#maybe she is cold harbor!

[stargirl-and-potts]

Gemma was so soft and bright and warm and full of life in all the photos of her, but Miss Casey’s half-frozen. Her expression barely changes. It’s not the hapless earnestness of the other innies. Her eyes are shadowed always. Is because she works alone, never with friends? She can only ever sit with a stranger, reading a list, which must not evoke too strong an emotion. Or is it because of what happens when she’s buried down in Testing?

What are they Testing on her?

[herrmit]

most ridiculous takes i've seen thus far have been the "ohhhh mark doesn't deserrrveee gemma so its actually a good thing that he walked away" type shit. 😐 its like. hey you care about this character? you care about her agency in the narrative? you care about her happiness? then maybe its time to fucking listen to her when she says she wants her husband back!!!!!! she wants her dead wife!!!!! some of y'all acting like gemma is a plot device that mark does or does not get to have when she is a fully fleshed-out character in her own right! a character who has routinely expressed a desire to a) get out of hell, b) take back the life she was ripped away from, and c) be with her husband!! desires she just so happens to share with outie mark! and its messy of course it's messy this show is messy and thats the point. but some people are all-too-eager to ignore the established character she is in favour of what they wish she was. take the loose thread of "mark dead wife" that doesn't fit into the desired narrative and tie it all off into a neat bow....... absurd.

[lumons]

kind of toying around with the theory that mdr is sorting out their own experiences and memories to create the rooms that gemma is going into. gemma’s rooms happen to be personal in some ways to her (the thank you cards) because mark is the one refining for her rooms. 

when mark asks about the ashes, reghabi tells him that lumon is connected with the coroners and medical examiners and we already know lumon has such a deep place within society given that they hosted the blood drive where mark and gemma met, they owned the clinic where they went for fertility care, and there’s the government official with his severed wife and the baby camp. lumon is everywhere and they’re always listening and they’re always trying to pull the strings. it’s possible that when gemma got into her accident, lumon saved her and part of this was healing her and treating her until she was fully better until they could turn around and say actually you’re not fully better yet and we need to run tests on you. lumon is in a position of power as the rescuers and saviors of her life to convince her and keep her in this place as a condition and price of her life saving treatment. 

and gemma’s probably far from the only one that lumon has done this to. they’re probably getting more test subjects through these horrific accidents and near death experiences and just repeating this research with them. when mark is first shown petey’s map one area notably is the people who live there/never leave. this sort of tells us that gemma is far from the only one and also why would she be the only one when there’s also the work of helly, irving, and dylan to consider, and of course all the other mdr departments out there in other lumon offices. 

this theory would help explain the work the other refiners are doing and make the explanation of what lumon is up to less centered specifically mark and gemma, and instead make mark and gemma just a tragic coincidence of this whole controlling corporate giant.

as to what they’re doing this for i think there’s so many possibilities but i have to assume, as is the name, mthat they’re refining the severance chips and working towards making them better and possibly commercializing them to offer people an escape from various life experiences that might be distressing or unwanted and they need the various experience of humans to do that and therefore the mdr teams are just sorting their different fears and joys and other emotions to essentially test gemma and the others like her with 

[ethos-labrador]

u know i thought the color was interesting this episode.

innie mark washed in warm yellow as he talks via camera. outie mark washed in cool blue as he responds. those are the opposites of the usual color compositions of their enviornments

mark and helly discuss what to do about gemma, and both their faces are split by the lighting, half blue, half yellow. because helly acknowledges that she and her outie are the same.* and mark agrees to work together with his.

helly's wearing green, a color i'm pretty sure i've never seen her wear at all? she was in yellow a lot, at the end of season one, as she focused less on self destruction and more on self preservation and teamwork, before helena came back in season two.

you know, green. which is what u get when you mix yellow and blue

[comradecowplant]

*** weewoo weewoo, Severance rant incoming, avoid or gather 'round depending on your preference, weewoo weewoo***

oofda Severance went from what's gotta be the best episode in the series-- visually, emotionally, character drive, general plot development, etc.-- to probably the weakest. Dgmw, I absolutely adore Patricia Arquette's performance as this sad off-putting woman and was eager for a Cobel check-in, but back-to-back bottleneck episodes leading up the finale was a TERRIBLE pacing choice, just completely missing the mark in a season that has already been plagued with pacing issues-- I'm lookin' at you, beloved by many but meh to me bc I have never been a melly shipper & thought it was a frustrating cut-away from the previous episode's dramatic final moment, Woe's Hollow-- & did not really provide much new information/plot momentum to make up for it-- yeah yeah Cobel lifelong Kier cultist, child labor & mommy issues, groomed & exploited scientific prowess, Lumon ruining anachronistic ether-huffing towns economically & spiritually; didn't really dig deeper or meaningfully build on anything we already know of in a away that needed to be a full break-away episode for, imo. Coulda & shoulda been the b-plot to a Milchick's continued spirit breaking/background to Ms. Huang (which would have very much thematically tied together to each!) -focused episode. And considering how short the episode is compared to the rest, I kind of suspect it might have began production that way but it was changed for some reason further along, but that's purely vibes based speculation.

These pacing issues paired with the knowledge that there are only nine episodes a season in this silly era of television, I am increasingly nervous about the finale, particularly considering ms dipshit mama bear super sibling withOUT a background in neuroscience who thinks she knows better than the scientist who was already digging around inside his noggin Devon followed through and reached Cobel 🤦‍♂️ like, clearly there are cracks in Cobel's Kier worship/Lumon militancy-- I think she has an ego that 1) cannot forgive how tossed away she was, especially with the newest detail of her being the overlooked inventor of the severance technology, & 2) despite the indoctrination, she has enough self-preservation to bridge the cognitive dissonance that rationalizes Lumon's abuses now that it's HER that might get locked away in the mind wipe torture basement-- but you're watching a different show in a different universe if you think we've gotten any evidence to strongly indicate that she is actually trustworthy. As the inventor of the chip she could be the perfect person to help Mark with the final reintegration steps... or, as I suspect will be more along the lines of what will happen, she could activate any of the other "modes" that have so far been only eluded to/cause further brain damage/betray mark & ragbhari to leverage herself into a better position with lumon/whatever will benefit her in her quest for... well, besides survival & credit for her invention, I really can't say for sure what her motivations currently are, but legitimate compassion & concern for Mark/the innies certainly are not among them.

Idk, just overall I think this season has put its hands in too many plot pies, especially now that the other outies have been given more character development time, a choice I've liked overall but that has not been 😏 integrated 😏 well with the rest of the story, largely because (forgive my repeating myself) of the pacing/9 episode limit-- we've gotten the central Mark reintegration plot, then we have melly romance b-plot, dylan emotional affair with his own wife c-plot, outie irv + his relationship to the testing floor & whatever the fuck is going on with burt/his husband d & e-plot, milchick being racially micro-aggressed f-plot, ms huang & the spectre of child labor g-plot, nasty lady helena eagan & her sinister side swept blunt bang h-plot, whatever cobel's deal is i-plot, the general overarching What Evil Mysterious Schemes is Lumon Up To j to whatever plot, and finally, the most pressing plot point to me that has been frustratingly shelved until episode 7, What's Happening to Gemma plot. I don't expect nor want wrapped packages with bows, but satisfying narratives involve give and take, and I simply don't have much confidence in the real estate provided by the 49 remaining minutes of the season that we'll get much of anywhere (except mad over what bad things are likely about to happen to Gemma, that is one thing I have begrudging confidence in 😔)

[enterstellars]

the difference between my friend and i watching severance is that she wanted me to catch up so we could talk theories with the show and the Next Big Reveal. meanwhile i wanted to stop the show at one point bc how fucked up the whole thing is and worshipping your ceo as god and doing literally whatever to please him and the company and not caring about what happens in your wake and now there’s child labor. oh also we haven’t even touched the bodily autonomy part of it which is 16 layers deep. like. fuck dude. and especially in today’s world we’re putting out art like this? showing how companies view workers and what they’ll go to just to make their their overlords are happy???

but yeah let’s talk severance theories.

[sageshouldknowbetter]

Some may be apprehensive that Severance won’t portray Mark’s interaction with Helena in the tent as the sexual assault it was. But not only will they — they already are.

Mark’s behavior toward Helly has completely changed. He doesn’t sit next to her at Irving’s funeral. He shuts down attempts at conversation with offhand, vague snarky comments and a defiantly blank facial expression. When Helly knocks on the door to the bathroom, his eyes dart around like an animal cornered. Where he once would have slowed down for her in the hallway so they could talk, he walks much faster ahead. He’s trying as hard as possible to avoid her. To ignore her. To run away.

Now contrast this with his treatment of “Helly” when she first walked out of the elevator in season two. He waited for her to arrive! He was so relieved she’d come back! And when they were walking down that hallway and he was explaining the situation with Ms. Casey, he stopped mid-stride, turned to her with a smile on his face, and said “Look, Helly—“

He never got to finish that sentence. But some say he was going to confess that though his outie had a wife, his affections lay with her. And I think they’re right.

So why is he acting so differently now? The answer is obvious: “Because they are smarter than us, okay? They know everything.”

After the assault, Mark likely feels like a complete idiot. He spent so much of season one deconstructing his beliefs and breaking free from Lumon’s propaganda. And the minute he believes he’s immune to their lies and no longer a corporate slave, he is taken advantage of and hoodwinked by the very figurehead of said company, masking as someone he loves.

A symbol of Lumon convinced him he was safe. Tricked him. Invaded him in the most intimate way possible, with him completely oblivious, “like an idiot.” Right when he thought everything might be okay.

So maybe Lumon’s right. Maybe there’s no point in fighting. Because if he was stupid enough to not realize his own friend was being possessed by her billionaire doppelgänger, then maybe Lumon is correct about innies being nothing more than pawns. Maybe they are people, and he really is… not. (That’s how Helena treated him, anyway.)

And if that’s the case, of course he wants to give up looking for Ms. Casey and lose himself in work! For a moment he thought he was a human being, deserving of autonomy over his own body and capable of something more than sitting behind a desk — but his assault sends that all crashing down. He is an extension of his outie, made for work and nothing more. Going beyond that gets dangerous. That’s what got Irving killed… and him in Helena’s tent. And Helly? He cannot trust Helly. As far as he knows, his only confirmed moment with Helly since the OTC was when he was holding her in his arms, his jacket wrapped around her shoulders. Why should it be Helly coming back to the severed floor? If Helena could trick him before, who says she can’t learn from her past mistakes and trick him again over and over? Mark refuses to be humiliated and hurt after last time, so he avoids her (and Dylan!) and puts up a barrier of cool, snarky indifference — just like how he deals with grief.

But we know that indifference is a mask. When Milchick walked out of the elevator after revealing he knew about him and Helena Eagan, Mark had no one to pretend for — and he went completely stiff, blankly wide-eyed in an expression extremely reminiscent of his usual innie self. Whatever the reasons for this, one thing’s for sure: Mark does deeply care about what happened in the tent. And at least for now, he will lose himself in Cold Harbor to cope with it.

Lumon certainly got their productive worker back. But good Lord… at what cost?

[cinnimanqq]

BEYOND THE ICE — [ 박성훈 ]

Synopsis : Popular hockey captain Sunghoon, known for his cold demeanor, harbors a secret crush on quiet Y/n. His emotionless confession leads her to believe it's a cruel joke, leaving him to melt the ice around his heart and prove his sincerity.

Paring : popular!sunghoon x quiet!reader genre : fluff, maybe angst, popular x quiet, love triangle (ig), school au warnings ; rejection, jaehyun is an oc, jaehyun is so cocky, let y/n breathe, written in third person pov (idk), sunghoon just wants to win a girls heart, they kiss at the end, sunghoon j doesn’t know how to express himself 😞, lowk down bad sunghoon, lmk if I missed anything word count : 6.7k

You were the type of person who blended into the background, content with observing the world around you rather than being the center of attention. Your long hair often fell in front of your face, hiding your features from prying eyes. You liked it that way, enjoying the anonymity that came with being a quiet, unassuming student.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was the exact opposite. As the captain of the hockey team, he was used to being in the spotlight, with everyone's eyes on him. His chiseled features and piercing gaze made him a magnet for attention, and he knew it. But despite his popularity, he had always been drawn to you, with your shy smile and introverted nature.

There was something about the way you carried yourself, with a quiet confidence that didn't need to be loudly proclaimed, that fascinated Sunghoon. He found himself watching you from afar, studying your every move, and wondering what made you tick.

As he observed you, Sunghoon began to notice the little things about you that made his heart skip a beat. The way you bit your lip when you were concentrating, the way your eyes sparkled when you laughed, and the way your hair fell in soft waves down your back. He was captivated by your understated beauty, and he couldn't help but feel drawn to you in a way that he had never experienced before.

But despite his growing feelings for you, Sunghoon was hesitant to make a move. He was afraid of scaring you off, of being too intense or overwhelming. So he continued to watch you from afar, hoping that someday he would find the courage to approach you and reveal his true feelings.

**THE FIRST TIME HE SAW YOU** was during a game, you sat by the front row with your friend beside you.

As the game began, you settled into your seat, your eyes fixed on the screen of your phone. You were engrossed in a conversation with your best friend, who was living abroad for a while. You had been friends since childhood, and despite the distance between you, you remained close. Your friend had been keeping you updated on his life, and you were eager to hear more about his adventures.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon was on the ice, his skates gliding smoothly as he expertly maneuvered the puck. He was a natural athlete, and his passion for hockey was evident in the way he played. As he scanned the crowd, his eyes landed on you, and he felt a sudden jolt of curiosity.

You were sitting in the front row, your friend chattering excitedly beside you. But unlike everyone else around you, you seemed completely uninterested in the game. Your eyes were fixed on your phone, your brow furrowed in concentration. Sunghoon found himself intrigued by your indifference. Who was this girl, and why was she so oblivious to the excitement of the game?

As the game continued, Sunghoon found himself stealing glances at you. He noticed the way your hair fell in soft waves down your back, the way your eyes sparkled as you laughed at something on your phone. He even caught himself pointing out your features to himself, like a checklist of all the things he found attractive about you.

But it wasn't until you looked up and caught his eye that Sunghoon felt his heart truly skip a beat. Your gaze met his, and for a moment, time seemed to freeze. Sunghoon felt like he was drowning in the depths of your eyes, unable to look away.

It was a fleeting moment, but it left a lasting impression on Sunghoon. He couldn't shake the feeling that he had just experienced something significant, something that would stay with him for a long time. As the game continued, Sunghoon found himself distracted, his mind wandering back to the girl with the captivating eyes.

For the first time in his life, Sunghoon felt like he was at a loss for words. He didn't know how to process the emotions that were swirling inside him. All he knew was that he wanted to see you again, to learn more about you and understand what it was about you that had captured his attention so completely.

As the game came to an end and the team celebrated their victory, Sunghoon's eyes wandered over to where you and your friend were sitting. He noticed one of his teammates, a charming smile spreading across his face, making his way over to your side.

"Did he know you?" Sunghoon wondered, his curiosity piqued.

His teammate gave you a wave and a smile, which you acknowledged with a nod and a smile back. But it was clear that his teammate's attention was focused on your friend, who was now blushing furiously as they chatted.

"Ah, maybe he had something with your friend," Sunghoon thought to himself, observing the way his teammate was laughing and teasing your friend.

After a few minutes of conversation, his teammate bid your friend farewell and headed back to the gym to shower and change. Sunghoon watched him go, and then his eyes drifted back to you.

He thought to himself, "This is my chance to ask about her."

Sunghoon pulled out his phone and dialed his teammate's number, waiting for him to answer. When he did, Sunghoon got straight to the point.

"Hey, umm, you know the girl beside the girl you were talking to?" Sunghoon asked, trying to sound casual.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and then his teammate burst out laughing. "Hey, were you stalking me?" he joked.

Sunghoon's face grew hot with embarrassment. "I-no. But do you know her?" he asked, trying to brush off his teammate's teasing.

His teammate chuckled. "Yeah, I know her. She's my girlfriend's friend. Her name is Y/N."

Sunghoon's heart skipped a beat as he heard your name. He felt a surge of excitement and curiosity, wanting to know more about you.

His teammate, however, was not done teasing him yet. "So, Sunghoon, I didn't know you were interested in someone," he said, his voice dripping with amusement.

Sunghoon shook his head, feeling a little defensive. "I'm not interested in her," he lied, trying to downplay his teammate's suspicions.

But his teammate just laughed. "Save it, Sunghoon. I've seen the way you were looking at her. You're totally into her."

Sunghoon sighed, realizing that he wasn't fooling anyone. He decided to change the subject, asking his teammate about the game instead.

But even as he chatted with his teammate, Sunghoon's mind kept wandering back to you. He couldn't help but wonder what you were like, what your interests were, and what made you tick.

And as he hung up the phone with his teammate, Sunghoon couldn't shake off the feeling that his life was about to change in ways he never expected.

—

As Sunghoon walked into school, his AirPods firmly in place, he felt a sense of calm wash over him. He had his hands tucked into his pockets, his sling bag slung casually across his chest, and his gaze directed forward. He was lost in his own world, the music in his ears blocking out the hustle and bustle of the school hallway.

But then, suddenly, he felt a presence beside him. He turned to see you walking alongside him, your eyes cast downward as you navigated the crowded hallway. Sunghoon's heart skipped a beat as he tried to process what was happening. You, the girl he had been thinking about nonstop since the game, was now walking right beside him.

Sunghoon tried to act nonchalant, to pretend like your presence wasn't making his heart beat like crazy. He kept his expression neutral, his eyes fixed on some point ahead. But inside, he was a mess. His mind was racing with questions - What was your name again? Y/N, right? What were you doing walking beside him? Did you even know who he was?

As you continued to walk beside him, Sunghoon couldn't help but steal glances at you. He noticed the way your hair fell in soft waves down your back, the way your eyes sparkled when you looked up at something. He felt a pang of attraction, of curiosity, and he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to get to know you better.

As you walked beside him in silence, Sunghoon's nerves began to get the better of him. He couldn't help but feel like he was under a microscope, with you scrutinizing his every move. He glanced over at you, trying to gauge your reaction, but you avoided eye contact.

A faint blush rose to your cheeks, and your eyebrows furrowed slightly, as if you were deep in thought. Sunghoon's heart skipped a beat as he wondered what was going through your mind.

The silence between them stretched out, thick with unspoken feelings. Sunghoon felt like he was drowning in the tension, unsure of how to break the surface.

Just as he was starting to feel like he couldn't take it anymore, a group of his hockey teammates approached, teasing him about his "new girlfriend". Sunghoon's face grew hot with embarrassment as you quickly moved away, disappearing into the crowd.

Sunghoon was left standing there, feeling frustrated and embarrassed. He realized that he needed to find a way to talk to you privately, without the distraction of his teammates or the pressure of a public setting. He was determined to get to know you better, to find out what made you tick.

As Sunghoon walked into the classroom, his eyes scanned the room, searching for a familiar face. And then, he saw you. You were sitting near the window, your hair lit up by the soft glow of the sunlight. Sunghoon's heart skipped a beat as he felt a rush of excitement.

He made his way to his seat, trying to appear nonchalant despite the turmoil brewing inside him. As he sat down, he couldn't help but steal glances at you. You were engrossed in your notes, oblivious to the fact that Sunghoon was watching you.

Sunghoon wanted to talk to you, to get to know you better. But every time he opened his mouth to speak, his nerves got the better of him. He overthought everything, worried about how he would come across. Would you think he was weird? Would you laugh at him?

As the class went on, Sunghoon found himself caught up in a cycle of hesitation. He'd start to say something, then stop himself, worried about how you'd react. The moments ticked by, each one filled with tension and unspoken words.

Sunghoon's internal struggle was palpable. He was torn between his desire to connect with you and his fear of rejection. As the class drew to a close, Sunghoon felt a pang of disappointment. He had blown it again, letting his nerves get the better of him.

But as he packed up his things, Sunghoon caught your eye. For a brief moment, you looked at him, your expression unreadable. Sunghoon's heart skipped a beat as he wondered what you were thinking.

Was it possible that you had noticed him, that you had sensed the tension between them? Sunghoon's mind was racing with questions, each one leading to more uncertainty.

As you stood up to leave, Sunghoon felt a surge of determination. He wasn't going to let his nerves get the better of him again. He was going to find a way to talk to you, to connect with you on a deeper level.

But for now, Sunghoon could only watch as you walked out of the classroom, leaving him with more questions than answers.

As the classroom emptied, Sunghoon finally worked up the courage to approach you. He took a deep breath, steadying his nerves, and made his way over to where you were packing up your things.

He opened his mouth to speak, but just as he was about to say something, a group of your friends surrounded you, chatting excitedly about their plans for the weekend. You got swept away in their conversation, laughing and joking with them.

Sunghoon, feeling defeated, watched as you were pulled further and further away from him. He stood there, frozen in place, his words dying on his lips. He couldn't believe it. He had finally worked up the courage to talk to you, and now you were gone.

As he watched you disappear into the crowd, Sunghoon felt a pang of frustration. Why did this keep happening? Why couldn't he just have one chance to talk to you without something getting in the way?

He shook his head, chuckling wryly to himself. It seemed like the universe was conspiring against him, determined to keep him from connecting with you.

As he walked out of the classroom, Sunghoon couldn't help but wonder what he had to do to get your attention. Was it even possible, or was he just destined to admire you from afar?

The uncertainty swirled in his mind, leaving him feeling restless and unsatisfied. Sunghoon knew he couldn't give up, not yet. He was determined to find a way to connect with you, no matter what it took.

As the school day drew to a close, Sunghoon found himself wandering the empty hallways, searching for a glimpse of you. He had been thinking about you nonstop since their last encounter, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he needed to talk to you.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Sunghoon spotted you sitting alone on a bench, lost in thought. His heart skipped a beat as he approached you, his mind racing with possibilities.

Without thinking, Sunghoon opened his mouth and spoke, his words tumbling out in a rush. "I like you," he said, his voice flat and emotionless.

You looked up at him, startled, and Sunghoon's heart sank. He realized too late that his confession had come across as completely insincere.

You stared at him, an offended look on your face. "Don't play with me right now, I know it's a dare," you said, your voice dripping with annoyance.

Sunghoon's face remained expressionless, but inside, he was dying. He had never meant for his confession to come across as a joke.

But before he could explain, you stood up and angrily walked away, leaving Sunghoon standing there, feeling like a complete idiot.

As he watched you disappear around the corner, Sunghoon couldn't help but wonder what he had just done. Had he really just blown his chance with you?

He stood there for a moment, frozen in shock, before finally coming to his senses. He needed to fix this, and fast.

With newfound determination, Sunghoon set off after you, determined to explain himself and prove that his feelings were genuine. But as he turned the corner, he realized that you were nowhere to be found.

Sunghoon's heart sank, and he couldn't help but wonder if he had lost his chance with you forever.

Sunghoon stood there, frozen in place, as he replayed the confession in his head. He couldn't believe how it had gone down. He had meant to be sincere, to express his true feelings, but now he realized how it must have sounded. Cold. Detached. Insincere.

He couldn't help but wonder if it was something about him, something fundamentally flawed. Was he just not capable of expressing emotions? Was he too guarded, too closed off?

As he stood there, lost in thought, Sunghoon's mind began to wander to all the times he had struggled to connect with others. He thought about how his teammates often teased him about being "ice cold" on the ice, how he never seemed to get ruffled or emotional, no matter what was happening.

But was that really a strength, or was it a weakness? Was he missing out on connections, on relationships, because he couldn't express himself?

Sunghoon's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of his teammate, Jaehwan, approaching him. "Hey, man, what's going on?" Jaehwan asked, eyeing Sunghoon's expression.

Sunghoon hesitated, unsure of how to explain what had just happened. But Jaehwan's blunt honesty was just what he needed. "I just confessed to someone," Sunghoon admitted, feeling a little vulnerable.

Jaehwan's eyebrows shot up. "No way! How'd it go?"

Sunghoon shook his head. "Not great. I think I came across as really cold."

Jaehwan nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, that's kinda your thing, isn't it? Being all stoic and emotionless?"

Sunghoon felt a twinge of defensiveness, but Jaehwan's words struck a chord. Maybe he did need to work on expressing himself, on being more open and vulnerable.

Jaehwan clapped him on the back. "Don't worry, man. Just be yourself. And if that means being a little awkward, so be it. At least you'll be genuine."

Sunghoon nodded, feeling a sense of determination. He was going to try again, to find a way to express himself that felt true to who he was. And maybe, just maybe, he'd get a second chance with you.

The next day, Sunghoon arrived at school determined to fix things. He had spent hours thinking about how to approach you, and he had come up with a plan. He would bring you a small gift, something to show you that he was genuinely interested in getting to know you.

As he walked into the classroom, he spotted you sitting at your desk, looking lovely in a yellow sundress. Sunghoon's heart skipped a beat as he made his way over to you, a cup of coffee in hand.

"Hey," he said, trying to sound casual. "I brought you a coffee. I thought you might like it."

You looked up at him, your eyes narrowing slightly. "What's this for?" you asked, your tone skeptical.

Sunghoon hesitated, unsure of how to respond. He didn't want to come across as insincere, but he also didn't want to scare you off. "I just thought it would be nice," he said finally, feeling a little awkward.

You raised an eyebrow. "Nice?" you repeated. "You think bringing me a coffee is going to make everything okay?"

Sunghoon felt a twinge of frustration. Why wasn't this working? He was trying to be genuine, to show you that he was interested in you. But everything he did seemed to be misinterpreted.

"I'm just trying to be friendly," he said, feeling a little defensive.

You looked at him, your expression unreadable. "Save it," you said finally, turning back to your book.

Sunghoon felt a pang of disappointment. He had been so sure that this would work, that you would see how genuine he was being. But now, he just felt like he had made things worse.

As he walked away, feeling defeated, Sunghoon couldn't help but wonder what he was doing wrong. Was he just not cut out for this whole romance thing? Or was there something more going on, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on?

As Sunghoon walked away from you, feeling defeated, he couldn't help but notice a figure watching him from across the room. It was Jaehyun, a charming and outgoing student who was known for his confidence and charisma.

Jaehyun had been watching Sunghoon's interactions with you with great interest. He had been harboring a crush on you for a while now, and he saw Sunghoon's failure as the perfect opportunity to make his move.

With a sly smile spreading across his face, Jaehyun began to make his way over to you. Sunghoon, oblivious to the impending threat, continued to sulk in the corner, feeling sorry for himself.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, was radiating confidence. He strode up to you, his eyes locked on yours, and flashed a dazzling smile. "Hey, Y/n," he said, his voice warm and friendly. "How's it going?"

You looked up at him, slightly startled by his sudden approach, but Jaehyun's charm quickly put you at ease. He started asking you questions about your interests, listening intently to your responses, and making witty remarks that left you giggling.

Sunghoon, who had been watching the scene unfold from afar, felt a growing sense of unease. He realized, too late, that Jaehyun was making a move on you, and he was doing it with ease.

Jaehyun was everything Sunghoon wasn't – expressive, warm, and confident. He was the kind of guy who could effortlessly charm the pants off anyone, and Sunghoon couldn't help but feel intimidated.

As the days went by, Jaehyun continued to pursue you with relentless enthusiasm. He would show up at your favorite coffee shop, "accidentally" bumping into you, and strike up conversations that left you laughing and smiling.

He would compliment you on your outfits, your hair, and your smile, making you feel like the only person in the world. He would ask you about your hobbies and interests, listening intently to your responses, and finding common ground to bond over.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, was stuck in neutral. He couldn't seem to muster up the courage to approach you again, and even if he did, he knew he couldn't compete with Jaehyun's charm and charisma.

As he watched Jaehyun and you grow closer, Sunghoon felt a growing sense of urgency. He realized that he needed to act fast if he wanted to win your heart, but he had no idea where to start.

Jaehyun, sensing Sunghoon's unease, would occasionally shoot him a smug glance, as if to say, "You had your chance, buddy. Now it's my turn."

Sunghoon's eyes would narrow in response, his mind racing with thoughts of how he could possibly compete with Jaehyun's charm. But for now, he was stuck on the sidelines, watching as Jaehyun effortlessly swept you off your feet.

The question was, would Sunghoon be able to find a way to get back in the game? Only time would tell.

The sight of Jaehyun and you laughing together had ignited a fire within Sunghoon. He couldn't just stand by and watch as Jaehyun effortlessly charmed you. Sunghoon realized that he needed to change, to become a better version of himself.

He started small, forcing himself to smile more often, to make eye contact with people, and to initiate conversations. It felt awkward at first, but Sunghoon was determined to push through the discomfort.

One day, while browsing the school's club listings, Sunghoon stumbled upon the photography club. He remembered that you were a member, and he thought it would be the perfect opportunity to get to know you better.

Sunghoon joined the club, not just to be near you, but to genuinely explore his own interests. He had always been fascinated by photography, and he found that being part of the club helped him to develop a new skill and meet new people.

As he attended more club meetings, Sunghoon found himself growing more confident. He started to initiate conversations with you, asking for your opinion on photography techniques and listening intently to your responses.

One day, while you were working on editing a photo, Sunghoon approached you and asked for your advice. "Hey, Y/n, can I ask you something?" he said, trying to sound casual.

You looked up at him, slightly surprised by his sudden interest in photography. "What's up?" you asked, your tone neutral.

Sunghoon hesitated for a moment before asking his question. "I was wondering if you could help me with this photo. I'm trying to get the lighting just right, but I'm not sure what I'm doing wrong."

You looked at the photo on his screen, your eyes scanning the image. "It looks like you're using the wrong filter," you said, pointing to the screen. "Try using this one instead."

Sunghoon nodded, taking note of your advice. "Thanks, Y/n. I really appreciate it."

As you went back to editing your photo, Sunghoon couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. He had managed to strike up a conversation with you, and you had even smiled at him.

It was a small victory, but it was a start. Sunghoon realized that he still had a long way to go, but he was determined to keep trying.

As he packed up his things to leave, Sunghoon caught your eye and smiled. You looked back at him, a hint of surprise still on your face.

For a moment, Sunghoon thought he saw something else in your eyes, something that looked almost like interest. But it was quickly replaced by your usual wariness.

Sunghoon didn't mind. He knew that he still had a lot to prove, but he was willing to put in the effort.

As he walked out of the club room, Sunghoon felt a sense of hope that he hadn't felt in a long time. Maybe, just maybe, he had a chance to win your heart after all.

Jaehyun, noticing Sunghoon's progress, felt a spark of competitiveness ignite within him. He wasn't about to let Sunghoon steal the spotlight, especially when it came to winning your heart.

One day, as the three of you were walking down the hallway, Jaehyun made a comment that was meant to impress you, but ended up coming across as insensitive. "I'm surprised you're into photography, Y/n," he said, smirking. "I wouldn't have pegged you as the artistic type."

You looked at him, taken aback by his comment. "What's that supposed to mean?" you asked, your tone slightly icy.

Jaehyun, realizing his mistake, tried to backtrack. "No, no, I just meant that you seem more... practical, I guess."

Sunghoon, who had been watching the exchange, stepped in subtly. "I think Y/n's photography is really great," he said, his voice calm and respectful. "She has a good eye for composition and lighting."

You looked at Sunghoon, a hint of surprise and gratitude in your eyes. "Thanks, Sunghoon," you said, smiling slightly.

Jaehyun, on the other hand, looked like he had been put in his place. He muttered something under his breath and walked ahead, leaving Sunghoon and you to follow behind.

As you walked, Sunghoon couldn't help but notice the way you seemed to relax around him, the way you smiled at him when he complimented your photography. It was a small thing, but it gave him hope.

Maybe, just maybe, he was starting to get through to you. And maybe, just maybe, Jaehyun's arrogance would be his own downfall.

As they approached the school courtyard, Sunghoon saw an opportunity to further drive the point home. "Hey, Y/n, want to grab a coffee with me and discuss some photography techniques?" he asked, trying to sound casual.

You looked at him, hesitating for a moment before nodding. "Sure, that sounds great."

Sunghoon smiled, feeling a sense of triumph. He had managed to one-up Jaehyun, and he had done it by being kind and respectful.

As they walked off together, Jaehyun looked on, his eyes narrowing in frustration. He had underestimated Sunghoon, and now he was paying the price.

The game was far from over, but Sunghoon had just gained a significant advantage.

—

Sunghoon sat in the empty classroom, staring blankly at the wall as he struggled to put his thoughts into words. His friend, Jaehwan, sat across from him, listening intently as Sunghoon poured out his heart.

"I just don't get it, Jaehwan," Sunghoon said, frustration etched on his face. "I try so hard to talk to her, to show her how I feel, but it always comes out wrong. I feel like I'm stuck in this never-ending cycle of awkwardness."

Jaehwan nodded sympathetically. "You're being too hard on yourself, Sunghoon. You're not used to expressing your emotions, so it's going to take some time to get it right."

Sunghoon sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I just wish I could be more like Jaehyun. He's always so confident, so charming. I feel like I'm just a pale imitation of him."

Jaehwan's expression turned serious. "Sunghoon, you need to stop comparing yourself to Jaehyun. You're not him, and that's what makes you unique. Y/n doesn't want a carbon copy of Jaehyun; she wants someone who is genuine, someone who is true to themselves."

Sunghoon looked at Jaehwan, a glimmer of understanding in his eyes. Maybe his friend was right. Maybe he didn't need to be like Jaehyun to win Y/n's heart.

Just then, the classroom door swung open, and Y/n walked in, looking for a book she had left behind. Sunghoon's eyes met hers, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.

Y/n's expression softened as she took in Sunghoon's vulnerable state. She walked over to him, her eyes locked on his. "Sunghoon, are you okay? you look so….." she asked, her voice gentle.

Sunghoon felt his face heat up as he realized he had been caught off guard. But instead of trying to brush it off, he decided to be honest. "I'm just really struggling, Y/n," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know how to talk to you, how to show you how I feel. I'm just really scared of rejection."

Y/n's expression changed from concern to surprise, and then to something else entirely. It was a look of understanding, of empathy. Sunghoon's heart skipped a beat as he realized that Y/n might actually be starting to see him in a different light.

But just as things were starting to look up, Jaehyun burst into the classroom, a grand smile plastered on his face. "Y/n, I have a surprise for you!" he announced, pulling out a guitar from behind his back.

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise as Jaehyun began to strum a romantic melody. Sunghoon's heart sank as he realized what was happening. Jaehyun was making a grand, public gesture to show his affection for Y/n.

But as Sunghoon watched Y/n's reaction, he realized that Jaehyun's plan might backfire. Y/n looked taken aback, even a little uncomfortable, as Jaehyun serenaded her. Sunghoon's heart skipped a beat as he realized that Y/n might actually prefer his quiet, genuine approach over Jaehyun's grand gestures.

As Jaehyun continued to hover around Y/n, he suddenly dropped to one knee and grasped her hand, his eyes shining with sincerity. "Y/n, from the moment I met you, I knew you were special," he declared, his voice ringing out across the classroom. "Will you be my girlfriend?"

Y/n's expression changed from annoyance to shock, and then to outright rejection. She stared at Jaehyun, her eyes wide with discomfort, before bluntly responding, "No."

The classroom fell silent, with all eyes on the awkward scene unfolding before them. Jaehyun's face fell, his smile crumbling as he realized he had been rejected.

Y/n quickly pulled her hand out of Jaehyun's grasp and turned to storm out of the classroom, leaving Jaehyun kneeling alone on the floor.

Sunghoon, who had been watching the scene unfold, couldn't help but burst out laughing at the absurdity of it all. Jaehyun's grand gesture had ended in humiliating rejection.

Jaehyun, his face red with embarrassment, quickly scrambled to his feet and chased after Y/n, calling out her name. "Y/n, wait!"

As the classroom erupted into a mixture of snickers and gasps, Sunghoon shook his head, still chuckling to himself. He couldn't believe Jaehyun's audacity, but at the same time, he felt a pang of relief. Maybe, just maybe, this was his chance to finally get Y/n's attention.

—

As the days went by, Y/n couldn't help but notice the subtle changes in Sunghoon's behavior. He would smile at her in the hallways, and their conversations would linger a little longer than necessary.

One day, as Y/n was walking to her locker, she noticed Sunghoon standing by the vending machine, holding a cup of coffee. As she approached, he turned to her and said, "Hey, Y/n, I got you your favorite drink."

Y/n's eyes widened in surprise as she took the cup from him. "How did you know?" she asked, feeling a warmth in her chest.

Sunghoon shrugged, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I just remembered you mentioning it once."

Y/n smiled, feeling a sense of gratitude towards Sunghoon. It was a small gesture, but it showed her that he paid attention to her, that he genuinely cared about her preferences.

As they stood there, sipping their coffee, Y/n couldn't help but notice the way Sunghoon looked at her. It was a soft, gentle gaze, one that made her feel seen and understood.

She began to wonder if she had misjudged him all along. Maybe his initial confession hadn't been as insincere as she thought. Maybe he was just really bad at expressing his feelings.

As the days went by, Y/n found herself looking forward to her conversations with Sunghoon. She would catch herself smiling at his jokes, and feeling a sense of comfort in his presence.

One day, as she was walking down the hallway, she overheard Sunghoon talking to his friend, Jaehwan. They were standing by their lockers, laughing and joking around.

"I was so nervous, man," Sunghoon said, his voice low and husky. "I didn't know how to confess to her. I just blurted it out and hoped for the best."

Jaehwan chuckled. "Yeah, I remember that day. You were a mess."

Sunghoon laughed, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know, right? I was so scared of rejection."

Y/n's ears perked up as she listened to their conversation. She realized that Sunghoon's initial confession hadn't been as insincere as she thought. He had been genuinely nervous and scared, but he had still taken the risk to express his feelings.

As she walked away, Y/n couldn't help but feel a sense of regret. She had misjudged Sunghoon, and now she wasn't sure if she could ever go back to the way things were before.

But as she turned a corner, she saw Sunghoon standing by the window, looking out at the sky. He seemed lost in thought, his eyes distant and introspective.

Y/n felt a pang of curiosity, and she found herself walking towards him. "Hey, Sunghoon," she said, her voice soft and gentle.

He turned to her, his eyes focusing on hers. "Hey, Y/n."

They stood there for a moment, looking at each other. Y/n could see the sincerity in Sunghoon's eyes, the genuine interest and care.

And in that moment, she knew that she had to give him another chance. She had to see if there was something more between them, something that went beyond initial impressions and misunderstandings.

Jaehyun, seeing that he was losing ground, decided to resort to playing the jealousy card. He started pretending to be dating someone else, making sure to "accidentally" post photos of himself with another girl on social media.

At first, Y/n didn't seem to notice. But Jaehyun was determined to make her jealous. He started showing up to school events with his "new girlfriend," making sure to flaunt their fake relationship in front of Y/n.

But Y/n wasn't buying it. She saw right through Jaehyun's tactics and wasn't impressed. In fact, she was annoyed that Jaehyun would stoop so low.

"Jaehyun, what's going on with you?" Y/n asked, confronting him in the hallway. "Why are you pretending to date someone else?"

Jaehyun smirked, trying to play it cool. "I'm not pretending, Y/n. I've just moved on. You didn't seem interested, so I found someone else."

Y/n rolled her eyes. "Save it, Jaehyun. I know you're just trying to make me jealous. But it's not going to work."

Jaehyun's face fell, but he quickly recovered. "Whatever, Y/n. You're just missing out."

But Y/n wasn't having it. She turned and walked away, leaving Jaehyun looking foolish.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon had been watching the whole scene unfold. He had been inspired by Jaehyun's previous grand gesture, but he wanted to do something more meaningful and personal.

Sunghoon remembered a conversation he had with Y/n a few weeks ago, where she had mentioned her love of old books. He had been browsing through a used bookstore over the weekend and had stumbled upon a rare edition of her favorite novel.

Sunghoon decided to recreate a special memory they had shared, one that would show Y/n how much he truly understood and appreciated her. He spent hours setting up a cozy reading nook in the school library, complete with soft lighting, comfortable cushions, and a special bookmark with a note that read: "To Y/n, with love."

When Y/n walked into the library, she was taken aback by the sight before her. The reading nook was perfect, and the bookmark was the icing on the cake.

Y/n looked up to see Sunghoon standing in front of her, a shy smile on his face. "I wanted to do something special for you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something that would show you how much I care."

Y/n's heart melted at the sight of Sunghoon's thoughtful gesture. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, and she knew that he was genuinely trying to win her heart.

"Sunghoon," she said, her voice soft and gentle. "This is...amazing. Thank you."

Sunghoon smiled, his eyes lighting up with happiness. "I'm just glad you like it," he said, his voice filled with emotion.

As they stood there, surrounded by the quiet of the library, Y/n knew that she had made her choice. She was going to give Sunghoon a chance, and she was going to see where things would go between them.

And as for Jaehyun? He was just going to have to accept that he had lost the game.

As they sat together on a bench in the school courtyard, Sunghoon turned to Y/n, his eyes locked on hers. "Y/n, can I ask you something?" he said, his voice soft and gentle.

Y/n nodded, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Of course, Sunghoon. What is it?"

Sunghoon took a deep breath before speaking. "I was wondering...would you give me a chance now?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion. "I know I didn't exactly make a great impression before, but I promise to do better. I'll be patient, and I'll wait for you to feel comfortable around me."

Y/n's expression softened, and she looked at Sunghoon with newfound understanding. "Sunghoon, I..." she started to say, but Sunghoon cut her off.

"Just hear me out, okay?" he said, his eyes pleading. "I know I'm not the most charming guy, and I know I can be awkward at times. But I promise you, Y/n, that my feelings for you are genuine. I'll do whatever it takes to make you happy."

Y/n's heart melted at Sunghoon's words. She could see the sincerity in his eyes, and she knew that he was truly committed to making things work between them.

"Sunghoon," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I'd like to give you a chance."

Sunghoon's face lit up with joy, and he smiled, feeling a sense of relief and happiness. "Really?" he asked, his voice trembling with emotion.

Y/n nodded, smiling back at him. "Really," she said.

And with that, Sunghoon and Y/n shared a tender kiss, their hearts filled with love and anticipation for what the future held.

[electricabsolution]

ok wait im thinking. we know that helena + drummond want mark to finish cold harbor but do we knowwww what cobel thinks about it?? like maybe it IS an allusion to salts neck in an ironic type of way? gemma being ground zero for their product just like what the ether factory was. so they can mass produce these severance chips to all the rich people that dont want to deal with uncomfortable situations. and once they get off the ground they'll discard her. the fact that mark's refining that data too is twisted

salt's neck has gotta be the coldest harbor ive ever seen

[gravegoer]

MORE SEVIKA X SIREN I BEG

I hear your call [P2] ⋅˚₊‧ ଳ

HALF OF MY INBOX IS SIREN READER !! dw, i got you guys. ( also i got a lot of love in my inbox. !! thank you so much for the support. youre so sweet , im looking at 🍃 anon ily ) summary: sevika saves your scales.

masterlist , part 1 2.1k words part 3

The night after you met Sevika, you followed her ship, even throughout the darkness. The celebratory crew could be heard on the deck, along with the clanking of glasses and music.

Although this wasn't what you were interested in, you were interested in a certain captain. You assumed she didn't bother with the celebration and got bored swimming alongside the ship.

Eventually, it had come to a stop in the late night, now sitting in the dock of a well-populated island. You eyed the people that stepped off, and your gaze landed on Sevika.

She was hard to miss, her large stature and intricate outfit stood out amongst the crew, ultimately declaring herself captain. There was a sort of swagger in her walk, perhaps from booze or maybe exaustion.

Whatever the case, you were interested.

You couldn't get too close to land, deciding to lurk around the harbor instead. You ducked under the water upon hearing any movement or voices. Being this close to population was no place for a siren, especially such as yourself.

Any fisherman or pirate alike would take take you up and pawn you for a pretty price. So you heeded in your movements. Luckily, you were a skilled enough swimmer that you made little to no sound whilst in the water, barely leaving behind a ripple.

The sun was just now rising, and you assumed Sevika would be looking for a place to stay the night. There was no way you could wait around that long for her to come back. But that doesn't mean you didn't want to.

To your delight, a group of men swarmed to talk on a dock near you, and their conversation was full of exactly what you wanted to hear.

Sevika.

They were pirates looking for a crew, and from the looks of them, quite experienced pirates.

"She's headed to Shank's motel. Shall we give her a visit?"

"This late at night, man. You've got to be spewin' some blige. She'd flog you just at sight."

"Aye. Migh' as well wait till' morn' "

You grew closer to their spot, itching to hear more. Your head nearly bumped against the old wood due to your closeness.

Suddenly, a hand was in your hair, but unlike Sevika's, it was clammy and gross.

You screeched at the intrusion, being pulled out of the water.

A fourth man.

How could you let your guard down so easily?

"Now, what's a stupid lass like you doin' so far out at bay."

You crained your head up to be met with a severely shredded bald man. You clawed at the hand on your scalp and thrashed. The sting threatened to bring tears to your eyes, and you opened your mouth for a song.

The knowing man slammed your face down onto the wood, stopping you in your tracks.

"Fuck. This one be a siren, but the harder the catch, the more the prize is what I say."

Another voice came from your left.

"Knock 'er out, and I'll grab a net."

A blunt thwack was heard before your vision went dark.

..

Sevika had tied her boat to a post before leaving her crew to find a place to eat, preferably not a bar where she knew the rest of her men were headed. Having enough to drink, she sat at a stand selling calaloo and threw a few dabloons on the counter silently, waiting for her meal.

Her mind wasn't on anything except for you. The ruler of the Seven Seas was enamored with a mer-person.

How fitting.

She thought about the way your eyes sparkled when she told you stories, looking at her like no other. How your cold hands were so gentle when you touched her. Your soft lips against hers.

I mean, how much deeper could she fall.

Having been so engrossed in thought, she barely noticed the whispers around her. Barely. She, of course, was the talk of the town.

She intimidated people just by taking a seat next to them, so casual yet making everyone at the stand turn to glance at her. It wasn't often that Sevika bothered with mundane tasks such as eating anywhere but a bar, and nobody really saw her face anywhere except for wanted posters.

Although it was a picaroon town, and there was no way anyone there would bother to turn her in or snitch, she still pushed her plate away and got up to fend off the prying eyes. (Picaroon means pirate)

Her buckled boots thudded against the dirt road, now on the way to the nearest inn. She was almost desperate for a nights sleep without rocking on the mad waters.

Upon entering, a large man stomped past her, eager to get somewhere, she was just about to grab him and slam him into the nearest counter before her attention was interrupted.

"Them chowder-headed fools caught themselves a real jem, aye?"

"Heard theys' puttin' 'er up for auction"

That was never a pretty thing to hear. It either meant low-life pirates snagged themselves an expensive treasure, or worse, a living treasure. But it wasn't rare that a fisher or pirate just so happened to find a large, human-like fish in their net and put her on the market, so Sevika paid it no mind.

She did linger on the fact that it might be the one person on her mind at the moment but quickly shook away those thoughts. You were smart, quick. Theres no way any man would have you that easily.

When she approached the counter for a key, the shop-keep laughed, "What? You want a room? I think you ought to pay the stands a visit, its the first auction in a week."

She scoffed and rolled her eyes at his words, her head dipping into her previous thoughts again.

I guess it wouldn't hurt to make sure.

So she drug her tired and heavy legs right back across town for the sliver of a chance that it might be you.

..

You awoke with a harsh throbbing in your head, feeling cold and dried up. Through blurry vision, you could make out the steel bars, closing you in. And a loud voice,

"Another bid for 300 dabloons !"

Fuck. It's what you've been dreading all your life. You got caught due to your lack of awareness and clumsiness. Inwardly cursing at yourself, you grabbed at the bars and shook violently.

"Look, she's awake. How do we feel about upping the price now that we can see her pretty eyes."

The man stuck his fingers in your enclosure and tilted your chin up. At that moment, you became aware of the metallic muzzle on your face, keeping your jaw in place. You glared up at him, knowing you'd bite him if you could.

He pulled away when you jerked your head forward, as if making the motion to bite him. He laughed loudly, and another bid came from the crowd.

"500!"

The men yelled and whooped at that. You thunked your head against the bars, the loudness ringing in your ears. You can't believe you got yourself in this mess for a pirate.

It was just hollering and laughing for a while before the man beside you spoke,

"500, Aye? Going once.. going twice.."

"A thousand."

A heavy female voice stood out amongst the rest, sounding angry and tired. Your eyes darted around, looking for the source of the voice, but another shrill voice spoke up.

"1000? Is this woman kidding? 1500."

The men's laughs roared in again, smacking the mans back and slinging booze. A tall figure stepped out of the shadow, cigarillo in hand, and spoke, "Double it."

All went quiet as they eyed Sevika, her arm crossed over her chest as she brought a mechanical hand to her lips to take a drag. She blew the smoke from the side of her mouth, making a taller male cough.

Your eyes widened, and fingers gripped the bars steadier. When you made eyecontact, you could have sworn her eyes went soft for a moment before she looked to your captor.

"Well.. any final bids..?"

He spoke seemingly frightened and pleased with himself all in one moment.

Nobody spoke against Sevika, as a captian never had a bounty over their head for a reason. And her bounty was hefty.

There were no protests as she pushed her way through the crowd, seemingly more violent than usual. She put her cigar out on someone's forehead, the small tiss, standing out against silence.

Her boots clunked as she ascended the stairs and plopped three brown bags atop your cage. You looked up at her, but she wasn't looking back. Her metal hand was grabbing the key from the mans hand and pushing him backward in one motion.

He stumbled, but you looked away to eye Sevikas human hand swiftly unlocking the cage. She held her hand out to you, dark hair shadowed her eyes, and hid her expression from you.

She was who you were here for.

You hesitantly grabbed her calloused hand, and immediately, she lifted you into her arms. Now, looking into the crowd, her menacing expression was highlighted by the dim torches that surround the stands. Her cape was draped over your tail and bare torso, shielding you from the cold, and more importantly the people.

As she was stepping down the stairs, she saw your muzzled mouth, and her expression got a tinge darker. No words needed to be spoken as she balanced you with her human arm and knee, tearing the straps of the muzzle off with a sharp finger.

It was almost instinct to hum a siren song, but before your vocal chords could start, you saw her expression and buried your face in her sturdy torso. It was the look of warning, a warning that you obeyed.

Pirates gawked at the sight of her carrying you past the crowd of people. Nobody dared to reach out and touch you. Some people didn't even dare to look at you. You kept your gaze on Sevika's clenched jaw and torn expression. The angles of her face were more prominent at this angle, you would blush at the sight but your nervousness didn't allow it.

Her grip on your tail was firm, yet gentle, human arm cradling your torso without complaining about the coldness. You weren't one to be drawn to the warmth of a human, but found yourself pressed closer against her body. You now shut your eyes to rid of the feeling of stares and judgement.

As she carried you down the dirt road back to the inn, she spoke in a frustrated tone, "You are the stupidest fish ive ever met."

"And you're the sappiest pirate ive ever met."

..

When Sevika stepped into the inn with you in her arms the keep gawked at you. You were cradled like a baby, weightless in her hold. She kept a stern gaze as he passed her the keys with a room number attached "56".

The people that sat in the inn waiting room averted their eyes, shrinking under Sevika's cold grey eyes. Her eyebrows were furrowed, making you want to reach up and rub the wrinkle between them.

She walked up old rickety stairs, almost bending under your combined weight and turned left down the hall to the room. It was surprisingly quiet, and you were able to hear the woman's ragged breaths. Sevika was obviously worn out and tired from her day, and still came to your rescue.

How heroic.

She effortlessly shifted you to one arm, making sure your head was steady against her shoulder and creaked open the wooden door. Your tail barely brushed against the ground, her height compensating for the length.

"I need—," you spoke, before she cut you off with a grunt.

"Water. I know."

Opening the door to the bathroom, she sighed at the size. It was almost too small to fit her large frame and your long tail.

Dropping you into the tub gently, she turned the knob for cold water. "Want me to sprinkle in salt?"

You genuinely couldn't tell if she was joking, "No, no it's okay," You laughed, humming at the feeling of water on your tail.

"Why did you let yourself get caught," Sevika said, more as a statement than a question.

"I wanted to find you.. and I succeeded.. mission accomplished?"

She shook her head and bent down to accommodate for the space between you. She put a warm hand to your cheek, eyes soft and almost concerned, "Don't go looking for me like that again, danger follows me closely."

You giggled at her seriousness, despite being roughed around and almost being sold as fish food (or worse) you felt somewhat at ease. The woman at your side brought you a strange feeling of comfort, comfort that the sea never brought you.

"I guess ill just have to follow you closer."

i already have ideas for part three.... hehehehehe

again, thank you for the asks they are sweet ! and comment if you want to be on the taglist for part 3 , i do have some other works in my drafts but im saving them for when i finish this series :) but asks are open !!!

@misswynters @haruko--bby @thesecondhandwoman @theirlaliengirl

[hairmetal666]

There's a boy, Eddie meets a boy, and it's mundane because they're boys and it's summer and they find each other like lonely boys in summer do. It shouldn't be the defining experience of Eddie's life, that summer, that boy. His memories are all sun drenched, tanned skin, minnow catching, swimming, camping under the stars, a fumbling, toasted-marshmallow-sticky first kiss. He grows up and still Eddie thinks there will never be anyone else like that boy.

---

There's this new teen soap schlock on the CW. It fills his social media algorithms with gossip and BTS footage and spoilers. He ignores every bit of it, so far from the target audience it's laughable.

Jeff, Gareth, and Freak get into it. At first, he takes this as a betrayal of the highest order, threatens to kill all their characters in their next dnd session, but they convince him to give it a shot.

It's airs Thursday nights and thank god Wayne is at work, he'd never live it down. He turns the TV on just in time for the cold open, and within ten seconds there's a beautiful man on screen. Chestnut hair, coiffed carefully back; down-turned, hazel puppy dog eyes; freckles and moles dotting his face and neck--Eddie would recognize them anywhere, spent hours mapping the constellations of them during their one magical summer.

He sinks to his knees in front of the TV--nose inches from the screen--watches the whole episode that way. For the entire hour, the only thing he sees is Steve Harrington.

Eddie doesn't move until after the credits have rolled. He can't believe that the boy he knew all those years ago is an actor on a popular show, that he'd just missed finding him, all this time.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he Googles, which is a mistake immediately, because the most popular pictures are from a GQ photoshoot where Steve is very wet and very shirtless, the amount of chest hair on display enough to kill a man. He forgets how to breathe for several seconds, before quickly scrolling away, which is also a mistake because it's how he learns that Steve 1) dated his castmate, Nancy Wheeler for several years before 2) she got caught cheating on him with another castmate, and 3) he's often seen out and about with his current on-screen girlfriend, Robin Buckley.

For his own sanity, he has to put his phone away. It isn't like he's going to see Steve ever again, obviously, so he needs to forget all this. Keep the memory of that summer safe.

---

It's late spring and Gareth invites them all to their favorite bar in Indianapolis. One of their friends from their Corroded Coffin days got a gig playing bass for some up and coming indie guy, tickets and drinks are comped. It's not their usual vibe, musically, but who is Eddie to say no to a free night out?

And, look, night of, the music isn't his vibe, but the place is packed and he's with his best friends, and the drinks are flowing, so even he finds himself swaying along to the whiney hipster shit coming from the stage.

Eventually, the lights go down for the headliner, and the crowd crushes forward in a way Eddie isn't used to in this bar. He lets himself be pushed forward, somehow ending up right in front of the stage.

When the lights go up, he stops breathing.

It's Steve.

Steve right there in front of him, guitar strapped across his midsection. He's wearing dorky little Ray-Ban sunglasses, but Eddie would know that hair, those moles, anywhere.

There's no way Steve will notice him, remember him, but it's enough to see him now, to hear his music. Eddie dances and smiles at the boy who got away. Maybe he'll mourn later for the distant hope he harbored deep within his heart. But, he thinks, this is enough.

Steve comes out for the encore, takes off the sunglasses, tosses them straight to Eddie, smiles big and genuine and familiar. His heart stops. It can't be real, it can't mean anything, but he's so elated that his soul might rise from his body.

The show ends, the buzz of it, of Steve, reverberating through Eddie as he makes his way back to the bar. It's crowded with people, but he slides through the bodies until he's at the front. Someone taps him on the back, and he thinks they're trying to get through, but when he turns it's Steve.

His smile is so beautiful, Eddie thinks that maybe he's dying.

"Eddie!" Steve says.

"Stevie!" He doesn't mean for the old nickname to come out, couldn't keep it in.

"You remember me!" Steve is beaming.

"I'd never forget you." He's smiling just as hard. "Can I buy you a drink?"

Steve's nose wrinkles. "I've got, like, fifty coming. We could go somewhere quiet to talk?"

He's never said yes to something so fast in his life.

They go back to the postage stamp sized green room, and he's surprised to see Robin Buckley there. His stomach shrivels for a second, but she stands and he sees the lesbian flag painted on the side of her Converse, the oversized vest she's wearing.

"You want me to skedaddle?" She asks. He loves her immediately.

"Do you mind?" Steve asks. Robin shakes her head.

"Nice to meet you, Eddie," she calls as she sails out the door.

"You told her about me?" He knows his smile is downright goofy.

Steve blushes. "Um, yeah. Maybe a little? Just that I met a boy from near here one summer. And, uh, maybe something about him being my first kiss?"

"Oh." Eddie thinks he might burst into flame. "I wasn't sure if--I didn't know if you'd remember."

"I'd never forget," Steve says.

"You got famous." Eddie says, which is dumb, but he doesn't know how to deal with Steve cherishing those childhood memories the same way he does.

"I guess I did." Steve looks down, hair tumbling around his face. "It's probably not what you were expecting."

"Did I expect to turn on the tv and see my first crush staring at me in HD? Not quite. But It was amazing. You're amazing."

"I'm on a CW show," Steve laughs.

"So?"

"I think maybe you're a little biased about your first crush."

"Are you saying that's a bad thing?" They're flirting, he thinks. Can't believe it's happening, that Steve might--

"Well, maybe, but only if you tell me you don't have a crush on me anymore."

"Are you kidding? I saw that GQ photoshoot."

Steve's laugh is loud and bright, like fireworks in Eddie's chest. They're closer now, sharing warmth, breath.

"I have some candids if you want to see."

"Don't tempt me with a good time, Stevie."

They're quiet for a second, Eddie a little breathless from how hard they're flirting, how right it feels.

"You were great out there," he says.

"Thanks." Steve smiles, bashful. "I know it's not your kind of music."

Eddie shrugs. "I like what you do."

"And to think, you've barely gotten a taste yet." Steve pauses for a beat, horror dawning on his face. "Oh, shit. That was--I'm sorry--I--Robin says I always come on too strong, and I promised I would play it cool, but--"

"You never have to play it cool with me," Eddie says, sincere through his laughter.

"This is fast, though, right? I mean. The second I saw you in the crowd, it--it confirmed everything I thought when we first met. That's--is that crazy?"

Eddie's smile is softer now. "Not at all." Gently, he cups Steve's cheek with his hand. "Can I kiss you?"

"Please," Steve breathes. "God, Eddie, please."

Their mouths meet and it starts out sweet and slow, but it's not childhood crushes anymore. Eddie's tongue teases at the seam of Steve's lips, which part for him like he's the only one in the world with the magic words.

It's sweeter than any marshmallow.

[dark-fics-4-you]

In the Night

dark!Ghostface!stepbro!Rafe x f!Reader w a side of JJ x Reader

READ ENTIRE WARNING BEFORE PROCEEDING

Warnings: noncon (rape), incest (step siblings), murder, major character death, p in v smut, lowkey yandere themes, knife kink, blood kink, unprotected sex, creampie, Rafe is very obsessed with his little step sister (everyone is 18+)

You cowered behind the car, trying to quiet your shivering sobs. Your mind was racing, barely able to hold onto any thought other than the ghastly scene you had just been forced into.

For months, a masked killer had been terrorizing Kildare and tonight you came face to face with him.

Only to realize that you had been living with him for half of your life.

For the most part, it had been a night like any other, JJ had taken you out on a little dinner date before bringing you back to his house.

You had been dating for several months at this point, a fact that your stepfather, Ward, begrudgingly accepted, but your stepbrother seemed to harbor more resentment towards him than any of the other Pogues.

Just before you had left, Rafe had gotten into yet another argument with you about him, although he had never been so aggressive with you about it before.

“He’s not good enough for you, Y/N! You know he’s just going to get you into trouble.” Your older step brother scolded you.

“Maybe he’d stay out of trouble if you and your gang didn’t bring it to him all the time,” you sniped back, pushing past him to get to the door.

You were interrupted when his hand clamped down hard around your arm just above your elbow, stopping you in your tracks.

“Are you seriously trying to walk away from me right now?” Rafe growled as he turned to you, his hold still tight on your arm.

“Yeah, I am, JJ is out front waiting for me. Now let go of me, Rafe.”

He stared down at you, a familiar yet unrecognizable glint in his blue eyes. He scanned your face for a moment, tension heavy in the air, before finally reluctantly releasing your arm with a huff.

“Just uh… stay safe, okay, Y/N? You know how dangerous it’s been recently.” You could have sworn you saw a small smirk on his face before you turned to exit.

When you and JJ got back to his place after dinner, the two of you had just gotten out of the car when you heard him yell.

You turned to see a large figure wearing the same ghost face mask you had seen all over the news holding your boyfriend at knifepoint, the blade pressed into his throat.

JJ struggled against him for a moment, but he flinched when the man dug the sharp metal in just a bit.

“Stop fighting, or she dies next.” The man hissed, his familiar voice stopping you in your tracks as you raced around the car to them.

You were several feet away from them but too petrified to move.

“Stop!” You cried out, tears burning at your eyes. You felt terrified and helpless, unable to take your gaze off of your boyfriend.

The masked man ignored you, continuing to speak to JJ, “you don’t deserve Y/N, you know? She’s too good to be with a filthy Pogue like you.”

His words washed over you like a bucket of cold water as you finally recognized his voice and you wanted to be sick.

Your lips parted to beg with him, don't do this, please, don't hurt him don't hurt him!

At the flinch of his wrist, it was too late. You knew it. The blade glinted as it slid across JJ's neck, and you finally found your voice as a cascade of crimson followed its arc and JJ fell to ground.

You screamed as you felt the air get knocked out of your lungs. You wanted to collapse, and you probably would have if not for the sound of the killer’s horribly recognizable laughter drawing closer.

In the darkness, you turned, stumbling to the ground painfully before picking yourself up again and running before crouching behind the car JJ had been fixing up.

The chilly autumn air made you shiver and your vision was blurred by your tears.

You still hadn’t gotten over your shock when you heard your name being called.

“Y/N,” he taunted, voice getting closer with each step.

Your heart was thundering in your ears so loudly you were scared he could hear it.

“Just come out now and I promise, I won’t hurt you.” He was on the other side of the car now and you felt your stomach clench in terror.

Your eyes widened when he walked around the car, easily spotting you crouched near the back door.

When he ran towards you, you opened the back car door, blocking him momentarily as you climbed in, planning to slide across and run out the other side.

Your fingertips reached for the door handle, but large hand gripped your legs, pulling you back towards him. Flipping onto your back, you tried to kick him off, desperately scratching at his arms with your your nails at the same time.

The man pinned you beneath him, cackling at your pathetic attempts to fight back. In your panic, you grabbed at his face, pulling his mask off at the same moment his bloodied knife came to your throat.

You froze beneath him, staring up into your step brother’s eyes in shock and horror.

“Rafe?” You whispered, tears spilling past your lashes. “Why?”

A sickening grin spread across his lips as he leered above you. “Didn’t I always tell you, sweetheart? JJ isn’t good enough for you. He didn’t know you like I do.”

His free hand came to your cheek, stroking it lovingly and accidentally smearing JJ’s blood across your skin.

“Stop it!” You whimpered, nausea bubbling up in your gut as the coppery scent hit your nostrils. “You’re insane!”

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed at that, anger darkening his eyes. He drew so close you could feel his breath against your skin, “I’m just trying to protect you-”

“Protect me?!” You hissed, tears streaming down your cheeks now.

Rafe’s nose twitched, frustration written all over his face.

“You don’t get it,” he mumbled, eyes leaving your face and trailing down your chest. “But I’ll show you.”

Rafe removed the large blade from your throat, grabbing the bottom of your shirt before slicing it down the middle.

You whimpered beneath him, trying to cover yourself up, but his knife found your throat again, pressing down slightly.

“Don’t make me hurt you too,” he threatened, his low voice making your stomach twist.

His pupils were blown wide as he took you in.

“No bra?” He grinned wickedly, “guess my lil sis is more of a slut than I expected.”

“Rafe,” you pleaded, voice breaking through your tears as you looked up at him. “Please, I’m scared.”

He groaned at that, pressing closer and you shuddered at the feel of him growing harder against you. You squirmed when his large hand cupped over your tit, squeezing your nipple between two fingers and drawing a whine from your throat.

His lips smothered yours, hungrily tasting you and taking your breath away. With the cold metal at your throat, there was nowhere to turn to get away from him. Nausea churned inside you when he pushed his tongue into your mouth.

He pulled away finally and put the knife down on the floor to unbuckle his belt, fumbling with his button and zipper before freeing his erect cock from his boxers, not even bothering to push his pants down.

At the sight of your step brother stroking his hard dick above you, your tears started flowing again, disgust and horror mixing with a third emotion you were too ashamed to identify.

Rafe forced your thighs apart, pushing your skirt up to reveal your pink panties.

“Shit, Y/N,” he groaned, pressing his thumb to your covered clit. You squirmed in his grasp, biting your lip to stop your whimpers from escaping.

“Can’t wait anymore,” he breathed through gritted teeth, grabbing your panties and sliding them to the side before lining his tip up with your slick entrance.

“Stop, Rafe-!” your protest was cut off when your step brother pushed himself inside you, stretching your unprepared cunt around him.

You whined loudly, heart skipping a beat when his hand wrapped around your throat, smearing the blood from the knife across your tender skin.

He stilled above you for a moment, taking a shaky breath as he basked in the feeling of your snug walls squeezing around him, tighter than he could have imagined. He inched himself deeper until his tip kissed your cervix.

Rafe leaned closer to you, his lips covering your before he began slowly thrusting into you, increasing his pace with each push of his cock.

You mewled against his lips, confused and disgusted with yourself when you could feel yourself growing wetter around him.

He broke the kiss and you gasped for breath, only for his grip to tighten around your throat.

There was nowhere to go, and Rafe easily caged you in on top of the leather seats of car. You felt claustrophobic, overstimulated by the feel of him rutting into you in the cramped backseat.

The lewd sound of his cock plunging into your slick cunt taunted you, and you couldn’t control the pornographic moans that he was forcing out of you.

His thrusts were brutal, bordering on punishing at this point, and his fingers were squeezing around your neck so tight your vision was becoming fuzzy at the edges.

“Rafe-!” You choked, hot tears burning at your eyes.

The world was spinning around you, the pressure building between your legs. You grabbed onto Rafe, clinging to him tightly in your confusion.

“Tell me you love me,” he groaned, not slowing his pace at all as his thumb found your clit, messily rolling over it.

Your skin crawled at his words, stomach flipping as you nervously shook your head no, but you couldn’t bite back your moan as he teased your tender bud.

You knew that only pissed him off more though, and his grip on your throat tightened in warning.

“Tell your big brother you love him, dumb fucking slut.” He hissed, hitting a spot that made you see stars.

“I-” you whimpered before whispering. “I love you.”

He kissed you hard, growling as he pulled away and resting his damp forehead against yours.

“Tell me again, baby.”

His hips tilted to meet yours, pushing himself deep inside you with each thrust. His thumb lazily traced your clit, pulling you to the brink.

“I love you,” you moaned, primal desires overcoming your thoughts of resisting.

“Again.”

“I love you, fuck, Rafe!” you whimpered as you were pushed over the edge.

Blinding white light exploded behind your closed eyes as you came undone around him. Sinful pleasure tingled between your legs as he fucked you even harder, and he cursed as you squeezed around him.

You couldn’t think straight, much less control your mouth, and the endless string of “I love you Rafe”’s that rolled off your tongue was the reason it wasn’t long before your step brother was painting your walls with his sticky seed.

[whoreiorcats]

Nooo I’m doing great just thinking about how Mark Scout never made cold harbor Gemma do anything she didn’t want to do. He offered his hand but he didn’t drag her out when he easily could have—maybe should have. He let her make the choice to step through the door. It almost feels very unlike him but he’s also aware he’s encountering basically a child form of Gemma. “There’s a kid out there waiting for us, we just have to reach out and grab HER.” He always imagined his child as being another Gemma, not another him. Whatever. Don’t come looking for me you won’t find me.

[scoupsakakitty]

when u are close friends with all of the svt members but especially close with scoups and you’ve liked him forever but you didn’t do anything about it until he found out (by overhearing you talk to one of the members about it) but u guys got into a huge fight one day and the members try to comfort u and scoups feels super bad cuz he said a lot of hurtful things and he’s trynna apologize and get with you to tell you how he truly feels but u ignore him PLS WAH (you add smut or whatever as you please)

Unspoken Until Now | idol!Scoups x Reader | angst, fluff

Y/N had worked with Seventeen for years, her hands tracing over their faces with practiced ease, blending foundation and adjusting eyeliner as naturally as breathing. Over time, they had all become like family to her. But with Seungcheol it had always been different.

There was an unspoken understanding between them, a natural gravity that pulled them closer. They were best friends, but Y/N had harbored feelings for him for as long as she could remember. She had never planned to confess, had never even thought about what it would mean if he knew. Until, one day, he overheard her.

"So you’re telling me you’ve been in love with Seungcheol for how long?" DK asked, grinning as he leaned in closer. The two of them were sitting in the makeup room, Y/N idly organizing her kit while DK poked at her obvious crush.

Y/N sighed. "It’s not that simple. I don’t want to ruin anything. We’re friends. That’s enough."

DK hummed, unconvinced. "But is it really? If it were, you wouldn’t look at him like that."

Unbeknownst to them, Seungcheol had walked in just in time to hear that last sentence. He froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He should have left, should have pretended he hadn’t heard a thing. But he didn’t.

Instead, he stood there, absorbing every word, realizing that all the little moments he had with Y/N—the lingering glances, the inside jokes, the way he always gravitated towards her—weren’t just in his head.

She liked him.

Things had been tense between them after that. Seungcheol didn’t know how to bring it up, and Y/N didn’t know that he even knew. The air between them felt charged, like a storm waiting to break. And then, it did.

It had been a stressful day. The members were preparing for a concert, tensions were high, and Y/N was juggling multiple responsibilities. Seungcheol had been in a terrible mood, and Y/N—exhausted and frustrated—snapped at him when he complained about a minor detail.

"You’re being impossible today!" she muttered, rubbing her temples.

He scoffed, crossing his arms. "Oh, I’m being impossible? Sorry for expecting basic communication!"

"Basic communication? Seungcheol, I’ve been running around all day making sure everything is perfect for you guys! Maybe if you weren’t so caught up in yourself, you’d notice!"

His jaw tightened. "Oh, right, because everything always has to be about me, huh? Maybe you should focus on doing your job instead of playing favorites with the members."

The words hit her harder than she expected. She stared at him, her expression unreadable, but he saw the flicker of hurt in her eyes before she turned away.

"You know what? Forget it," she said, voice cold. "We’re done talking."

And just like that, she shut him out.

Y/N avoided him. Completely.

She still spoke to the other members, still laughed and joked with them, but whenever Seungcheol entered the room, she acted like he wasn’t there.

She wouldn’t meet his eyes. Wouldn’t acknowledge him. Wouldn’t even stand near him.

And it was driving him insane.

The other members noticed, of course.

"Dude, just apologize," Jeonghan said one evening, watching as Seungcheol sulked on the couch. "You really messed up."

"I know," Seungcheol muttered, running a hand through his hair. "But she won’t even look at me."

"Can you blame her?" Joshua chimed in. "You said some pretty harsh things."

Seungcheol sighed, guilt twisting in his chest. "I didn’t mean any of it. I was just… I don’t know. Frustrated. And now she won’t even let me explain."

DK, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. "You want my advice?"

Seungcheol nodded.

"Make her listen."

Y/N walked past him again.

It was the third time that day, and each time he had tried to talk to her, she had just ignored him. Pretended he wasn’t there.

Not this time.

As she moved to walk past him again, he reached out, gently but firmly grabbing her wrist.

"Y/N, stop."

She tensed immediately. "Let go."

"Not until you talk to me."

Her jaw tightened, and she looked up at him, eyes filled with unspoken emotions. "Seungcheol, let go."

"No. Not until you listen."

Without giving her a chance to pull away, he guided her into a nearby dressing room, closing the door behind them.

Y/N folded her arms over her chest, her expression guarded. "What do you want?"

He exhaled heavily. "I want to apologize. For what I said. For hurting you. I was an idiot, and I let my frustration get the best of me. But I never meant any of it."

She looked away. "It doesn’t matter."

"It does to me," he insisted, stepping closer. "You mean more to me than you know, Y/N. And I hate that I made you feel otherwise."

Her breath hitched, but she kept her expression neutral. "I don’t know if I can just forget it, Seungcheol."

"I’m not asking you to forget," he said softly. "I’m asking you to let me fix it."

Silence filled the space between them.

And then, finally, Y/N sighed. "Why do you care so much?"

Seungcheol hesitated for only a second before deciding he had nothing left to lose.

"Because I love you."

Her eyes widened. "What?"

"I love you," he repeated, voice unwavering. "And I should have told you sooner. I should have never let my own stupid fears get in the way. But I know now that I don’t want to keep pretending."

Y/N stared at him, her defenses crumbling. "You… you love me?"

He nodded, stepping even closer until there was barely any space between them. "Yeah. And I don’t care how long it takes—I’ll make it up to you."

Her breath hitched as his fingers traced a slow path up her arm. "Seungcheol…"

His gaze darkened, his hand moving to cup her face. "Tell me to stop."

She didn’t.

Instead, she reached for him, her lips brushing against his in a hesitant yet electrifying kiss. He groaned softly, deepening it, pulling her flush against him.

"You’re mine, Y/N," he murmured against her lips. "And I’m never letting you go."

She smiled, tilting her head to kiss him again. "I wouldn’t want you to."

[imaginedisish]

See You Again (Logan Howlett x Fem!Reader)

A/N: This took so long, and it's because it is ABSOLUTELY FILTHY. This one is inspired by "See You Again" by Tyler, The Creator and Kali Uchis. This isn't a request...just a *thot* I had. Heavy on enemies to lovers and forced proximity. And cocky Logan...Enjoy :)

Summary: You're convinced Logan hates you. But when you're forced to run a drill in the danger room, alone, everything changes.

Warnings: SMUT 18+ MINORS DNI!!!! Oral (f!receiving), fingering, Unprotected PIV (wrap it up!), afab!reader/f!reader, enemies to lovers, forced proximity, cursing, some angst, cocky!Logan/teasing!Logan, praise kink, softdom!Logan, mutant!reader, canon typical violence, probably grammatical errors, I think that's it!

Word Count: 5,325 I am disgusting

You could not believe your eyes. It had to be a glitch—your names together on the touch screen built into the wall. You tap the glass firmly with your index finger, but the words don’t budge. This is it. This is the last straw. 

There is no way you are going into the training room—the danger room—with Logan Howlett. 

“Oh, absolutely not!” You shout, turning to face Charles and Storm. “I am not going in there with him!”

Storm shakes her head. “That is the assignment we are giving you.”

Charles nods in agreement, pointing between you and Logan. “You two need to learn to work together.”

“This is insane,” you stammer. “Does nobody see how crazy this is? I’m not doing this.”

“Why?” Logan asks, arms tucked into his chest, back against the wall. He smiles, cocky and self-assured. “You afraid you might like it?” You try not to think about the deepness of his voice or the way his smile makes your breath catch in your throat. 

“N-no!” You stutter, stumbling over your words as you finally process just what Logan meant. “You hate me! I’m afraid you might kill me in there!” 

Logan’s smile falls from his lips. He looks almost shocked, but you ignore the sudden change in his expression. You’ve only been a member of the team for a few months now, but you know Logan well enough. You know he doesn’t really care. He’s always short with you. He teases you; he calls you princesscondescendingly. He’s overly protective, incessantly running to your side on missions as if you can’t handle yourself. It is so incredibly annoying. And yet…

You can’t help but harbor a small—maybe massive—crush on him.  

And so, being in the simulated danger room, alone, with Logan, is quite possibly your biggest fear. 

“Mr. Howlett certainly does not hate you,” Charles assures. “And he will not be killing you, either.” 

You roll your eyes, and Charles smiles softly. Storm walks over to the screen, pressing a few buttons. Suddenly the doors to the room open, and she extends her hand, inviting you and Logan inside. 

Logan pushes himself off the wall, side-eying you as he steps inside with no hesitation. You look to Storm, exasperation and stress painted across your face. You swallow nervously. “Don’t make me do this,” you plead, pressing your palms together as if praying to Storm. 

She tuts, pushing your shoulders softly, but strongly enough to make you fall past the doors and into the room. “Good luck!” She says, smiling widely and pressing a button. The doors quickly slide shut. 

“No!” You shout, banging your fists into the doors once before letting your forehead fall against the cold metal. You groan, turning around so that your back is pressed against the doors instead. 

“Simulation, starting,” a robotic, automated voice calls out. A blue grid scans the room, and a battle scene appears. You’re in a winter forest, snow covering the ground and falling from the white clouds above. The room even grows a bit colder, a slight chill hanging in the air. It’s surprisingly peaceful. 

Too peaceful. 

There’s a crash somewhere nearby in the forest, and then an explosion. You jump, turning around. Logan is at your side in a heartbeat, claws extending out. A few feet away, a massive metal sentinel stomps, shaking the ground. 

“Die, mutant scum!” The robot’s voice echoes against the trees as if the forest were real. It points its arm at you and Logan, loading its laser gun and shooting. Before you can react, Logan is shoving you to the ground and rolling on top of you to shield you. 

There’s a scorching sear—a patch of melted snow and burnt grass where you and Logan had just been standing. The simulation is fake, but it suddenly feels incredibly real. Logan is still on top of you, wide eyes searching yours. Your chests press together. He’s so close that it’s distracting, dizzying, overwhelming. You need him off you. Now. 

“I can handle myself,” you spit, but he doesn’t move. 

He smirks. “Sure looks like you can, princess.” 

You groan, shoving him off and standing up. You dig your heels into the ground, looking up as the sentinel approaches. It aims again, and shoots. This time, you’re prepared, controlling the laser with your mind. The beam stutters in the air as you concentrate on changing its trajectory. It takes so much strength—so much power—but it works. You let go of the beam and it slings back into the sentinel’s face, the metal melting in a fiery explosion. 

You turn your head to Logan, the corner of your mouth twitching up. “See! Told you I can—” 

Another blast echoes across the forest, and Logan’s arms are around you again, pulling you back down to the ground with him. “You can what? Risk your life unnecessarily to prove yourself to me?” 

“Oh, you are so full of shit!” You shout, punching at his chest, but he doesn’t flinch. “You think I’m weak!” 

He furrows his brows. “Who the hell said that?” He pushes himself up, jumping onto the sentinel in front of you. His claws slice at the robot’s head, swiping it clean off. 

“It’s just the way you treat me!” You call out as you extend your hand and push another sentinel into a tree. You concentrate, bending its arm towards itself. With the flick of your wrist, you pull its trigger, forcing the robot to shoot itself. 

You don’t see the sentinel that’s behind you, but Logan does. He grabs your hand, yanking you behind a nearby tree. “And how do I treat you?” He asks, caging you in, his hands pressed firmly on either side of your head. 

His eyes are trained on yours, watching your every move. You look away, unable to keep his stare. “L-like you hate me,” you stutter, looking down at the ground and then back up at him. 

He tilts his head to the side. There’s that shocked expression again—the same one he had made outside the danger room. He shakes his head, smirking. “I don’t hate you,” he starts. You can see the shift in his face, the softness in his eyes, the playfulness in his smile. He’s close again. So fucking close. “I don’t think I could ever hate you.” 

“But you always—”

You’re abruptly interrupted as a sentinel blasts the top of the tree you and Logan are leaning against. The trunk cracks, and you look up, watching as the branches begin to fall. 

“Let’s move!” Logan shouts, grabbing your hand again, and leading you to the other side of the forest. “How many of these fuckers are there?”

You can see three coming in, surrounding you and Logan. You instinctively stand back-to-back, readying yourselves for the fight. When you had started this training session, you didn’t think you’d be here, pressed against Logan, guarding his back as he guards yours. You’re working as a team, a unit, equals, partners. 

You can hear Logan’s claws shing against the metal of the sentinel he’s fighting. You take on the one straight ahead, while the other stalks close behind. You shut your eyes, listening to its steps as it approaches. You breathe deeply, opening your eyes and extending your hand out. You swallow, concentrating hard as the metal of the sentinel’s head begins to bend. Slowly but surely, you crush it like it’s an aluminum can in the palm of your hand. It caves in on itself, crashing down to the ground. 

“Atta girl,” Logan praises over your shoulder, his lips inches away from your ear. He finishes off his sentinel, too, his claws swiping cleanly as the robot crashes to the ground. You try to ignore the way your stomach somersaults, the way your heart beats out of your chest. You’re sure Logan can hear it given his heightened senses.  

You’re so distracted by him that you’ve forgotten about the other sentinel. It’s suddenly closing in quickly. Too quickly. It aims, and you shut your eyes, trying to muster up enough energy to stop it before it shoots. But you can’t. You’ve used so much of your energy already, bending metal and stopping the sentinels’ beams. You’re tired, out of breath. 

“L-Logan,” you stutter, your head piercing with pain as you try to concentrate, pushing yourself harder than you should. “C-can’t…” You trail off, unable to finish your sentence as the pain worsens, your head throbbing. 

Logan steps out in front of you, sweeping his claws at the sentinel’s guns, disarming it. He slashes its legs next, and the robot comes crashing down. But he miscalculates ever so slightly, the sentinel tipping over, threatening to fall on the two of you. 

“Fuck!” He shouts, pushing you down to the ground. You don’t fight him this time, allowing his arms to wrap around you as he shields you, his body warm against yours. 

The sentinel’s head smashes into a nearby tree, slowing its fall. It scratches against the bark, the sound of screeching metal rattling in the air. You wince, and Logan quickly moves to cover your ears, protecting you from the noise. You’ve long forgotten this is just a drill, a simple training session. The panic has set in, and you squeeze your eyes shut. It all feels too real.

Logan’s hands lift from your ears. His full weight is still on you. He lifts himself up slightly so that he’s hunched over you instead. “Hey,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing up and down your arms. His touch is electric against your skin. “I think it’s over.” 

You finally open your eyes. Logan is still hovering over you. The sentinel precariously leans against the tree, frozen just above the two of you. You’re trembling, shaken, unconvinced that this is all just a simulation.

“A-are you sure?” You stammer, frantically looking around the forest. 

“Yeah,” he whispers. He can see the fear on your face, the single tear that runs down your cheek. You’re in shock—literally. He slips his hands under your back, hoisting you up so that he’s holding you in his arms. “It’s okay,” he murmurs, pulling you to his chest. “I’ve got you. None of that was real.” He strokes up and down your back. “It wasn’t real,” he repeats, his voice steady and reassuring. 

“I forgot,” you confess, letting your head fall into the crook of his neck. It dawns on you how soft he’s being, how kind he truly is. “I couldn’t use my powers. I was so drained, and I was so worried that you’d…” You trail off, too nervous to finish your sentence. 

“That I’d what?” Logan presses, holding you tighter. 

You’re trembling for an entirely different reason, now. You take a deep breath, and the words fall from your lips. “That you’d get hurt, or worse, and I wouldn’t be able to save you.”

He pulls away from you for a moment, looking down at you. Tender—that’s how he looks. Soft, gentle—so much different from the beast he normally is. A chuckle rumbles through Logan’s chest. “Sounds like you don’t mind me so much after all, princess.” 

“I never said I didn’t like you,” you say back, a small smile playing on your lips. You poke your index finger into his chest. “You’re the one who hates me.” 

Logan shakes his head, his expression turning somewhat serious. “I said it before, and I’ll say it again: nothing could ever make me hate you.”

You look into his eyes, searching for something—you’re not quite sure what. The truth? He just gave it to you. He laid it bare. “So, w-what do you think about me?” You ask, tentative, anxious. 

He’s smirking again. “You really don’t know, do you?” He brings his face closer to yours, his lips just centimeters away. Your breaths meld together. He pulls you in again, tighter this time. Your throat bobs and your heart beats out of your chest. Your noses brush, the proximity driving you wild. He slips his hands down your back and under your shirt—bare skin on bare skin. 

Your lips are practically touching—the ghost of a kiss. Logan breathes you in, swallowing harshly as he parts his lips and—

The room suddenly changes, the forest disappearing and the doors opening with a swoosh. The walls are metal and gray; the ground is hard and cold. You and Logan quickly separate, standing up, shoulders awkwardly bumping as you regain your bearings. 

“That was…” Charles trails off, entering the room with Storm at his side. “A very excellent execution of that simulation,” he summarizes, perhaps intentionally leaving out the more embarrassing details. 

“You two certainly learned how to work as a team,” Storm says, her arms crossing tight against her chest. She raises her eyebrows and smirks knowingly.  

“Yeah, well, she’s strong,” Logan says, looking over at you. “And talented.” The compliment makes your chest feel hot and tight. You can see the look in his eyes, the one that screams: We aren’t finished yet. 

Charles nods toward the doors, motioning for you to walk with him, and so you do. Logan moves to follow you, but Storm stops him. She’s keeping him busy, telling him where he could have improved during the simulation. You turn around, your eyes trained on him, not paying attention to a word that Charles says. 

Later. Logan mouths. Your breath hitches in your throat. You nod once, smiling widely. His eyes don’t leave yours as you walk through the doors of the room and into the hallway. 

“Are you listening, my dear?” Charles’s question snaps you back to reality. 

“To be honest, Professor, no,” you say, embarrassed. 

But Charles smiles. “That’s just fine. I was simply saying that you must be careful. You’re incredibly strong, as Logan said, but you faltered,” he pauses. You’re still barely listening, your mind racing with thoughts of Logan. “When you exert yourself too much too soon you…”

Charles continues talking, but you can’t hear him. You’re thinking about how close Logan was to you, his hands under your shirt, his lips ghosting yours. So close, but not quite close enough. 

He made you a promise. Later. 

Later later later—it’s a perfect word. 

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

Later comes, and Logan is nowhere to be seen. The grandfather clock in the study reads 9:55 PM. You’ve been keeping an eye out for him, searching for him all day. But it’s like he disappeared. 

You’re at the old oak desk in the study, reading a book, scribbling notes in the margins. You’re writing nonsense, really. You haven’t been able to think straight all day, not with Logan on your mind. You close your eyes, dropping your head to the center of the book. You feel like a child, impatiently waiting for the thing they were promised if they behaved well enough. 

You groan audibly, bumping your head against the book once, twice, three times. 

“Well, somebody’s happy to see me.” You shoot up straight at the familiar, bassy voice. Across the room—leaning in the doorway—is Logan. He’s still in his beater and his jeans, still wearing that shit-eating grin, too. His arms are crossed against his chest.

“H-hi,” you stutter, suddenly nervous. He pushes himself from the doorway with his hip, shutting the door behind him. His thumb brushes over the lock and it clicks into place. He stalks over to the desk. You can already feel the fire building between your legs. 

“Didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?” He leans over the desk, his hands covering yours. He’s hovering over you, holding you in place. “Thought I wanted to be away from you that long?”

You can’t think of what to say—can’t think of anything except him. You’re frazzled, caught off guard, wrapped up in Logan. 

“You like when I tease you, pretty girl?” His voice is honeyed and dark. He lets go of your hands and slips behind the desk. You turn around to face him. 

“Y-yes,” you confess, leaning against the desk as Logan towers over you. 

He hums, his hands finding your hips, holding you tightly. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you protest, but it’s no use. You can feel the heat rising to your chest, the way your clothes uncomfortably scratch against your skin. His words are tripping you up and driving you wild. 

“Yeah?” Logan asks, taking a step closer, his hips pressing into yours, his hands tugging at the hem of your shirt. He slips inside, his nails trailing gently up your stomach. You shiver underneath his touch, goosebumps rising in its wake. He smirks, knowing full well what he’s doing to you. “Then tell me how I’m making you feel.” 

Fuck, you think to yourself. You swallow harshly, racking your brain for the words. “G-good…” you trail off as Logan’s fingers travel up to your ribs, hiking your shirt up in the process. 

“Just good?” He murmurs, massaging your breasts over your bra. He squeezes, thumbs brushing your nipples. 

“B-better than good,” you force out, leaning into his touch, searching for more of him. “Wanna touch you too.” Your hand falls to his lower half, riding up his inner thigh until you find his erection. He’s so much bigger than you expected him to be.

He can’t help but lean into your hand as you slide up and down his shaft. He grunts, losing his composure, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. You can feel him straining against his jeans, the denim tight and uncomfortable. You trail up to his belt, but Logan suddenly grabs your hands and pins them to the desk below. 

All you can think about is how he isn’t touching you anymore, how his lips are centimeters away from yours, how he’s holding you down as his erection pushes against your leg. He shakes his head. “Wanna make you come first, pretty girl,” he husks, closing in on you. His forehead presses to yours. “Lay back for me, sweetheart.” You listen as he guides you down to the desk, hurriedly shoving papers and books away and onto the floor. 

You sit up on your forearms, watching as he strips his beater away. He’s beautiful—every dip and every curve beyond perfect. He steps toward you again—one hand on the desk for support while the other explores your body. He’s quick, his hand slipping under your shirt and tugging it up and over your head.

He’s squeezing your breasts again, playing with the hem of your bra, fingers sliding underneath teasingly. You arch your back into his touch. “Please,” you whine. 

Logan smirks, his nails brushing the underside of your breasts before traveling to your back—to your bra clasp. In the blink of an eye, the clasp is undone, and Logan is sliding the straps down your arms, throwing the bra to the floor. 

He drinks you in, his eyes slowly trailing up and down your body. “You’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispers, shaking his head. He settles in between your legs as he lowers over you again—one hand pins your wrists above your head, keeping you from reaching out and touching him, while he traces and strokes your stomach with the other. 

He’s so close—so impossibly close—but he hasn’t kissed you yet. You want to feel the warmth of his lips, the curve of his smile against you. “How could you ever think I hated you?” His hand slides up your body, finally cupping your right breast and brushing over your nipple. You shudder underneath him. 

You curse under your breath. “I-I just thought you did. N-never seemed like you liked me,” you say, smiling at how different things are now. 

Logan shakes his head, pinching your nipple before moving to the other breast. His forehead rests against yours as he toys with you. “I wanted you this whole time, darlin’.” His confession washes over you, and he finally presses his lips to yours. 

It’s all-consuming, the way he moves against you, the way he fits into you perfectly. His lips are smooth and addicting, like a drug you can’t get enough of. The kiss is slow and hard, but you can feel the need behind it—the intention. 

“Want you,” you say against his lips, squirming underneath him, trying to break your hands free from his pin. But he doesn’t budge—he simply smiles against you—his mouth still on yours. You try again, more honest this time. “N-need you.”

“I know, sweetheart,” he breathes, kissing your pulse point, and then the hollow of your throat. “But I’m gonna take my time with you.” 

He nips at your collarbone, his lips trailing down the center of your chest. He licks a long stripe across your breast, his mouth latching on to your nipple, sucking softly. You moan his name as he travels to the other side, repeating his actions, his tongue teasing you. He continues his course down your body, taking in every inch of you, savoring you. 

Logan kisses your belly button and stops at the hem of your shorts. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and filled with lust. He slowly yanks at the waistband, pulling your shorts down your legs, revealing the lacey lavender panties you’re wearing underneath. 

“Pretty,” he murmurs, pressing a chaste kiss right above your clit. You want him to rip the lace from your legs, but he doesn’t. He sits there, staring as his fingers climb up your inner thigh. It’s achingly slow, but his fingers finally brush over your folds, your arousal soaking through your panties. “Been hiding this the whole time?” He asks, his head cocking to the side, stroking your clit through the fabric. 

“I-I...” You can’t find the words, his touch numbing your mind, stopping all coherent thoughts. 

He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your panties. “So fucking wet,” he grunts, pulling them down your legs. “No more hiding, princess.”

You’re laid bare for him, your legs hanging over the edge of the desk. He kneels before you like he’s at an altar, praying to you, worshiping you. You swallow at the sight of him as he brings his face closer to your heat. You can feel his breath fan against your folds, your clit. 

“Logan, please. Need you so—” 

And then his face is buried in your cunt, his tongue licking a long stripe through your folds and up to your clit. His hands slip under your legs, grabbing your thighs tightly, pulling you closer to him, and forcing you in place.  “Tastes so good,” he mumbles against you, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking roughly. One of his hands slips out from under your thigh, finding your folds and sweeping through them gently. 

Logan’s beard scratches deliciously against you as his tongue laps relentlessly. His fingers prod your entrance, spreading your slick. You’re ready to beg again, to whimper and whine, but he’s shoving two of his long fingers deep inside—down to the knuckles—before you can complain. 

“Fuck, you’re tight,” he huffs between laps, his fingers still inside you. He slides out and thrusts back in—deeper this time. 

“Logan,” you whimper, as he hits that sweet spot inside you. “Feels so good.” He smiles against you, his tongue circling around your clit. “You f-feel so good.”

“Oh yeah?” His teeth graze your core ever so slightly, and you jolt at the sudden feeling. Your walls tighten around him, squeezing him. He notices immediately. “You like that?” He chides, pumping his fingers in and out, quickening his pace. 

“Y-yes,” you choke out. Logan’s working you through it, gentle praises flowing from his lips as he laps at you. You can feel yourself getting closer—the pleasure reaching its peak. He adds more pressure with his tongue, sucking harder. “Logan I—”

“I know,” he mumbles, plunging deep inside you, his tongue lapping at you like he hasn’t eaten in months. “Can feel the way you’re squeezing my fingers.” 

His thumb strokes your thigh comfortingly—his grip still strong, holding you in place. His eyes are locked on yours, watching your every move, like a predator watching its prey. You know he loves the way you’re squirming under his touch, the way you throw your head back when his teeth graze over your clit.

There’s lust in his eyes, and desire too. But you can see the adoration, the need to have you close, to bury himself inside you. If he could climb under your skin, he would. If he could worship at your throne, he would. You can feel it in the way he pushes into you, the way he swallows you like he’ll never get to eat again—never get to have you again. 

And that’s when the tension breaks—snaps in half so easily. Your muscles contract, walls fluttering around him, taking him deeper. “Logan I’m…” 

“That’s it, pretty girl,” he husks, “Let go for me. Wanna taste you on my tongue.” His words, his smell, his touch—he’s everywhere��filling your senses. He rides out your orgasm, pumping in and out as you come undone underneath him. It’s pure bliss, perfect release—more perfect than anything you’ve ever felt before. 

And it’s because it’s Logan. It has always been Logan. 

His fingers rub against your walls, his pace slowing. He laps gently at your clit as he carefully pulls out. He lifts his face from your cunt, your arousal dripping down his chin. Logan stands, taking the two fingers that were plunged deep inside you and bringing them to his lips. His mouth wraps around the digits and he sucks softly. Your breath hitches in your throat at the sight of him savoring the taste of you. His fingers slip out with a pop, and he smiles.

That fucking smile. So goddamn cocky.

Logan grabs his belt, undoing his buckle and slipping the belt away. He’s unbuttoning his jeans, pulling down the zipper, hooking his thumbs into his waistband, and slipping off the denim and his boxers in one quick move. His cock springs up to his stomach, and your jaw drops at the sight of him. 

You sit up as Logan steps in between your legs, his erection pressing against your stomach as he slots into you. He brings his hands to your hips, gripping tightly, and you wrap your legs around his waist. 

He lays you down on the desk, hovering over you, balancing on his forearm as his free hand guides his cock to your entrance. He captures your lips in a kiss as he slides through your folds, notching against your clit. 

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” he whispers between kisses, his tip slipping in your entrance teasingly, and then slipping back out. “You’re so perfect.” He slips in again just a bit but doesn’t move. “Can’t believe you thought I hated you…”  

And then he’s plunging into you, sinking down to the hilt. “…When I wanted you this entire fucking time, pretty girl.”

His hand leaves his cock and finds your clit, stroking lightly. You’re already close, still overstimulated from your first orgasm. Logan hasn’t moved, his cock still deep inside from his first thrust. “Logan,” you mumble, helpless underneath him. He finally pulls out and pushes back in again—somehow deeper this time—bottoming out. You moan at the feeling. 

“That what you needed?” He growls, building his pace, his hips rutting into yours. “Needed me to fuck you?” His words alone could make you come. 

“Fuck, yes,” you answer as he pounds into you, his fingers drawing rough circles into your core. Logan isn’t restrained anymore—he isn’t taking his time like he said he would. He’s letting go, slamming into you, flicking your clit, taking what he wants. 

And fuck does it feel good. 

“You feel so fucking perfect,” Logan praises, biting your lower lip and kissing away the pain. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.” You can feel him rubbing against your walls, stretching you out, fitting inside you like he was always meant to be there. He’s right: it is perfect. 

Nothing will ever compare to this. 

Logan’s hips snap into yours, his cock hitting that sweet spot deep inside you with every single thrust. He’s still working your clit, chasing your orgasm, making you feel good. That adoration is still vibrant in his eyes, still rocking you to your core. 

You clench down around him, squeezing him, taking him in deeper. “Fuck,” he mutters, his pace faltering. He’s close, and so are you. He’s letting go, pumping harder, faster. “So tight, so warm,” he groans. “Such a good girl, letting me fuck you into this desk.” 

Your chests heave together—skin against skin. He’s so warm, so solid, so constant. You can feel yourself melting, sinking, slipping. “Lo…” You trail off, wrapping your legs tighter around him. 

He moans into your mouth. “Love it when you call me that, sweetheart.” He pinches your clit, lighting your skin ablaze. 

“I’m s-so close,” you stutter, stumbling over your words. 

Logan’s throat bobs as he fucks into you, fingers swirling your clit. “Gonna get you there, princess,” he pants. “Wanna feel you come on my cock.” You curse under your breath and Logan swallows the words with a kiss. You’re squeezing him tighter now—inches from the edge, and he knows. “That’s it, pretty girl,” he coos, stroking harder, pounding into you. “Come for me. Know you can do it.” 

You listen, your orgasm crashing into you. It’s uncontrollable—wave after wave of pleasure surging through your body. You’re a mess underneath him, arching your back as you let go. You’re seeing stars, heat flooding your vision. There aren’t words to describe the way you feel—the way that only Logan can make you feel. 

He’s close behind, rocking into you. His hand reaches under your back, lifting you so that he’s standing and you’re sitting up on the desk. The angle is brutal—giving him more room, more depth to fuck up and into you. It’s too much, but it’s just what he needs. 

“Wanna…” you trail off, struggling to get the words out. “Wanna f-feel you come too.”

“Fuck,” Logan curses, pressing his forehead to yours. “Gonna give you what you want. Always gonna give it to you.” And then he’s coming deep inside you. You can feel him filling you up, painting your walls. 

His thrusts slow as he finishes. He pumps in and out a few more times before slipping out of you, but he doesn’t pull away. He wraps his arms around you, keeping you pressed tightly to his chest. The contact is comforting—stabilizing—as you come down from your high. 

Silence fills the room as you melt into him. All those months spent thinking Logan hated you…how could you be such a fool? He was yours the whole time. 

He presses a chaste kiss to your temple. “I meant what I said, you know. About wanting you.” 

You smile softly, your head falling into the crook of his neck. “I never knew.” 

He shakes his head. “Still want you now.” 

“You have me,” you say, lifting your head to look up at him. He’s got that look—that glimmer—in his eyes again. It dawns on you that it isn’t just adoration.  It’s love. You know it’s love. Your breath hitches in your throat at the thought. 

“Good,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours again. “Because I’m not done with you yet.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” he teases, his voice raspy and deep. “When can I see you again?” 

You laugh. “What are you doing after this?” 

He pauses, as if thinking through his mental calendar. And then he smirks that shit-eating, cocksure smirk. “You.” 

Well fuck. 

[humaling]

Hope Is A Dangerous Thing To Have.

pairings: finnick odair x reader

summary: finnick came back a different man. after weeks of silence and indifference, you find a locket in his cot—a reminder that maybe not everything is lost.

warnings: very angsty!! mentions of torture, the usual hunger games

word count: 9.4k

author's note: very angsty. hopeful ending tho. i feel absolutely depressed since i was broken up with and needed a way to cope so i wrote this

How do you grieve someone who still breathes? Who still walks beside you, whose laughter drifts through the corridors like the tide, whose scent lingers in the air like salt on the breeze? How do you mourn a soul that hasn’t left—only drifted too far from shore to reach?

You search for him in the waves of memory, in the warmth that once lived in sea-green eyes now as distant as the horizon. Those eyes used to anchor you, a harbor of safety in the storm. Now they are nothing but glass—cold, unreadable, unfeeling.

You tell yourself to wait. Tides change. Currents shift. He will come back to you. But as the days melt into weeks, the shoreline erodes beneath your feet.

And in the quiet hours, when the ocean is still and your thoughts are too loud, the truth creeps in like a rising tide.

What if the man you love has already drowned?

You sit in the farthest corner of District 13’s massive cafeteria, a space large enough to hold a thousand soldiers. The wall behind you is cold and unyielding, pressing against your back like a ghost of something long gone. You feel just as hollow.

Around you, people gather in clusters, voices weaving together in conversation, laughter spilling from their lips as if there isn’t a war raging beyond these walls. As if their world hasn’t already been splintered apart.

To your right, Primrose Everdeen speaks softly, her voice carrying the weight of quiet sorrow. She tells you something about the medical bay—about Peeta—but the words barely reach you. They drift past like foam on the surface of the water, light and inconsequential, while you are caught in the undertow, dragged somewhere deeper. Somewhere darker.

Your mind is tethered to someone across the room.

Bronze hair, sea-green eyes—the color of the ocean at dawn, just before the sun touches it. The color of home.

You know what that skin feels like beneath your fingertips, warm and smooth, shifting over muscle that tenses like a pulled fishing net. You know the ridges of his scars, carved into him like the grooves of driftwood battered by relentless waves. The roughness of his palms, the gentleness of his hands—hands that once traced circles over your skin as if mapping out a place to return to.

You know he sleeps best when sprawled out, like a starfish on wet sand, limbs stretched wide to keep the nightmares at bay. That he hoards the blankets like a shipwrecked sailor clinging to driftwood. That he needs exactly five pillows when he sleeps alone, building a fragile fortress against the dark. That his fingers move with effortless precision when tying a knot, quick and deft, like a fisherman who has done it a thousand times before.

And you remember his laughter—the deep, rich timbre of it, rolling over you like the tide. You remember the way his voice drops to a lower octave when he wants something, as steady and unshakable as the ocean in a storm.

You remember everything.

And yet, right now, he feels like a stranger.

Maybe he is a stranger. Maybe that’s all he’s ever been. A ghost of someone who drowned long ago. A boy lost at sea, swept too far by currents neither of you could fight. A stranger with sea-green eyes that once cradled the sunlight and now hold nothing but the vast, endless cold of the deep.

Your heart sinks. Not breaks—it’s already done that. It shattered three weeks ago in the medical bay, splintering like a ship dashed against jagged rocks. His gaze—once warm, once yours—turned to ice. His voice—once a melody—lashed at you like saltwater in an open wound, venom laced between every syllable.

And now, whatever is left of your heart sinks further, past your ribs, past your stomach, past anything human, until it is nothing but flotsam on a restless tide.

You never thought it was possible to mourn the living. To grieve someone whose heart still beats, whose hands still move, whose voice still carries. But here you are, swallowing salt, lungs filling with something heavier than water. Wearing a jumpsuit that doesn’t fit quite right. Picking at food that tastes like sand. Sitting in a dim, lifeless room, playing babysitter.

Loss upon loss, and yet—somehow—there’s still more to lose.

~

“They’re here.”

Katniss’ voice ricochets off the walls, sharp and breathless. You snap your head up instantly, fingers freezing around the knot you were tying. She stands in the doorway, chest heaving, breath ragged like she’s been running—or like the weight of those two words is too much to bear alone.

You stare, pupils blown wide, the meaning slipping through your fingers like grains of sand before she speaks again, firmer this time.

“They’re back.”

The words crash over you like a wave, and suddenly, you’re moving.

Your body surges forward before your mind can catch up, feet pounding against the cold floors, the world narrowing to a single thought. Finnick. He’s back. He’s here. He’s alive.

Finnick is alive.

You don’t look back to see if Katniss follows. You don’t hear anything but the rush of blood in your ears, the pounding of your heart like a war drum. The world around you is a blur of gray walls and fluorescent light, too bright, too sterile, too detached from the wild chaos inside you.

You shove past people in the hall, muttering apologies you don’t really mean, breath coming in short, uneven gasps. The scent of medicine and metal seeps into your lungs, and somewhere ahead, voices carry through the air—familiar, distant, pulling you forward like a rip current.

Your heart slams against your ribs, pounding like waves against jagged rocks, relentless and unforgiving. The roar of blood in your ears muffles everything else, reducing the world to a single, all-consuming thought—Finnick. Finnick, who is here. Finnick, who is alive. Finnick, who will be in your arms again, where he belongs, where he has always belonged.

You think about the words you will say when you finally reach him, when your hands find his skin, when the unbearable distance between you ceases to exist. You will tell him that you love him, that you will never leave him again, not for anything, not for anyone. You will tell him that you are sorry, that you tried, that you fought, that you did everything in your power to bring him back before they could break him. You will tell him that District 13 is no better than the Capitol, that their president is nothing but another tyrant wrapped in the illusion of revolution, that this place is suffocating, a prison disguised as salvation.

But then you see him, and everything inside you goes still.

He sits on the edge of the medical bed, his back turned to you, his shoulders hunched in a way that feels entirely wrong. The sharp curve of his spine is more pronounced, his posture heavy with something you cannot name. A nurse stands beside him, wrapping a blood pressure cuff around his arm, but he does not move, does not acknowledge her, does not seem fully present in his own body. There is something unnatural in the way he holds himself, something that unsettles you, that makes your stomach twist in a sick, sinking way.

You try to tell yourself that this is normal, that exhaustion clings to him like seaweed tangled around an anchor, that of course he is different after everything he has endured. You tell yourself that the unease slithering through you is nothing more than hunger, that six hours without food is enough to make your body feel strange, that the nausea building inside you has nothing to do with the way his head remains bowed.

You force yourself to push the feeling down, to breathe past the doubt and the fear clawing at the back of your mind.

“Finnick.” His name leaves your lips on an exhale, soft and desperate, like the rush of air from a drowning man finally breaking the surface.

He turns at the sound of your voice, and the relief that crashes over you is instant, a tide that swallows every doubt, every hesitation, every ache you have carried since the moment he was taken. You barely register the stiffness in his movements before your body is closing the distance, arms wrapping around him, fingers clutching at the fabric of his shirt as though he might slip through your grasp if you let go. The scent of antiseptic clings to him instead of salt, the sterile air of the medical bay stripping him of the warmth you have always known, but it does not matter. He is here. He is real.

“You’re really here,” you whisper against the curve of his neck, voice breaking under the weight of emotion pressing against your ribs. “I thought—” But the words catch in your throat, lost to the sheer relief of having him in your arms again.

His body remains rigid beneath your touch, his muscles locked so tightly that you can feel the tension humming through him like a wire stretched too thin. The longer you hold him, the more you become aware of the way he does not lean into you, the way he does not return your embrace.

A frown tugs at your brows as you slowly pull back, hands settling gently on his shoulders, careful not to press too hard. Your eyes search his face, scanning every feature, trying to find something familiar, something safe, something that tells you he is still him. His jaw is set in a sharp line, his lips pressed together in a firm, unsmiling press. His brows are drawn, a deep crease forming between them, but it is not exhaustion that shapes his expression. It is not relief. It is something colder, something harder, something unrecognizable.

His eyes, the ones that once held warmth, the ones that once softened when they met yours, the ones that always carried the unspoken promise of home, are different now. The sea-green depths that used to hold so much tenderness have darkened, the waves receding, leaving nothing behind but cold, empty waters.

“Finnick?” Your voice is barely above a whisper as your thumb moves to brush against his cheek, aching to ground yourself in something, anything, that feels familiar.

The second your skin grazes his, he flinches.

The reaction is small, a brief, involuntary jerk, but it is enough to send ice flooding through your veins, enough to make the air in your lungs turn sharp and unforgiving. Your mouth parts, the words forming somewhere deep in your throat, but they never make it past your lips. What could you even say? What could you possibly say when the worst thing you have ever feared is unfolding right in front of you?

Before you can find an answer, before you can even begin to process the chasm opening between you, his hands press against your shoulders, and he pushes you away.

The force of it knocks you off balance, sending you stumbling back, feet tripping over nothing, arms flailing in a desperate attempt to catch yourself. The impact never comes. Someone catches you before you hit the ground, steady hands gripping your arms, but your mind barely registers the touch.

Finnick is already on his feet, his body moving with frantic, clumsy urgency as he rips the IV from his arm, the tubing snapping loose, blood welling in the space where the needle once sat. He does not seem to notice, does not seem to care.

Then he turns to you, and whatever remains of your world shatters into pieces so small, you know you will never be able to put them back together again.

There is no recognition in his gaze, no softness, no warmth, no love. There is only anger, sharp and seething, festering beneath the surface like a wound left to rot. There is only hatred, raw and consuming, filling the space where something else—something beautiful, something yours—used to be. There is only indifference, cold and unyielding, cutting through you like the tide swallowing the last breath of a drowning man.

“Finnick?” You call out again, your voice cracking as you struggle to regain your footing, your limbs trembling beneath the weight of everything crashing down on you at once. The distance between you feels vast, an ocean you cannot cross, a current too strong to fight against.

Your hands move frantically at your sides, grasping at nothing, unsure of what to do, what to say, how to make sense of what is unfolding in front of you. What do you do when the man you love—the man who once held you like you were something precious, something irreplaceable—now looks at you as if you are nothing?

Finnick’s lips part, and the scoff that escapes is sharp, cruel, void of anything familiar. “Don’t act like you’re so glad to see me.”

His voice cuts through the air like a blade, sharp and unforgiving, but it is the way his words land that truly destroys you. They slice through your heart without hesitation, leaving gashes so deep you do not know if they will ever heal. The coldness in his tone, the sheer venom laced between each syllable, is enough to send your stomach twisting violently, enough to make your breath hitch and your pulse stutter.

You shake your head, your throat tightening as you struggle to make sense of it, to piece together something—anything—that could explain why he is looking at you like you are nothing more than a stranger, an enemy, something to be loathed. “Finnick… I don’t—” The words falter on your tongue, because how do you ask why? How do you demand answers when you are too terrified to hear them?

His expression twists into something cruel, something mocking, something that makes the ground beneath you feel unsteady. “You don’t what?” he sneers, taking a step forward, his movements slow, deliberate, like a predator toying with prey. “You don’t understand? You don’t get why I wouldn’t be happy to see you?” He lets out a humorless chuckle, the sound dripping with something bitter, something tainted. “That’s funny. You, of all people, pretending to be clueless.”

The words don’t make sense. Nothing about this makes sense. He is here. He is alive. He is back. So why does it feel like you are losing him all over again?

“Finnick, please,” you whisper, voice barely holding together, barely containing the desperation clawing at your throat. “I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what I did.”

His expression darkens, his eyes flashing with something unreadable before his lips curl into a smirk, but there is nothing warm about it. It is hollow, cruel, a mockery of the smiles you once knew. “You don’t know?” He scoffs again, shaking his head. “That’s rich. That’s really rich.”

You reach for him, a desperate attempt to find something familiar, something that will bring you back to the Finnick you know, the Finnick who once traced the lines of your palms like they held the universe, the Finnick who pressed sleepy kisses to your shoulder in the early hours of the morning, the Finnick who whispered that he loved you like it was the only thing that ever mattered. But the moment your fingers so much as brush his arm, he jerks away as if your touch burns him.

A lump lodges itself in your throat, thick and suffocating. “Why are you doing this?” The words are barely more than a breath, shaky and broken, but they are all you can manage.

Finnick’s jaw tightens, his hands clenched into fists at his sides before his eyes meet yours again, his gaze colder than you have ever seen it. The weight of it crashes over you like a tidal wave, dragging you under, deeper and deeper, until all you can feel is the crushing force of the words he says next.

“Because I hate you.”

Your breath catches. Your body goes still. The world around you seems to blur at the edges, fading into nothing but the space between you and him.

No.

No, he doesn’t mean that. He can’t mean that.

But there is no hesitation in his expression, no flicker of doubt, no trace of the Finnick you know beneath the loathing that twists his features.

“You left me,” he says, voice steady, but laced with something bitter, something sharp enough to cut. “You left me there to die.”

Your head shakes before you even realize it, rejection spilling from your lips as if saying the words would make them true. “No. No, I—” Your voice wavers, breaking apart at the seams, but you swallow down the panic rising in your throat. “Finnick, that’s not true. I would never—”

His laughter is quiet, mirthless, like the hollow echo of waves against a broken shore. “Liar.” He exclaims, running a hand through his hair as if the very sight of you is exhausting. “I know what we were. What you were.” His eyes darken, and the next words come like a final nail in the coffin. “You were using me.”

Your breath shudders out of you, unsteady and uneven, but the ache in your chest only worsens as he continues, unrelenting. “I was nothing more than a means to an end, wasn’t I?” His voice is eerily calm, his gaze cold and unreadable. “All of it—the whispers, the stolen moments, the way you looked at me like I was something worth saving—it was never real. You had a motive, and I was too much of a fool to see it.”

Your entire body feels like it’s trembling, but you force yourself to move, to step closer, to reach for him as if you can pull him back from whatever abyss they’ve shoved him into. “I don’t understand,” you whisper, voice barely holding together, barely containing the desperation clawing at your throat. “That’s not true, and you know that.”

He flinches away from your touch. Not violently, not aggressively, but in a way that hurts even more. As if your hands on him are unbearable. As if you are unbearable.

Your heart clenches so tightly it feels like it might collapse in on itself. “Finnick,” you whisper, voice cracking under the weight of it all. “You’re breaking my heart.”

For the briefest of moments, something flickers across his expression. Something fleeting, something fragile. But it’s gone before you can grasp onto it, swallowed by the tide of whatever poison they’ve fed him.

His lips part, but no words come, only the silence stretching between you, cold and merciless.

Tears slip down your cheeks, hot against the numbness settling into your bones. You shake your head, refusing to let this be real, refusing to accept that the boy who once held you like you were his whole world now looks at you like you are nothing more than a ghost of something he wishes he could forget.

“I would never leave you there to die.” Your voice is hoarse, raw, carved from something deeper than heartbreak.

But Finnick only looks at you like he doesn’t believe you.

Finnick exhales, slow and sharp, like he’s trying to hold something in—something dangerous, something volatile. His hands tremble at his sides, fingers twitching as if itching to lash out, to grab onto something, to make this feeling stop.

“They told me everything,” he murmurs, and there’s something distant about the way he says it, like he’s reciting a fact, like he’s just now realizing the full weight of it. “How you left me in that arena. How you saved yourself and let me suffer.” His sea-green eyes bore into you, darkened with something cruel, something unbearable. “I should’ve died there. I would’ve died there if I was lucky.”

Your throat tightens. His words are salt in an open wound, stinging, burning, seeping into the rawest parts of you. You shake your head, stepping closer, reaching out despite the way he flinches. “Finnick, please. That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

But he doesn’t hear you. He won’t hear you. His voice rises, every syllable heavier than the last, suffocating in its weight. “You let them take me.” The accusation slices through the air, through you, straight to the marrow of your bones. “You let them drag me away, and now you think you can stand here and pretend like you care? Like you ever cared at all?”

“I do care,” you whisper, but it’s drowned out by the storm unraveling in front of you.

Finnick’s breathing grows unsteady, his body taut like a wire stretched too thin, fraying at the edges. His fists clench and unclench, his jaw tightening as if he’s fighting something unseen, something warring inside of him. His shoulders tremble, his entire frame locked in battle with itself, with the ghosts clawing at his mind.

“Get away from me.” His voice is lower now, raw and laced with something just shy of a snarl. “I can’t—” He swallows thickly, his breath coming out harsh and uneven. “I can’t be around you.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, knocking the air from your lungs. Your limbs feel heavy, your skin ice-cold, but you force yourself to stand your ground. “Finnick, I’m not leaving you.” Your voice is barely above a whisper, fragile and desperate. “Not now. Not ever.”

His eyes flicker with something unreadable, something you want to believe is hesitation, but before you can reach for him again, a firm hand clasps around your upper arm.

“Come on,” a voice urges—one of the soldiers, firm but not unkind.

You try to shake them off, to dig your heels into the floor, but Finnick’s gaze stops you in your tracks. The way his expression twists, the way his body shakes as his breathing grows erratic—it’s wrong. It’s all wrong.

“Get her out of here,” another voice commands.

“No, wait,” you plead, struggling as the grip on your arm tightens, as another set of hands joins the first, dragging you back, forcing distance between you and him.

Finnick stumbles back, his chest heaving, his hands threading into his hair like he’s trying to rip something out of himself. His entire body quivers, like a wave cresting too high, about to break.

Your own body thrashes against the hold keeping you away from him. “Finnick, please, listen to me! It wasn’t like that! You have to believe me!”

But he isn’t looking at you anymore. He turns away, his breathing sharp, his entire frame locked in place as if afraid to move, afraid to break.

And then you’re gone—hauled through the doorway, dragged down the hall, your screams swallowed by the sterile walls of District 13.

The last thing you see before the doors shut is Finnick, hunched over, hands gripping his head, like he’s drowning in a tide he cannot escape.

~

You sat with Haymitch outside of Katniss’ room, the dim, sterile hall stretching endlessly in front of you. The air was thick with something suffocating, something you couldn’t name—grief, maybe. Or something worse.

Apparently, Peeta was in the same condition as Finnick. Hijacked. Twisted. Warped. Their minds were tampered with, their memories poisoned, their love rewritten into something unrecognizable. Snow had not only taken them—he had turned them into weapons, sharpened and honed for one singular purpose.

You weren’t sure what was worse—the fact that Finnick despised you now, or the gnawing, gut-wrenching fear that the Finnick you once knew might never come back.

You exhaled shakily, pressing your knees to your chest. Your fingers curled and uncurled, your wrists rolling to shake off the numbness, to rid yourself of the ghost of his touch—the rigidness of his body beneath your hands, the way he flinched at your presence like you were something vile, something rotten. It made your skin crawl. Not because of him. Never because of him.

Because of what they did to him.

Because of the way you made him feel.

“It’s not your fault.” Haymitch’s voice cut through the silence, rough and low, but not unkind.

You turned your head to look at him, at the wreck of a man beside you. Haymitch looked like hell—more so than usual. His eyes were bloodshot, rimmed with exhaustion, but beneath it, there was something else. A deep, quiet horror. Like he had seen this before. Lived it. Survived it, but barely.

You had heard the stories. What the Capitol did to him. What he endured in his games, and after.

Your throat tightened, a bitter laugh slipping out before you could stop it. “Should’ve been me.” Your voice was hoarse, raw from screaming, from pleading with someone who no longer wanted to hear it.

Haymitch scoffed, pulling a flask from God-knows-where, twisting it in his hands before taking a swig. “No, it shouldn’t have.” He didn’t look at you when he said it, just stared ahead, gaze locked on something distant, something only he could see. “You wouldn’t have lasted long enough in there.”

Your jaw clenched, a protest forming on your tongue, but he cut you off before you could speak.

“You don’t have the mind for it. The will for it. You’d break faster than Peeta. Hell, maybe worse.” He finally turned his head, meeting your gaze, his gray eyes softer than you had ever seen them. It unsettled you more than his usual cynicism.

You sucked in a breath, tilting your head back against the cold, lifeless wall. Your eyes burned as you bit down on your lip, swallowing the sob that threatened to escape. Your heart ached, a deep, gnawing pain that felt like drowning, like being dragged under a current too strong to fight.

It was unbearable. Unyielding. You didn’t know how to deal with it. You weren’t sure you ever would.

Haymitch sighed, running a tired hand down his face before taking another sip. “It’s a process, sweetheart,” he muttered, voice rougher now. “But you need to hang on. For both of you.”

Your fingers curled into your sleeves, gripping the fabric so tightly it might tear. He was right. You hated that he was right.

And you hated that, despite everything, despite the venom in Finnick’s voice and the ice in his eyes, you would wait for him as long as it took.

~

You lean against the doorway, arms crossed, shoulders squared, as if bracing for a fight that will never come. As if standing like this, standing strong, will keep you from falling apart.

Your gaze is fixed on Finnick’s chest, on the slow, steady rise and fall that proves he is still here, still breathing. He looks peaceful like this. Almost untouched by everything that has happened, everything that has been done to him.

But you know better.

His fingers twitch from time to time, grasping at something unseen, someone unseen. A phantom touch. A memory slipping through his grasp.

You stay where you are, unmoving, barely breathing, watching him from a distance. Is this what it will be now? Is this all you’ll have left? Watching him from afar, knowing the only time he’ll ever look peaceful is when he’s unconscious? Knowing that the moment he stirs, it’s because of the nightmares?

Something acidic rises in your throat, burning, bitter, unbearable. The taste of grief, maybe. The taste of something you cannot name, something that twists your insides and leaves you hollow. You swallow it down, but it lingers, coating your tongue, settling deep inside you.

You hate this. You hate all of it.

All you want is to be in his arms, to lay your head against his chest and pretend that the world isn’t burning above you. Pretend that nothing has changed. Pretend that he still loves you.

But you stay in the doorway, feet rooted to the cold, unforgiving ground. Watching from a distance. Because that is all you have now. This is all you have now.

Footsteps echo softly against the cold floor, breaking the silence that has settled around you like a heavy fog. The sudden sound startles you, your body tensing as you instinctively turn on your heel, your fists clenching at your sides, ready to strike if necessary. But the moment your eyes catch the familiar cascade of long auburn hair, your shoulders ease, the fight within you slipping away just as quickly as it had risen.

Annie stands a few feet away, hesitant but unwavering, a quiet understanding reflected in the softness of her expression. There’s no pity in her gaze—only recognition, as if she knows exactly what kind of storm is brewing inside you without you having to say a word. A small, tentative smile tugs at her lips, a gesture so simple yet filled with warmth.

"It’s been a while, hasn’t it?" she says, her voice gentle, lacking the weight of expectation. She isn’t here to force words from you or demand answers you don’t have the strength to give. She is simply here.

You study her for a moment, unsure how to respond, as if the simple acknowledgment of time passing feels like an admission of how much has changed. Eventually, you nod, the motion slow, measured. "Yeah, it has," you murmur, your voice carrying the exhaustion of too many sleepless nights, too many unanswered questions.

Annie doesn’t waver, doesn’t take the hint to leave you to your silence. Instead, she steps forward, closing the space between you in a way that isn’t intrusive, only familiar. She settles beside you, mirroring your posture as she leans lightly against the wall, her presence steady and unshaken.

You glance at her from the corner of your eye, your gaze cautious, guarded. But she doesn’t push, doesn’t probe. She only offers a quiet reassurance that you hadn’t realized you needed.

"Relax," she murmurs, as if sensing the lingering tension coiled in your muscles. "It’s just me."

Her words should be meaningless, just a simple reassurance, but somehow, they carry weight. You release a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, the tightness in your chest easing—if only just a little.

Annie doesn’t expect you to talk. She just stays, letting the silence stretch between you in a way that feels less suffocating, less lonely.

Annie stands beside you, silent at first, her fingers idly twisting at the fabric of her sleeve. The air between you is heavy, thick with unspoken words, yet neither of you rushes to break it. The weight of everything—of what’s happened, of what’s still happening—lingers between breaths, settling deep in the space where grief and exhaustion intertwine.

When she finally speaks, her voice is quiet but steady, as if she has rehearsed the words in her mind too many times before. “They kept me locked in a room without windows.” She doesn’t look at you, her gaze fixed somewhere beyond the present, lost in a memory she can’t escape. “At first, it was just isolation. No light, no sound. Just me and the walls. I don’t know how long they left me there before they started asking questions.”

You don’t say anything. You barely breathe.

“They didn’t care about me,” she continues, voice devoid of emotion, like she’s reciting something detached from herself. “They wanted Finnick. Wanted to know how much he knew, how much he’d be willing to trade for me.” Her fingers curl around the hem of her sleeve, twisting it tighter. “I told them he didn’t know anything, but they didn’t believe me. They kept saying he would talk if he knew what was happening to me. If he thought they’d kill me.”

A sick feeling crawls up your throat. You grip your arms, trying to steady yourself.

Annie exhales slowly, as if forcing the weight of those memories from her chest. “But they weren’t just trying to break him. They were breaking all of us.” Her voice tightens slightly, but she pushes on. “Johanna—she fought them at first. Wouldn’t give them what they wanted. They stripped her of everything, piece by piece, until she wasn’t sure who she was anymore.”

You close your eyes for a brief moment, trying to steel yourself against the wave of emotions threatening to pull you under.

“And Peeta…” Annie hesitates. “I never saw him, but I heard him. Sometimes, in the halls. The way he screamed… I knew they were doing something different to him. Something worse.” She finally looks at you, her green eyes filled with something raw, something fragile yet unbreakable. “They weren’t just hurting him. They were remaking him.”

A sharp, searing pain twists in your chest.

You shake your head, trying to will away the image of Peeta trapped in the Capitol, his mind being twisted into something unrecognizable. “And Finnick?” The question leaves your lips before you can stop it, your voice barely above a whisper.

Annie hesitates, and that hesitation alone is enough to make your stomach drop.

“When they realized they couldn’t break him, they made him believe something worse,” she says finally, her voice so soft it’s almost lost beneath the hum of the fluorescent lights. “They made him believe you left him there. That you abandoned him.”

The words hit like a physical blow, knocking the breath from your lungs.

“They told him you were never really on his side. That you used him. That he was nothing more than a tool to you.” Annie shakes her head, jaw tightening.

A sharp, visceral pain shoots through your chest, so intense that for a moment, you can’t breathe.

Annie notices. “I don’t believe it,” she says quickly. “And I don’t think—deep down—he does either. But they got inside his head. They took everything he was feeling and twisted it.”

Your vision blurs as a lump lodges itself in your throat. You’ve always imagined the worst, always wondered what they must have done to him, but hearing it like this makes it real. Makes it undeniable.

Your nails dig into your arms as you force the words out, your voice barely holding together. “I would never leave him.”

Annie’s expression softens, but there’s something pained in the way she looks at you. “I know that. You know that. But Finnick… Finnick isn’t himself right now.” She hesitates before adding, “That doesn’t mean he’s lost forever.”

But what if he is? What if the Finnick you love, the Finnick who loves you, is gone?

“I should have—” Your voice breaks, and you shake your head, unable to even finish the thought.

“There was nothing you could have done,” Annie says, her voice firm despite its softness. “Nothing any of us could have done.”

But it doesn’t feel that way. It feels like you failed him. Like you lost him.

You blink rapidly, forcing yourself to keep the tears at bay. “I just want him back.” The words come out fragile, almost childlike. “The real him.”

Annie’s expression softens. “So do I,” she murmurs. “And I think, when all of this is over, he’ll find his way back.”

Neither of you speaks after that. There’s nothing left to say.

Instead, you both stand there, side by side, drowning in the weight of everything that’s been taken from you.

~

It has been a month since Finnick and the others were rescued. A month of waiting, of hoping, of slowly unraveling under the weight of what has been lost. Finnick and Annie were cleared after two weeks. Johanna still has one more week under observation. And Peeta—Peeta is making no progress at all.

You visit Annie and Johanna most often. It feels easier, in a way. Johanna makes jokes sharp enough to slice through your grief, her bitterness grounding you when you start to spiral. Annie doesn’t say much, but when she looks at you, there is an understanding in her gaze that makes it easier to breathe. Even in silence, she sees you. She sees the way you are trying to move forward, to convince yourself that there is still something ahead of you and not just the gaping void Finnick’s indifference has left behind.

But every conversation ends the same way. No matter how much you pretend, no matter how much you try to stitch yourself back together, you always end up right where you started—wallowing in the emptiness, drowning in the cold distance Finnick has placed between you. Every moment without him feels stretched thin, an unbearable ache that never eases. The man you love is right there, close enough to touch, but it might as well be miles. He does not look at you. He does not speak to you. And if he does, it is with an apathy that cuts deeper than any blade.

Sometimes, when the weight of it becomes too much, you visit Peeta. Maybe because you think if you can bring him back, there’s hope for Finnick too. Maybe because you need to see what the Capitol did to him—to both of them—to remind yourself that this isn’t your fault. But Peeta isn’t Peeta. He flinches when Katniss’ name is mentioned, his voice is sharp, and his words are laced with venom. And yet, all you can see is Finnick.

You see it in the way Peeta looks at Katniss like she is the enemy, the same way Finnick now looks at you. You see it in the way his hands curl into fists when she enters the room, the same way Finnick tenses whenever you are near. You see it in the way his voice is edged with something hollow, something broken, something that does not belong to him. And you remember. You remember the cold detachment in Finnick’s eyes, the way his hands no longer cradle your face but push you away, the way his words are no longer laced with warmth but with quiet, unshakable hatred.

It makes your skin crawl. Makes you want to run. Makes you want to claw at your own chest and rip out whatever it is inside you that still dares to hope. You wish this was just a nightmare, something fleeting, something you could wake up from. But there is no waking up from this. There is only time. And with every passing day, Finnick becomes less of the man you loved and more of a stranger wearing his face.

So you tell yourself that whoever came back isn’t him. That the Finnick you love is still somewhere out there, lost in the wreckage of what the Capitol did to him. That this man—the one who won’t meet your gaze, the one who does not say your name, the one who acts as if you are nothing—is an impostor. A hollow thing trying to be him. Because that is easier than accepting the truth.

Because the truth is, if Finnick is truly gone, you do not know how to keep going without him.

Maybe that’s why everything is starting to blur, the edges of the world dulling into shades of gray. Nothing feels sharp anymore, nothing feels real. You’ve stopped trying to move forward. Instead, you let the grief sink its claws into you, dragging you under, hoping—maybe even begging—that it swallows you whole. Anything to keep from waking up another day, from dragging yourself through the motions, from existing in a world where everything you do, everything you see, everything you feel is stained with the absence of him.

You speak less. See people less. The days pass without meaning, slipping through your fingers like sand. Most of your time is spent in silence, lying on the stiff mattress of your bunker, staring at the ceiling, waiting. For what, you don’t know. Maybe for Finnick. Maybe for something else. Maybe for nothing at all.

But no matter how much you try to numb yourself, no matter how much you try to pretend it doesn’t tear you apart, the truth still sits in the hollow of your chest, pressing against your ribs like a caged scream.

You don’t last like this forever. Although you wish you had. But Coin doesn’t let opportunities slip through her fingers, especially not when she sees potential. And you? You’re efficient. You know weapons, you know how to track, how to move unnoticed. That makes you useful.

So she forces you out of your bunker, shoving you into training, into preparation, until suddenly, you’re being sent out on expeditions. To hunt, to kill, to spy. It doesn’t matter. You don’t ask questions. You just get the job done. Because what else is there to do?

Of course, the others notice. Katniss has been trying to get you to talk, to tell her what Coin is making you do. You learn, unwillingly, that she’s being forced to make propaganda films to strengthen the revolution. The idea of it makes you want to laugh. What difference does a camera make when people are already dying?

But it’s Haymitch who’s the most persistent. And that surprises you.

At first, you assume it’s just boredom. He doesn’t have alcohol to drown himself in, so maybe he’s looking for something else to pass the time. But the more he seeks you out, the more you realize it’s something deeper. He watches you too closely, the way your hands stay clenched at your sides, the way you don’t sleep, the way you barely eat. He sees through you.

And he doesn’t like what he sees.

“Come on, sweetheart, we both know what she’s doing,” Haymitch mutters one day, cornering you outside the training room. “She’s using you up until there’s nothing left.”

You scoff, shouldering past him. “You say that like I have anything left to begin with.”

He doesn’t let you go so easily. His grip snags your wrist, firm but not forceful, just enough to make you pause. “Yeah, that’s the problem.” His voice is quieter now, but sharper. “You’re letting her turn you into something you don’t even recognize.”

You rip your arm free, glaring. “What do you care?”

Haymitch exhales roughly, raking a hand through his hair. For a moment, he doesn’t answer. Then, he says, “Because I’ve been where you are. And it doesn’t end well.”

You freeze. Something tightens in your chest, but you shove it down, scoffing. “I’m not you.”

“No. You’re not,” Haymitch agrees. “But you’re on the same damn path.” He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You think if you throw yourself into this, if you bleed enough for the cause, it’ll make up for everything? That it’ll bring him back?”

Your stomach twists violently. “I don’t—”

“You do,” he cuts in, relentless. “You think I don’t know what it’s like to lose everything? To watch the people you love get taken from you, piece by piece, until you don’t even know who you are anymore?” His jaw tightens, his eyes dark with something old and painful. “I drank myself into oblivion to cope. You? You’re letting Coin use you as a weapon, like that’s any better.”

His words slam into you, knocking the air from your lungs. Because you know he’s right. You’ve known it for a while now. But admitting it—saying it out loud—that’s something else entirely.

Your throat burns. “You don’t understand.”

“The hell I don’t.” Haymitch shakes his head, exasperated. “You were Mags’ girl. She would’ve died before letting you turn into this.”

Something inside you cracks at that. You whirl on him, rage and grief twisting together. “Mags is dead.”

“And so is Finnick, if you keep this up,” Haymitch snaps back. “Because when he finally does come back to himself, do you think he’s gonna recognize you? Or are you just gonna be another ghost?”

The words hit deeper than you want to admit. A cold, ugly truth settling in your bones.

You don’t say anything. You can’t. Because the anger, the bitterness, the grief—it’s all rising too fast, threatening to suffocate you. Haymitch sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not saying this to piss you off,” he mutters. “I’m saying it because someone has to.”

You swallow hard, looking away. “So what? You want me to stop?”

“I want you to remember who the hell you are,” Haymitch says. “Because if you don’t, you’re gonna lose yourself completely. And I know for a fact Mags didn’t raise you to be some mindless soldier.”

The silence between you is heavy, filled with too many unspoken things. But for the first time in weeks, something inside you stirs. A flicker of something—doubt, regret, maybe even hope.

Haymitch doesn’t push you any further. He just exhales and steps back, giving you space to decide for yourself. “Think about it,” he says, before walking away.

And you do.

For the first time in a long time, you really do.

~

The underground bunker hums with quiet activity, a constant murmur of voices and the soft scuff of boots against the cold floors. The air feels heavy, thick with the unspoken weight of too many people forced into the same confined space. You should be paying attention, listening for updates, but none of it registers. It hasn’t in a long time. Your mind remains distant, caught somewhere between exhaustion and the dull ache of something deeper, something you don’t have the strength to name.

Your feet carry you forward without thought, drawn to a space you shouldn’t be seeking out. Finnick’s cot is just another part of the bunker, another piece of fabric stretched too thin over metal, indistinguishable from the dozens of others. And yet, you always find yourself looking for it, searching for some trace of the past, as if by sheer force of will, you might bring back what has already been lost.

The dim lighting catches on something small resting against the rumpled sheets. A glint of gold, barely noticeable but impossible to ignore. The sight of it sends a jolt through you, stopping you in your tracks before you even realize what it is.

Your fingers close around it almost on instinct, the cool metal familiar against your skin. You don’t need to open it to know what’s inside. The weight of it alone is enough to tell you that this is the same locket, the one you once traced with your fingers on nights when the world felt too vast, too cruel. The one that held a piece of you and a piece of him.

The clasp resists when you try to open it, as if the locket itself is reluctant to reveal its secret, but after a moment, it gives way. Your breath catches the moment you see what’s inside.

Your own face, captured in a moment frozen in time.

The sight of it steals the air from your lungs, a sharp ache blooming in your chest. You knew this locket, knew what it contained, but seeing it here, now, in his possession—it doesn’t make sense. If he believed what they told him, if the Capitol had truly twisted his mind against you, why would he still have this? Why would he keep something that tethered him to you?

Your fingers tighten around the locket, the edges pressing into your palm as if grounding you in reality. For the first time in weeks, doubt begins to take root, curling into something almost dangerous.

A voice breaks through the silence, low and familiar, stopping your thoughts in their tracks.

"Did anyone tell you that touching someone else’s stuff is rude?"

The words send a shock through you, and your breath stutters in your throat. You don’t have to turn to know who it is.

Finnick.

His tone isn’t harsh, isn’t cold or cutting like you feared it might be. It simply exists, filling the space between you in a way that makes your pulse hammer against your ribs. After everything—after weeks of silence, of avoidance, of pretending you don’t exist—he’s speaking to you. Acknowledging you.

Slowly, you force yourself to turn, meeting his gaze for the first time since the medical bay. The sight of him knocks the air from your lungs. He looks like himself, and yet not at all. The sharpness of his features remains, the familiar curve of his mouth, the green of his eyes—but there’s something different. The exhaustion clings to him like a second skin, his expression guarded in a way that sends a painful twist through your chest.

For a moment, neither of you move. The silence stretches, filled only by the distant noise of the bunker around you. Then, hesitantly, you lift the locket, the gold catching in the dim light as you hold it between you. His gaze flickers to it, something unreadable passing across his face.

He doesn’t snatch it away, doesn’t shove it into his pocket as if ashamed to have been caught with it. Instead, his fingers brush against the metal, slow and deliberate, before he takes it from your grasp. His thumb traces over the worn surface, lingering over the picture inside, his jaw tightening slightly as he studies it.

You watch him, heart lodged in your throat, afraid to speak and shatter whatever fragile moment has formed between you. For the first time in weeks, something shifts in the space between you—not enough to undo the damage, not enough to bring back what was lost, but enough to spark the faintest flicker of something you thought had been extinguished forever.

"Why do you have it?"

Your voice is quieter than you intended, barely above a whisper, but it doesn’t matter. The question lingers between you, pressing against the silence, desperate for an answer. You need him to say something—anything—that tells you he’s still in there, that beneath all the hatred, all the distance, there’s still a part of him that hasn’t let you go.

Finnick’s brows knit together, his gaze still locked on the locket in his palm as if the answer might be hidden in its worn edges. His fingers tighten around it, thumb tracing the familiar grooves, but he doesn’t speak.

The silence stretches, wrapping around you like a slow-moving tide. The world around you dulls, fading into nothing but the space between you and him. It’s been so long since you’ve had this—just him, just you. Even now, when everything feels different, wrong, broken, you can’t help but reach for what you lost.

Seconds drag into eternity, but you won’t back down. You’ve spent too many weeks pretending you could survive this distance when all you really wanted was to collapse into his arms, to hear him say something that could put you back together again.

Finally, he exhales, the sound barely audible, as if he’s been holding it in for too long. "I don’t know."

His voice is rough, strained, like the words cost him something. For the briefest moment, his eyes soften, something vulnerable flashing through them before it’s gone. He closes them, his lashes brushing against his cheek, his throat moving as he swallows hard.

You watch him carefully, memorizing him all over again. As if you haven’t traced every inch of his face before. As if you don’t already know every scar, every freckle, every shift of emotion that he tries to hide.

He looks exposed beneath your gaze, like the weight of your stare is too much, like he wants to run from it.

“I’ll tell you what,” you say, voice softer than you meant it to be. His eyes open at that, locking onto yours, and for a second, your breath falters. You could drown in that gaze. You always could.

Swallowing, you force yourself to keep steady, to say what you need to say. "Maybe it’s because, deep down, you know the truth."

"Maybe it’s because, deep down, you know the truth."

Finnick doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, just holds your gaze like he’s caught between disbelief and something else, something heavier. His fingers curl around the locket, his grip tightening for a second before loosening again.

"What truth?" His voice is quiet, but there’s a sharp edge to it, like he’s daring you to say something he won’t be able to ignore.

You take a breath, steadying yourself even as your chest tightens. "That the Capitol didn’t take everything from you."

His jaw clenches, the muscle twitching beneath his skin. "You think you know what they did to me?" His laugh is humorless, bitter, the kind that scrapes against old wounds. "You think you understand what’s in my head?"

"I don’t have to understand it to know that this—" you gesture to the locket in his hand, "—means something. That you kept it for a reason."

Finnick exhales sharply, his fingers flexing, his shoulders rising with tension. "Or maybe I just forgot to throw it away."

The words sting, sharp and cruel, but you don’t flinch. Instead, you step closer, closing the space between you. His breath hitches for just a moment, and you see it—the flicker of something in his eyes, the way his body tenses, like he’s fighting something within himself.

"Then do it." Your voice is steady, a challenge. "If it doesn’t mean anything, if I don’t mean anything, then throw it away."

Finnick says nothing. His grip tightens around the locket again, but his hand doesn’t move.

Your throat feels tight, but you press on. "I know you, Finnick. I spent nights tracing your scars on your skin, and so did you. And I know that no matter what they did to you, no matter what they forced into your head, some part of you still remembers."

His breath is uneven now, his gaze flickering away, like he can’t bear to look at you.

"Tell me I don’t matter," you say, voice softer now, almost pleading. "Tell me that locket doesn’t mean anything. And I’ll leave you alone."

Finnick stares at the locket in his palm, shoulders drawn tight like he’s caught in a battle you can’t see. His fingers hover over the clasp, as if debating whether to close it, tuck it away, or crush it in his grip. But he does none of those things. Instead, he just stands there, the weight of your words pressing down on him like an anchor.

You wait, heart hammering against your ribs, but he doesn’t speak.

"Finnick." You take another step, your voice softer now, hesitant. "Please."

His jaw clenches. "You think this changes anything?"

"It changes everything," you counter. "You’ve been pretending I don’t exist, but you kept this. Why?"

A flicker of something flashes in his eyes, something that makes your stomach twist painfully. "I don’t know," he admits, and for the first time since he came back, he sounds… lost.

It guts you more than the indifference ever did.

You don’t realize you’ve reached for his hand until your fingers brush against his. His skin is warm, familiar, but he flinches like you’ve burned him. He doesn’t pull away, though. Doesn’t shove you aside like you half expect him to.

"You do know," you whisper.

His breath shudders as he finally lifts his gaze to yours. The exhaustion clings to his face, but beneath it, there’s something else—a flicker of recognition, of a battle waging inside him.

"You said if I told you that locket doesn’t mean anything, you’d leave me alone." His voice is quieter now, almost hesitant.

You nod, forcing yourself to hold steady, even as your chest tightens. "I meant it."

Finnick swallows, gaze dropping to the locket again. His thumb brushes over the worn gold, over the tiny latch that guards your picture inside. Another long silence stretches between you, the tension pulling tight, suffocating.

Then, finally—so quiet you almost miss it—he exhales, "I can’t."

Your breath catches. "Can’t what?"

His fingers tighten around the locket, his shoulders rising with a shuddering breath. "I can’t say it doesn’t mean anything."

The air between you shifts, something fragile and dangerous crackling in the space. Hope stirs in your chest, tentative and unsteady, but real.

"Then stop pretending like I don’t exist," you whisper.

Finnick’s throat bobs as he swallows. He looks at you like he’s standing on the edge of something, teetering between fear and familiarity. His lips part, but before he can say anything, a voice calls from across the bunker.

"Odair, let’s go!"

Finnick tenses, something closing off in his expression again. His fingers curl around the locket, hiding it from view, and just like that, the moment shatters.

You watch as he steps back, his face unreadable again. But before he turns away completely, you see it—the way his hand lingers near his pocket, the locket still clutched tight in his palm.

He doesn’t throw it away.

And this time, you let yourself believe that means something.