took a deep breath, “I destroyed the training room.”

The gasps that followed were satisfying, gratifying. I chuckled, staring at nothing in particular smugly, “I walked inside with my head held high, I introduced myself and then grabbed the tables first, pushing everything off of them just to flip them over. Then I went and turned everything I could over, hurling the weapons I could towards the Gamemakers, but sadly, there was a forcefield around them this time. And then, when I felt satisfied with my work, I told them to get fucked in the ass and left the room with a bright smile on my face.”

The mouths hanging open made me chuckle, which turned into quiet giggles as I stared down into my lap, feeling as if I had accomplished something big. This was the best way I could show defiance, and so I took the opportunity and rolled with it. I couldn’t have been prouder, but my joyful moment didn’t last for long when I felt a warm palm pressing against my left thigh. Before I could react, push the hand off or anything, long fingers grabbed onto my flesh through my pants and I gulped, my heartbeat spiking at the inappropriate touch. I whipped my head around, Yunho’s eyes boring into mine as his eyebrows were furrowed.

“You shouldn’t have done that.” His voice was deep, low, and scrutinizing. I scoffed but didn’t say anything as his grip only turned tighter, making goosebumps erupt under my sweater. Yunho didn’t look mad, but he didn’t look calm either, it was peculiar, I couldn’t read his expression.

“That’s…” Minghao took a deep breath, face suddenly lighting up in elation, “simply brilliant!”

“No, it isn’t.” Yunho snapped, his head turning around as he looked at Wooyoung, who looked concerned. It made my eyebrows furrow, but before I could speak up, Yeri beat me to it.

“You just put a target on your head, Y/N,” Her voice was hesitant as she glanced around the table, stare lingering on Wooyoung as if she was asking for permission to speak, “You know the President isn’t fond of you, you shouldn’t have angered him further. These Games, they—they are happening to take you down, the strongest, the ones who had proven they were strong enough to fight a battle lest it happens, you should play it smart, Y/N, not make a fool out of yourself.”

My eyebrows raised as I chuckled, unamused, leaning forward to look at Yeri better, “Really? I’m a fool now? You think I want to be here, again?! You think I want to go back inside that fucking Arena and kill those people? To relive all the repressed memories and emotions? Fuck off, Yeri, when all you’ve known is a lavished lifestyle without death constantly looming over your head.”

“Watch your language.” Wooyoung was rarely serious, but when his fox-like eyes narrowed and his lips twitched, he looked scary. He could be scary when he wanted to be, perhaps that is why he laughed so often and tried to always look mischievous, “Yeri is right, stop being so fucking proud that you can’t admit when you’ve just made a mistake. If your score is low the people won’t even bat an eyelash your way, considering there’s someone who likes you.”

“I don’t give a shit who likes me and who doesn’t, Wooyoung.” I scoffed, my thigh burning where Yunho’s fingers gripped it. It was becoming too hot in the dining room, Yunho’s strong cologne was making my head dizzy and I could feel my lungs tightening up. I didn’t want to stay here, I didn’t like being put on the spot, and I didn’t like it when people treated me for less than I was.

“Well, you should.” Wooyoung said, tone cold, “Because your life depends on your sponsors and your allies, you stupid girl.”

Before I could snap back at Wooyoung, Momo, who had been surprisingly quiet, chirped up, “Speaking of that, who are you taking as your allies? I was thinking Enobaria, from District 2, and—”

“Mingi.” Yunho’s tone was determined, eyes hardened as he looked at everyone sitting at the table, his gaze slipping onto mine, “I’m not leaving him alone, he’s coming with us.”

“With us?” I muttered under my breath and flinched when Yunho’s fingers felt like they were digging through my pants, “I’m with Finnick and Mags, I don’t care what you do and who you go off with.”

“You’re a team.” Minghao said, his lips pursed, “You two have to stick together, it’s what everyone else will do too, it’s only logical.”

“And if I don’t want to?” I fired rapidly, eyebrows raising.

“I just told you to stop being fucking arrogant, Y/N.” Wooyoung hissed, slamming his fist onto the table and making me flinch as my heart started thumping faster, “You’d be suicidal to not form a team with Yunho, he’s amongst the last ones the other tributes will go for. He’s strong and you know he’s got your back, you can’t go frolicking with Finnick and Mags, what if they turn on you?”

“They won’t,” I said through a clenched jaw and having had enough of Yunho’s touch, I gripped his wrist and ignored the looks we got. My nails dug into his skin painfully, but he wasn’t budging, it made my blood boil, “Finnick is like my brother, he won’t turn on me.”

“Mingi is like my brother too, I’m not leaving him alone—”

“So, are you saying you want us to team up with the Mockingjay?” I whipped my head around, eyes bleeding into Yunho’s, “You want to put a target on our heads right from the get-go? Everyone hates her guts, everyone will want to kill her first. I’m not teaming up with Mingi and Katniss, Yunho—”

“It wasn’t a question,” Yunho snapped, suddenly flipping his palm up as he grabbed my wrist instead and yanked me towards himself. I gasped as I felt forward, gripping the edge of the chair with my right hand, heart racing against my chest, “Mingi is coming with us, and wherever he goes, Katniss goes too. And you’re coming with us too, whether you like it or not. I don’t care if Finnick and Mags join us, I know they won’t turn against us until there’s just us left behind.”

I scoffed and yanked my wrist out of his hold, snarling at him, “You won’t tell me what to do, I’m not going to be in a team with you. Yet better, get out of my fucking way when that canon goes off because you will be the first person I’ll kill, Yunho.”

My words stung, they were honest but I hadn’t meant them like that. I hadn’t realized their weight until it was too late and I couldn’t take them back anymore. I tried to gulp but my throat was tight, cheeks burning from both anger and the sudden regret and embarrassment I felt. For the first time, I didn’t feel satisfaction as I watched Yunho’s face fall, a very clearly pained expression crossing his face. His eyebrows furrowed as if he didn’t understand why I would say something like that, but his eyes filled with tears and suddenly I felt like I couldn’t breathe anymore. It didn’t help that everyone was staring at me with wide-open mouths, just as shocked as Yunho by my words. When I heard Momo starting to sob, I knew I couldn’t sit there anymore. I stood abruptly, pushing my chair back forcefully as I took off towards my room, breaking out into a sprint when I felt my bottom lip shake, tears flooding my eyes.

Why was I on the verge of breaking down? Why did my own words hurt me when they were the truth, when they were supposed to let Yunho know that I didn’t want him around? Not here, not home, and certainly not in the Games. I couldn’t trust him, he’d tried to kill me once before, and he wasn’t even in the Arena with me, what would guarantee that he wouldn’t do it again? And now it would be so much easier done, I couldn’t trust him. In my desperate daze to get back to my room, I didn’t hear the quick footsteps chasing after me, and I gasped when my door was slammed open before it could even close. I knew who it was even before I turned around, and my hands balled into fists, throat tight as I tried to gulp again.

“Why are you like this?”

“Get out.”

We spoke over each other, Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion while mine in irritation, “Get out, Yunho, get out!”

“I’m not going fucking anywhere until you tell me how I wronged you!” Yunho had never raised his voice before, it made me flinch as his chest fell and rose rapidly, his lips downturned. He was mad and confused, and he wasn’t budging as I tried to push him out of my room. No, instead, he gripped my biceps painfully hard and shook my body as if that would shake some sense into me, his eyes shaking as they bore into mine. I couldn’t breathe as my heart raced painfully hard in my chest, my face flushed from the adrenaline. I couldn’t even tell what was wrong with me anymore, I didn’t know if I was scared, mad, desperate, or just insane. But I knew that if Yunho continued looking at me with that hurt expression on his face, I would completely break, and I couldn’t let that happen. Not when we were so close to going inside the Games where I had to be focused and committed to the thought that only I was making it back.

“You should think back on your actions, Yunho, it’s very easy actually.” I chuckled, trying to feign nonchalance, but I knew I was failing by how shaky my voice sounded, “I don’t trust you.”

“I know that, but no matter how hard I think about it, I just—” He gulped, averting his eyes, “I don’t know. I don’t know what I did wrong and I can’t—I just can’t have you pushing me away when we are so close, please, Y/N. I care for you just as much as I care for Mingi, we can’t separate in the Arena.”

I gulped as Yunho’s painful grip softened on my biceps, his shaking eyes searching my face as I tried to gather my thoughts, to give him a rational answer, “You think you won’t turn on me when the timing comes?”

I was surprised by how dejected and sad I sounded. I chuckled, fed up even with myself as the silence stretched on between us, Yunho’s lack of an answer being the answer. He knew it and I knew it too, the alliances would last as long as there were still many of us alive in the Arena. After that? Everyone was on their own, everyone. Even those who loved each other would have no choice but to choose. Me or them. And the answer was clear, it always had been. Humans were selfish, we were desperate to survive, and it was obvious who we’d choose.

“But I don’t want to turn on you.” Yunho’s voice was just a whisper as suddenly his hands moved, tracing up to my shoulders as he stepped closer, making me inhale deeply. His musky scent was nauseating, but it was the only thing in this wrenched place that smelled like home, that reminded me of home, that felt like home. Yunho’s closeness was familiar despite my dislike for it, and I found myself gripping his sweater at his hips, tilting my head back to look at him better. Yunho’s eyes were coated with an emotion that ran deep in his bones, an emotion that was so clear it made me freeze. He didn’t hate me, not even when I had been nothing but horrible to him, it was so obvious he didn’t and that was dangerous. It was dangerous because I could feel my walls crumble as I closed the distance between us, pressing my body against his bigger and stronger one. Yunho’s jaw clenched as he gently cupped my jaw, licking his lips as his eyes shifted between my eyes and lips.

“We won’t have to turn against each other, Y/N.” He whispered, leaning down so close that our lips brushed together. I gasped, quietly, as my eyes widened, freezing in his hold as I didn’t expect him to make such a bold move. But there was something hidden in his gaze, which quickly darted over the room as if searching for something, his voice really low and deep as he spoke again, “This will be the last time, to us, to them, to the children. Whatever happens in that Arena, it will happen with the intention to fix what’s been broken for so many years, to bring about a new beginning. So we mustn’t forget who our true enemy is, Y/N.”

My mind was reeling as Yunho’s words sank in, heart beating in a frenzy as I couldn’t completely focus due to the mess I was feeling inside. I wanted to push him away, slap him, berate him, but I also wanted to grab his collar and seal our lips together, to devour him, to breathe him in, to feel his body against mine, to give in to the burn situated low in my stomach. I hated him, but I wanted him. Snow took everyone from me, but he left me with Yunho as if he knew I’d torture myself over it, hate him with moments of relapse where all I could do was want him. I shuddered when Yunho shifted his head, his soft and wet lips pressing against the corner of my mouth. I wanted to chase after it, I wanted to taste him, but he turned his head when I tried to finally close the small distance. My lips pressed against his jaw instead and I couldn’t stop myself as I pressed an open-mouth kiss against his hot skin, fingers digging into his sweater, settling on his narrow hips. I couldn’t control myself anymore, it was too much. And maybe I didn’t want to let my logical brain lead me, maybe I wanted to give in to my deepest, darkest, desires led by my heart.

“If we do this together, Yunho,” My voice was hoarse as I spoke, our eyes meeting again as Yunho faced me once again, “The second I realize you’ve lied to me, I will kill you. I will kill anyone because I’m not dying in that Arena.”

“You are not.” Yunho emphasised as he gulped, reaching a hand up as he pushed my hair back, tangling his long fingers into the smooth strands, “But we must protect the Mockingjay.”

“Why?” I hissed, eyebrows furrowed as I turned my head just slightly, pressing my cheek into his, for once, warm palm. Yunho smiled, letting his other hand drop from my jaw as he shrugged, eyes shaking as his face morphed into tiredness. He seemed tired, but not just due to today’s events, he was tired of everything.

“To be free.” My eyes fluttered closed when he leaned forward, pressing a lasting kiss against my forehead. It made my chest ache and my hands almost chased after him when he untangled himself from my body, leaving me alone and cold in the room that would be my bedroom for the last time. I didn’t know what to do, but I knew one thing.

I wasn’t dying in that Arena, and perhaps neither was Yunho.

            Dread, so deep that it rattled your bones, was an emotion one could never get used to. I forgot what it truly meant to fear for your life, to do everything you could to keep yourself alive. President Snow wanted the utmost entertainment as Panem watched their most beloved victors fight for their lives, and he certainly got what he wanted. We didn’t have to run to the Cornucopia this year to get our weapons, no, the Cornucopia was where we stood the second the platforms raised us into the Arena. I couldn’t even focus on my chaotic heartbeat, eyes looking around for Finnick, only to spot Yunho instead straight across from me. He had given me a firm nod, and then his eyes fixed on something past me. When I turned to see what it was, I could see two axes lined up against the leg of a table. They were put there for us. I turned in my spot, muscles tight as the countdown began—may the odds be ever in your favour. Words I never thought I’d hear so vividly again, just through the screen of a TV while I watched my tributes fight until death.

And despite knowing what it meant to be in the Games and knowing it would be no easy feat to get away from the Cornucopia in one piece, it still shocked me how hard I had to fight to gain the upper hand. It seemed like Yunho and I weren’t the only ones yielding an axe, and thus, my first kill had been claimed right after the countdown, it didn’t surprise me. But there was no time for grief or hesitation, everyone was out there to get the other. I had to find my allies before someone could kill me, and upon seeing Finnick’s blonde hair disappear underwater, I knew I had to get away too. The Cornucopia was situated on an island in the middle of a lake, surrounded by lush green and dense pine trees. The breeze was chilly, the air humid. It felt like I was back in District 7 on an early autumn day when the days were starting to get shorter and the nights longer. The scenery felt familiar yet it made my skin crawl, I hated it here.

My ears still rang from the canons that had gone off right after the countdown, and my lungs burned when I resurfaced. The water was colder than I had expected and as I wasn’t an experimented swimmer, I struggled until I reached the shore, the axe I had to somehow carry to land also made my mission more difficult. As I gasped for air, water droplets obscuring my view, hand feeling around for my abandoned axe, I realized with great terror that something was actively sneaking around my ankles, slithering up my legs. In a frenzy, I decided to look back and I was mortified when I realized the weeds inside the water were moving up my leg, trying to yank me back inside the water. I tried to reach for my axe but it was out of reach, and just as I started trashing my legs around in hopes of making the weeds retract, I heard the sound of splashing water not too far from me. Then, the sharp edge of an axe came down and I gasped as I quickly flipped onto my back, my hand gripping the handle of my own axe as I was finally able to reach it.

Yunho’s suit was snug against his fit body, leaving very little to the imagination as it acted as a second skin. Our suits offered warmth but they were uncomfortable, the jacket that came with it only holding us back when we had to swim through the lake to reach the shore. Yunho was breathing hard as his eyes were pointed at me, and then he reached his hand out and I grabbed it without thinking much. I was hoisted up and I made sure no weed remained on my legs as Yunho hadn’t released my hand just yet, guiding us towards another tall person, who stood far away from the wet ground. My teeth clattered against each other as the lake’s coldness seemed to cling onto my every crevice, and I whipped my head left and right as I was trying to spot Finnick and Mags. I could see people rushing inside the trees at a distance, but neither had blonde hair like Finnick’s. Then, realizing that despite him being strong and capable of getting through the bloodbath, one of the canons that went off could’ve signalled his death.

My breath caught in my throat as I yanked my hand out of Yunho’s, making him pause as we finally reached Mingi, who was looking around himself nervously, bow and arrow clutched tightly in his hands. A hunting knife was strapped to his hips as well, and despite the always solemn look on his face, he seemed alert and present. But I couldn’t focus on Mingi or Yunho, all I could think about was the absence of Finnick, Mags, and even Katniss. Weren’t Mingi and her supposed to stick together no matter what?

“Where’s Katniss?” I found myself asking before I could think this through. I didn’t trust Mingi, hell, I didn’t even fully trust Yunho. I didn’t want to be with them, but Yunho’s long fingers found my arm again and he was suddenly walking off, dragging me after himself. I tried to stop, looking back at Mingi with a panicked expression on my face as he followed after us wordlessly, but neither one of them was saying anything. It only made my heart race faster, reminded me of the time when I was betrayed by my own district’s male tribute, flashbacks making my body shudder when Yunho just ignored me, fingernails digging through the fabric of my jacket as he led the way deeper inside the pine forest, “Stop—stop!”

I knew I was supposed to stay silent, but I was panicking, my mind was hazy and my lungs were heavy, I couldn’t continue like this. The Games had just started, I couldn’t freak out so early on, I needed to stay level-headed and in control of my thoughts and actions, “Yunho, I said fucking stop!”

“We can’t stop, Y/N!” He exclaimed, suddenly halting and making me run into his broad back. I gasped as my face collided with it and he whirled around, eyebrows furrowed, “We are too exposed right now, we have to keep going, the others are lurking around still.”

“I’m not going anywhere without Finnick, Yunho, I’ve already told you this—”

“I didn’t see Finnick anywhere,” I could barely speak before Yunho cut me off, as if he didn’t even care about what I had to say. The lump in my throat made it hard to swallow all of a sudden, “We can’t wait around for him, we have to keep moving for a while, at least. And if—he—he might’ve died already, Y/N, we can’t wait around for—”

“What about Katniss?” I hissed, turning my head around as I glared at Mingi, who looked tense and lowered his eyes when my glare burned into his shaken eyes, “Weren’t you two supposed to stay together?”

“We were, but I—she pushed me in the water to save me from a knife and I—” Mingi gulped, sharing a quick glance with Yunho. It made me look back at Yunho, feeling more suspicious than before. Something was wrong, they had to be lying. But why would they want us to separate from Finnick and Katniss? It made no sense, “I lost sight of her, I’m sorry. But she’s strong and she can swim, I know she made it out. The forest is like a second home to her, she’ll find her way back—I hope.”

“Hope,” I scoffed, shaking Yunho’s grip off as I held my axe even tighter, jaw clenching, “is not good enough here, Mingi. Are you sure you didn’t do this on purpose? Why did you want to separate me from Finnick—”

“Nobody wanted us to separate.” Yunho’s sharp tone cut me off and I gasped when I felt him cup my cheek and turn my head around, his chocolate brown eyes hard and glaring, “Things rarely go as planned inside the Games, Y/N, you know that, so we can’t just stand here and argue and draw even more attention onto us. We’ll search until we find them, okay?”

“I know you did this on purpose, Yunho.” I hissed, slapping his warm hand away, my jaw clenching as Yunho closed his eyes and released a long exhale, “I don’t know what sick and twisted game you’re playing at, but I will slit your—”

A twig snapping to our right made the rest of my words die in the back of my throat, making both Yunho and Mingi tense up as they whipped their heads towards where the sound had come from. My grip tightened around the handle of my axe until my joints ached, and I tilted my head, waiting and listening for another sound. It was minuscule, but it was there, someone was hiding behind the tree. It didn’t look like Mingi or Yunho had noticed, though, because Mingi turned his head and Yunho opened his mouth to say something, but I paid them no mind as I raised my arm and flung my axe towards the tree just as someone with a sword jumped around it. The sickening crack of bones was loud as the tribute gasped, flung back into the tree as the axe was lodged almost perfectly in the middle of his chest. Mingi gasped and seemed to freeze as Yunho gulped, his hand tightening around his own axe.

I threw him a glare before I went towards the tribute who was pinned against the tree by my axe, blood flowing out of his mouth as the life slowly slipped away from the man’s eyes. It was the male tribute from District 6, a man I didn’t know well but had heard talk shit about me behind my back. He was still alive but just barely hanging onto life, so without thinking, I grabbed the back of the axe and pushed it even deeper into the man’s chest, making him let out a gurgled groan. It only took three seconds for his head to drop and for the canon to go off. I scoffed and grabbed the back of the axe, yanking it out of his lifeless body as he crumbled to the ground, folding over itself as I wiped the blood on the back of his jacket, grinning to myself. I would’ve apologized if he would’ve deserved it, but a man who’d tried sexually assaulting me before did not deserve my mercy. Satisfied with my work, and slightly hopeful that the Capitol was thrilled by my kill, I turned with a grin on my lips. The feeling of victory didn’t last for long as I froze, taken aback by the sight in front of me.

Mingi’s whole body was shaking, his bow and arrow were on the ground and his head was hidden in the crook of Yunho’s neck, who held his friend close, muttering reassuring words into the younger’s ear. My jaw clenched, and suddenly the adrenaline rush crashed inside my body, bringing back the clattering of my teeth as my body was still way too cold. I wanted to think of Mingi as someone weak, as someone who had lost his mind already, as someone who had no place in the Hunger Games, an easy prey to whom death was certain. But deep down, in a hidden chamber of my heart, I felt sympathy for Mingi because all I wanted to do was crumble into a ball and sob until no emotion was left inside my chest. I was beyond frightened and all I wanted was to be held in Yunho’s warm and comforting arms, in the arms that felt like home. But I couldn’t, if I let my emotions take the lead, I would die and that was a luxury I couldn’t afford—not yet, at least.

“We need to move,” I spoke up, voice surprisingly gentle as I realized Mingi’s reaction had been triggered by my kill. I didn’t want to set him off more, it wouldn’t just be bad for him, it would set Yunho and me back too, I couldn’t have that happen, “We’re too close to the shore still.”

“Mingi,” Yunho’s voice was gentle as he pressed his nose against his best friend’s temple, rubbing his back up and down with both hands as his axe lay on the ground next to his leg, “It’s okay, we’re fine. Y/N took care of him, you’re safe with us. Let’s go, okay? We need to keep moving to avoid situations like this one, hm?”

I heard a sniff as I approached them, crouching down to fetch Mingi’s bow and arrow as he nodded his head, throwing his arms around Yunho’s neck as he gave him a tight squeeze. Yunho chuckled but returned the hug, a warm smile appearing on his face when the two separated. I gulped, feeling uncomfortable at their intimacy, at the ease they showed affection to each other. Even if my body and soul craved closeness to another human being, my mind wouldn’t let me bring the walls built around my heart down, I just couldn’t. It was too late now, softness didn’t get you anywhere in the Arena, only barbarity did.

“Here,” I muttered as Mingi faced me, his body still trembling when his eyes landed on his previously abandoned weapons. He gulped and very slowly reached forward, “I understand that it’s hard, Mingi, but if you let your trauma and fear consume you, you won’t get far in the Games.”

He nodded once and then grabbed his weapons out of my hands, staring at them with a ferocious glare. Yunho grabbed his axe too and then sighed, rubbing his face before he glanced around us, “Let’s head uphill, maybe we find something that we can use as a resource.”

I nodded, letting the two fall in step in front of me as I opted to look out for our backs, making sure we weren’t exposed on either side. My muscles hurt by how tense they were, and my ears were trained well to catch even the slightest shifts, the quietest of sounds. I knew how to survive situations worse than this, but I couldn’t let my guard down, the Games had barely started.

But if there was one thing I was certain of, it was that I couldn’t trust Yunho or Mingi. Finnick was my only ally in these Games and I was going to find him, whether on my own or with the help of two tall men walking in front of me, I didn’t care. I was going home once this was over.

            The first night in the Arena had been silent, uneventful. This was good only because we got a good night’s rest, otherwise, it meant the Gamemakers were planning something big. I couldn’t tell what, not yet at least, but the lightning striking a tree in the distance, far more uphill, managed to raise my suspicions. I couldn’t tell just yet what that was supposed to mean, but I had counted twelve strikes. I had been on the lookout when it happened, preferring to be the first to keep watch as the two men I was with slept soundly, huddled closely together. Before the artificial sun could set, we made a small bonfire to try to warm ourselves up, grilling a frog we had found by the creak. It got really cold by the nighttime, but I preferred my teeth clattering to cozying up with either Yunho or Mingi. I didn’t trust them, not in the least, and I had twirled the hunting knife between my fingers as I watched them sleep, so unassumingly, so easy to kill. But I wouldn’t do it just yet, not until I have found Finnick and we’d figure something out together. The Arena was big and I knew we had little chance of finding each other, but for once in my life I could only pray the odds would be in my favor.

Morning came fast and once we refreshed ourselves by the creak, which was surprisingly lukewarm, we took off once again, headed more uphill. We were looking for a good hiding spot, something we could treat as our base, but we were also just keen on exploring the Arena. It felt like the pine forest was endless, and to someone who didn’t grow up in a District that was surrounded by forests, it must’ve felt like an endless maze of trees that looked the same no matter which way you looked. But to Yunho and I it was rather easy to navigate through its density, the scenery was never the same to us. The occasional fallen log, the change of the bush type, or even the way birds flew overhead were a good tale-tell sign of where we were. Mingi seemed to be at ease too, moving around as if the forest was his second home. I knew District 12 was just by the forest, but I had no idea they could go inside it too. Maybe Mingi was hiding things about himself even towards Yunho, it wouldn’t surprise me.

As the day had dragged on and the temperatures rose once again, our stomachs churned loudly as we were getting tired from endlessly climbing uphill, the pathway slippery due to the small rocks we had to walk on. Yunho had exchanged spots with Mingi, and I was keen on remaining at the back as we trekked around some more trees, avoiding bushes that looked like something was wrong with them. We had only stopped when the sound of a drone caught our attention, the beeping of it high-pitched and loud as if it were a child’s toy. It was headed towards us, more specifically towards Yunho, and it looked like a box—a big box when Yunho caught it, his eyebrows furrowed. We had stopped then and once Yunho had opened it up, our mouths started watering. Someone from the Capitol had sent us breakfast and left us a letter telling us to feast on it as they’d send us some more tomorrow morning as well. Yunho, the ever-lovely person he was, faced a camera and thanked the sender with a bright smile and some sweet words, Mingi and I could barely contain ourselves from ravishing the bagels, cheese, grapes, and slices that looked and tasted like ham.

Once our bellies were full, we were off again hoping to find a cave as we had followed the stream until it started disappearing into an unknown direction. Mingi was at the front of the group leading us, his bow and arrow gripped in his hands as we had finally spotted a cave up-front, right by the pathway. He seemed excited upon our finding and quickened his pace, making Yunho and I run after him as Yunho glanced back to throw me an excited smile. I didn’t react as I fixed my grip on my axe, ready to face other tributes if they were hiding inside the cave that we’d claim as ours soon. But it was dark and silent inside as we reached its opening and Mingi halted, looking back at Yunho and I.

“I’ll go check, wait here.”

“You shouldn’t go alone,” Yunho muttered, his eyebrows furrowed.

“It’s fine, I won’t go in deep,” Mingi reassured him and then stalked inside, his bow and arrow drawn in case he was forced to use it. With a gulp, I settled back on my heels and looked around, trying to evade Yunho’s burning gaze. He didn’t say anything, but he continued to stare as I tried harder and harder to ignore him. My heart was slowly starting to thump faster in my chest, and I could feel myself starting to sweat from still wearing my jacket over the body-tight suit. Just as Yunho opened his mouth to say something, Mingi’s shriek made us tense up and share a concerned glance, and then Yunho was off before I could even tell him to wait.

“Mingi!” He screamed, running inside the cave with his axe raised. I remained in my spot, my breaths audible as I whipped my head around, looking out for anyone who could be prowling on us. My heartbeat was deafening as I tried to tune in to the sounds of the forest, but the pounding feet coming from inside the cave caught my attention rapidly, and I couldn’t even make out what was happening as Yunho and Mingi’s panicked faces came into view, Yunho’s hand gripping my arm hard as he yanked me after himself, sprinting downhill all of a sudden.

“Run!” Mingi screamed as he took the lead once again, his bow around his shoulder and arrow in its holster, my heart started pounding faster as I twisted my head around, trying to make out what we were running from. Going downhill was certainly easier than uphill, but the small rocky path was tricky as it was slippery and made it harder for us to flee safely. If it weren’t for Yunho’s relenting grip on my bicep, I was sure I would’ve tumbled to the ground already.

“What are we running from?!” I asked as my lungs heaved for air, Yunho and I jumped over a fallen log as Mingi was well in front of us, not looking back even once.

“Snakes!” Yunho screamed, and I felt my whole body shudder, fear gripping my insides. I wasn’t afraid of snakes, but I was afraid of whatever mutants these were, certain to kill us. I gulped and twisted my head around again to try and see the reptilians, which turned out to be my downfall— quite literally.

“Yunho, come on!” I heard Mingi scream before my feet got caught in the vines that slithered across the forest floor and I gasped as my feet were cut from underneath me, Yunho’s grip disappearing as he continued to run while I rolled to the side, curling into myself to try and protect my head as I hit the side of a boulder. I groaned, my back numb as it caught most of my fall, and my axe was somewhere on the ground. I tried to look for it, getting on my knees as I heard the slithering snakes getting closer, their hisses menacing. My heart felt like it was in my throat as I could hear my pulse clearly and loudly in my ears, looking up as the fallen leaves rattled not too far from me.

“Yunho?!” I heard Mingi’s raw voice call out in the distance, laced with panic, “What are you—no!”

I could see my axe from here, a colourful snake was twisting around its handle, hissing as its eyes fell on me. I gritted my teeth and fumbled around for my hunting knife, unlatching it from around my thigh as I gripped it in my hand, staring the snake down. The only problem was that it wasn’t just one snake that was coming after us, it was multiple, a dozen, thousands even as the otherwise silent forest was filled with their hissing. My mouth parted as my breathing got heavier, and my eyes widened when I felt something crawling up my left calf. It only took me one second to realize a snake had gotten to me without me noticing its approach, and an involuntary shriek escaped my mouth as I tried to kick it off. I tried to stay as calm as possible and fight with a level head, but the dread gripping at my insides, whispering that I was going to die, made me panic as I tried to stab the snake, but it dodged my knife each time as if it was intelligent enough to do so.

“Yunho!” Mingi’s desperate shout almost felt like it shook the ground, and I hissed at the snake as another one got too close, trying to stab that one too. It was hard to accept the fact that I would die such a pathetic death, but I bet the Capitol would love it. They were always entertained by whatever the Gamemakers had prepared for us, and I felt my lips tremble as a pathetic whine left my lips when the snake’s body got tighter around my leg, opening its mouth in a menacing snarl. But the pain spreading from of its poison never came as Yunho suddenly appeared from around the trees, slicing snakes in half as he stepped hard on others, his eyes finding mine. He looked terrified once he noticed the snake around my leg, and without consideration for his life, he leapt forward and grabbed the snake with his bare hand, yanking it so hard that it tore its body in two. The snake hissed, but before it could try to do more harm, it was decapitated by Yunho’s axe, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Fuck, come on!” He snapped, and it helped me quench my terror as I scrambled onto my feet, almost tripping again but this time due to nothing. My whole body was shaking as Yunho’s fingers intertwined with mine, his palm calloused and sweaty as he was breathing hard.

“Yunho?!” Mingi sounded on the verge of hysteria as Yunho and I ran towards the pathway again, and I retrieved my axe quickly, stomping on a snake vengefully before we sprinted down the rocky pathway again. This time I made sure to not glance back even though the snakes were right by our feet, trying to bite at our calves, and Achilles tendon, some even trying to jump and latch onto our torsos.

“Keep running, Mingi!” Yunho screamed back as we could see him now since we were closer to him. He was standing with his bow and arrow drawn back, hands visibly shaking and his eyes red. But once he had spotted us, he took off again, going off the pathway and jumping over bushes.

“Where are we going?!” I panted out, swinging at a snake as it tried jumping at my body from the right side.

“I have no idea,” Yunho answered breathlessly but veered us off the pathway, following Mingi’s lead. Even though he was well ahead of us, Yunho seemed to constantly know his friend’s location, and which way we needed to go to catch up with him. And it seemed like Mingi had stopped running once we reached the small clearing, his calves soaked in the creak.

“Get in!” He was beckoning us over frantically, marching over to the side of the creak when we were finally close enough, and then he grabbed Yunho’s axe and yanked us aggressively inside the water. Yunho slipped and fell to his knees, his axe remaining in Mingi’s grip as Yunho panted, head hanging low. My legs threatened to give out too but I was mostly confused as I looked at Mingi, and then back at the approaching snakes.

“Why did we stop?!” I asked, fear coating my voice, “We’re going to die, I can’t—”

“The snakes won’t come into the water,” Mingi said, his jaw set tight as he looked at the approaching reptilians.

“How do you know?!” I gave him an incredulous look, my attention shifting onto Yunho when he rolled around, sitting on his bum despite getting his suit soaked once again.

“They aren’t water snakes, just—trust me.” Mingi’s deep tone was raw and tense as his eyes remained on the reptilians. I watched too, gripping my axe and ready to kill as many as needed, heart thundering in my chest. But just as one snake tried to get inside the water, it hissed out loudly and retreated, the others following suit. No snake got inside the water, it tried though, but it jumped back as if they were electrocuted by it. I felt all power leave my body as I crumbled to my knees, steadying myself on my hands as my stomach felt like turning upside down, about to empty its contents. Our pants were loud in the small clearing, the water flow calming despite the retreating hisses of the snakes. It was eery to hear them in the distance, and my body shuddered as I remembered it slithering up my leg.

“Fucking hell,” I muttered under my breath, looking up at Mingi and Yunho. Yunho was still sitting, his eyes staring out into nothing as Mingi had moved to sit on a rock, his plump lips swollen and his eyes filled with tears. It made my eyebrows furrow as I tried to calm my body and mind, but it was hard when dread seemed to have taken its residence inside my body, inside my mind. My jaw clenched as I shakily stood again, eyebrows furrowing, “How did you know?”

Mingi and Yunho looked at me, probably surprised by my feeble voice. I hated it, but I ignored it as my glare burned into Mingi’s face. His eyebrows furrowed, but he shrugged, “I guess I just—I’ve heard it somewhere? I just—it just felt like the right thing to do.”

“So, you didn’t know.” I huffed, closing my eyes as my body continued trembling from the lingering adrenaline in my system.

“Yeah, maybe—but we’re alive, we’re—fine.” Mingi’s voice got quiet as my eyes snapped open, fixating on him. I scoffed, snarling at him.

“We’re fine?” I questioned, feeling the heat rise into my cheeks due to anger, “We’re alive?”

“Yeah, we—”

“No,” I hissed, grabbing my axe tightly for stability, to ground myself, “I am alive because Yunho came back, because he saved me. What were you doing, huh, Mingi? Saving yourself, that’s what you were doing, I’ll tell you.”

Mingi gulped, his eyebrows furrowing as he glanced at Yunho briefly, “I was just…trying to find the creak. I knew you’d follow me, I—”

“So much for being a team, huh?” I chuckled but it was humourless, “Is this what you did with Katniss, too?”

Mingi froze, eyes slightly widening as a hurt expression crossed his face. I heard Yunho exhale sharply but I was focused on Mingi, my eyes narrowing as he continued avoiding eye contact. My heart was still racing but for different reasons now, I could hear the gears in my head turn, twisting my thoughts and whispering at me that I was right all along. Mingi and Yunho weren’t my allies, they were my enemies and they were trying to lure me further and further away from other possible tributes that could maybe help me if I needed it. I scoffed, feeling my skin burn underneath my suit.

“Tell me, Mingi, did Katniss really push you into the lake?” I raised my eyebrows, watching as the guy’s eyebrows furrowed some more, “Or did you jump in because you were planning on betraying her at some point, huh?”

“Y/N,” Yunho hissed, abruptly standing up, “stop talking to him like that, what are you even saying? Do you hear yourself right now? How delusional do you sound?”

I chuckled, turning around to face Yunho as Mingi remained unmoving, frozen, dark eyes staring into the water as his hands clenched and unclenched, “Really, now, Yunho? I am delusional? I didn’t even want to team up with you two, you forced me into an alliance with you and Mingi and look where it got us! We both could’ve died out there while Mingi ran for his life! Did you forget what he’s done to his allies in the past—”

“Shut up.” Mingi snapped, standing up from his rock, jaw clenched and eyes ablaze with anger. He was breathing hard and his height was intimidating, looming over my shorter build as he approached me rapidly, “You don’t know shit about why I did that, Y/N. They were going to kill me that night, I heard them talking about it. I wasn’t going to sit around and wait for it to happen!”

I paused, licking my lips as I shook my head in disbelief, “And do you think at some point Yunho and I won’t turn against you? Do you think we won’t try to kill you?”

“We won’t.” Yunho hissed as he came closer too, his cheeks flushed and his expression conveying the simmering rage he must’ve felt underneath his skin. Yunho was rarely angry, but when he was, his voice thundered and his eyes turned sharp, lips pulled back in a snarl that was both frightening and almost comical, “Because I didn’t come here to kill anyone. We are getting out alive, but we have to find the others first.”

My jaw clenched as I looked between the two, shaking my head as I felt disappointment lick at my insides, somehow disheartened by their naivety. We weren’t going home, not all of us would survive, why could they not understand that finally?

“Are you fucking making fun of me, right now?” I said, voice hard as I looked at Yunho, “What games are you two playing, huh?! You’re insane if you think I’ll stay here with the two of you for one more second—”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Yunho hissed, stepping so close I had to crane my neck back to be able to look him in the eyes. My jaw clenched as I felt the axe slip from my fingers and I scoffed, raising my eyebrows tauntingly. The heavy weapon made a splashing sound once it collided with the water, and I could feel Mingi’s anxiety radiating off himself, his eyes watching us carefully, fingers curling around the edge of his hunting knife. I gulped, very aware that I was at a great disadvantage if the two decided to attack me right now, there were few chances I’d make it out alive. But even so, I would fight until my last breath, they couldn’t take me down that easily.

“Mingi is very clearly trying to kill me, why else would he separate me from Finnick? And the fact that you’re standing here and defending your good old buddy just proves to me that you are in on it too, Yunho. You didn’t even let me try and look for Finnick, you just dragged me away.” My heart was beating fast as my voice had started rising. Yunho looked a mixture of hurt and confused as his jaw clenched, not once looking away. I couldn’t see Mingi from my spot, but I could feel his gaze burn into the side of my head, “And the fact that he would’ve left me there for the snakes proves my point that he gives zero shit about me—and maybe about you too, Yunho, because he didn’t even think about coming to help you out. So maybe next time reconsider who your true friends are before making allegiances. If you want to kill me, come at me now.”

“Nobody is trying to kill you—” It was Mingi who spoke, sounding exasperated, “We are a team, I didn’t stop because I didn’t realize you two weren’t following me anymore. And when I finally did, I fucking turned back around and came running to help, but you had already figured it out! Do you think I wanted to separate from Katniss? The only person besides Yunho that I know and trust?! No, I didn’t fucking want to! She pushed me into the lake to save me and I freaking lost sight of her! Do you think I’m not trying to find her? Do you think I want to win these fucking Games again just to be tormented some more and more by Snow, by the memories and all the trauma?! I want to fucking die, Y/N, I hate my life and I hate myself. So killing you is the last thing on my mind, okay?!”

Something broke in my heart at how broken Mingi sounded, the way his tear-filled eyes just spilt down his cheeks, wetting them and making his eyes even redder. He was sniffing as he rubbed at his nose with the sleeve of his jacket, looking hurt and betrayed. I gulped, feeling torn between my own thoughts. I wanted to trust them, I really did, but what if they were just trying to soften me up with sob stories? What if it was all a ploy to get me to trust them, only for them to kill me? I wouldn’t put it past Mingi, and neither Yunho, we were in the Hunger Games after all and it wasn’t about forming bonds and long-lasting relationships, it was about survival, it was about killing until the strongest one was last standing. I shook my head, chewing on my bottom lip as I averted my eyes, looking up at Yunho with conflict, but knowing that I had already made my decision. I couldn’t stay with them, not when I distrusted them so much.

“It makes no sense to turn against each other,” Yunho spoke softly despite the anger still displayed on his features. He gulped and licked his lips, wanting to touch my cheek but he must’ve seen something on my face because he dropped his hand last minute, “Y/N, please just think rationally for a second and trust us. I don’t—I could never harm you, I just—I want all of us to go home and—I don’t know, but don’t do this. We will find both Katniss and Finnick, that’s what I’m trying to do, okay? But it’s hard tracking them down in this forest, we—”

“I’m not going with you anymore.” I cut Yunho’s rambling off, my jaw set tight as I released a sigh, stepping back to put distance between our bodies. Yunho and Mingi looked confused for a second, glancing at each other uncertainly, “And you have harmed me before, Yunho, but it seems like you wiped it all from your memory. It’s sweet really, I wish I could’ve too.”

Yunho’s mouth parted in shock, hand reached out but I raised mine, shaking my head, “I’ll find Finnick on my own, you two find Katniss and play besties with her, I guess. Just don’t—don’t cross my path because I won’t spare you, I can promise you that.”

Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed and he tried to reach for me again but Mingi held his shoulder, his jaw set tight. I grabbed my axe out of the water and took a deep breath, looking at the two for a long second before turning my back to them and rushing away from the creak, down the pathway we had explored earlier today. My jaw was tight and my muscles tense as I kept walking and walking, mind spinning as I concentrated hard to catch even the slightest shift around myself.

I had to put distance between myself and the other two, otherwise it wouldn’t be safe.

            Three days had passed since I left Yunho and Mingi behind. I had no success finding Finnick thus far and being alone in the Arena was getting to me. I couldn’t sleep as nobody had my back while I did so, hunting was slightly harder as it took more time than with others to help, and I also had to be constantly on the lookout for the traps the Gamemakers would send my way. I was struggling, but I would be lying if I said I didn’t feel more relaxed on my own than I did with Yunho and Mingi by my side. I couldn’t trust them and it was driving me crazy. Yunho was supposed to be the last one to keep watch but he had accidentally fallen asleep, leaving us defenceless. He was incompetent and I could put my life into the hands of a person who couldn’t as much as stay awake to make sure no one killed us in our sleep. Alone, without anyone to keep watch, I couldn’t exactly sleep, but I had fallen into a light slumber more than once. Climbing the trees to shelter myself from others for the night seemed like a reasonable thing to do, having learned it from Katniss as she had done the same last year in her Games.

The small fire I managed to conjure up by the spot I had claimed as my campsite was small and it crackled as I had waited for the frog to grill so that I could have dinner. Walking away from Yunho and Mingi also meant no support from the Capitol, and I wasn’t surprised when nobody sent me any gifts, not even a soothing balm after I had accidentally fallen into poison ivy. My skin was itchy and I tried to stop myself from scratching it raw, but it was hard when I had nothing to do but stay attuned to the sounds of the forests and watch out for anything that seemed misplaced. Yesterday, I was forced to kill two more tributes when they tried to take over my campsite, taunting me and laughing in my face, until I had decapitated the male tribute with just two swings. The two were the siblings from District 1, the Capitol’s most beloved victors after Finnick Odair, of course. It didn’t surprise me that nobody sent me gifts, given that I had just killed two people they seemed to really love. Without dwelling too much on what was already done, I continued searching for Finnick.

The forest felt huge and never-ending, and it felt like we were on different ends of Panem despite being enclosed inside a limited space. I was doing what I had been doing for the past three days when I suddenly heard leaves rustling behind me. I didn’t pause nor walk faster, I continued as if I hadn’t heard anything, trying to see if someone was following me—or something—or whether it was just the breeze that would blow through the Arena at times. I had opted not to go uphill anymore as I had a suspicion that Yunho and Mingi would continue searching for another cave to claim as theirs, unless it was infested with poisonous snakes once again. I gripped my axe tighter as I heard twigs snapping to my left, just behind some bushes. My steps halted and my head turned to look towards where the sound came from. I didn’t move, I didn’t breathe as my eyes bore into the trunk of a tree, narrowing when I saw something shift. I gulped and squared my shoulders back, ready to fight another tribute if needed. To be fair, I preferred the tributes over whatever mutants the Gamemakers had prepared for us, they were easier to kill and predictable, unlike the animals that shouldn’t even exist.

I took a step towards where the noise came from, but another twig snapped just behind me, making me whirl around. I couldn’t panic right now or else I’d lose my cool and make mistakes, which weren’t affordable here, especially since I was completely on my own. I gulped and narrowed my eyes, listening closely to the quietest of shifts, my eyes widening when I saw a head duck back behind the tree to my right. Was I surrounded? Who were these people? Did Yunho and Mingi find me? Did they have another ally to replace me?

I gulped, raising my axe to my chest as my jaw clenched, eyes trained on the tree where someone was hiding behind. But when I felt someone move past behind me, I was forced to whirl around and hurl my axe at—nothing. My heart was beating fast in my chest as my eyebrows furrowed, muscles tense as my axe fell to the forest floor, whoever passed behind me faster than my axe. I gulped and swiftly ran to get my axe, but paused just as my fingertips were about to reach it. Someone was breathing heavily to my right, behind a large tree, and with shaky fingers I grabbed the axe and stood up straight, pulling my arm back to swing it at whoever was taunting me.

“Come out!” I screamed, my jaw clenched as I firmly planted my feet on the ground. My chest fell and rose quickly as my eyes narrowed when I saw movement from behind the tree again.

“Y/N?” And just like that, I froze. My muscles didn’t turn more tense, instead, it felt like my whole body was a puddle as my mouth fell open, and my heart almost stopped in my chest, “I’m scared.”

I gasped loudly, my axe slipping from my grasp as my knees shook, mind reeling in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening, she—my little sister was dead. But her fragile voice called out again, shaking with fear, and I didn’t think as I sprinted towards the tree, desperate to catch a glimpse of her. How was she here? Had President Snow tricked me into believing my family was dead? I had never seen their bodies, after all, only their headstones upon my arrival to District 7, and I felt like fainting the more I thought about them being alive all this time.

“Ye-Yena?” My voice cracked as my fingers trembled just as I was about to round the tree. But my little sister whispered again, from a different spot this time, and I turned towards her voice again, hurrying over, “Where are you, Yena, please come out!”

My voice was breathy as tears obscured my vision, and I was on the verge of hysteria as I tried to find her, but she was always in some other spot, “Yena!”

I was panting from both adrenaline and fear as I tried to grab after my sister when she dashed from behind another tree, crying out in frustration. But I froze when a tall frame materialized in front of me, eyes dark and sharp, a contrast to Yena’s soft features.

“Jaebom?” My older brother didn’t move nor say anything as we stared into each other’s eyes, the first tears spilling down my cheeks as I sprung forward helplessly, my arms circling his torso, which was cold to the touch, “Jaebom, what’s happening?!”

But he didn’t answer me as more tears streamed down my cheeks, fingers grabbing onto his t-shirt tightly, shaking his unmoving body when he remained unresponsive, “Jaebom!”

And then, I heard a sinister cackle come from behind Jaebom, eerily similar to Yena’s childlike giggles. I untangled myself from Jaebom and looked past his shoulders, eyes widening when I saw Yena twirl my axe around in her hands as if it were made out of plastic. Her face looked ashen as she smirked, pouting her lips at me mockingly as my eyes shook. Her expression looked nothing like my little sister's. I didn’t understand what was happening anymore. Why were my siblings here, and why were they acting unlike themselves?

“Look at you,” Yena’s voice wasn’t light anymore, instead it was an angry snarl, “Living your happy life, rubbing it in our faces right now. What are you crying for, huh? Are you crying because you have to kill people again, like you’ve killed us?”

“What?” I whispered in confusion, flinching when Jaebom suddenly grabbed my bicep, his touch hot and burning, “I don’t understand—”

“You never do,” Jaebom snapped, and I whined as he started gripping my bicep painfully, “You always thought you were better than all of us, look where that got you. You’re just a pathetic excuse of a human being, everyone is ashamed of you. Mom and dad think you should’ve died instead of us, and now, you will die!”

In my confusion, too focused on the ache in my heart, I almost missed the huge knife Jaebom grabbed out of his belt, aiming it towards my heart. I gasped and punched him in the jaw, jumping away from him, “What are you doing—”

“Die, bitch.” Yena hissed as she took off towards me, making me scream in fright when she tried to lodge my own axe into my body. I was panting as I realized my siblings were trying to kill me, and without wasting another second, I pushed Yena to the ground and took off in a sprint, running away mindlessly as I could hear them pursuing me. My heart was beating like crazy in my chest as my siblings made weird noises, they were almost howling, and they sounded like animals. I couldn’t look back, too afraid that I’d lose my footing again, so I was forced to blindly run from them, making sharp twists and turns in hopes of losing them. But my worst nightmare seemed to materialize in front of me, as suddenly, I started seeing my mother's and father’s faces from behind trees, peeking at me with sinister smiles on their faces, cackling loudly as Jaebom hurled his long knife at me. I was lucky enough to take a right turn as he did so, the knife lodging itself into a tree as I gasped, eyes filling with tears again.

“Why are you doing this?!” I screamed as something suddenly burned my arm, and as I looked to my right, I was horrified to see my mother running alongside me, her hand burning into my arm as she had a wicked smile on her lips, “Stop!”

“You’re coming with us this time, daughter.” It was my father who was suddenly standing by the creak, holding a sword in both of his hands as I tried to steer clear of his path, but my mother’s grip was unnaturally strong and she kept dragging me towards it. I screamed and trashed around, feeling suffocated as my mother continued to cackle, my father’s eyes filled with hatred as he angled his sword so that he could gut me alive. I was a sobbing mess as I struggled to free myself, trashing around, and even trying to punch my mother but nothing seemed to work. I could feel Jaebom looming over me from behind, the heel of my own axe pressing into my back as I cried harder, whimpering when Yena appeared next to my father, twirling a knife in her hands.

“Poor Y/N.” Her voice dropped low, almost as if it was a man talking, and it made me realize that whatever was happening right now wasn’t real. It was something created by the Arena, it wasn’t their ghosts nor their vengeful spirits here to take me away, and yet, I still couldn’t fight my mother’s grip off as I clawed at her hand, biting her cold flesh in hopes that she’d release me.

“Let me go!” I screamed again, twisting my body away when my father’s sword came dangerously close, Jaebom’s burning grip tight on my nape as he angled my body to be strung on the sword, “No!”

I didn’t want to die, not like this. I was shaking from head to toe as I tried one last time to get out of the grip of my mother and brother, but nothing was working as I felt the tip of the sword press against my belly. The four cackled loudly as my ears rang, and I gasped when the sword pressed deeper into my tummy, drawing blood, but all the external pain disappeared abruptly as I felt my body pushed to the side aggressively, wrenching me out of the tight grips of the mutants that posed as my family. I screamed again when I felt hands on my shoulders trying to turn me around, and I drew my fists back, the only thought in my mind being to harm anyone who touched me.

“Y/N!” Despite being so lost in my mind, I registered the familiar ring of the voice, the panic and fear in them as I threw the first punch, breathing hard and loudly as if I were a rabid dog. I wouldn’t fall victim to the Capitol, not like this, they couldn’t kill me by using mutants. I couldn’t give Snow the satisfaction, I had to fight until my last breath, until a tribute killed me. I couldn’t go like this, I wasn’t ready. I was scared. I was alone and nobody would be there with me when I took my last breath, nobody would reassure me that it would be okay, and nobody would smile at me for the last time. I would be alone, and that thought alone was scarier than the fact that I would be dying. So I didn’t stop as I screamed and punched blindly, my sight hazy and my mind a jumbled mess as someone continued calling out my name like a mantra, the sounds around me slowly registering inside my brain, “Y/N! Please, please, it’s us. Y/N, it’s Finnick.”

I gasped, my eyes widening as if I was seeing for the first time. My lungs burned, my muscles ached, and my heart was beating so fast I was having palpitations as suddenly I could see the person standing in front of me, his face pained as tears streaked down his rosy cheeks. He had me in a deathly grip, my biceps sore from it, but it wasn’t to harm me, it was to stop me from doing anything to myself or him, to the others, “Finnick?”

A beat of silence passed as I stared into chocolate-warm eyes, so utterly confused and pent. Then, an arrow wheezed past my head and I jumped with a gasp, wide eyes falling onto the body of my brother, no blood flowing out of his body as he crumbled to the ground. He looked lifeless as he turned into nothing and I felt my bottom lip starting to quiver as I looked back at the person holding me. I had no fight left in me as I attempted to push them off of me, but I was tackled to the ground before I could make another move. The wind was knocked from my lungs as my head thumped painfully, eyes hazy as a weight settled on top of my body, pinning my hips to the cold forest floor, hands above my head as long, cold, fingers intertwined with mine.

“It’s not real.” The man holding me down whispered, his voice shaky as he gulped, “They weren’t real, Y/N. But I am real, I’m here now.”

“Yun-Yunho?” I stuttered, my throat hoarse from having screamed so much. I felt a fresh wave of tears spring into my eyes as Yunho’s filled with tears too, and without thinking, I untangled our fingers and threw my arms around his neck, yanking him down into a tight hug, “Yunho.”

My whole body shook as sobs wracked it, tears wetting Yunho’s jacket’s collar as his warm body slowly melted into mine, offering me the warmth I had been craving so much all this time. His musky scent was comforting and felt like home as I buried my head into his neck, inhaling until my lungs burned and I had to exhale once again. Yunho was safe, he was the pillar I needed all this time unknowingly, he was the one to chase the darkness away and protect me from my own dark and twisted mind. I only cried harder when Yunho started shushing me, pressing kisses against my temple, rubbing my back once he sat back and brought me with himself, letting me settle in his lap as I clung to him. I had been terrified these past three days, scared for my own life, but also wondering whether Yunho had made it past another day every time the canon shattered the quietness of the Arena.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, voice raw as I gulped, hoping it would help, “Yunho, I’m—I—”

“Shh, it’s alright.” Yunho whispered, gently prying my tight grip off himself as he pushed me back to gaze into my eyes, “I’m not letting you out of my sight ever again, Y/N, I don’t care what you say—”

“Please don’t leave me, Yunho.” I gasped, words tumbling past my lips before I could stop them, “I can’t live without you, Yunho.”

I was vulnerable, I wasn’t in the right headspace, but I knew my confession was true. I had always suspected it, but I was too afraid to admit it to myself. I was afraid President Snow would kill Yunho like he had killed my family. I didn’t want him around because I was scared to love again, to offer my heart to someone who could crush it so easily both with words and actions. Yunho knew me best and vice versa, I couldn’t live another day not knowing whether he was safe or not. I didn’t want him out of my sight ever again, I just couldn’t lose him too.

“I’m—” Yunho gulped, his voice deep as his eyes shook, jaw clenched tightly, “here.”

I released a shaky breath and leaned forward, pressing our foreheads together, feeling the safest in the past three days. The rustling of leaves made me tense up again and my head whipped around, eyes widening when I realized multiple people were watching us. I felt my cheeks heat up as I tried to scramble out of Yunho’s lap, but his fingers only tightened into the fabric of my jacket and he held my waist tightly, shaking his head at me when I gave him a sharp look. It seemed like he wouldn’t let go of me anytime soon, so I was forced to swallow my shame as I looked back at the other tributes, who seemed to be looking at me with pity. I ignored it, it made me feel weak.

“Those things are vile,” Mingi muttered, his jaw clenched, “But you should be fine the next time you see them if you ignore them.”

“And if you don’t, don’t let them grab you.” Katniss said, her tone harsh but features soft, “Kill them before they can.”

I nodded, eyes falling on the male tribute from District 3, Beetee. He wasn’t looking at me, his eyes trained on the sky as he muttered something to himself, apparently unphased by the whole ordeal. However, when my eyes landed on the fourth person, my heart skipped a beat, and even if Yunho didn’t want to release me, I pried myself out of his arms and ran to Finnick, jumping into his arms as he laughed while twirling me around.

“Finnick.” I whispered into his neck as his laughter subsided into a chuckle, his smile bright as ever as I pulled back, gazing into his beautiful blue eyes, “I found you.”

“Technically, I found you.” Cheeky as ever, he winked before he pressed a wet kiss against my forehead, lowering me back onto the ground. Our fingers intertwined as I couldn’t help but beam at him, my heart still heavy due to everything that’s happened though, “I’m glad you’re fine.”

“Well, I’ve been better.” I muttered as Finnick and I chuckled, swinging around hands as I glanced around, eyebrows furrowing, “Where’s…Mags?”

Finnick’s expression fell and I knew as I felt tears flood my eyes once again. A shaky breath left his lips as I pressed on my tiptoes to pull him into a tight and warm hug, rubbing his back as he hugged me back just as tightly, “I’m sorry, Finnick.”

“She’s in a better place now,” Finnick whispered, sniffing when we pulled apart, his eyes trained on the ground. My jaw clenched but I knew I couldn’t do anything now, just carry the grief with myself and bury it deep down until the Games would be over. Katniss, looking like she wasn’t keen on all the affection, averted her eyes and looked around the forest, pointing towards the creak.

“We should probably set camp here after we have scoped the area out.” Mingi nodded as he went and helped Yunho stand, his eyes trained on Finnick and me. I gulped and only looked away, body tense. I didn’t want to talk to him, I had nothing else to say, not now. I couldn’t believe I had admitted something so personal, something that was supposed to be buried deep down in my heart and mind. I wasn’t ready to face the fact that without Yunho I would be nowhere right now.

“Let’s go.” Yunho sighed, taking the lead with Katniss as I remained glued to Finnick’s side, eager to catch up with him if it meant I could ignore Yunho and his burning stare. I was most certainly grateful that he had saved me, but he was still not someone I could fully trust. Maybe it was all a ploy, an act to earn my trust, only to backstab me later into the Games.

My only true ally was Finnick.

            Something felt different, weird, almost. Beetee was a genius, everyone already knew that, and yet the way his mind works still amazed me. Apparently, the lightning that struck the largest tree in the Arena each time at midnight, could be used to our advantage. Beetee had the resources to create a sort of electrical fire that would leave the Gamemakers no choice but to rescue the remaining victors if they didn’t want the Capitol to riot for not having a victor for the 75th Hunger Games. President Snow wanted a year of epic games? Beetee was right here to deliver and I was more than willing to help him out. Everyone from our small group was in on his plan, and we were planning to strike tonight as everyone remained unassuming about our great plan. There was something else, however, that nobody was telling me about. Katniss Everdeen, the girl on fire, The Mockingjay, seemed to be the nucleus of it all. She had to be protected at all costs and she was supposed to remain on Beetee’s side as long as someone who could fight remained with them. We had to look out for each other and remain close, but I didn’t fully understand why protecting Katniss seemed to be our most important mission.

Nobody tried clearing up my confusion, and when Finnick reassured me that everything would be alright and that he’d have my back no matter what, I decided to stop asking or wondering. Two days had passed since I joined the small group and things had been quiet—a bit too quiet. Nobody had died in the past two days and there was a simmering tension in the Arena, as if the Gamemakers knew we were about to ruin their so-called ‘perfect’ Games. There was nothing perfect about it, it was purely terrifying and torturous, a barbaric form of entertainment as this just proved that the Capitol didn’t see the people from the districts as human beings. That was nothing new, but being forced back into the Arena made me realize once again that I couldn’t let President Snow control me anymore, I was done playing his games.

I wanted the Capitol to burn, I wanted President Snow to die and suffer like so many of us had under his reign. He could’ve been a better president, a better person, but he chose violence, he chose to punish us for something that we, the ones born after the revolution, had nothing to do with. The cycle of life wasn’t always fair, the trauma parents carried with themselves would pass onto their children, who would carry it with them for generations—unless there was just one person who decided to put an end to it. To change, to prosper, to start a new cycle.

That new cycle started with us, with Katniss, Mingi, Yunho, Finnick, Beetee, and me, here, in the Arena, as a form of riot against the oppression we were forced to endure, the pain and grief buried deep in our souls. I have heard about the riots, people in District 7 were loud and proud about taking the Capitol down if given a chance, and it only took me two days to realize why it was only happening now. A spark had been sensed, turning into a catching fire that would reach us all, either burn us or help us return from the ashes as a new person, as a new nation. The pain and anguish would never be forgotten, instead celebrated and honoured in respect to those who have lost their lives to such atrocities. And we would all thank one girl, Katniss Everdeen, who unknowingly gave the nation the spark of hope they desperately needed. I had no idea whether I’d survive whatever was about to go down tonight, but I was sure of one thing, I wouldn’t regret it. Not now, not tomorrow. I was doing it for myself, for my siblings, for my parents, and for everyone else who has suffered as much, or more, than I have. If Panem had to burn, President Snow would burn with us.

The morning passed by in the blink of an eye as we went over our plan once again, assigning partners and positions. I was supposed to stay with Katniss and Beetee, close to Finnick who’d be watching Mingi from afar. Yunho, who refused to separate from me at first, was supposed to go with Mingi until a certain point, and then he’d have to secure the area, map it out and alert us if anything seemed amiss. He’d be the last one, the one furthest from me, and despite the unsettling feeling creeping deep in my guts, I ignored my anxiety and focused on my task at hand. I had to protect Katniss and Beetee if anything were to happen. I was strong and merciless, everyone knew I could handle myself, but if I needed help somehow, then Katniss would be there and even Mingi. They weren’t people I trusted, but something told me nobody in our small group was out there to kill me…not yet, at least, and I could live with that for the time being.

Knowing that we’d need to be at our best, Finnick, Katniss, and Yunho went out to hunt something for lunch so that our bellies would be full for the rest of the day. Because Yunho and Finnick were so liked by many, thankfully we were also provided with various canned foods from the Capitol, their fans were desperately sending in supplies, and letters too, confessing their love and dread that they might not return. It made me chuckle whenever one of them had to read the letters out loud, looking at a camera with a sad, but grateful, expression in order to keep up the façade. We really needed these provisions, they couldn’t ruin their A-game just now. Finnick had returned with plenty of fish from the lake, meanwhile, Katniss and Yunho had opted to hunt for wild ducks and frogs. The meat had been cooked by Mingi and me while Beetee revised the plan over and over again, asking us questions to make sure that we had memorized what we were supposed to do.

Once the food was done and everyone settled down for lunch, the tense air surrounding us seemed to dissipate as we silently ate our meal, relishing in the comradery that’s formed between us. Finnick was by my side as we sat leaning against a tree, sharing a loaf of bread he had gotten from a fan, as he preferred to eat the fish he caught while I continued to eat the frog Yunho had caught for us. Mingi, very surprisingly, had gotten a package filled with nutrients that we hadn’t even heard of before, and while we were wary of consuming them, Beetee reassured us that he knew what these were and that they were safe for consumption as they used the same nutrients in District 3. As my stomach was finally full and I finished eating everything I had claimed, I continued sitting next to Finnick, leaning against his body.

He was warm and smelled like the ocean despite having been away from it for so long, and I had always found solace in the silence that felt comfortable between us. Finnick knew when not to push someone, and I knew when to speak up to cut through the tranquillity, “Do you think we’ll survive this?”

“Yes,” Finnick’s voice was a mere whisper as he scoped up a good chunk of meat and handed it over to me, “I must, for Annie. She lost Mags, I can’t let her lose me too.”

I gulped, all too aware of Annie’s situation as I accepted the fish despite feeling full. It tasted salty almost, so very different from the frog meat, but I think I could get used to it after having it for more meals.

“I have no one to return to,” I muttered under my breath, bringing my knees up to my chest as I let my arms circle them. I gulped, looking down at the dirty ground as the sounds of the other’s conversing became background noise, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of dying, of being alone, of never having been enough.

“That’s simply not true.” Finnick’s voice sounded strained as I felt him shift, gorgeous blue eyes boring into the side of my head, “You have me, and if I make it out alive, I can’t lose you. You’re just as important to me as Annie is, as Mags was. I never had a little sister, but thanks to you I know what it means to have one.”

I chuckled, turning my head so my cheek pressed against my knees, eyes falling on the frown on Finnick’s face, “Technically, I’m older than you. But I understand you, you’re, well, you’ve always been like a brother to me. And I love you, Finnick, I hope you know that. I have no idea what the outcome of our plan will be, but if we both make it out alive, I want to visit District 4. I want to meet Annie and maybe—maybe I’d like living in a house next to yours, maybe I’d like to see the ocean for real and not just through pictures.”

Finnick’s features softened as he placed his palm over my cheek, warm and calloused, offering me much-needed assurance, “I’d love that, and Annie would too. She has always wanted to meet you, but President Snow never allowed it. Which is for the better, honestly, I would’ve hated the thought of Annie at the Capitol. I fear I would’ve done something unforgivable.”

I hummed and nodded as Finnick’s warm palm fell from my face, his head turning as he gazed ahead. He sniffed and then cleared his throat, glancing at me for a brief moment, “But you’re not alone, Y/N. Even if I’m not there, you’re never alone. He’s—Yunho is always there, even when you don’t see it, Y/N. I think—I think you should let him in, he’s not a bad man.”

I gulped, stomach dropping at the mention of Yunho, and I sighed as I sat up straight again, jaw clenching when I averted my eyes from Finnick’s. Just to my luck, however, I spotted Yunho sitting not too far from us. Mingi was sharpening the axe for him as Yunho’s chocolate brown eyes were fixed on Finnick and me, his eyebrows deeply set and his jaw tense. I gulped and then averted my eyes once again, shaking my head with a huff, “He doesn’t know me, not the real me, at least. He only wants the good and pretty, he only sees those qualities in people. Once the perfect image is shattered, he’ll be gone, he’ll abandon me. I don’t want him to lodge himself into my heart when I know just how quickly you can lose someone.”

“You’re scared of loving him,” Finnick’s tone was full of compassion as I felt him look at me, Yunho’s gaze still burning into the side of my head as I gazed off into the distance, feeling nervous all of a sudden, “And you’re drowning in guilt and unspoken questions and feelings, Y/N. I know you don’t trust him, but you already love him, you just refuse to acknowledge the fact, and it’s doing you no good, trust me. I’m afraid too that I’ll lose Annie, I’m terrified of Snow snatching her away from me, but if I refuse to love and live the life I want, then that would mean I am letting Snow dictate my everything, it would mean that I am robbing myself of the pleasures of life. And you know Yunho would never do anything that you are uncomfortable with, no, he’d bring down the stars for you if he could, Y/N. Stop being foolish and—”

“Excuse me.” My body grew rigid as Yunho’s stern voice interrupted Finnick’s heartfelt speech, “Do you mind if I talk to Y/N?”

“Not at all.” Finnick’s smile was friendly as he nudged me, making me clench my jaw as I glanced at Yunho. He stood in front of me, looking down at me with a glare, rather standoffish for a person who was always smiling, happy and oh-so bright. I crossed my arms over my chest and raised an eyebrow.

“Well, talk if you—”

“In private.” Yunho snapped, and before I could react, his firm grip around my bicep was pulling me up to my feet, not even letting me argue as I was tugged away from our camp, but not too far so that we’d be in hearing range if anything were to happen to either them or to us. I pulled my arm out of his grip and glared at him, feeling nervous for no reason as Yunho continued to glare back at me. It was unusual, out of character for him.

“What’s your problem with me?” I did not expect that question, and neither what he said next, “What’s so fucking horrible about me that you go willingly into the arms of the biggest playboy known to Panem, that you find solace and trust in that man when I’ve always been by your side, there for you, offering you a shoulder to lean on, a man you can trust and—and love. What does Finnick have that I don’t, Y/N?! Why do you continuously brush me off and treat me like shit, but then you laugh at anything Finnick says and you look at him with so much adoration, I-I just don’t understand, Y/N. I was there, I was always there, I helped you when you saw no outcome, I was there when you grieved your family, I was there when you struggled with the consequences of winning the Games, I was there even when you continued to push me away! I never stopped trying to make you feel safe, to comfort you and to—show you that it’s okay to open up and that you can love again without being scared of death. Why can’t you just—give back even just a little fraction of my affection?!”

To say that I was stunned was understandable. My face fell in shock and my mouth hung open as Yunho became erratic, his expression a mixture of frustration and helplessness as his eyes shook, his hands curled into fists. I gulped, letting his words settle so that I could answer, but I felt utterly speechless. How was I supposed to respond to something that felt like a confession but a complete scolding as well?

“You don’t understand me like Finnick does,” I gulped, licking my lips as Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed, “And you never will, Yunho, because you were never forced to sell your body unwillingly to men that only saw you as a piece of meat. Physical closeness, intimacy—it scares me because I’ve only suffered from it. I’ve never felt the loving touch of a man, no loving words were ever uttered to me, and I was told more often than not that I didn’t deserve love, that I was too rough and scary, too intimidating and manly for a man to love me despite being beautiful. Finnick, he knows what it feels like to be used, to do things you don’t want to out of fear of losing someone. And even if this wasn’t the issue, Yunho, how could I trust you when you’ve tried to kill me?”

“What?” Yunho seemed shaken, his voice breathy as he reached out just to let his hand drop before he could grip my wrist, “What are you talking about—I have never tried to kill you, why would I—”

“Seriously?” I snapped, sudden anger flaring deep in my bones, “You’re still going to act clueless when I call you out on it? Think, Yunho, think for one second for fucks sake! You were supposed to be my mentor, the person that looks out for me, that protects me and helps me win these fucking Games, yet you send in food that’s poisoned?!”

Yunho looked like he had no idea what I was talking about and I scoffed, stepping closer to him as my jaw clenched, “District 6, the female tribute, I was cornered three days before my Games came to an end, and I was hungry. You sent me a package but I couldn’t reach it and it landed between the tributes that were hounding me. The girl decided to eat what was sent for me—she died in four minutes, Yunho.”

And just then, recognition finally flashed in Yunho’s eyes, but it didn’t last for long as suddenly he seemed to look desperate, grabbing my wrists as he shook his head, “It wasn’t food, it was never food, Y/N. If you had seen the small letter, you would’ve known it was poison from the get-go. It said, ‘sweet like honey’, and you know what we use that for in District 7, you would’ve known. I was trying to help you, I knew you’d survive, I was never trying to kill, why would I—I’m in love with you, Y/N. I wasn’t back then yet, but I-I knew I couldn’t watch you die in that Arena.”

My mind was reeling. I gulped, suddenly feeling my lungs constrict as Yunho’s grip felt like it was burning my wrists. I pried them away and took a step back, gulping as my hands started shaking. I have been living in a lie this whole time. I have made myself believe that Yunho was the enemy, that Yunho wanted me gone. I took a shaky breath and gulped again, watching as sadness spread over Yunho’s features like wildfire. His features softened as I felt my heart ache more, disbelief written all over my face. Why had I been so stupid? Why did I let Snow make me believe anything he said?

Why was I so afraid to lose Yunho?

            Nightfall came sooner than before. The tension was back and I felt sick to my stomach. Something felt wrong the longer we trekked, the closer we came to the tree. Everyone was silent, focused on our surroundings and making sure we weren’t being followed by any other tributes. But something was very wrong and I just couldn’t ignore the feeling anymore as I released a shaky breath, my eyes settling on Yunho who was walking in front of me with Mingi by his side, huddled closely together as they conversed quietly. Finnick’s pinkie was laced with mine as he swung our hands between our bodies, I ignored his playful smile when he pretended to stumble on a rock. I needed to speak to Yunho, nothing made sense anymore. I haven’t said anything since he told me he never tried killing me, and Yunho was keen on offering me space as he remained by Mingi’s side, occasionally giving me a soft smile if he noticed me looking his way.

Bothered by the incessant tension in my body, the gut feeling that something would go very wrong, I marched forward and grabbed Yunho’s wrist, making him halt in surprise. Finnick glanced at us as he passed by us and then grabbed Mingi’s shoulder when he stopped to wait for us, whispering something to the taller one before Mingi walked with Finnick again. My heart was thundering in my chest as I gulped, my eyes boring into Yunho’s as it was dark in the arena, yet his chocolate brown eyes were unmistakable.

“Are you okay?” Yunho asked with a gentle tone, letting his axe drop to the ground as he stepped closer, eyebrows slightly furrowed.

“No.” I gulped, tone shaky as I glanced past Yunho, at the others who hadn’t noticed our absence yet, “Something is wrong, Yunho, I don’t have a good feeling about this. What—what if we die? Yet worse, what if the Capitol captures us and we—we never see each other again? Yunho, I—I don’t want to do this. Let’s find another way, let’s run away, let’s—”

“Y/N.” Yunho's smile was gentle as he stepped even closer, cupping my cheek with his big palm, leaning slightly down, “We can’t run away, and it’s completely normal to be scared of the unknown. I’m nervous too, but remember, we are doing this to make a statement, to show them that they can’t mess with us anymore. If Katniss manages to pull this off, we’ll be free. We’ll go home and we…we’ll see what happens next, okay?”

No, he didn’t understand. We wouldn’t go home, something just didn’t feel right. It was too dangerous, too risky, what were the odds our plan would be successful when there were other tributes still in the Arena with us?

“It just doesn’t feel right.”

“But we’re doing the right thing.”

I exhaled, jaw tense as I looked up into Yunho’s eyes, stepping closer until our chests were almost brushing together, “Then don’t let them separate us.”

“What?” Yunho’s eyebrows furrowed, his gulp audible as his fingers flexed around my wrist. I released a shaky breath and licked my lips, hesitant to touch Yunho, but I managed to grab the side of his neck, his skin soft and warm to the touch.

“Yunho, I’m asking you to stay by my side no matter what happens.” My tone was firm as he gulped, his eyes searching my face, “I can’t—I’ve been afraid, all this fucking time unknowingly, of losing you. And when we are so close to being free, of exploring whatever could be between us, I—I’m scared that Snow will find a way to snatch you away from me, so please, don’t let go of me. Don’t let me out of your sight, don’t walk away, I know I’m a horrible person, but I’m asking you to hold on just a little more and—”

“Y/N.” Yunho’s sharp tone cut my rambling off, and I gulped, on the verge of tears as I realized just how afraid I was. He didn’t say anything else as our eyes bore into each other’s, he just gulped, jaw clenched and then, he started leaning down, closer and closer, until—our lips touched.

And I don’t think I have felt euphoria like this one in my whole life before. The sounds around us seemed to become mute as my legs felt weak, my body melting into Yunho’s as I didn’t waste any more seconds and pressed up on my tiptoes, circling my arms around his shoulders to pull him incredibly close. Yunho’s lips were warm and soft despite our circumstances and I felt a shudder rake my body when his hand slowly slipped into my hair, holding the back of my head firmly as we parted for a second. His other hand grabbed my waist and as my eyes opened, I realized I wanted this. I wanted Yunho to hold me, to touch me, to kiss me. I wanted to be in his embrace and I wanted to feel his scent on me, I wanted his warmth to envelope my body, and I wanted him to shield me from this cruel world forever. Words that were heavy threatened to tumble past my lips, so instead, I closed the gap again and this time I made sure my intentions weren’t questionable, or hesitant, but full of passion and unspoken words.

Yunho was intense in everything he did, he laughed with his whole body, and he loved with his whole heart, whenever he did something, he put his all into it and his kiss was no different. His lips were demanding as they moved against mine, a little bit frantic as we were pressed by time, and even more desperate when I let my lips part for him, a silent request for him to deepen the kiss. I wanted him to know that I desired him, that it was completely fine to touch me and enjoy our actions. Yunho whimpered as he took my bottom lip between his teeth, and I felt warmth crawl all over my body, settling in my cheeks as my whole face felt like it was burning up. I had never enjoyed a kiss before in my life, but I prayed this would never end. When Yunho’s tongue finally slipped past my lips and reached my own tongue, I wished there was something to support my weight, to ground me into reality as I lost all senses, body and mind alive in a way I had never experienced before. It was careful, but it was intense and demanding, yet I didn’t feel pressured nor disgusted as saliva pooled in the corner of my mouth, fingers tangling into Yunho’s hair at his nape.

As his tongue played with mine and Yunho’s loud puffs of air hit my face, I moaned, unable to keep the sound down when I felt his fingers digging through my tight suit, fingernails leaving dents in my body. I wanted him to mark me up, I wanted him to show the whole Capitol that I was his, that no trashy man could ever again touch me, that President Snow couldn’t do to us anything anymore because we’d always have each other’s backs. I wanted Yunho’s mouth on mine for an eternity, never growing tired of him and his passionate kisses. Our noses bumped together when I tilted my head slightly more, giving Yunho more access as my heart thundered in my chest, so powerful that I could hear it in my ears. It was consuming, Yunho’s love was scary as it swallowed me whole, but I was greedy and I needed more. I had been a fool, such a fool, to deny us this feeling, this moment, this experience. It was too late to go further, even if I threw all dignity away, I knew we couldn’t, but I hoped it wasn’t too late for us. For us to have this in the future, to love and to be loved.

I gasped as we parted again. Yunho was loudly panting as his eyebrows furrowed, cupping my cheeks with both hands as his fingers dug into my skin painfully. A shuddered breath left my lips as I blinked my eyes open, gulping as I copied him, holding his cheeks tenderly as Yunho’s bottom lip quivered, nuzzling his cheek against my hold. He looked at peace, but the furrow of his eyebrows told me that he wasn’t satisfied, that he was bothered by something. In a hopeless attempt to offer him just a fraction of the comfort he’d given me throughout the years, I pressed a kiss to each eye, then to his nose, and a swift peck to his lips. It made Yunho smile as his eyes opened, shining in the dark affectionately as I felt a lump in my throat. It was scary to allow him in, but I was done hiding, I was done fearing the unknown.

“When we’re out of here,” Yunho gulped, determined as his eyes melted into mine, “I’m going to marry you.”

I would’ve gasped if I could’ve, but I was too stunned to even react as he kissed me again before we heard Mingi call out our names. We didn’t have time for this right now, but we’d have plenty in the future. I wasn’t ready to marry Yunho just yet, but with time, I was sure I’d be able to fully trust him, to give my all to him.

“Just don’t let me go,” I whispered as Yunho very reluctantly released me, our hands finding each other as our fingers intertwined, a motion I was used to but found something new in it now. It wasn’t just for show, it wasn’t just to show me that I had someone next to me, it was to seal our promise and tell me that Yunho wasn’t going anywhere.

            Beetee’s plan failed. Someone had sabotaged us, the wire had been cut, and the lightning wouldn’t bring the Arena down. We were stuck here, forced to kill each other, forced to choose between two people I loved and myself. Katniss looked frantic from my spot, I was watching her from the bush just as planned. Electricity was gathering in the air, tension filling the Arena as the lightning prepared to strike. Katniss was too close to the tree, hell, even I was too close to it, but Katniss was in danger right now and she wasn’t moving away. I could hear rustling coming from behind but it was supposed to be Finnick, I wasn’t worried about it. Just as the sky became lighter, energy crackling above our heads, Katniss did something I never thought anyone would do. She grabbed the wire and tied it to her arrow, standing up strong and tall as she pulled it back, her eyes set on the lightning that was just about to strike her. As I was about to shout her name and tackle her to save her from her insane plan, it was too late. The lightning struck as the arrow shot straight at it, the wire frying off and sizzling as a deafening boom shook the arena.

The blast was so strong that I couldn’t react before the explosion sent me flying feet away from my initial spot, my back cracking when I hit a tree. My spine tingled in pain as I fell to the ground, groaning and wheezing for air as my body trembled from the shock of the hit, panic rising in my disoriented state. I couldn’t hear as my ears were ringing, and my vision was so hazy it made me sick and unable to stand as I tried to find my footing, instantly tumbling back to the ground. Then, something even worse happened. The darkness of the Arena was slowly disappearing as the sky cracked and tore into heavy metal pieces that were plummeting straight at us. I knew I was in danger, and I knew both Yunho and Finnick were too. I pushed myself up and ignored the aching of my body as I heaved for air again, crawling on my fours towards where I knew Finnick was at. But I didn’t get any far when I was tackled back onto the ground, Mingi’s blurry face appearing above me. I panicked, trying to find my axe, but I was so powerless that it was easy for him to get on top of me and press a hand against my mouth as I tried to scream for help. His forehead was bloody and the top of his suit torn, jacket long lost somewhere in the Arena. His bow and arrow were missing and were replaced with a knife he held menacingly.

I gasped against his sweaty palm when I felt a sharp pain in my lower arm, close to my veins, somewhere close to where the tracker had been injected. I screamed against Mingi’s palm when the knife was twisted into my skin, feeling warm blood trickle down to my wrist and hands, a burning feeling spreading up my arm, to my shoulders. And then, as fast as he came, Mingi was gone, running off into the distance as my body convulsed, shaking even more as I turned onto my back, pieces of the Arena’s roof shaking the ground as they fell around the forest. I was petrified, I was disoriented and my throat wouldn’t work as I tried to call for Yunho, frantically getting up to my feet to look for him. I stumbled into every possible tree and almost slipped on the weeds as I went downhill, searching for the one man who’s always been there for me. I couldn’t abandon him, not now, not ever. But when I finally found him, it wasn’t the way I hoped to be.

Yunho lay on the ground, unmoving and sickly pale as blood trickled down the corner of his mouth, coating the collar of his jacket and suit a deep red. I could faintly hear myself call out his name again and again, feet carrying me over quickly, only to tumble to the ground and bruise my body more, but at least Yunho seemed to stir awake. His eyebrows were furrowed as his eyes opened and he clutched at his chest with a pained expression. I scrambled to get to him, but the ground shook and my legs were so weak I couldn’t stand again. I felt tears in my eyes and dread grip my heart as Yunho turned onto his side, coughing and spitting up some more blood.

“Yunho!” A scream so shrill my ears rang left my lips, and he finally seemed to realize he wasn’t alone as his eyes snapped up, rounding when he noticed me. I couldn’t hear him as I tried to drag myself over, feeling nauseous and on the verge of passing out, but it looked like he was saying something, like he was calling out to me. And then, the ground shook another time and I lunged myself forward as the light in Yunho’s eyes dimmed, his hand extended towards me as I fell not far from him, reaching out desperately towards him. Our fingers touched as dark spots started coating my vision and I gasped for air, fighting against the urge to give in to the darkness, waiting to aid Yunho, but I couldn’t. As blinding light flooded the whole Arena, the roof completely caving in, all I could do was mutter a prayer to see Yunho once I woke up again. If I’d wake up.

The next time I was conscious again, however, what I heard despite the unbearable headache and the dull ache of my spine, didn’t sound at all good, nor reassuring, “Katniss, there is no District Twelve.” And all I could think about was, where is Yunho?

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[milliumizoomi]

Hello, I was thinking Armando Aretas x Reader. Where Reader was sleeping, and she felt the bed dip and noticed that Armando was on top her with his head on her chest and he was slightly crying because he had nightmare and Reader comforts him because he deserves the whole world. She also kisses his head and playing with his hair.

𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

☆彡SUMMARY.; In which the night is unforgiving to Armando, so you do everything in your power to help him.

☆彡FEATURED.; ARMANDO ARETAS x FEM! READER

☆彡TROPE.; ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP

☆彡FORMAT.; ONE SHOT

☆彡GENRE.; FLUFF + ANGST + HURT ➪ COMFORT

☆彡WARNINGS.; mentions of nightmares, mentions of death, mentions of anxiety, mature language, actions of crying and vulnerability, fear of being left behind, google translated spanish, and slight bad boys for life spoilers.

☆彡NOTES.; oooo babes this requestttt omg I love it🥹🥹,, the vulnerability of him is something that I’ve always liked so I’m soooo happy to write this. Tysm for this request and I hope I’ll be able to portray it good. I hope you all enjoy!!💕💕

[P.S.] HE USES THE TERM MAMA AS A FORM OF ENDEARMENT, its holds the same weight as the terms babe or baby would.

REBLOGS ARE APPRECIATED😉.

🎧FOR THE BEST EXPERIENCE, YOU CAN LISTEN TO RIGHT MY WRONGS by BRYSON TILLER🎧

The rain beat down on the glass windows of your apartment. It was currently 2:33 am and you were sound asleep, softly breathing in the tranquil of deep slumber.

Between the pitter patter of the rain hitting the windows, and the soft and gentle vrring of the air conditioning, you couldn’t help the calming sounds that kept you in a deep state of sleep.

However, the man beside you couldn’t fare the same.

Armando had been tossing and turning all night.

At one point he woke up in a cold sweat. He looked over at your sleeping form, softly snoring away and he didn’t want to bother you because he’s hates the feeling of vulnerability in any situation. So he sucked it up and tried to go back to sleep.

By now another 2 hours have passed and it’s by now you’re beginning to stir in bed. You felt the bed dip beside you but thought nothing of it, thinking Armando was just doing something, or simply sitting up in bed so you tried shifting in bed and going back to sleep.

That was until you felt a sudden dip in the bed right next to you, and then a sudden weight on your body. Your eyes shot open and you look down to see a little mop of hair in your face. It wasn’t the weight of his body on top of yours that startled you, it was the fact that your shirt was dampening as he was hiding is face in your chest.

He was crying. And he never cries.

Immediately you began to worry and sat up as he was holding onto you, following your body up. He was holding onto you so tightly that his grip was threatening to pull you back down.

“Baby..? Are you okay?” You caress his head softly as the worry in your voice was evident. He didn’t answer, opting to hold onto you tighter. “Baby please talk to me.. what’s wrong?” You scrape your fingers through his hair gently in order to calm him down.

Finally he looks up at you and you see his red watery eyes and dried tears in his cheeks, with more tears threatening to spill down them. Immediately your hands shoot up to his face and caresses his cheeks.

“Dime qué pasa bebé. Estoy aquí y te escucho.”

Finally he looks at you and holds onto you tighter. You feel his body slightly shaking and your worry continues to grow.

“..had a dream you got shot.. took a bullet for me and i just kinda.. stood there and let it happen… I didn’t react fast enough and you just dropped and I..—“ he starts and then chokes up.

“Shh baby I’m here.. I’m here with you.. I didn’t go anywhere, I didn’t die”

You caress his head and pulls him impossibly closer to you, comforting him the best you can by reassuring words and kisses, littering them all over his face. He just surrenders to your actions, wanting nothing more than just being close to you in this moment.

“Did the nightmare just happen?” You ask him. Wordlessly, he nods his head no and you can feel his body convulsing, as to hold back his tears. You gently rub his back, and proceeds to slide back down into a laying position with his head still on your chest.

Your heart ached seeing him like this.

“Should’ve woken me up babe.. you know I’d help you” you say softly into his hair, simultaneously kissing the top of his head.

“..didn’t wanna bother you” he says back.

You furrow your eyebrows at this. “You’ve never bothered me baby.. if it happens again, wake me up okay?”

He nods and hugs around your waist tighter.

This went on for a couple more minutes and you could tell it was extremely painful for him to talk about.

Everytime he’d try to explain in detail what happened in his dream, he’d get choked up again and you couldn’t stand to see him hurt so much anymore.

“You don’t have to say anything else okay? Nothing at all.. I won’t leave you by yourself.. I won’t die on you.. te prometo que” you say softly, pulling his head up from your chest with both of your hands then plants a kiss on his lips, using your thumbs to wipe away the tears escaping his eyes.

He leans into the kiss, closing his eyes and the furrowing his eyebrows, a tendency he has a lot. You pull away and he stares into your eyes.

“No puedes volver con eso mamà.. you promised”

You smile at him and then kiss him again. “I’m not going anywhere babe.. I promise.. hasta el fuego”

He finally cracks a small smile at your words, a little bit of peace comes with what you just said to him.

He rests his head back into your chest.. mimicking the same words back to you.

“Así es mamá.. hasta el fuego”

The rest of the night is filled with the same pitter pattering of the rain hitting the windows, and the gentle sound of the AC filling the space, except this time, the man you love so deeply is resting on your chest, the steady beating of your heart reassuring him that you are here, and still with him.

That you go won’t anywhere.

And you in turn use your fingers to comb through his hair, scratching his scalp gently and playing with his hair, occasionally kissing his head and caressing his body to soothe him back to sleep.

You had already made up your mind that you wouldn’t sleep until he fell asleep.

Between the beating of your heart, your touches and the rain outside, it didn’t take long for the man resting on your chest to drift away into slumber.

And you in turn smiled, happy that he can now get the rest he deserves, knowing that you won’t be going anywhere, unless it’s with him.

[GLOSSARY]

“Dime qué pasa bebé. Estoy aquí y te escucho.” — Tell me what's wrong baby.. i'm here and i'm listening

“..—te prometo que” — I promise you that

“No puedes volver con eso mamá..” — you can’t go back on that mama

“hasta el fuego” — to the fire or til we burn

“Así es mamá” — that’s right mama

ミ★

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[4ttack-ur-heart]

Hi. How are you? I wish you a good weekend in advance, since today is Thursday.

Please don't rush to write. Take your time.

Geez! I wanted to send you an aesthetic but, it's okay.

Vampire Levi Ackerman x female reader soulmate.

Content: NSFW, angst, fluff

In which Levi lost his beloved to vampire hunters.

Many years have passed, and now Levi has found a new vampire companion. (Not the reader).

The reader is reborn in this new modern world as a human. The reader had the unique eye color, purple. In the past, Levi had gifted the reader a pair of amethyst stone earrings to match her eyes. He had had them made especially for her.

Levi meets the reader again at a gala. He recognizes the unique scent of her blood.

Now, what will Levi do when he finds the love of his life? The only person who makes his dead heart beat.

Happy ending for Levi and the reader, please. 🥹🩷

Feel free to change things up.

Fate’s Cruel Journey

Pairing: vampire! Levi x fem! reader

Warnings: blood, violence, killing, vampire lore, lots of swearing (mostly from Levi).

Genre: angst to fluff

Summary: Levi lost his wife many years ago to vampire hunters, now, centuries later, what happens when he finds her again at a party but she has no idea who she is?

Note: The only real physical description of the reader is that she has purple eyes, but otherwise she's pretty nuetral and I've re-read the fic so many times, I can't tell if there's anymore mistakes because of brain malfunctions.

AAAAAAANd I also wanna thank you for being so patient. I haven't written for aot in like over a year so writer's block unfortunately hit pretty hard. Hope you like it!!

Sent in by the person who requested :) an ai visual of Levi’s vampire look.

The breeze seems colder tonight. The stars twinkle faster than Y/n remembers, too.

Maybe it’s the full moon beaming down on her body.

Or maybe it’s the wooden stake impaled near her heart that heightens her senses in her last moments.

The crickets and cicadas chirp a little louder as well. The rain also seems to dribble down her body quite rapidly.

No, that was really blood- not rain, the blood of a vampire. Thick black liquid spills out of the wound and a tiny line even trails from the corner of her mouth.

Night has never looked so beautiful. Through her half-lidded eyes and blurring vision, she swears she sees a shooting star.

Make a wish.

“Let me watch over him…” she whispers to no one in particular, just whatever deity above is willing to listen.

A choked sound leaves her chapped lips as the black goo starts to seep into the back of her throat.

Him….

Him-

Footsteps quickly sound off in her left ear and her head rolls slightly in the direction.

“No, no…” The voice, a man’s voice, rasps out. “Stay with me, Y/n. Don’t you fucking leave me.”

Though a harsh choice of words, she can make out the slight shakiness in the man’s voice.

Her eyes finally settle on the figure. A cold and calloused hand touches her face tenderly, the hands cradling her features. She can faintly feel the thumb rubbing across the cheekbone as her face is turned towards the figure.

A small smile breaks out on her face.

This wasn’t any man. This was her man.

Her husband.

Her Levi.

“I-I didn’t know there were so many of them.” She whispers as her breathing quivers again. “I was just h-hungry.”

Levi’s jaw clenches as his steel blue eyes gaze into her purple ones. “I know, baby. It’s okay, I’m going to get you back home.”

Levi moves to pick her up, but she lets out a noise that stops him.

“N-no, don’t do that. I’ll only die quicker.”

An unsettling feeling takes over Levi’s entire body as he contemplates her words. She's right. Any slight movement of the stake would easily pierce her heart and kill her before he could even properly say goodbye.

Levi sucks in a harsh breath, trying to fight the tears lining his eyes. This isn’t happening. She was going to be just fine. It’s just a nightmare and he’ll wake up.

A cough interrupts his thoughts, and Levi is quick to pull her away from the tree and into his arms. Her back rests against his chest and her head falls to his bicep.

“I wish we could go back to the first day we met…” Her words go unanswered for a few moments as Levi recalls the memory.

——

He had already been turned for a few years and was wandering the streets looking for food- for blood. Passing by a rowdy tavern, his heightened hearing was able to pick up faint crying coming from the alleyway next to it.

Cautiously approaching the dark entrance, he makes out a figure sobbing over a bloodied body.

With an intake of breath, he quickly hides himself. There have been rumors of vampires lurking in the village. If someone saw the way his blue eyes flickered to red at the smell of blood, he’d be hunted down for sure.

“What have I done, no, oh my god…” the figure sobs quietly.

Levi was now curious. Did this person kill the other? Pushing down his suspicions, he starts to walk towards the pair.

The figure- a young woman- lifts her head in shock at his appearance. Her eyes were puffy from crying and her clothes seemed to be torn and dirtied.

“I didn’t kill him!” Her eyes dart between him and the dead body as she quickly stands. “I-I promise!”

Levi gives out a scoff. “Tell that to the blood all over your chin.”

She gasps and her hand comes up to cover the crimson patch.

“He came at me.”

“And you sucked his blood, right?”

The woman freezes at his words. He knows.

He knows and he seems so calm about it.

Levi gives out a ‘hmph’ at the sound of barking laughter from drunken men lurking closer.

“Either follow me or worry about them.” He gives her one last look before walking down the alley. “Your choice.”

His silhouette slowly disappears through the thick fog. The woman chews her lip, tongue swiping over the blood that lingered.

Hesitantly, she follows him.

“Who are you?” She asks.

“A vampire, just like you.” Levi grabs her arm and yanks her behind a few stacked barrels to hide them from prying eyes. “Names Levi.”

And from then on, Levi took her in. He showed her how to hunt humans and discreetly suck their blood without creating too much of a mess. He showed her how to hide in the shadows and blend in.

Most importantly, he showed her how to love.

——

“Why’s that?” Levi asks.

Keep her talking.

Y/n glances at the moon before her lavender eyes fall back to her husband. Her hand shakily comes up to brush his hair away from his forehead. “Because I would get to fall in love with you all over again.” Then her hand dropped and her purple irises stilled.

She was gone…

Levi prayed to that same deity over and over again. Please let this all be a nightmare.

Let me wake up.

—-

Levi shoots up from his bed with a cold sweat coating his body.

He lets out ragged breaths as he tries to figure out where he is.

His mind can make out the familiar Victorian style furniture and he realizes where he is. He’s home… or at least the manor he resided at.

Fate was too cruel in this story. Levi did have a nightmare about his wife and he did wake up, but the narrative still stayed the same.

Y/n was still gone and she had been for a while.

A small knock rapped at the wooden door and Levi rubbed his exhausted eyes before telling them to come in.

Vera, Levi’s ‘roommate’, walks in. Years after his wife passed, he met her being chased by hunters and saved her. The pair decided to stick together for survival, but it was nothing close to what it was with his Y/n.

“I heard you screaming again. Another nightmare?” Her voice is concerned.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She nods and hesitates before closing the door, knowing he won’t beg her to stay. It wasn’t the same and it never will be.

Vera was a sweet girl, but over time, she started to see Levi as possibly more than what their situation actually was. It was easy to tell in her body language and words that she liked him and longed for something more.

Levi told her his wife’s story, yet she persisted.

It angered him and it felt disrespectful. Even though it’s been years, he can't see himself with anyone else nor does he want to.

The phone pings on the edge of the nightstand, the screen illuminating the dark room. With a groan, Levi retrieves it and sees the text from the leader of another vampire clan. Eren with the Yeagerists.

-I sent Vera all the details for tonight. Everyone’s excited to finally feed again, but don’t worry we’ll make sure not to get any blood on your ancient relics.

That’s right, the details of what took months of planning were flooding his head again. The Yeagerists, The Scouts, along with Levi and Vera had planned a Gala of the sorts. Another stupid and expensive party for the elite humans to socialize. Perfect for their trap.

“Little brat,” he mutters with the urge to roll his eyes at the text. Eren was a newer vampire and has only been turned for about 250 years and he already thinks he knows best.

Levi sits up and starts getting ready for the day- err night. When he finishes tying his neatly ironed cravat, he makes sure to take a small feather duster to the old antiques around his room.

Despite the new century, Levi took pride in keeping artifacts and decor from when he first turned. It gave him a sense of peace and calm, almost something that reminded him of home.

Of her.

— —

“Eren emailed me the list of guests attending,” Vera says as she sips on the mug of steaming black tea Levi prepared.

Levi glances at her and sees the small grimace on her face as she takes a sip.

“You don’t have a drink it, you know.” He chides her.

“No, I like it. It’s very good.” She lies and takes another sip.

Ass-kissing won’t get you anywhere with me.

With a sigh, Levi finishes his own cup and rinses it in the sink. “Anyone of importance?”

Vera shakes her head.

“No, just a bunch of old, snobby bureaucrats and their wives. Although…” she trails off. “There was one person, a girl. I guess she’s the niece of one of them. Nothing strange, but she is the youngest one attending in her mid-twenties.”

“What a shame.”

The venue was at their manor nestled deep into the woods- perfect to hide the screams. When the clock strikes midnight, lock the doors, and have the feast of their lives.

Now that technology has advanced so much within the past century, it’s been hard to hunt without worrying about someone’s camera recording them. Vera said she had almost been caught if not for that stupid woman’s flash going off and alerting her.

At least this way, although barbaric, was the safest and strategic for their kind.

“It’s four o’clock now. What time should we be expecting our guests?” Vera asks.

“Around six. Make sure to dust the foyer. I wouldn’t want these people’s last thoughts to be about dying in a pig pen.”

——

When the grandfather clock chimes six times throughout the manor, Levi doesn’t hesitate to open the door.

Erwin of the Scout clan stands there with his guests of vampires.

“Right on time,” Levi hides the small smile daring to cross his face. “As usual.”

“Still as gracious as ever, Levi,” Erwin says, not bothering to hide his own smile at seeing his long-time friend.

There’s a small pause.

“May we come in?”

“Tch, you of all people should know vampires obeying invitations are only a myth, right?”

“Still good manners.”

“I see.” He sighs and opens the door. “Come in.”

Erwin was the oldest vampire among their group for almost a thousand years. 861 if you wanted to be precise.

“Levi!”

Arms wrap around his shoulders from behind, catching him off guard and he quickly catches his balance.

“Hange, I see you’re still the same as always.” He pats their wrists locked around his frame as his way of saying hello.

“Never better actually! You wouldn't believe the new things humans are doing these days.”

Hange was the eccentric one of the bunch. Even though they are only about 655 years turned, studying humans has never ceased their interests.

“I can’t wait to hear all about it,” he tells them and nods at the other vampires, Moblit and Miche.

Erwin says hello to Vera who shyly greets the clan. “How is the baby of the clans doing?”

Vera blushes at Erwin’s comment. She was only 179 years old. “I’m doing good. Just excited to finally feed again. It feels like it’s been forever.”

Before Erwin can respond, there’s a loud knock at the door. Levi opens the door and there stand the Yeagerists.

“Eren.”

“Levi.”

“Come on in, you little brats.”

The other clan, though younger in both physicality and biology, have taken their stand on being vampires. Rather than staying true to traditions, they continued to live among the humans rather than secluding themselves away.

“Eren, Mikasa, Armin,” Erwin greets. “Good to see you kids are doing alright.”

“You too, sir.” Armin smiles while Mikasa nods in response.

“Aren’t there more vampires coming?” Hange asks.

Levi makes a ‘hmph’ noise and sighs. “The other kids are late… as usual.”

———

By the next hour, the house was already lively as can be with multiple clans of vampires. The older manor was brighter than Levi normally likes to keep it, Bluetooth speakers were strewn along the rooms, each echoing classical music.

Levi studied everyone in the room from a secluded corner, his enhanced hearing allowing him to eavesdrop on everyone’s conversation. Multiple humans were talking about their successful businesses. Others about their divorces with much younger women dangling off their arms. Even one was boasting about tearing down a nearby park to expand his building.

It made him sick.

Even though the clans normally didn’t have any remorse about killing and sucking dry their victims, they still like to make sure it was humans who at least deserve to suffer.

“I finally found you, Levi.” A voice calls out, making him pause mid-sip of his tea.

Hardy Gustav. A rich and powerful sixty-year-old man of the 21st century. A woman who looked like she was in her thirties was glued to his side, his wife, Vanessa.

“Glad you can make it.” Levi nods, trying to loosen the death grip on his teacup. He’s had a few encounters with Hardy over the past and let’s just say he was someone Levi couldn’t wait to sink his teeth into. “Vanessa.”

“Have you met my niece yet? She's around here somewhere.” Hardy glances around the crowded room.

Levi shakes his head and lets out a sigh. “No, I haven’t yet. Don’t worry, though, the night is still young and I’m sure I’ll bump into her.”

Not like it will matter in just a few short hours anyway.

——

Sipping the bitter wine with a frown, she forces herself to act like she likes it. Y/n has never been too fond of these things, unfortunately. Her uncle Hardy has begged her to accompany him as he thought it would do some good for her mind.

“I need to introduce you to powerful people. Once you see how they carry themselves, you’ll never dream about meeting your husband in some run-down bookstore,” he had told her. “You’ll be taken care of for life.”

She rolls her eyes at the memory. All she sees right now are men twice or triple her age with women who were definitely out of their league. There's no way she’d meet anyone here.

Sorry to disappoint you, Uncle Hardy.

Taking another sip of the gross wine, she decided it was time to find her uncle and tell him she’d be leaving early. Getting out of her tight dress and watching sitcoms all night sounded like a better evening, anyways.

Turning around, she doesn’t see the gentleman walking past her and unceremoniously bumps into him- wine glass included.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry.” Y/n exclaims and sets the now-empty wine glass on a nearby table. Her face grows hot as people around them laugh and start to whisper. “Shit, shit, shit, it’s red wine too and of course you’re wearing white…”

Levi feels the liquid dribble down his neatly pressed white shirt and he fights the urge to snap at the woman.

“It’s alright, really, I’ll just head upstairs and-”

Levi finally looks at her- Really looks at her.

Y/n…

“How did you know my name?” She asks with a confused look as she holds a white cloth napkin.

Shit, he said that out loud?

“I’m so sorry, I can pay for your dry cleaning.” Her hand moved the napkin to his shirt to wipe the stain, but he quickly intercepted it. As soon as his skin touched hers, it was as if all time had stopped.

For the first time in his life, all sound had ceased and a ringing sound echoed in his ears. The movements of the guests and clans around them had blurred together and her figure was the only thing still in focus. If his heart was still beating- he was sure this was the moment it would have stopped.

“N-no,” he hastily clears his throat. “Let me just go change. Excuse me…”

Y/n watches him leave with a confused look.

——

Levi can’t breathe when he enters his room with a slam of the door. Not that he could, anyway, but was that sweat running down his face?

He struggles to loosen his cravat and he tugs at the material hurriedly, then tearing off his blazer and throwing it god knows where in the room.

Fuck.

This has never happened to him before. There's no way. It couldn’t be her.

A pounding noise echoed in his mind and it took him a minute to register that it was a knock on the door. He had the urge to yell and tell the person to get lost.

“Levi, it’s me,” Erwin’s voice rang out.

I can’t do this alone.

With urgency, Levi opens the door. Erwin’s brows furrowed at seeing Levi, who’s usually so composed, in such a distraught. Before he could ask, Levi had already grabbed his collar and yanked him inside the room before slamming the door again.

“What the hell is going on with you?” Erwin asked, concern and confusion lacing his words.

“I-it’s her. God, Erwin, I swear it was her.”

Erwin stiffened at his words. There's only one ‘her’ Levi cared about… only one who could make him feel and act this way.

“How?”

“How the fuck should I know? S-she bumped into me and spilled wine all over me.” Levi’s sentences were rushed and his tone carried a certain vulnerability Erwin’s never heard before.

“You need to calm down or you’ll be the first vampire to ever have a panic attack.” Erwin’s voice was stern, yet he knew someone had to keep Levi grounded.

A dry chuckle leaves Levi. “Don’t tell Hange or they’ll poke and prod.”

Erwin stays silent, not knowing what to say at the possibility of Levi seeing his wife again who’s been dead for centuries.

“Who is she? Why is she here?”

“I don’t know… I think it’s Gustav’s niece. Hange even said she’d be the youngest one here. It has to be.”

Erwin runs through all the possible scenarios and what-ifs. “Are you sure it’s not just a doppelgänger? It happens-”

“No.” Levi was quick to cut him off. “Her blood. Her blood… it’s too familiar. It’s her. I caught her scent and I was following it- that’s why I bumped into her. That’s my wife. Fuck, I can’t go back out there, Erwin.”

“Yes, you can.” He places a comforting hand on Levi’s shoulder. “That’s your wife. You have to.”

Anger swirled through Levi. Years and years of suppressed pain and suffering were finally coming to the surface.

“But she didn’t recognize me! She doesn’t know who I am!”

Erwin grabs Levi by both his shoulders this time.

“Then make her.”

——

Y/n stands uncomfortably next to her uncle and other businessmen as they talk, and talk, and talk-

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots the same man she bumped into earlier coming down the stairs- this time wearing an all-black suit.

She quickly excuses herself.

“Hi, I’m so sorry again. I just wanted to apologize and make sure you were okay. Like I said before, I can pay for the dry cleaning-”

The man cuts her off with a shake of his head. “Don’t worry about it, please. Accidents happen.”

Y/n nods at his words and averts her gaze as she can feel her face heat up again, but tries to make light of the situation. “Well, in case I haven’t said it before, I’m sorry, Mister…?”

“Levi,” The man answers in a raspy voice. “Levi Ackerman.”

She shakes his hand and shivers a bit at the cold touch, yet something about the way his skin touched hers felt so… familiar.

“Oh! This is your party, I’m so sorry for not recognizing you before. I’m not usually one for these scenes.” She smiles and brushes her hair behind her ears.

The earrings she was wearing glimmered in the chandelier light as the amethyst crystals dangled from her ears.

“Your earrings…”

She touched the stones and smiles. “I found these at an antique shop. There was something about them, I couldn’t leave without buying them.”

“They look lovely on you.”

Y/n cannot hide the blush that covers her face.

“Thank you.”

Before anyone else can say anything, the grandfather clock strikes the next hour and Levi freezes. It’s as if an eery chill took over the manor as Levi notices the clans glancing at each other with knowing looks.

It’s time.

Miche and Jean act quickly, using their strength to push over the bookshelves and block the door.

The crowd gasps as books and priceless antiques shatter and litter the foyer.

Hange lets out a maniacal laugh before grabbing the nearest person and sinking their fangs into his neck.

Screams and cries quickly echo in the lavish atmosphere. What was once a party for the elites, was now turned into a bloodbath for the vampires.

And not a drop was to be wasted.

——

“Uncle? Uncle, where are you?” Y/n cries out as she backs into a corner behind a turned-over table. She couldn’t see him anywhere and the vampires moving in a frenzy made her vision struggle to catch up.

Bodies quickly fall lifeless and pale to the shiny marble flooring. A body, a woman’s body, fell in front of the table and only her top half was visible.

Vanessa.

Her pleading brown eyes quickly locked onto Y/n’s face in horror.

“Help me!” She screeched before she was dragged out of her line of sight and her screams quickly silenced.

Once the screaming stopped, a man stood up from behind the table. His mullet-styled hair framed his eyes which were now fading between hazel and the true crimson color of a vampire as he licks the blood dribbling from his bottom lip.

With just one hand, the vampire quickly shoves the table and the heavy wood grinds across the flooring with a sickening scrape.

“You’re a pretty one. Such a waste.” Before the vampire could pounce on her, another figure tackled him to the ground.

“Jean, back off.” Levi stands defensively in front of her.

Jean dusts himself off and shoots him a look.

“Look if you wanted dibs, I get it.”

“That’s my fucking wife.”

Y/n’s eyes widen at Levi’s words.

Wife?

What the hell was he talking about? She had only just met him.

Levi’s eyes turn towards her and his stomach feels like it’s in his throat when he just sees fear written all over her face.

She still doesn’t remember…

Hange detaches themselves from the neck of someone and their eyes fill with shock. “Levi… it’s not possible.”

The older vampires of the clans all turn towards Levi all stunned at his claim. "No one fucking touches her! Do I make myself clear?"

The air is still, safe for the sound of Y/n's heavy pants from fear and adrenaline ringing out in the eerily quiet manor. With a glance around the room, it's easy to tell she's the only human still alive. The other guests, including her uncle, have all been killed. Their bodies are strewn across the torn apart manor and she's surrounded helplessly by vampires.

Levi takes a deep breath and faces the woman- his wife. His hand cautiously reaches out towards her to offer her a hand to stand. Y/n recoils slightly at the gesture and just stares at him, her lavender iris shaking.

"You have no idea who I am to you, do you?"

She swallows heavily and slowly shakes her head 'no.'

"If you come with me, I can explain everything."

Y/n only averts her eyes and chews her lip.

"Or you can stay with them. Up to you."

Again, her eyes scan over the multiple vampires all watching the exchange. Finally, she takes his hand and he helps her stand up. Levi leads her to the staircase and briefly stops as his eyes sweep over the mangled bodies and destroyed furniture.

"Clean up this mess."

---

Y/n's thoughts raced a million miles per minute. She's being escorted through some stranger's house after all the guests were just murdered in front of her eyes.

What sort of twisted joke was this?

Blindly, she follows him into a room and he shuts the door behind her. She remains standing with her back towards him, too afraid to face him.

"Y/n."

Hearing her own name makes her stiffen up and she clenches her teeth and prays this is all a nightmare. "Look at me."

She stays still.

Levi's hand gently presses on her bicep and turns her to face him. He doesn't make any other movements after that, his own nerves getting the best of him.

After a few painfully long seconds of silence, Y/n speaks up.

"Y-you called me your wife." Her voice hasn't changed one bit… if only it wasn't so full of fear.

"I did."

"Why?" Her eyes finally meet his.

Now, Levi stays silent, because honestly, how do you explain to your supposed dead wife that she might have reincarnated centuries later and doesn't remember being a vampire with you in a different lifetime?

"Because you were. Many, many years ago." He moves towards a dresser on the other side of the room. Opening the first drawer, he rummages through until he pulls out a small box. "This was your wedding ring."

The velvet box opens to reveal a glistening diamond set atop a plain silver band. Y/n stares at the ring curiously. It almost triggers something in her brain, a sense of nostalgia, but no direct memories.

"I… it's not possible, I'm sorry," she starts, voice cracking in turmoil. "I've never met you before. I only just moved here-"

"From your hometown, right?" The box shuts with a sharp snap. A symbol of Levi's pent-up frustration getting the best of him. "You wanted a change of scenery from things back home… maybe find a husband and settle down, have a family."

"How did you-?"

"Because that was what you told me over two hundred years ago."

Silence was Y/n's only response.

"Those amethyst earrings you're wearing? They're real in case you were wondering and a gift from me on our first anniversary. You told me you wanted something to match your eyes."

He faces away from her, too caught up in his emotions to look at the woman who doesn’t recognize him.

"You might not remember me, but I remember everything about you. From your favorite color to your favorite flower; forget-me-not's, because you said it reminded you of my eyes, though fate has a fucking funny way of having that bite me in the ass."

"Look," she starts and hesitantly places a hand on his shoulder. "I don't know if it's because I'm really scared of you, but I believe you- in a way… I just don't remember."

The touch makes Levi jump a bit before his own hand covers hers and he solemnly nods. "I know."

A knock suddenly rings out in the room, making them both tense up. Levi gives her a reassuring look and answers the door. He's more than surprised to see Vera standing there.

"Vera? Someone better be fucking dying." He swears under his breath as he feels himself getting frustrated once more.

Vera wrings her hands together and she has a sorrowful look on her face. "I'm so sorry to interrupt, but the others are asking what to do with the bodies and we only have a few more hours till sunrise."

Levi pinches the bridge of his nose. "I'll be out right now."

Vera nods and walks to her own room. Levi shuts the door with a soft click and lets out a sigh. He looks towards the woman sitting timidly on the bed.

"I'll be back in five minutes. Please, don't leave. Believe me when I say you're safer here than anywhere else right now." He waits until she nods and makes his exit.

His footsteps are quick and irritable as he glides down the stairs and meets Erwin at the landing.

"What happened to everything we talked about? Why is Vera asking where the bodies should be disposed of?"

Erwin furrows his brows at Levi's words, confusion taking over his features. He gestures towards the room where the broken furniture was shoved into a corner and the rest of the bodies were piled up by the door, now wrapped up in sheets and curtains. "There was no confusion with your words, Levi. Half are going into the river, and the other half we're burying. We're making great time, too. Feeding gave everyone their strength back. "

Now, it's Levi's turn to be confused. An ear-piercing scream echoes throughout the house, making everyone freeze.

Y/n's scream.

With great speed, Levi and Erwin both move up the stairs and to his bedroom door. The knob stands still, refusing to open.

"Vera! Get the fuck away from her!" Levi yells through the thick wood before standing back and kicking the door down. The wood cracks and breaks easily under his force.

The sight before him horrifies him. Vera is hunched over Y/n, who is now lifeless on the floor.

Erwin is surprisingly faster than Levi and grips Vera around the waist, pulling her off Y/n.

Blood trickles down Vera's mouth and coats her chin, her crimson pupils dilated from ecstasy.

"No! Her blood is so sweet, please, I need more!" Vera cries out and thrashes against Erwin's hold. Levi doesn't waste another second and crouches by the lifeless human.

Deja vu floods his mind as he takes in her half-lidded eyes and raspy breathing. "No, no, no."

Like a mantra over and over again, Levi felt like he was always pleading with a brick wall in this life.

"What the hell is going on?" Eren asks from the broken doorway as Mikasa and Hange hover next to him, their eyes all widen in shock at seeing Y/n's barely conscious form and Vera's feral state.

Erwin moves Vera to the group and they quickly move to restrain her. "Take her and get her away from here! Kill her if you must."

Levi feels like the walls are closing in on him all over again. The pain, the anguish, the familiar feelings all come barreling through once more.

"Stay with me, Y/n! I'll be damned if I lose you again." He cries and cradles her body.

Her eyes lazily meet his as she struggles to breathe. The large bite wound in her neck oozes blood viciously and rapidly.

"I-I'm sorry about your wife," she wheezes out as tears flow from her eyes. Her breathing starts to become more shallow and her eyes slowly flutter shut.

Erwin places a hand on his shoulder, "Bite her. Fully turn her before it's too late."

Levi turns toward his friend, tears streaming down his face as he contemplates his words. His hand comes up behind her head to gently tilt it back and expose her bloody neck. His fangs emerge and he quickly buries them under her skin.

Another raw scream escapes her before she settles limp from the pain. Levi tries to ignore the whimpers of pain she lets out every time he moves.

Don't lose yourself, Levi.

Oh, but her blood did taste sweet. Heavenly, even.

Just a few more seconds…

No.

Control yourself.

Save her,

Save your wife.

Y/n gasps suddenly, her body arching in Levi's grasp. He loosens his grip as he detaches his fangs from her neck.

The blood leaking from the wound on her neck suddenly turns pitch black as the wound closes entirely and her skin loses all of its red pigment, now a duller shade of her natural skin tone. Heavy breaths escape her before her eyes shoot open.

Instead of her normal purple hue, her eyes were now a deep garnet. She had been reborn.

Y/n takes in her surroundings as she sits up from Levi's lap, but before she can look any further, Levi cradles her face in both hands. His blue eyes searched hers in both fear and anticipation, pleading that she would finally remember.

"Y/n?"

Her hands come up to his face and they swipe a stray tear down his pale cheek. "My husband."

Levi doesn't hesitate to pull her into his arms and bury his face in her shoulder.

Erwin doesn't hide the warm smile that graces his features as he takes his leave to give the couple their long-overdue reunion.

"My wife," Levi cries. "My beautiful wife. You're here. You're actually here."

Y/n nods tenderly into the material of his suit as her memories flood her brain. "I'm here, Levi."

He squeezes her impossibly tighter, afraid that she'll disappear again if he lets go.

They don't move from each other for a long time, but by the time they release each other, Levi stands and grabs the ring box sitting on the dresses. Y/n holds in another sob as she holds out her hand so Levi can slip on her wedding ring.

“I'm never letting you out of my sight again. That's a vow, for all of eternity."

[justtnat]

Through the Storm

-gojo satoru x wife!reader

-summary: while gojo satoru is the best and strongest sorcerer in the world, he is nothing without his dear wife

-warnings: none

-wc:510

masterlist

The rain hammered down on Tokyo, the relentless storm mirroring the turmoil inside the sorcerers’ hearts. The usually bustling streets were eerily quiet, only the sound of rain and distant thunder filling the air. Inside a modest apartment, you paced back and forth, anxiety gnawing at your heart. Satoru hadn’t returned yet.

He was supposed to be back hours ago. You knew the risks of his job, but the fear never got any easier to manage. Each time he left, you silently prayed it wouldn't be the last.

The door creaked open, and you spun around, hope and dread warring within you. There he stood, drenched and exhausted. His usually bright blue eyes were dim, shadows haunting his features.

"Satoru," you whispered, rushing to him. You reached out, but he flinched, stepping back slightly. Your hand dropped, the distance between you feeling like an insurmountable chasm.

"I'm fine," he muttered, his voice rough. "Just tired."

You knew him better than anyone, and you could see the weight he carried tonight was more than just physical exhaustion. "What happened?" you asked softly, hoping to coax him into opening up.

He sighed, running a hand through his wet hair. "Another mission. Another loss. I couldn’t save them all."

The anguish in his voice broke your heart. "Satoru, you do everything you can. You’re not invincible."

"That’s the problem," he snapped, his frustration spilling over. "I’m supposed to be the strongest, yet people still die. What’s the point of all this power if I can't protect everyone?"

You stepped closer, not letting his outburst push you away. "You can’t carry this burden alone. Let me in, Satoru."

For a moment, he looked like he might push you away again, but then something in him broke. He slumped forward, and you caught him, holding him tightly as his shoulders shook. The strongest sorcerer, crumbling in your arms.

You guided him to the couch, sitting beside him. He buried his face in his hands, and you wrapped your arms around him, offering silent support. The storm outside seemed to rage harder, but within your small haven, a different storm was beginning to calm.

"I feel so helpless sometimes," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I hate feeling like this."

"You’re not helpless," you reassured him, gently brushing his hair back. "You’re human, Satoru. It’s okay to feel this way."

He looked up at you, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I don’t know what I’d do without you."

"You don’t have to find out," you said softly. "I’m here. Always."

For a long moment, he just looked at you, the storm in his eyes slowly dissipating. He leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours. "I love you," he whispered, the words carrying a weight of gratitude and relief.

"I love you too," you replied, holding him close. "We’ll get through this together."

The rain continued to fall, but inside your little apartment, warmth and love began to mend the cracks. Satoru wasn’t alone, and neither were you. Together, you could weather any storm.

[windssong]

ghosts in the leaves // worst wolverine x reader

summary: you’ve been stuck in the void for years, and logan doesn’t even seem to care.

one shot: ANGST, then fluff of course. I love a sadass story with a happy ending. swearing lol. suggestive material. This is my favorite one I’ve written so far. Enjoy!!

word count: 1k+

masterlist

He was too busy drinking to notice your silent pleading.

You and Logan sat against the rocky wall of your hideout base. The rest of the group of forgotten heroes were planning the final showdown with Cassandra in the next room over.

They left the two of you alone, noticing the tension growing more and more intense. Logan tried to protest, but they shut him out. He wouldn’t stop grumbling to himself about it. That, you noted, hadn’t changed about him.

Wade would occasionally poke his head out from behind the wall, hoping the reunited couple would get back together already. He loved jumping into other peoples business, you noticed. He seemed like a troublemaker.

Johnny would’ve really loved this guy.

You still didn’t understand why Logan was refusing to talk to you. He looked like hell, but so did you. Did he even care?

You just wanted to wipe the blood from his suit and the dirt from his face. Tell him about the hell you’ve been through down here. Ask him about the hell he’s been through back home.

But Logan would rather gargle piss than talk to you at all. That, you were beginning to realize.

He wouldn’t even look you in the eye. He only looked at you when he first arrived. That familiar glow returned to him at that moment. You thought you saw the love of your life return to you right then and there, eyes and mouth wide open. But by the time you ran over to him, throwing your arms around his body, tears streaming down your face, he was pushing you off him and opening a bottle of bourbon.

You could see him fighting the urge to open another one. He balanced it on his hand, and spun the bottle on the floor like it was a game. Guess he won by the fake smile on his face as he placed the lukewarm drink to his lips.

“Are you going to talk to me? Or are you just going to keep drinking?”

He picked up another glass after downing the last one, licking his lips. “I don’t talk to ghosts.”

Your stomach dropped, like a stone in a pond. Your lips fell, a weight dragging them down. “Logan-”

His fists balled up, face turning red. “Don’t fucking say my name.” All the venom leaking from his mouth seemed to form a weapon meant for himself, but he kept aiming it straight at you. “Just don't.”

You held your head high. “Why not?”

“Because,” he took a long drink before continuing. “Your voice is drilling into my skull, that’s why. I don’t talk to ghosts and they don’t talk to me.” Logan shifted his body, facing away from you.

You closed your mouth, letting the words die inside. Instead, you watched the leaves fall from beside the open door.

The trees here never changed. They were stuck in a perpetual autumn. It was haunting to look at. You forgot there were other seasons sometimes. You missed the snow in winter. Icicles hanging from the roof of Xavier’s mansion. You missed the spring flowers and that early summer rain. All you had was autumn, and Logan had the rest. He didn’t seem to like any of it at all anymore.

The Logan you once knew and loved, if he saw you alive and well, he’d come running to you, holding you tight, whispering words of comfort.

This Logan though…He was tired. And angry. So angry. Grief radiated off every inch of him. It almost became a superpower on its own. You weren’t a stranger to that power. He kept you at a distance too, back when you first met.

You had the outline of his back memorized like the back of your hand. This was your Logan. He was just jaded now. Years of believing that you were dead and that he had failed not only his friends and family, but you, the most important person in the world to him, had changed him.

Down here, your one goal was to reach him. Well, you had accomplished that. But not in the way you had wished.

“If there’s any ghosts here, it’s you.” You said it without looking at him either. Just watched the leaves fall.

Logan shut his eyes tight, the veins in his neck growing stronger. His jaw loosened, the bourbon missing his mouth and spilling all over. “Fuck!” He cursed himself.

“Did someone wet the bed again?” Wade's red head popped its way into the room. “Jesus, you two look like you fucked with the lights off. Does this place even have lights? And have you made up yet? I’m sick and tired of this meeting and I wanna join in.”

He sure knew how to make an entrance. It was almost amazing how annoying he was. Again, Johnny and him would’ve gotten along. But Cassandra got to him first.

“Turn around and walk back in there before I pop that tomato of a fucking head of yours.” Logan spat, taking another swig.

Wade gasped, putting his gloved hand to his mouth. “I’d let you pop just about anything, Wolverine.” Before he could say anything more intrusive, Blade's hand grabbed his head, pulling him back behind the wall. Wade still kept ranting all the way back into the other room.

“I’m glad you have a friend.” You tried, shifting uncomfortably in your super suit. “I wouldn’t of made it if it wasn’t for my friends down here.”

And the thought of you. You wanted to finish with that.

“He’s not my friend.”

“Seems like he’s your friend.”

He shook his head, leaning against a rocky pillar. He wanted to keep the distance between you and him as far as possible. You were going to keep running towards him anyways.

“As soon as I arrived it was too late.” You started. “They were all dead.” You paused, letting the grief settle in. Logan sat there as still as a ghost. “I was going to find you before you found them. I'm so sorry you had to see them like that.” You let the tears flow this time. “But then the TVA- they got me. Said I killed one of their own a few days prior. Which is bullshit. But they didn’t care, and they sent me here. I’ve been trying to get back to you ever since. I'm sorry, Logan.”

It happened as quickly as he drank those bottles. He got up, wobbled a bit as he stood, and walked out the door, crushing autumn leaves under his feet.

The silence he left behind was worse than his venom.

Wade popped his head back in, the other four following as well. “We did it! Operation, Stealing Cassandra’s Wii hidden underneath their bed, is underway!”

“What’s under Cassandra’s bed?” Elektra questioned.

“Oh, all kinds of stuff.” He started counting on his fingers. “Video games, velveeta cheese, a bunch of those for some reason. Cowboy hats, pixie sticks, a signed dvd of The Green Lantern. Truly an evil monster, my god.”

Gambit leaned over to Laura. “Do you think one of my missing cards could be hidden under there?”

Laura ignored him, walking over to you, noticing your wet, red eyes. “Hey, are you okay? Where’s Logan?”

“I’d like to know the answer to that question too, Laura.”

Logan’s daughter nodded, squeezing your shoulder before going to look for the shadow of her father.

It was growing dark now. Night was here and all you wanted was to sleep. Maybe you’d wake up in Logan’s arms again and he’d pepper light kisses across your face, taking all those years without him away. Like they never even happened. Like you never lost anything or anyone.

It was still night out when you woke up. Wade's snores were keeping everyone else up, so they moved him outside. You walked by him as he was passed out in a pile of leaves, making your way towards the burning campfire.

Logan sat slumped over the smoke, chin cradled to his chest. You could’ve sworn you saw tears disappearing into the fire. But you didn’t want his dagger like words again, so you turned back around.

And then you heard your name.

It was whispered so softly, like a strong wind. You waited a few more beats, hoping to hear it again. And you did. His voice was strained. Calloused over like he had said your name so many times before that it hurt so bad every time you never said his name back.

But you did this time.

“Yes, Logan?”

“I was just thinking-” His voice was wavering, like he was on a tightrope, wondering when he’d fall off. “I was thinking about your birthday. I’ve missed so many of them.”

Your eyes glazed over, a well of spring water washing away the autumn you still adored. Before you could run to him, he was already there. Strong arms found their way around you. Those lips kissed every inch of your face. It was like returning home again.

“I’m so fucking sorry.” He was barely keeping it together. “I thought you were dead. And then I saw you and all I saw was another failure. I’ve failed you. You’ve been trapped here. And I didn't come to save you. All I did was punish you.”

“It’s okay.” You held him tight, but he held you tighter. “You didn’t know. You had to go on thinking everyone you loved was dead. Logan, you didn’t deserve that.”

He held your head, finally meeting your eyes with his own. “I love you.” He rarely said it. But he didn’t have to. You always knew. “And I’m sorry.”

“I love you too.”

“I’ll be sorry forever.”

“Then I will be too.”

A mix of sorrow and happiness clung to his face. He laughed, as if he was laughing for the first time. “You’re here. You’re not a ghost. I’m not a ghost.”

[yunirgo]

someone’s someone - steve harrington x reader

summary: steve wishes his heart belonged to someone who will truly and devotedly love him, and so do you.

tags: sfw, reader is gender neutral; it’s implied they’re a virgin and inexperienced, allusions of steve not wanting to live anymore, bit of angst but mostly fluff. sorry for any mistakes or incoherence, english isn’t my first language!

wc: 728

Steve still remembers his first heartbreak as if it was yesterday. He can perfectly remember how his chest felt so tight and how much his heart ached to the point he swore he’d die. He gets sick to his stomach just thinking back at the hours he spent laying on his bed wondering what he did wrong in his life to not receive love from the people he held closest to his heart, wondering if it would be better to stop being the loving boy he was and just turn into a new person who didn’t believe in love because it's not real. 

The feelings of hopelessness and unworthiness, the desire of not seeing the light of day anymore… He wouldn’t wish it upon his worst enemy, or the cruelest person in the world; not even his parents. 

And though the months go by and he feels he’s healed from the heartbreak, there is still a tiny crack in his heart that gives way to despair and misery.  

Then, the unexpected happens: he meets you. 

You, the sweetest and kindest soul he has ever met. You, the classic hopeless romantic who has never even held hands romantically with anyone in their life. You, who thinks will never experience love because everyone your age is either sleeping around or eloping and having kids. You, who just like him, wonders what’s wrong with yourself that no one seems you worthy of love. 

He falls suddenly hard for you, of course, he does. He spends every second he can with you just to hear you laugh at his lame jokes, hold doors open for you, and share secret touches with you when all of his friends are around. He especially loves it when you absentmindedly take his hand on yours and play with his fingers while talking to him or any of his friends, and when you look up at him with that glimmer in your eyes you seem to have only when you’re with him.

It gets to a point where Steve has no other choice but to open his heart up to you, and you do the same with yours. You share your deepest darkest secrets and concerns and build this special and intimate friendship with him, wishing deep down it was more than that.  

“I feel unlovable sometimes,” you told him while stargazing.

 He’d called you over to his house for purely selfish reasons, because he couldn’t stand being apart from you even if you’d had an 8 hour shift together at Family Video earlier that day. 

His heart skipped a beat when you turned your face to look at him, a small, sad smile grazing your face. 

“I just want to be someone’s someone, you know? I want to be someone’s everything,” a deep sigh escaped your lips. “I wonder if I’m meant for someone. What do you think?,” you asked. The boy just stared at you.

 How could he comfort you when he knew that feeling all too well and without giving himself away? 

“I think…” he finally spoke after a few seconds, his hand searching for yours. He intertwined his fingers with yours and squeezed them gently before speaking again. “I think we’re all meant for someone. I know one day we’ll meet someone we can’t live without.”

“I hope so.”

“I hope so too,”  You knew he was trying to make both of you feel better, but the gentle whisper of his voice made your heart ache uncontrollably. 

Steve Harrington was the person you wanted to own your heart. He’s the one you wanted to dance under the rain, go on silly dates, and share secrets and gossip like two old ladies with. He’s the one you wanted to have all your firsts with. But most importantly, you wanted to mend his broken heart and remind him how deserving of love he is for the rest of his life. 

So, you decided right there and then that you would show him how much you wanted him to be your someone in exchange for you being his someone.

Funny enough, Steve was just thinking the same thing. 

And four years later, after both your plans were taken into action, the two of you can say with certainty they were successful as you vow your lives to each other with your shared loved ones as witnesses.

-

an: thank you for reading!! i hope you guys like this bcs it was very scary to post😭 i will say i might have started a mini series inspired by the “all bout luv” album by monsta x around january this year because it’s one of my favorites ever so you can imagine how long these ideas have been brewing in my mind for💀 so idk, lmk if you’d like to read a bit more of what goes inside my head lolol. anyway :p that’s all, thank you sm again for reading<3

[blossom-shy]

What will happen if you get shot in front of Jason

Jason todd x reader

Warnings: it is going to be angst to fluff

Summary: you got shot

____________________________________

The Gotham night was cold and unforgiving, much like Jason Todd's heart. Rain pelted the broken windows of the abandoned warehouse where he'd been tracking a human trafficking ring for weeks. His fingers traced the grip of his pistol, memories of his own violent past churning beneath the surface.

You watched him from the shadows, your breath catching every time he moved. As a field medic who occasionally worked with the Bat-family, you'd seen Jason's complexity up close—the rage, the pain, the desperate need to protect others that contradicted his tough exterior.

"You shouldn't be here," he growled without turning around, somehow sensing your presence.

Your voice was steady. "Someone needs to watch your back."

A bitter laugh escaped his lips. "I don't need protecting."

But you knew better. Jason Todd was a storm of unresolved trauma, a warrior who'd been betrayed by death itself, who believed vulnerability was a weakness. Yet beneath the Red Hood's metallic mask was a heart that had never truly healed.

When the firefight broke out, you moved with practiced precision. A bullet meant for Jason's spine found your shoulder instead. The warehouse erupted in chaos—gunshots, shattering glass, the metallic tang of blood.

Jason's world narrowed to one terrifying moment: you, wounded, bleeding out beside him.

"What the hell were you thinking?" he snarled, pressing his hand against your wound, his touch surprisingly gentle despite the venom in his voice.

You managed a weak smile. "Keeping you safe."

In the ambulance, as morphine dulled your pain, Jason's hand never left yours. The tough vigilante who terrified Gotham's criminals looked small and vulnerable, his armor finally cracking.

"Don't you dare die," he whispered. "Not after everything."

Weeks of recovery followed. Jason, typically someone who ran from emotional connections, found himself changing bandages, bringing takeout, watching terrible movies to make you laugh.

"I'm not good at this," he'd mutter, adjusting your pillows.

But he was. More than he knew.

Slowly, the sharp edges of Jason Todd began to soften. Not completely—he would always be a fighter, always be complicated—but enough to let someone see the wounded heart beneath the armor.

And you? You saw all of him. The rage, the pain, the unexpected tenderness. The man desperate to save the world because he'd once been unable to save himself.

Love, they would learn, wasn't about being perfect. It was about being broken together

This is my first time doing a fanfic so hope is good because English is not my first language

[ikbitchssss]

I Just Want Your Heart (Daryl x Half-Walker!Reader)

Warnings/Tags: Major Character Death, Angst, Cussing, Blood, Violence, and Normal TWD stuff. If anymore, please tell me and I'll add it!

Season: In the 30 days between season 3 and 4.

Words: 3K

Plot: Daryl finds a walker, but she can talk. She’s always chewing on gum, and her body is a bit rotten. It’s like she was half dead. He goes ok to help her and take care of her, not knowing why. Until one day, he does something he might regret.

A/N: Hope y'all enjoy;3

(OG BLOG: @idkbishsss)

Daryl Dixon was a man who did not fall in love with anyone. He was a rough around the edges, redneck, quiet, distant, guy. He did not fall in love. He loved only one person, his brother. Lost together somewhere in an apocalypse world and treated him like shit most of the time sure, but he did love him. As much as he wouldn’t admit it because Merle would just scoff and roll his eyes.

Daryl Dixon was not a man of groups. He was a part of one, only because he had to. Merle said it was because they needed him, but Daryl had a feeling that it was because Merle needed them. Daryl didn’t do groups, but he understands the importance of them. As long as they left him only he was okay.

Daryl Dixon was not a family man. He never wanted a family. His only brother was now dead. He didn’t need a family. Sure, he had a small care for the kids in the group, and didn’t want them to die. He would protect them, but it wasn’t his family.

Daryl Dixon was a lair. He was a family man, these people at the prison were his family. It was his group. He lied about it himself and others about those things for sure, but he never lied about not falling in love. Sure he’d love, in like, a family way. He’d never fall in love though, he’d never allow himself to.

.

Rick had ordered Daryl to go out and get more fuel for the cars. They were low and needed more for runs. 

Daryl got in a trunk and rode up to a few big ass rich people houses he’d seen a few weeks ago. They had a lot of cars and trucks in the neighborhood, meaning a lotta fuel if no one raided it already. In fact, a few houses were having parties, so there were more than usual for bug neighborhoods.

He pulled up to the first house and went to go get the fuel out of the cars and trucks. Using the classic suck on a hose until you feel like passing out method, he got nothing. Hence the sucking too long. He decided he’d check the houses later if he had time and moved on to the next set of cars and trucks. These ones look promising, and were very promising. Fuel came pouring out like the rain, he filled two gallons worth of gas from four cars and one truck. 

He put those gallons back in the back seat, and went to the truck bed to grab more fuel cans. However, something stopped him, a loud screaming noise. He grabbed his crossbow and looked around for the source. He heard giggling and saw the house it was coming from.

He slowly approached the home with extreme caution. He turned around the halls that lead him to a bedroom. He could hear the smacking of gum coming from the room. A girl was sitting there on the bed. A girl was graying skin, dead walker eyes, and a few broken limbs. You.

You casually popped the bones back into place. You looked over to him and smiled, he drew his crossbow up and pointed it to you.

“Woah! I’m not gonna bite you, I am not like the other ones.” You made a joke out of it while putting your hands up. He was confused, what the hell is happening? Why is a Walker, a dead woman, talking? And why isn’t he shooting it’s head off?

You got up and walked over to him, still with your hands up. Your smile faded and you looked a little nervous. “Look I was freaked out and confused when I woke up and was… somewhat alive. But I don’t hurt people, and it still hurts when you hurt me… so please just let me go…” You begged for your life as if you were human. Daryl didn’t understand, you aren’t human, you barely look human. Well, you didn’t look like a walker, you still had flesh, but still, you looked dead. It freaked him out.

You knew he was freaked out, it was all over his face after you said those words. But honestly? Daryl was more than just freaked out, a small part of him was intrigued. Which wasn’t like him. He wasn’t an intrigued guy, but he wanted to know you, know what happened to you.

“Why’d ya scream?” He asked gruffly. You didn’t expect his voice to be that deep, he must smoke something. 

You wave it off and shrug. “Walker grabbed my leg, forgot they don’t bite me anymore.” He was even more intrigued by this, you were immune? Or just half turned. He knew the group would shoot you as soon as you got close because of what you looked like. He’s had personal experience in that at the fram, but he wanted to know you. 

“Look… I’ll show you the best water and food and well anything you need! In this area and neighborhood… just let me live… please.” As you begged him again he put his crossbow down. He told himself not to, to put it back up, kill you, threaten you. But he didn’t. He just nodded and let you lead the way to show him things.

.

You were a talker, and walkers didn’t even look at you when you were being so loud. Daryl found it strangely interesting. He’d never been interested in anyone really, let alone a woman. Yet, there was something about you that made him wonder and think more than he ever let himself before. 

You were showing him a map of the area and places that hadn’t been raided already. “Now there’s a horde here, but when you go just tell me about a week before and I can steer them clear from your path!”

He looked up at you, an expression on his face that could only be described as a little confused. “Now why would ya’ help us..?” He asked, quietly, you guessed he wasn’t much of a talker. 

“Meh! If we are neighbors I have to help you right?” You said it like it was obvious. Like people just help one another in these conditions. “It’s what good neighbors do!” You exclaimed, Daryl just nodded. It wasn’t the old world normal people knew any more, but you act like it. Then again, Daryl didn’t know much of normal, so who was he to judge? Besides, the help would be nice.

You altered your smile, your big grin going away into a slight smile. For a dead girl, you seemed happier than most people. Maybe that was the secret, being dead. But Daryl had people, he wasn’t going to leave them. They needed him just as much as he needed them.

After it was all said and done Daryl went back to getting fuel. You stayed around just kind of watching him. It made him nervous, and he felt a strange new feeling he hadn’t felt before. He wished he could place it, but after years of controlling his emotions, they were all over the place. He didn’t know how to pen point the feeling he felt.

After he was all done with one car, he’d move onto the next one. You’d follow him, just standing around, watching. It almost creeped him out at some points, almost. He wasn’t used to people watching him so closely. Maybe this is how people felt about him. But earlier you were so talkative, and now you just watched, quietly.

He put the last two gallons of fuel in the truck and turned around after closing the door. He jumped a little when he saw you behind him. It wasn’t noticeable to you, just him. You just smiled and put a new piece of gum in your mouth.

“I have to… leave.” He mumbled walking over to the truck door. He glanced back at you, seeing that you were no longer smiling. You stood back, looking back at your house.

“I’ll be back…” He said. He thought he was stupid for saying it, but when he looked up and saw your smile, those thoughts faded into nothing. He pulled out of there immediately, why does he feel this way? Questions plagued his mind as he drove back to the prison.

.

He pulled back into the prison and didn’t say a word to anyone, not even to Rick, who’d asked him many questions about the area. He just helped unload his truck and stayed quiet with the small nod a few times. As the sun started to go down over the hills and people started to go inside, Daryl soon followed them. He then walked back into his cell and pulled the thin sheet as a door over the opening.

Daryl put his crossbow down with his stuff. He took his shoes off and threw them next to his boots. Beth found him “nice” sneakers to wear. He only wore them because it made her happy. He took off his vets and threw it on the top bunk

He laid down on the bottom bunk. He was on his back trying to sleep, but he just kept thinking about you. He knew it was a bad idea to think about you this much, but he couldn’t control himself anymore like he used to. You were talkative and almost happy, even though you were dead. 

He has so many questions. Why’d you look freshly dead? Why’d you chew gum? If you bite him, will he turn? Can he even get these answered? Probably not, he’d probably not even go back. A broken promise he gave you based on impulse.

He wasn’t like this. He didn’t let himself be like this, he wasn’t weak. Yet, he was thinking about you. He just wanted to see you, but he won’t let himself. He’s not going to let himself. But then again, what if you didn’t like him?

He switched onto his side and buried the side of his head into his pillow. He groaned, he wasn’t going to sleep with his thoughts racing like this. Why was he so obsessed with you? You weren’t anything other than another traveler he met, a very interesting undead traveler he met. He needed to let it go. 

If he just doesn’t go near the houses, he’d be fine!

.

Unfortunately, Rick wanted to go to the houses to raid them. They needed more food and supplies. He was planning everything out for a few days. He told Daryl to lead the car and truck on his motorcycle. 

He led them there but was far ahead. You were out killing walkers and humming. You turned and saw Daryl, you dropped your knife and ran up to his bike. “Hey! You’re back!” You said joyfully. Daryl looked worried.

“My group, they’re gonna be here soon. Ya gotta hide…” he said. You looked confused, as if you didn’t understand that his group could hurt you. He turned over to the car and truck coming in and shoved you in the pile. He killed a walker and put it on top of you. 

You started to breathe heavily. You started to get scared. It reminded you of your death, but Daryl put you here. And you trusted him. He’s the only thing or person that hasn’t tried to kill you.

Daryl said he’d raid your home, as he did half of it already. The rest of the group went into other houses. He waited till they were out of sight and he picked you up from the ground and walked into the house.

“I said hide, girl.” He shoved you on the couch. And sighed. He picked up a few things and shoved them into his bag. One of two lighters, a water bottle, a few canned foods, and a knife. He then sat down next to you. “Won’t take it all from here...” he mumbles looking anywhere but at you.

You just grabbed some gum and chewed on it. Not paying much mind to him. 

“So. Your group. How come I can’t meet them?” You asked like it was urgent, like somehow you needed to meet them right now. 

He mumbled a little to himself before answering, “I don’t know how they’ll react to ya,” he paused and looked at your eyes, yellow and bloodshot, “hell I still don’t really know what to think…” He said with a grunt. You giggled, giggled at him.

He looked confused by it. “I’m a walker, who would know what to think?” You explained. He smiled a little and nodded his head. He guessed he understood that, who would react well? 

You got up and walked up stairs, you came back down with a bag. “Here. My old bag of supplies before I turned, enjoy your raid of my neighborhood stranger.” She smiled and he noticed that you weren’t chewing gum anymore, why?

He looked down and opened the bag, it was full of food and maps. It had a few knives too. He looked up thank you but you were gone, just like that. He missed his chance to talk to you. He just sat there, what was he meant to do? Go look for you? He had a job, raid this place.

He got up and looked through the house a little more, he found some things others could use. He guessed you didn’t use soap or cleaning things, you were dead. He had your bag and another full one of needs and others of wants. Beth and Carl requested things since they are still too young for runs.

He walked back outside and put the stuff in the truck. Rick and Michonne got done with theirs and walked over, same with Maggie and Glenn. A few new guys as well, but Daryl didn’t care to know their names. He should really learn your name.

Also, you weren’t as talkative as last time… why?

.

The next time Daryl went on a hunt he stopped by that neighborhood, you were nowhere to be found. You just disappeared into thin air. At a blink of an eye you were gone when he saw you last and you never showed up again. What happened? Did you not like him? Lots of why’s with you.

He looked up and down the neighborhood, but it was no use. He didn’t want to give up. You were so; no. He needed to stop, he couldn’t let himself get this close to you. It almost felt like… love.

What if you were dead? 

That thought hit him when he sat on his bike. Dead. No? You? But it was completely reasonable. You were half walker, you almost blended right in. You could’ve easily been killed by someone. What if it was someone in his group? What if his family killed you? 

No. They aren’t his family and you are nothing to him. You talk together only a few times, yet it felt like he knew you longer. 

He got on his bike and headed back on the open road. He was going to the prison again, he got a few rabbits that would be fine for now. 

The breeze was cold, a nice contrast to the hot sun that beat his pale skin to a tan. He always loved taking these bike rides. They were peaceful, especially when he was stressing about stupid things. No more of that, but there was something he the road

He pressed the brakes, hard. You stood in the middle of the road, scared. He got off his bike and ran to you. The whole, not stressing about things always lasts him two seconds.!“Are you okay?” He said, you hugged him.

“Hey stranger..” You just sobbed into his neck. His beautiful, fleshy, biteable neck. You pushed him away. He was confused, why? Did you really not like him? Is what he feared right?

“I’m going to bite you… I want to bite you… I keep wanting to bite people… I’m freaking out! Gum doesn’t help anymore!”

Daryl grabbed your hand. “Then let’s find some asshole to cure that hunger.” You looked at him like he was crazy. Hell, he knew the plan was crazy, but losing you was crazier. He couldn’t lose you, he loved you. Goddamn it, he fell fast and hard, but he loved you. He really did.

You pulled your hand away from his. He wanted to run and hug you, make you stop running from this, he can handle a bite. “It doesn't work like that! I just got hungrier..” You mumble, you tried it already. It didn’t work. He grabbed your hand.

“I’ll find a way. I need you…” he mumbled that last part but it made your heart break. It happened in three swift moves. He kissed you, you bite his lip, you pull back. It was all so fast that you nor Daryl had time to realize what happened. What you both did. A kiss and a bite.

“Stranger-“ 

“Daryl.”

“Daryl… I, you’ll turn…” You mumble, you’d be crying if your tear ducts worked. Goddamn it, he had a family, you were going to kill him. He nodded and laid his head on yours. “And I’ll be yours…” he mumbles. He knows he’ll miss his family, it’s why he sheds a tear, but he wants to be with you. Maybe you’ll both be half dead. Maybe you’ll find a way to live. Maybe his family will accept you guys.

Daryl Dixon was a man of love. Fast, messy, sweet, heartbreaking love. He’d give the world, he’d give himself, for the one he loved. Over and over and over again. He was a lover, because he allowed himself to fall in love. He was all the things he thought he wasn’t, because he was a liar. But he would no longer be a liar, because he knew he was these things. He was just Daryl Dixon. A very half-dead and in love Daryl Dixon.

[the-artist-grimm]

Brainworm won't leave me, about angst of your Narilamb but on the other side of the coin.

So Imma just write about it even if I should be sleeping right now. Do what you wish.

Fate is irreversible. The Lamb would die a sacrifice, even the God of Death couldn't prevent it. Sure they had delayed it; allowed the Lamb to show the Bishop of Old that their fate was already written. But with it done, there's nothing stopping fate to strike once more.

The Lamb could feel it in the air, in the bones. Perhaps the crown had allowed them to feel the presence of an end. And theirs was soon to arrive.

Perhaps Narinder still had hope, that their weapon could return after their sacrifice. That the Lamb could be kept by his side and that of his kits. Yet the Lamb knew better than to rely on only hope.

The Lamb's heart was full, of love for who is now considered family to them. For Narinder, Aym and Baal. And for them, The Lamb would do it. Sacrificing their life for their freedom. For the kits to finally see the world the Lamb has told them so much about. For Narinder to feel the rain against their fur once more.

With a resolve of steel, the Lamb is ready, in an outfit they've carefully curated for their last moment. Perhaps it is full of old memories; inspired by any remaining traditions of the sheepfolk who will soon vanish with the Lamb. Maybe something akin to marriage; as they have accepted that they would never see the day of their own and that the freedom of their loves should be the happiest day of their life.

With a sad smile, the Lamb dedicate their death to the three person who fills their heart with love. Ripping it from their chest and crushing it; letting the large amount of devotion they had for their God, and the Red Crown, float back to its rightful owner. The Lamb swore they heard the screams of Aym and Baal, calling for the first time their Baba. They could feel a pang tug and their heart, even if no longer in their chest; never knowing before how much they longed for the both of them to see the Lamb like a parent.

Their weapon discarded, both kits rushed to the Lamb's side, begging, pleading for them to not leave; grasping at the Lamb's ever colder body.

Maybe in a moment of clarity, The One Who Waits sheds their gargantuan form for that of a more reasonable one. They are silent, whirlwind of thoughts and emotions flying through their head yet they chose to ignore most; going straight for the Lamb. Tears already flowing unbeknownst to him. Maybe they were the Crown's.

It's kinda funny, the Lamb never thought they would had been able to hold Narinder in their arms fully; yet even in this form he is as beautiful as the day they first met him. The Lamb smile softly at him, barely hearing him talk about promises to bring them back, cursing himself for his greed and his stubbornness, that he shouldn't had ignored his feelings when really the only thing he now desired was fading infront of him.

Maybe, just maybe, the Lamb can reach for a goodbye kiss. Not the one they had dreamed of, but it was their last chance before vanishing into the same ashes that covers the entirety of Narinder's realm; leaving now three black cat free, yet so cold and alone.

THIS IS AMAZING WHAT THE HECK. ALSO HOW ARE YOU IN MY HEAD (adding the angst art first in case people don't wanna read my lore dump lol)

Like Anthea WOULD have died had Narinder not let slip just how much he cared about them. He didn’t confess his love-he wasn't ready to do so just yet, but upon seeing the lamb break down in the ruins of their home village shortly before they'd started on Silk Cradle, seeing them finally let all the years of grief and anger and guilt take over and swear that no matter what they’d get him and the kits out-that while they couldn’t save their family they would save his even if that meant their death, in the ‘good’ ending sort of speak (which yeah has the betrayal but it leads both to grow and eventually be happy again), he tells them no-that freedom isn’t worth it without the lamb leaving the gateway alongside the twins and himself. He would not accept any outcome that didn't have them by his side.

Having spent their whole life giving up things for others, Narinder essentially saying he’d give up his freedom, the thing he wanted most, for them was what made the lamb want to try and have a future. Because here was someone who wanted Anthea by his side because he cared for them, and they realized they wanted that too. It's why in the good end Anthea starts weaving a courtship sash for Narinder, because while they didn't bet on his feelings being romantic, that admission was what made them realize they'd long fallen in love, and it was the one thing they could do to show just how much those words meant to them. A promise in return to be by his side as well in whatever way he'd have them. A promise to live.

Had Narinder held his tongue and not given into the impulse to say ‘no’, or had he instead told the lamb that their fate was to die, then Anthea would have laid their life down one last time. They might've realized they'd fallen in love sometime before that, but the desire to see their beloved and their children free would've outweigh the desire to be 'selfish' and want to be free with them.

5 chains bound the god they’d grown to love, and though 4 were linked to his siblings the 5th metaphysical one could only be unlocked by the sacrifice of a devout heart. It had been Shamura’s final failsafe. They knew that Narinder may be able to kill the bishops in his rage, but had counted on him never finding someone willing to sacrifice themselves like that.

But the main theme of Crimson Angel is expressing your feelings, and in the bad end, neither Anthea or Narinder learn to do so. Narinder keeps his love close to his chest, while Anthea loves the one way they know how-through sacrifice.

So yeah thank you for the fic and I shall now add it to the little metaphorical trinket box of ‘fanart/gifts to look at in awe'