#prim's death touched him

[inke-ri]

So I couldn't help but browse the THG tag bc those books own my whole heart. I actually check it now and again, and it's been interesting see how opinions have changed over the years, especially in regards to Gale and Peeta. Going through the evolution of them as just potential love interests to being far more complex than I could have expected has been a wild ride. Crazy how this reads different than from when I was a preteen.

That said, I wanted to give my unsolicited two cents on my boys, because though I have been enjoying the discussion on Peeta and Gale and what they mean to the story, I also feel like reducing them to Peeta = peace and Gale = war is far too simplistic... and oftentimes unfair to one or both of them.

See, I don't think Peeta and Gale are peace and war/destruction. They're compassion and indignation.

Peeta worries about the other tributes, or their families, or how to repay people like Rue and Thresh for what they did.

Gale is indignation at how the Capitol treats its citizens, it's anger at the injustice of inequality and brutality.

Both are needed in a story like THG. You can't have people like even Peeta not say something like "maybe we're wrong about keeping things quiet in the districts", you can't have him not drop the baby bomb, you can't start a revolution without Gale's indignation at the status quo. At deserving a better life but being denied it, at having your kids be mercilessly killed for literal sport.

However, if you start a rebellion and loose sight of your compassion, you end up no better than the people you're fighting against. Gale wasn't a bad person, imo. His heart was in the right place. He was flawed, yes, but so is everyone in this series. Gale, most importantly, lost sight of the line between fighting for the people he cared about and fighting against the people who hurt him.

Reducing Gale's indignation to just revenge and hatred ignores so much of what he stands for. Who hasn't seen laws passed that dehumanize people, who hasn't been angry and furious when someone is elected who fundamentally hates everything you are, who doesn't think some people need to pay for the atrocities they committed? There's a little bit of Gale in every single one of us - and it's important that it's there, because that's what gives us strength to challenge the status quo and make life better for the future generations.

But. You can't let it take over. You can't loose sight of your compassion or your empathy.

That's where Peeta comes in. Peeta is the voice in your head that worries about how many good lives will be lost when they give themselves up for this cause. Peeta is the worry about the people caught in the crossfire. Peeta is rebuilding when it's over and believing that the next generation will have a better life than your own. Peeta is being kind, even to people who may not deserve it.

And Gale... Gale looses sight of his compassion, and he doesn't realize it until it smacks him in the face when the bombs go off and Prim is gone and he's too far gone. Meanwhile, Peeta advocates for the end of the war even though it means the status quo remains - and regardless of what he believes himself, I don't think Suzanne chose him to say those lines by chance. It means both mindsets have their flaws: too kind and things that shouldn't remain will never be challenged and changed, too angry and you may loose sight of what you're fighting for.

And that's just how Suzanne uses her characters, both of them, all of them. Just look at who is with Katniss depending on the situation:

- Katniss chooses to "rebel" after Gale is brutally whipped. She kisses him.

- Katniss realizes that in order for D12 to rebel, everyone would need to be in on it, and she realizes most of them are not like her, that they're scared and she understands, emphasises with them. Peeta walks by her side.

- Katniss finally does it though, shoots the arrow at the force field, and Peeta is taken from her, it's now Gale by her side.

(You can't start a rebellion without indignation, and sometimes you HAVE to do it or things will never change, regardless of the inevitable pain that will come along.)

- Katniss is righteously angry at the Capitol bombing a hospital full of innocents to make a point. Gale remains there.

- Coin twists people's compassion into an army to fight for her own personal gain. Peeta is hijacked and looses his sense of self.

- Katniss and Gale go to District 2 and even though she tries to be like Peeta, she's still shot- reinforcing Gale's views, the person who was with her during that sequence.

- Katniss is angry at Snow, Katniss goes to the Capitol to kill him. Gale is there.

- Katniss gets in way over her head and realizes she is responsible for the death of most of her squad. She shares the lamb stew with Peeta, and later cleans his wounds.

- Finnick dies and she's at her lowest up until that point and all she wants to do is give up and give in to the anger. She kisses Peeta and begs him to stay with her.

... Claiming that Gale is destruction ignores the fact that he's with Katniss through her own moments of strength. Her desire to change things, to fight back, is as important as her compassion. Mockingjay just brutally shows you what war does to your indignation, to your compassion. How easy it is to cross a line between righteous anger and revenge, or how your sense of empathy and compassion can be manipulated into something monstrous by others, or by all the terrible, brutal, painful things you see.

How easy it is to loose yourself- and that goes for both of them.

Peeta and Gale aren't static characters, they go from representations of sentiments regarding an injust government to what happens to those feelings when an extreme situation such as war breaks out. All of that, by the way, while dealing with this duality themselves, because they are still characters who think and feel and struggle and have flaws of their own- and while I love what they stand for, I've seen too many comments that pin everything into what they mean, that they forget that Peeta and Gale are still people, they aren't perfect metaphors. They're human.

Ultimately, Katniss doesn't really choose peace. She wants peace, yes. But what she chooses is compassion. empathy. hope. There's a time and place for anger at injustice. There's a time when fighting back is the right thing to do. There are even times when you wanna give in to your despair and lash out. But if you want peace, then you have to choose Peeta, because Peeta represents what you need to focus on to achieve that peace. You have to let go of the anger or you won't ever rest. So Gale leaves, and does not come back... And yet, Katniss still has her moments of indignation, of making a stand, even as he goes - she still casts her vote at that meeting, she still shoots Coin. Katniss does not abandon that part of who she is. It's just not her main drive anymore.

So then she goes on to make the choice, every single day, to be compassionate to others. To have hope. To rebuild. Of course she chooses Peeta.

... Idk, man. These boys are so much more than what I see them so often reduced to. They're in all of us. There will be times to stand and fight, and times to show mercy and be kind. We just need to find that balance, as Katniss eventually did.

[sm-baby]

Lesser Evil (Able-owned Pomni)

ko-fi✏️|| Able-owned Pomni MASTERPOST🪆|| Freakshow fics MASTERPOST📚|| Freakshow AU by @hootbon 👁️

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Isolation, Implied violence, Disassociation, Disassociative Amnesia, "KYS" sort of mention

Word count: 10,649

special thank you for @thelunaglitch for donating to my Ko-fi and making this possible :] This is based on the Able-owned Pomni timeline! I'll leave yall to it!

buh-bye! o(*^＠^*)o

__________________________________________

High-pitched neighing sounded out as The galloping of horses grew louder. 

There, Able sat lovingly on his stead like a prince returning to his kingdom. And with the prince, his personal servant, draped in a beautiful blue/yellow tutu. 

Able came with the duty of speaking with his brother, And while they spoke about private business matters, Pomni was told to wait outside, in which she curtsied and followed suit. 

Pomni turned her back at the door and simply let time pass by during her visit. It was comparable only to a guard stationed for the royal palace, or-- an even fairer comparison: a car parked outside. 

These past few months, Pomni was taught about nothing but being prim, proper, poise, perfect, and most importantly: obedient. 

What a cruel place to stay, certainly nowhere for a beautiful doll like herself to be in. the torn red and yellow curtains.. the crooked floors, the blood on the walls… The sound of a body dragged by the ground or a knife hitting wood… was familiar to her, and a tiny part of herself found it comforting, but otherwise, she hadn't reacted.

It was a reminder of the concept of death... A reminder of humanity…The existence of mortality… not a very comforting subject.

In the corner of her eye, she saw a familiar face... Most of his shape was shrouded in the dark, but she knew that distinct silhouette anywhere— only for the darkness to completely engulf him as he slowly backed away.

He left. And Pomni blinked, confused. He was staring at her no doubt about it, but why? She thought she was a lot more presentable this way.

No matter. Pomni closed her eyes and returned to her guard. She stood, and sat there, like an unwound doll. It seems she learned how to fall asleep while standing up. As she would black out for the next couple of minutes.

Pomni stood, the tip of her toes gracefully on the floor while her hands politely stayed in front of her, neat to her stomach.

And she would stay there as she disassociated…and eventually fall asleep 

*…

*...

*...

She felt a presence around her.

Pomni slowly brought herself back into consciousness and the faces’ blur lessened. As her eyes adjusted back to her surroundings the former king-turned-magician, and his assistant were standing before her.

Kinger pointed at Pomni. “ See? I told you she was here…”

“ But it can't be…” thought Ragatha.

Kinger would go over and reach for her cheek to maybe-- check signs of warmth. Just to be sure that it isn't some sort of statue… but he would yelp as her head quickly cocked up to look at them like a machine turned on.

“ Good evening.”

“ AHH!! IT TALKS!!” Kinger quickly ran back behind Ragatha, who quickly stood between them to protect kinger… but still. She seemed as confused as ever… Ragatha's eyes narrowed… staring into her face, and then back at kinger to sign something.

“... Pomni Is that you in there?” he said.

“ Yes.”

Kinger’s head perked up from behind Ragatha, and ever so slightly, his eyes dilated. But before he could get too excited, Ragatha pulled him back, signing to him again

“ You're not an NPC, are you?”

“ No.”

Kinger blinked.“ Why do you talk like that?” Despite Ragatha’s efforts to grab him, Kinger walked over to her, like a man wanting to pet a cat. Which he did. 

He put a hand over her head, and despite his gentle, shaken, touch, Pomni still backed away instinctually. Less so in a fearful manner, more so just finding such an activity unpleasant to the touch. 

“ AaaAh! Kinger!”

This action brought out a very reactionary frown from the puppet, which she hadn't expressed since she got there.

Ragatha’s eyes widened at that little detail! It is her! and she quickly walked over to join the two. Kinger continued to pet the poor little ballerina, seemingly clueless to the test that Pomni just passed. 

Ragatha waved enthusiastically as if saying hello to an old friend!

“ What? No! I- I mean- yes! But-” Pomni was slightly embarrassed. Of all the ways to identify her, it was by her being a mess. She would never let her mask slip so easily, but something about the two, the warmth, the humanity, grabbed her back. “Agh… sorry…” 

It was as if she was right back to who she was just a couple of months ago. A staggering, stuttering mess. At this point, Kinger was petting her with two hands! Oh lord.

Kinger let go of her to have a signed conversation with Ragatha. And he replied. “ …I saw Caine and his brother go in there, yeah.”

More gestures from Ragatha.

“ Oh okay, I'll go tell her—- Pomni, why don't we go to another room?... Someone gifted Ragatha a tea set a few days ago, and she can't wait to show you… It would be nice to catch up!”

From the side, she could see Ragatha get a little embarrassed at his comment.

*(The two wait patiently for her reply.)

     > Go with them.

     > Do not go with them.

     > Go with them.

“ W-Well… okay. I don't think the Master said anything about wondering.”

For a moment, Kinger paused and frog-blinked at what Pomni said! But No matter! He put his hand on Pomni’s back and started leading her forward. This was no place to catch up, no no!

     Loading…

“ Have you ever heard of the prisoner’s dilemma?” Men, wealthy as ever, whispered over to each other. Down below were the group of beloved performers, during an active show.

The one in red raised a brow. And with a smirk he replied. “ You have my attention.”

“ My bet’s on the strong one.”

“ Zooble…Okay….” He hummed. “Summoning Gangle now.”

“ Gangle?” Able laughed. “Isn't that the miserable one? Aren't these two close?”

“ Exactly,” Caine said with a smile.

One leg over the other, The brothers stared from the darkness no different from the crowd. When they weren't hosting the performance, they were watching the show, making sure everything was up to speed-- or to be more entertaining.

It seemed the two had this type of play numerous times before. And this little game was mostly amusing for themselves rather than the audience. Judging from how the Strong man grimaced and how the tragedy mask wailed, the entertainment was going to last longer than the performance itself.

     Loading new area… TIP: Ragatha knows a lot about first aid!

The three would walk around the circus halls. And despite having lived there for months before, this all might as well be a completely new discovery for Pomni. In comparison, she was a shining light within the darkness but she stared like it was the most beautiful environment she’s ever been in. The blood on the walls, the knife on the floor, the grimy, mossy corners of the circus, it was familiar, and so lived in. She wasn't used to that.

Another part of her criticism was that the tent needed some renovations, the cracks needed filling, there was mold on the broken paintings. But there was part of her that wanted to leave it alone and watch it rot. Eyes staring in fascination. She was watching paint dry and she loved the shade.

In front of her, Ragatha and Kinger were holding a conversation, and she frowned to think that they had to live in such an environment. It had been months since she’s been living with her owner and she was beyond spoiled. A strong part of her wished they all had the same privilege.

And then there was the yelling.

“ Get lost!”

“ Zooble, I promise I didn't mean to!” sobbing following after.

On their way to Ragatha’s room, just around the corner, the three would see the strongman Zooble marching towards their room, with a hostile grit in their voice that they didn't often raise.

“ We agreed not to say a word and we'd both be safe. We AGREED.”

“ I didn't mean to tell them I promise!” She cried out, begging, screaming. “I'm so sorry!”

With shaking, aggressive hands, Zooble pulled the ribbons that reached over to console them, and swung it against the wall, cracking the weeping, shivering, misery mask. Gangle was lucky that she was harder to break compared to her sister. As she got off with only a few cracks.

Their chest rose and dropped with anger, breathing heavily like a bull. Zooble had been just a little too trusting lately. Their own mistake really. 

They thought it was just her sister that she didn’t have to trust, that Zooble and Gangle have a mutual understanding of their situation, despite their shitty outcomes, at the end of the day, they were both fucked up humans who both did fucked up shit together.

To think that they could indulge in a bond of a shared trauma. That was stupidly sentimental, you'd think that they’d learn. One day they could break a thousand walls, the next they were building them.

SMASH

Gangle flinched when they broke concrete, making more cracks on her mask when Debri fell on her. 

“ Z-zoo-” 

Gangle could hardly get a word in before a door was shut in her face, and she was left back into the darkness…

It was almost like the entire room could flood with how loud she was weeping. With how many tears quickly left her. Even without outside intervention, her mask kept cracking, as if it was about to explode into little depressed pieces.

On the other side of the knot, The comedy mask rolled her eyes. “ This is getting embarrassing." 

And Gangle, the ribbon performer, was dragged up, back to the darkness of the ceiling where they would not be visible.

It was as if Kinger didn't even notice. He was on the way to open the door to Ragatha’s room before being asked… 

“ What was that about?”

“ What was what about?”

Ragatha signed.

“... Oh!” 

Kinger perked up. 

“ Zooble died just a couple of hours ago. Caine made them play a game based on trust and, uh, it didn't end well.”

“ Wh- well- I thought those two were friends…?”

“ I thought so too,” Kinger said. ” We were all really surprised by what Gangle did.” Ragatha signed.

Now Pomni didn’t particularly like Gangle, her desperation for her sister was a matter of life or death for her. Mostly death. The first time Pomni died was a core memory, and she would give anything not to live through it again. But the one thing the circus taught her was that nothing was ever black and white; mostly it was shades of dark gray, but none-the-less. 

Gangle had days of sweetness with Pomni, she remembers her trying to apologize. Although they never stuck or went through, she knew, that underneath it all, Gangle was suffering. They were all suffering. In fact she was suffering in ways Pomni couldn’t begin to comprehend. Pomni had all the right to hate Gangle, and maybe it was because she was now in a better, safer situation, but now she couldn’t. The divide between them was bigger than ever and she could finally easier say that she felt bad for her.

     Loading new area… TIP: alcohol doesn’t affect humans in the digital realm

Creak…

Pomni would find great fascination in Ragatha's room… it looked just the way it did a couple of months ago with the toy box, the piano, and the yarn kit. But she would notice-- a well-kept, almost new addition: a little table, and a tea set. 

Ragatha wouldn't usually let people stay somewhere so intimate to her, but she trusted Kinger and, although she may not have had the best relationship with Pomni, her heart was always open. Maybe this could help her get comfortable again after her absence. It was almost like the first time she arrived at the circus.

Besides, tension seemed to have risen now with the situation outside with the other members. Outside didn't exactly feel safe.

Kinger and Pomni sat around the table, while Ragatha walked over to the cabinets. It was an adjustment for Pomni to stay somewhere so bleak, but her manners hadn’t failed her. Wooden, crusty, chairs, it wasn’t the most comfortable to sit at. A part of her felt bad that this was what the two labeled as “comfortable”, but as a guest, she had no right to judge.

“It's really nice to gather around like this again like old times,” Kinger said with a smile. 

“ U-uh yeah! It really does...” 

Kinger would continue to converse with Pomni. And on Kinger’s left, Ragatha timidly put out cups for them, unable to make eye contact, yet she had such a small, almost thrilled smile on her face. In the middle of their conversation, she would clear her throat and tap Kinger on the shoulder. The tea set sat comfortably in her hands like a precious animal.

Kinger gasped “ O-Oh! Yes! Pomni! Look at what this can do!”

Pomni turned, and Ragatha poured Kinger a cup of tea, steam emitting from its gushing snout, politely making its way into the outside world. Kinger would clap as it the cup filled itself, and Ragatha was ecstatic, both later turning to the confused Pomni in front of them.

She smiled nervously, nodding. They poured some tea. Is that some sort of accomplishment? She didn't mean to be rude, but she was unsure what caused such bright disposition on their faces.

“ Uh! Yeah! That's really cool!” She frankly felt bad that she wasn't seeing what they were seeing. And so, she played along with a forced smile, though the confusion could be seen from miles away.

“ It's tea!” Kinger held the cup with a pinky finger up. “ Water! actual water with temperature, flavor, and all! And.. we don't even have to brew it! It could pour forever, see?” They both looked so happy, and Ragatha had such a spark in her eyes. She dearly blessed the audience members who pulled through to get her something so simple; it was not easy.

Pomni further crooked her brow in confusion before realizing. “Oh… oh! Uh- uh- Im so happy for you two!”

Ragatha's smile dropped.

“ I know!” Kinger said happily, swinging his head side to side to the little tune in his mind, closed his eyes, happily sipping while looking off to the side… but Ragatha was different. She noticed Pomni’s lack of enthusiasm earlier on, and the insecurities crept in. Holding her elbows and looking away, saddened and disappointed. 

“ Noo..! No, Ragatha I mean it! I do!” Pomni quickly noticed, “ It really is nice! I just…” Pomni exhaled…

Ragatha didn't budge. She wasn't sure if she wanted the reassurance or if she wanted her to drop the subject. She was trying to be good to Pomni during her visit; She wanted her to feel welcomed in her own home, not to patronize her to make her feel better.

The two girls looked away from each other. Ragatha felt insecure and Pomni felt guilty. And then there was a kinger who was chewing on play-toy-like biscuits. It had no flavor, or texture, or anything really. But he was chewing away anyway.

Good job, Pomni, You made everything awkward.

“ Ragatha really likes this tea set. “ Kinger happily said, stuffing his mouth. “ I thought you'd like it more, Pomni. We don't really get this realistic of food often.” As they spoke, Ragatha sat down.

“ I- Well- in the brothers’ realm I kind of- I already...” Pomni took hold of the tea poured for her, and she stuttered. She didn’t exactly know how to keep talking without sounding like she was gloating. She imagined saying that you have a good balanced diet isn’t the most humble thing to say to someone who was, say, in a third-world country. 

A confused look from Ragatha… but Kinger’s eyes sparkled. “ I knew there was a reason why you dressed so fancy… So that's where you've been this whole time? Did Caine cave in and kidnap you?’

“ What? No! I think.” She could never be too sure. but honestly, he might as well have. “ Last I was in the circus-- you know how I got into a major argument with Caine?”

“ Yeah, to be honest, I was expecting to see you die over and over that day.” Kinger said so casually with a chuckle… as if it was a little joke. ”I think the only reason why Caine held back was because his brother was over.”

“ Yeah, his… brother, uh... The thing is he went after me and we made a deal. Now I kinda just… live in their realm.”

“ That sounds terrible.”

“No!” She said, just a little bit too loud, but almost in a reassuring voice. “ I get good food! a comfortable place to stay… clean the house…”

Ragatha and Kinger blinked and turned to eachother. 

“ What?” Ragatha thought to herself.

Kinger spoke with a deep concern in his voice. “Is that a reward after doing them a big favor? Like maybe…Cutting a finger off… maybe three.”

“ No—! I just shook his hand and- I moved…!”

I brief moment of silence from Kinger and Ragatha. Though those few seconds felt like hell to Pomni thinking they severed their relationship right then. How exactly are two people who went through hell and back supposed to react to that? They didn’t know. Maybe they did know deep down, but to hear it so suddenly may have delayed such feelings. 

Ragatha turned to Kinger and signed.

“She says she's really jealous of you b-but, heh, We're both really jealous…” Kinger laughed sweetly. Ragatha continued.

Pomni would notice that her hands got just a little bit shyer. The way she sunk into herself, her gestures got smaller, looking away, before stopping herself altogether.

“ She's asking if we could—” Ragatha shook her hands in front of her, interrupting Kinger, shy to let Kinger continue his interpretation.

But Pomni was ecstatic to answer that question. Her eyes dilated, and her head nodded in quick enthusiasm, almost encouraging them to keep talking.  “ I-I would love for you guys to be there!! The circus is hell!”

The two snapped their heads back at her.

“ I don't know how-- b-but! I'll try talking to him about it! You- I think you two would really like all the fun activities, the new clothes…” 

The two looked at each other and Ragatha flinched when Pomni stood up from her seat, hands on the table, taken aback at her sudden enthusiasm.

“ R-Ragatha they have all sorts of good food! Chicken, red meat, seafood-- I-I'd love to cook with you some- sometime!” Ragatha’s face turned red at that. “ I-I always had trouble cutting the meat… but I think you'd be really good at it.”

Pomni then turned to Kinger. “ A-and Kinger! Y-You- I think you'd really like what I do in my spare time! knitting-- and chess, and checkers, and- and reading!”

Kinger’s eyes dilated. Pomni recalled Kinger playing with such things in the circus-- although not in the conventional way they were made for, but to think that he would be able to play in a safer environment, sounded wonderful. Pomni was describing such simple activities… and yet the two felt a special warmth in their hearts. A little bit of hope that they hadn't had in a long time.

“ W-we could do that?”

“ You could! I-... If- if Able says yes… but I'll try to make it work! He's a really nice man! Maybe if I did a couple extra favors, cleaned the house better…” Pomni started muttering, at the end talking to herself more than anything. 

Pomni speaks so highly about such simple activities but if she were to be entirely honest, she hasn't done any recreational activities back in the manor in a long time.

The checkers board and the chess set she spoke dreamily about had been nothing but collecting dust for the past few months. But to think that she could play with another person, playing cards with Kinger, eating dinner with Ragatha. friends. Other living breathing human beings who share her grief, her sense of purpose. 

That was what she was speaking highly of. 

That's what she wanted.

Even with just her short stay here, despite the grueling atmosphere, She hasn't felt so human in such a long, long time. Heaven was lonely and she wanted to take them with her.

“ Well, that does sound very lovely, doesn't it…” Kinger turned. “ Ragatha?”

Kinger didn't have to translate this one. With a smile, Ragatha happily nodded her head.

The three would continue their conversation, The simple indulgence Pomni brought onto the table, telling tales of all the things she'd been doing at the manor, and the life all three of them could lead together. 

The conversation brought something out about each other. Ragatha does remember cooking nice meals, and Kinger does remember having simple activities such as board games next to a nicely brewed cup of coffee and a lovely outside porch. To think that they could have at least a slimmer of that in a new, cleaner, safer environment, it sounded like a dream.

It didn't take long until the conversation turned into a more lighthearted tune. Their dreamy chatting would turn into laughter over jokes only old friends shared, or the whispered gossiping from one mouth to another. 

Ragatha spoke about how she once swung a knife at an audience member which they somehow enjoyed, but was then later punished for it later on. She laughed at the memory, both she and Kinger did. Pomni felt like she shouldn’t be giggling at it. But their little faces, the way they coped about it, she couldn’t help but indulge no matter how harmful the mechanism could be. She saw their faces and only wished to fit in again.

Their conversation would be cut short, however, as 

RING! RING! RING!

Oh crap. 

An old rotary phone popped out of thin air, and Pomni quickly picked it up. “ Hello?”

Ragatha and Kinger blinked. What A fancy new phone! They knew that it was the brother’s preferred way of communication. To think that they’d allow her to use the same communication line only further reminded them how much less they must be compared to her.

“ I-I’m in Ragatha’s room…” 

Chatter from the other side.

“ Yes, master…No, no master…Yes.” Pomni spoke “ Well I- I was… Oh, we’re leaving?” She bit her lip. “ A-Actually I was wondering if they could-” 

Chatter on the other side. 

“ Yes… Sorry, master. Okay.” 

It was as if Pomni’s whole demeanor changed. She may not have noticed it as she was usually a nervous wreck, but the way her back instinctually straightened, he legs just a little tense. She even called him master… god. To ragatha it was admittedly a little pretentious… Kinger thought nothing of it.

Click!

And so, Pomni had to head off. And she stared off into the distance before she started speaking again. The look on her face was a sort of dread rather than any sort of relief one might expect…especially coming back to the so-called “haven” she’d been praising for the past hour or so.

“ Heading home huh? Exciting!” Kinger said, and Ragatha smiled, excusing the pit of jealousy she felt inside her.

Without even turning to them, Pomni stood up from her seat and, with slow and graceful steps, walking by the tip of her toes, she bowed. And back came that monotone voice she had on earlier that day. “ It was a wonderful evening with you, but It seems my master is done with his duties.”

After bidding eachother farewell, thank yous, and apologies, Kinger and Ragatha offered to escort her back, but Pomni was insistent on not. She much rather let them rest and leave them to their own devices. And so she left, leaving the door to the room quietly.

Click!

Pomni took a deep breath but kept her composure. Not having them escort her was her own decision; there was really no harm in it. She just wasn’t very good at goodbyes. And in a way, her walk back to meet her master was her mentally bidding herself farewell to the circus in her own comfort. Tip of her toes touching the ground, It was as if she was holding her breath the whole time she walked back.

On her way there, she stopped in her tracks. On her right, Pomni was faced to faced with a room, and it came to her that she hadn’t seen her door the whole way there. It never really came to mind, at most she thought it would be crossed out, emptied, or replaced by a mannequin… She didn’t notice it earlier with how heavily vandalized it was, but from its position and the order of the doors, Pomni would realize that the entrance with the broken hinges, and the panel so heavily beaten… 

Pomni wiped off the dust that covered its face. 

That was her door.

She didn’t even have to turn its handle. The moment she placed any sort of weight on it, it opened. And the look of her room almost broke her entire disposition. 

Kinger’s voice from earlier in their conversation echoed in her mind. 

“ We thought you were dead, Pomni.” 

The shards of glass on the wall, the wallpaper torn to the floor, the dusty debris from her old cabinets, and her old tea set shattered into the smallest of pieces. Pomni couldn’t even recognize her old bed… the blanket, her sheets, the pillows fluff torn everywhere. 

The pictures she had on her bedside of her and her friends were ripped into pieces, her dresses, her bows, her makeup… Everything, the littlest things that used to bring her comfort during hard days on the circus, were gone, and broken into pieces.

Kinger’s voice continued. “ Yeah… Caine really didn’t take it well the day you left.” 

Mixed emotions. She couldn’t pick, she was so caught in the middle. Confused, terrified. Her body lay still, but just a little too still. 

From the graceful stance she was taught to hold, she was instead the equivalent of a deer in headlights. It was as if another part of her life, the last bit of her humanity was violated and killed right in front of her. Her breath hitched. Her breathing was panicked, and heavy.

Pomni felt a hand on her shoulder and she whipped her head back, flinching with a strong sense of panic. 

It was just Ragatha. But even with her sorry, gentle eyes, Pomni’s legs shook, scared, terrified. She didn’t know what to think, or do, or trust anymore. She lost all grace as her professional walk turned into a run, shaken legs slowing her down, but she didn’t want to be there anymore. Though Ragatha tried to reach out for her, Pomni was quickly taken into the darkness, out of sight. 

Pomni… REALLY didn’t do well at goodbyes.

That night, Pomni’s eyes went sore from her tears. Her whimpers were akin to a weeping child, hurt abused, and shielded herself from the outside world. Her heart ached, sobbing, desperately crying for someone’s touch, for someone to reach over and wipe those tears away. the images of broken glass, broken wood, and ripped sheets on the floor repeated in her head. 

She thought it was all over... but any sort of contact with the circus seemed to retraumatize her in newer and newer ways. She could hardly sleep. Voices in her head echoed screaming, pleas, and apologies when it was previously so deafeningly silent.

Something in her felt violated from the inside. She left her soul at the circus and they ripped it to shreds. She just lost a part of herself, the last bit of humanity she had left. And so Pomni cried. That’s all she could ever do. ruined, disheveled hair, underneath the blankets. Pomni cried hugging herself like a mother holding her baby.

Although she tried to feel human-- cleaning around the Manor, cooking, eating, taking baths… It all felt so fake. She stopped doing a lot of recreational activities. 

When she was not needed, she would stare at the ceiling as she lost interest in the world around her. She wasn’t real. The world around her wasn’t real. She wasn’t human anymore… The real Pomni died as soon as she entered the circus, deluded into thinking there was a chance to leave. She was living the best-case scenario in the digital world, and now that she’d seen it, she wanted to die.

“ One, two, three, and- one two three and… No, No, Pomni, you’re doing it wrong.”

Snapping his fingers, Able restarted the record player and approached Pomni. She had been just a little bit rusty today, getting his breakfast wrong, and lost her timing in her routines. No matter. All she needs is a partner and she’ll be right back to her senses. 

For the past hour or so, Pomni and Able joined eachother dancing in their pastime. He took hold of Pomni’s hand and onto her waist where would start, this time: ballroom. 

Able counted, and the numbers drifted away when they were right back to moving smoothly. After a while, Able hummed to the tune of the record players, holding Pomni firmly with his large gloved hands. 

Why, what a lovely way to start your morning. The fake sounds of birds outside weren’t off-putting at all.

Able dipped her, and asked, “ What’s on your mind dear?”

*(You reply…)

     > Lie

     > Truth

     > Lie

“ Nothing, just… slept wrong is all.”

“ Is that why your heart was at 200 bpm last night?” he clicked his teeth in disapproval. “ I may be a computer Pomni, but I’m no fool. Humans don’t go to bed at that high of a heart rate.”

Able twirled Pomni and she frowned at his reply. She didn’t have the energy to hide anything she supposed…

*(What to say…)

     > The Manor

     > The Circus

     > The Manor

“ Master, I don’t mean to be ungrateful or anything but… the Manor... Doesn’t it get a little lonely?”

“ Lonely, lonely…” he shook his head playfully. “ I have my brother… I have my wonderful maid, Pomni. What else do I need? Truthfully us AI don’t exactly need company, dear.” 

Pomni went silent. She tried dancing around the subject and she got her answer. She knew he wouldn’t understand. 

“ Don’t tell me that you feel lonely. ”

Pomni bit her lip. Those were thoughts that she kept buried for politeness. But how is she supposed to deny them now that he was grabbing it out of her? “...Sometimes.”

“ Awh, Pomni…”

“ Able, what do I have to do to get my friends in here? R-Ragatha and Kinger?”

Their dance stopped. That was all so sudden. And her speech was much more informal than usual. Actually, Pomni hasn’t had that insistent of a tone of voice in a long long time. 

 “ Pomni…” he hummed sweetly. 

“ We- We talked about it yesterday! and- and I think It would be good! “

Able held her in place, and in reply she started gripping at him, getting tighter as she spoke. 

“ Good f-for everyone really! N-not that the Freakshow is bad, but uhm-” Pomni lied. Her voice grew desperate.“ I could use the company! Ragatha, Kinger, and I could provide some better service! Ragatha can play the piano for you and-”

“ Dear…”

“ and… and…” her voice grew quieter and quieter. As tears started forming on her face, she sensed disappointment in herself. She wasn’t very convincing, in fact, she must have been so pathetic on the outside. 

“ There there, dear…” Able took his hands and wiped her little tears away from her face. And she looked up at him mentally cursing herself for being unable to feel less child-like. “ You’re feeling lonely… so you want your friends to join you here, is that correct?”

“ …M-Mhm..” She sniffed, and Able put a bit of hair to her side, holding her cheeks gently which she desperately found comfort in. His voice was so soft at the moment, hushing her as if she were an injured animal.

But Able sighed and looked to the side, and later put a hand between his chin and mouth, half muffling his words “ I was afraid you’d say that…”

“ What?”

“ It isn’t easy to bring you performers in the mansion dear, let alone permanently... I had to pull a couple of strings just to have you be part of my staff-- I don’t think 2 more is possible. ”

“ I-I’ll help! Whatever I have to do to make the process easier, You name it, I’ll do it! ”

“ It’s not that easy… And for the sake of my brother and I, it’ll only do damage in the long run.” 

Able to let go of Pomni in which she found herself making extra effort to loosen her grip.

” My Brother and I’s core purpose is to entertain and run the Circus. And if it were to lose more and more performers, the circus would… well… Let's just say we were sent a lot of complaints when you were no longer on stage.”

“ But… there has to be a compromise… You can write new conditions, can’t you?”

“ No more, Pomni.” He put a hand up to get her to stop talking and she followed… “ I’ve known Ragatha and Kinger even before the Freakshow; I understand, they’re very wonderful people… But their place is there, and your place is here. You’re safe. You have a good place to sleep. Isn’t that enough?”

Pomni stayed silent. She looked down at the floor… Disappointed but no longer had any tears to cry. She was exhausted… and in return, she failed to answer his question.

“ Pomni… “ Able saw this and held both her hands on one hand, and her face in the other. And as if Able popped up from thin air, she flinched, but quickly buried her face into his touch and the euphoria it brought her. “ I said, isn’t that enough?” 

With a shaky sniffle, she nodded her head to say yes. Able has done so much for her… but she didn’t feel the sincerity in her own answer.

“ There we go,” 

Just as Able was going to pull away, Pomni grabbed his hand and put him back. “ Can I… stay with you today?”

Able was slightly taken aback, but nodded.“ Of course.”

     Loading new area… TIP: Raise your pinky during tea with the blue ringmaster! 

For the rest of the day, Able would be at home, getting his work done long distance and keeping his doll company. And while he did, Pomni would be sat in the same room, either doing her own activities like knitting, or just standing there to look pretty. Her eyes looked dead like usual, not different from how she was that morning. 

There was nothing really in the manor to change her view on anything. Able was kind enough to be there with her, and she did enjoy his company to some extent, but she still felt like decoration beside him. He was AI, nothing compared to a human’s warmth. At some point, she felt like he was just saying what she wanted to hear. 

Caine opened the door “ Meeting time-- oh and leave your doll here why don’t you? We’re professional here.”

“ No.” Able hummed sweetly, and got up from his seat. “It's not just it, brother, she’s a she. Pomni happened to have a particularly hard day today, and wishes to stay by me.”

“ And what exactly does a toy have to be stressed out about?”

“ None of your business.” Able frowned.

Even though Caine hadn’t moved, Able stood in front of her, subtly protective. Though his voice turned just a little sour, “ What? Can you not focus because a toy was in your general vicinity?”

“ You speak for yourself, I have--” Caine sighed and caught himself. They were getting along just a moment ago. In fact, they’ve been getting along much better than they’ve ever had recently… but it’s always Pomni. It seems any talk about her quickly put them in a petty mood. “ I don’t want to argue today, brother, okay? We have bigger matters to tend to.”

And as if at the flick of the switch, Able’s body became less protective, humming a small chuckle as if it wasn’t “fun” to hold that stance anymore. “ Very well.”

     Loading New Area… TIP: A clean servant means a happier master!

Another adjustment Able had to make while having Pomni around was walking. An adjustment that Caine also had to painstakingly follow for the afternoon. Usually, they would just snap their fingers and teleport to their meeting room, now with Pomni, a human, they couldn’t just do that. Not to mention with how she had a weak stomach she would easily make a mess if they teleported her with them. God, the things they do for that measly little doll…

This was more than inconvenient. And as if they didn’t care for her existence they started speaking about work in front of her.

“ The Candy NPC just had too many functions, it tried to do things all at once”

“ I told you we should have just split them into two.”

“ I didn’t think three whole game mechanics was too much.”

Able clicked his teeth.

They chatted and chatted, and Pomni’s eyes would stay on the floor. Their voices drowned out and muffled, she didn’t really see a reason to get back from her disassociation, nore did she want to. 

Just as her vision started to blur as well, her thoughts were interrupted by a loud alarm coming from the brother’s watches, blaring red and loud, causing the three to stop in their tracks while Pomni covered her ears.

“ Oh. System breach.” Caine sighed, slightly annoyed. This walk to their meeting room is longer than her remembered. With how easily he teleports from place to place, he supposed it was the first time he actually felt the scale of how big a manor can be.

“ I thought I fixed that just yesterday…”

“ Did you.” Caine said, unamused, a playfully disappointed look at his brother.

“ Don’t you start that tone with me. ” Able joined him, Putting a hand on his chest dramatically.

Strangely, when they weren’t bickering, their casual banter was more akin to friendly competition. One could almost tell how close their relationship was from how light hearted their insults were. 

“ I swear if I find that it’s one of your errors, you’re taking more of my load for the next adventure.” Able said.

“ It’s a bet.”

“ Ha! Cocky, aren’t we?” Able then turned to Pomni who was just calming down from the surprise alarm. “ Pomni, I’ll have to leave.” 

“ Y-Your leaving? but-”

“ This isn’t something that can be fixed long distance. I’ll be right back in a few minutes, don’t worry!”

“ O-oh… okay..”

After patting her hand and her back, Able would snap his fingers, and in a split second, he disappeared… 

Pomni was just a little tense. Although the day was almost over, she was really hoping to spend it around him… She put a lot of her safety in his presence that day… And now she was back to being alone…

… her bad, she wasn’t alone.

While Able disappeared, Caine was left to wait with her.

Oh boy.

It’s been a couple of months since she was owned, and for those past couple months, Caine seemed to have completely moved on from her. 

Lately, he and Able were able to find a resolution, talking out their differences like men, and they’ve been closer ever since then. Maybe it was at the back of her mind, but she noticed this with how they started talking about other interests and Able left the house to spend more time with him. 

When around her, the brothers would more or less pretend she wasn’t there, especially Caine. Pomni wondered if this was a boundary they set up for each other. Though this doesn’t mean that Pomni wasn’t prone to insults or backhanded compliments from both parties. 

The hallway was more than silent to say the least, a strong contrast that took place mere moments before. They had nothing to say to eachother. Neither Caine nor Pomni did.

But strangely… Maybe this was her desperation kicking in, with her master leaving the building, but Pomni wasn’t against Caine being there… In fact, she would have hated much more if he wasn’t there.

Caine cleared his throat and stood still as the awkwardness of the situation grew. He didn’t know what to do. Pretending that you were busy during an awkward situation was a human thing, he never needed to do that. And yet at the corner of his eyes, he could sense her staring at him. 

And it made him feel… strange.

Maybe it was her intrusive thoughts kicking in, but Pomni had thoughts that she wasn't used to. Why did she feel… at ease being alone with Caine? She didn't mind it, but she didn't wanna get used to it. 

And so Pomni turned away from him.

This little action however wasn’t taken so kindly from the other party. Caine would curse himself-- why did she turn away?! 

He finally got her attention again unprompted and she stopped! What, did she think she was better than him? Was he not good enough for her?! She was the performance to be laughed at, not him! 

This boiled something up inside of him, though he held a great poker face…. But a few moments later, he stepped back, just a little bit, and assessed his thoughts.

He knew this feeling, 

He thought he got over this.

The grip on his cane loosened and his back straightened. He cleared his throat and further turned away from Pomni. 

When was his brother coming back? Minutes felt like hours, he couldn’t come any slower.

“ …How have to been treating my brother? Good, I hope.”

“ Good.” Pomni cleared her throat. “ How is… how is the… Circus?”

“ Good.” It seems Caine wasn’t any better at answering how-are-yous… “ The performers talk about you often. The audience isn’t any better.”

That brought up a small smile from Pomni… and a small laugh too that greatly affected Caine’s mood. Funny how the smallest mention of her friends was enough to get such a reaction from her. Especially after the lack of anything the whole day.

“ They do…?”

If Caine had a lip he'd bite it. He doesn’t know how to feel about that little tone in her voice. It was a strange feeling, hate perhaps? That sounds about right for him.“ … yes.” 

Pomni took a step towards him and the sound of her heel made him flinch. “ Could you … tell me more?”  that tone of voice was softer, innocent even. He felt such a physical reaction towards her at that moment-- did he want to attack her?

He took a deep breath to calm himself, then turned to her, his eyes stoic as ever, his arms crossed, looking down at her like he always has. “ Your little stunt talking to the performers yesterday was wreckless. After Jax learned that you were alive this whole time, he’s never wanted to kill you more than he ever has..”

“ Did he?”

“ You know i told them you were dead for your own protection. You’re much higher class compared to them now, Why in the world would you choose to mingle around those freaks? ” Caine spoke in such a scolding voice, but to his surprise, Pomni laughed… giggled, more so, but the way she had the back of her hand covering her mouth wasn’t expected.

“ Pfehehe… That's Jax for you… I remembered the first time he killed me during a performance-- when you wouldn’t punish him, Ragatha did…” 

She looked back up at him, warming up to him faster than what he was comfortable. Her eyes were big and warm. Her voice sounded euphoric and melancholy as if she could sit there and listen to every word he had to say.  

Caine couldn’t handle it. His urges disturbed him.

* (Continue?)

     > Stop while you’re ahead.

> Hear more about what your friends have been up to.

     > Hear more about what your friends have been up to.

“ A-and... what else did-?” like a trigger, Pomni reached over to touch his arm, and Caine retaliated by grabbing her by her wrists and moving her backward, to a door that opened and closed behind them.

Loading new area… TIP: Offering the brothers wine could help you gain their favor.

Pomni would be thrown inside the room, before turning back to the red ringmaster, who was locking the door in front of her. 

She looked around, a part of her was confused, and the other part was scared.

“ C-Caine?”

Without even turning around yet, Caine said sternly, like a command. “ Speak when spoken to.”

Pomni quickly nodded and stood straight, hands in front of her, formal like she had earlier that day. 

God… did she step out of line? God damn it, Pomni you screw up! Your master isn’t there to save you this time, what were you thinking??

What was he thinking?? She knew that he could get pissed off but being locked in a room with him was new. He could very well berate her outside, it wouldn’t make a difference! She looked down in thought, punishments ran through her head-- she thought of the ones she used to endure in the circus, and she bit her lip. She wasn’t ready to live through that again… maybe she could come up with an excuse! Think, Pomni, think!

After locking the door, Caine took a deep breath, as if preparing for something, and finally turned around.

He turned back to his brother’s doll, being as formal as ever, stood straight, well behaved… exactly how he trained her to be. 

What was wrong with him? Just a moment ago, he was getting along with his brother, the next, he was playing with his toys behind his back. What a rotten brother you are, Caine..

But there was just something about Pomni, it brought up feelings that he hadn't felt in a long long time… feelings that he remembered he felt strongly…and so who's to blame him for chasing something so strong? So curious? She was just a doll after all. Who cares?

“ Pomni, would you kindly tell me who I am?”

“ You are ringmaster Caine, an AI program set to entertain the audience. Praised like a god and one of the most powerful men in the digital realm.”

“ Now tell me who you are.”

“ My name is Pomni, a human transported to the digital world. I was a circus performer turned servant to the AI household. My purpose is to serve Ab-”

“That's enough.” just like Able, He put a hand up to tell her stop talking. The servant quickly turned silent. “ So Pomni, tell me. Why in the world, did you think that you were good enough to touch me?”

Caine was practically right in front of her; she felt claustrophobic. She was sure he could feel her breathing at this point. 

Pomni didn’t have an appropriate answer to that question. What reason does she have that wasn’t selfish? She swallowed, and in an effort for Caine not to read her fear, she kept her head down, trying to keep a calm voice.

“ I don’t know.”

“ You don't know.” Caine turned his head to the side, little sorry eyes looking down at Pomni. She flinched when he used a finger to turn her head up, and there was a part of her, a strong part of her that didn't mind what she saw.

“ What did he do to you, Pomni?”

The look on his face…

She missed it.

She missed it so much, she wanted it back.

She missed how he patronized her when she made a small mistake.

She missed when he forced her to go on adventures every day.

She missed running away from death, she missed the fear of her life flashing before her eyes, she missed Ragatha, Kinger, Gangle, Zooble, and Jax, she missed her friends.

At that moment she didn't want life to end here. She wanted to live again, she wanted to be anywhere but this god-forsaken hell hole. If her friends couldn't join her in heaven then she'd rather be stuck with them. There was nothing here. Nothing.

She’d much rather die every day rather than wishing for it everytime she woke up. She missed it. She missed her friends. She missed humanity.

The way he touched her felt like something she should be scared of, but within her fear, she ached for more. She liked how much he scared her. Even walking into the circus yesterday, the blood on the walls, she felt more humanity in those few hours than she had in the past few months and she craved it back. 

It wasn't too late to turn back now, she could still be fixed. 

He could fix her.

Caine kept staring. Was it worth it to lock her in a room just to gawk at her so shamelessly? Perhaps. He didn't think he could handle being seen indulging in something so below him.

Something about Pomni felt bittersweet. She was gorgeous, but dare he says he feels… sad… when he looked at her. He missed her duo-coloured tutu. The way how big her eyes got when she looked up at him.

He sighed, tilting his head to the side. He found his thumb caressing her cheek… she was so beautiful. So beautiful. If only he could take her to the circus for just one day. Have her perform and make him clap his hands. He sure would like to see her dance again.

And that look in her eyes…

Oh, that look in her eye was unmatchable.

Pomni held the hand that cupped her cheek, and the warm feeling only doubled in his head. He really wanted her back. He froze at how strong the urge was to just-- take her and steal her away. 

“ Brother? Pomni dear?” A voice just from outside the room called out. Able was back. And despite Caine’s unflinching stare, He knew he was back. He was willing to ignore him if it meant indulging in this old feeling for a little while longer, Pomni however… She was almost terrified.

She stared at the lock separating her master from seeing the strange sight, something that they both shamelessly indulged in. 

What was she doing? 

*(How does Pomni respond?)

     > Call out for Able

     > “ Take me back.”

     > “ Kiss me.” 🔒

     > Say nothing 

     >  “Take me back”

And in desperation, before his brother could find out they were there, Pomni bent down to her knees, grabbed Caine by his coat, and looked up at him. “ Take me back!” she said in a whisper.

“ What?”

“ Take me back!” she repeated just a little louder. “ I can’t stand another day here, how I long for your performances again- your shows! Let me perform for you and your people again, please!”

In an effort to make her stand up, he grabbed a hold of her hands, but he froze the more Pomni spoke. There she was, on her knees, praising him, telling him the words that hes wanted to hear for the past couple of months. It was addicting. He couldn't get enough.

He knew this was wrong, he couldn't possibly just take her back. But the more she praised his name, his brilliance, his art, he didn't want her to stop. He wanted to squeeze every pathetic plea from her… 

He wanted to hear every piece of praise, admittance of guilt, of regret in her voice. And the more she went the stronger the urge to just steal her and wisk her back to the circus. Good lord, it took everything in him. The hands on hers shaking in defiance of that strong urge. Shes making it so hard. 

She spoke and it threw him back to his old mindset. The progress he made with his brother was gone at that moment. He was RIGHT. He was correct this whole time. He had all the right to act the way he did. She DIDN'T like his brother, he knew it! He knew she liked him more! 

Oh she was saying more than enough for him to hear. At this point, she was just flattering him. And a part of him grieved her… 

It almost physically hurt him not to steal her for himself at that moment. His hands turned to stiffness-- everything in his body froze in an effort to stop himself from doing something he'd regret. 

No… he can't have her.

Caine signed the papers, and he can't turn back from it. Neither could she. 

If only she made that decision a few months earlier… everything would be so much easier.

With a sharp exhale, he snapped and Pomni was back on her feet.

Pomni looked back up and Caine turned away from her.

Click! The door unlocked 

Shaken voice, shaken knees, desperation she called out 

“ C-Caine-”

“ Brother! In here!”

The door unlocked and in came Able, hat on his chest. “ Oh, there you two are! What in heaven's name are you two doing in this little room? ”

Pomni was silent, holding back the amount of emotion in her heart. For a moment Caine glanced at her, but looked back to his brother. “ She just wanted to do a little cleaning while you were gone, make herself useful, you know.”

“ And you?” 

“ Am I banned from being around your toy now?”

“ No, no no no~” he hummed playfully and put his hat back on his head. “ Come, meeting time. Pomni, Im proud that you decided to do a little cleaning, but this room doesn't get used. No need, dear!” Able held her hand and escorted her out of the room…

Pomni stared at the floor and the men kept talking.

“ Say, why would you even let her clean that room anyway?”

“ She's your toy...”

But the ringing in her ear has never been louder… and the muffling of peoples voices has never been stronger. She was disassociated to the extreme. 

Even after begging, pouring her heart out, and putting her biggest weaknesses and desires front and center, she was met with… nothing.

Abandonment. 

She was screaming out for help but no god heard her plea. Not even the one in front of her.

She couldn't take it anymore but at the same time, there was nothing left to do. 

What can she do? 

In a world considered human, she was the most out of place. 

Another reminder: You aren't human anymore, Pomni. Time and time again you delude yourself into so much false hope. 

When will you ever learn?

Pomni doesn't remember what happened for the next few hours. She remembers the images of sitting with the brothers in the meeting room, cooking dinner for Able, and joining him while they ate, but as the world flew by around her, her mind stood still. 

Nothing was important anymore. 

This was her ending. 

This was her forever. 

The sadness left over has numbed. Time heals all wounds but each second felt like a stab to the heart.

There she sat, with Able at the manor’s living room. He was lounging, his coat off, finally being able to rest and recharge after a hard day of work. 

Pomni sat knitting, getting lost in her thoughts. Able provided the feeling of rain from the outside. 

It wasn't raining it was all artificial. It was just the ambiance of rain hitting the window and ceiling, the particles of rain outside, and making the atmosphere just a little colder. That was enough to trick the brain into actual rain. She bet if she reached her hand out the window it would come back dry. 

The sound of rain was an audio file not different from the sounds of birds she hears every morning. She memorized every chirp, what second another came in. But she looked outside and there was nothing there. Fake. 

In her early days, it was something she could brush off as just another quirk. Nowadays she let herself believe that all that artificial nonsense was real, perhaps, for the sake of her sanity. 

This time the sound of rain continued on, and she wore a blanket over her shoulder.

Pomni blinked and a tear fell down her cheek. She tried to wipe it off, but a sniffle gave her away.

“ What’s wrong, dear?”

“ I just… i miss my friends a lot, that's all.”

“ You still do, don't you? I understand it must hurt so much to be away from other humans…” he hummed, and put a hand on his chin in thought… and he came up with an idea. 

As Able stood up to put on his coat again, he spoke: “ Tell you what. I'm about to go and spend time with my brother, why don't we leave our phones with you, and you can talk with them for however long you like.”

Pomni looked up at him, “ You'd do that for me?”

“ I don't see why not. We won't be using it anyway. I'm sure my brother wouldn't mind just this once.”

He summoned his phone and the other side picked up. He would enter a conversation with his brother, and Pomni continued to knit tiredly, already half expecting it not to go through. She's had enough false hope today. 

But to her surprise, Able handed Pomni the phone and left it at the desk where she could reach it.

“ For you, dear.”

As Able was getting ready to leave, Pomni was waiting for the line. There was still a part of her that didn't believe it would pick up, but the way her feet shook in anticipation..

She did want to have this phone call…

“ Pomni?”

Pomni stopped for a moment…

It actually worked…

…Kinger,,,

Pomni was quiet… but before she could reply, Able, with a smile, had already teleported out of the room.

“ Hello? Is this thing on?”

“ Hi, Kinger...”

“ IS THAT POMNI ON THE PHONE??” a loud voice further in the phone called out.

“ Jax… let them talk…” the sound of a weeping voice rang.

“ Hey, kinger! While you're at it, do me a favor and tell Pomni to kill herself would’ja?”

“ Second that!” The happier mask added, and a slew of laughter rang on the phone.

“ I’m not telling her that..!”  Kinger in his shivering voice replied, he sounded fragile yet still annoyed. “ I'm sorry if you heard that Pomni, we're.. we're having dinner...”

And yet Pomni couldn't help but let out a little laugh. “ Was that Jax?”

Kinger joined her. “ Well of course, who else would it be?” He said kindly. “ Oh! And Ragatha says hi too.”

“ Y-Yeah? Hi, Ragatha! I-I hope you’ve been holding up okay.“

A pity chuckle from Ragatha on the other side, and Pomni felt her heart warm up to hear any sound from her … let alone a chuckle.

“ Ragatha’s asking if you're genuinely asking her that… wow, Ragatha you're really sassy today!

…

She shrugged.”

More chuckling from Pomni.

“ Anyway, I say hi too, Pomni. So. Hi!”

“ Hi, Kinger… it's really nice to hear from you again.”

“ How's everything in the brother’s realm? Have you been learning new recipes since yesterday? It must be so tasty compared to our dinner today, haha!” Kinger said again, as a joke, but Pomni bit her lip, voice trembling as she tried to hold back her tears.

“ Y…Yeah… I sure have.”

“ That’s nice to hear… maybe one day you could bring some for us. Even if you did have trouble cutting the meat.”

“ Haha… god, you remembered…!” 

Pomni’s voice this time further worsened, and she mentally cursed at herself for letting it slip out, though she prayed that Kinger wouldn't notice. 

This was NOT the time to cry, Pomni… god damn it, couldn't she hold a single conversation with out bursting into tears??

“ Oh… Why the sad tone?”

These tears were different compared to the ones that she had been crying for the past few days.

Back then she was crying over how bad she had it, now, she was crying over the broken promise for Kinger and Ragatha. She was grieving over having a good roof over her head while her friends had to fight for food. 

This was a whole new heartbreak. She was so ashamed, and frankly disappointed in herself that she couldn't get them out of their terrible situation. Kinger the sweetest man, and Ragatha one of the strongest people she knew, they were suffering and there was nothing she could do about it…

“ I’m so sorry, Kinger…” Pomni said, her voice starting to sob from over the phone.

But kinger couldn't put any amount of blame on her, and instead, he continued on with his soft voice. “It's okay, Pomni. To be honest, me and Ragatha… we're sort of… used to false hope, you know? We don't take anything to heart much anymore.”

Pomni sniffed and nodded her head, hearing what he had to say. It was a sad thought, but she had no right to argue with it.

“ Don't beat yourself up over it, Pomni. You weren't the one who put us here… You just wanted to live a better life, and you did… we would have all done the same thing if we were you...”

And there it was… the voice Pomni had been desperate to hear every time she cried. The motherly voice for her child-like tears. And like a child, she sobbed, while Kinger spoke in a tone like a mother wiping away the tears of her baby. For the first time in awhile, tears fell from her eyes and they actually felt heard. It all came flowing down and it was welcomed.

“ There there…” Kinger hummed. “ I can’t do much, but if you were here I’d take this tablecloth and wipe it over your eyes! Haha!”

Pomni laughed through her tears. “ I have napkins if that helps…”

“ Not as good as the dirty table cloth but that works.” Kinger joked, and Pomni wiped her tears away. “ But seriously Pomni, just be good… enjoy the freedom for us maybe. I can't speak for the others but i guess there is a sort of comfort in knowing that one of us made it out.”

“Okay…” Pomni didn't have the heart to truly promise that and mean it, but if the thought made Kinger happy, then shes happy to let him believe it. 

Kinger really was the only person she never really had a gripe with during her entire stay of the circus. He was pleasant to be around and minded his own business… Even with Ragatha, although she was great, they had a bit of unresolved tension… maybe they could somehow get to fixing it one day. After all, time was all she had.

One day.

For the next couple of years, for all eternity, Pomni’s days would repeat 

over. 

And over. 

And over again.

She will shed many many tears and cry herself to sleep, until she was physically unable to. She's going to experience a new flavor of agony that she's never experienced before. And she's going to cry harder tears than she's ever had before. 

But at that moment, at the time, on the phone she spent the little humanity she had left talking to the fellow abused, telling eachother white lies to keep eachother comforted and sane. 

They told eachother everything was going to be okay as their heart beats slowed down. And maybe that was all they needed. Maybe that was all they could do.

As they all died together, hushing each other and wishing each other goodnight might be the only thing they had left.

Good night, Pomni. 

Good night, Kinger.

Good night, Ragatha.

We'll see you all in the morning.

[danyllura]

Despite Snows focus being on Katniss, I would argue Peeta played a far more of a rebellious role in his part of the “star crossed lover” during their first games than her. From the moment Cinna gets them to hold hands during the opening ceremony their pairing is shrouded in a “touch of rebellion” - we know alliances among district partners is normal/expected but it is also clear that the terms of agreement are temporary and built upon the goal of their individual survival. Peeta is the one that breaches that agreement, by pushing their relationship beyond district partners to that of “star crossed lovers” with the admittance of his crush on Katniss. It is the intent behind why he chooses what to share that is shrouded in rebellion. Early on Peeta is aware of Katniss’ potential as a tribute and beyond that he recognizes that “spark” that can make her “desirable” to others. Yes, he genuinely loves her. But he shares so not to be honest, or to make himself a sympathetic character for the capitol, but to hopefully benefit her in the arena. He pushes this further by his continuous reiterating of his feelings to the audience, during his time with the careers, alone, and then eventually with Katniss. Time and time again he displays that her survival is his ultimate goal in the games, willing to prioritize her victory over his own life. And while yes, Peeta does this because he does truly love and care about Katniss, he is intentional with his actions. He broadcasts his feelings because it benefits her. And every aspect of that goes against what the games are meant to do to people; divide them.

Comparatively, in regards to the “star crossed lovers” Katniss is much more obedient to the rules of the games. She doesn’t initially portray herself to return Peetas feelings. She plays as a solo player, and Katniss quite literally states she appears “heartless” because of this when they watch back over their time in the arena. When it’s only one promised victor and she believes Peeta to be allied with the careers, she drops a nest of tracker jackets over where Peeta is sleeping and showing she views him as any other competitor. Katniss only reciprocates the role of “star crossed lovers” when the capitol has allowed that type of alliance to work within the games. And if anything her later trick with the berries, is a scene of the capitols own making. It is a final act of desperation. Katniss’ knows Peeta is on the brink of death and it’s even a possibility for the Mutts that had just killed Cato to reappear. When she’s handing the berries to Peeta and as she spills them into her mouth, Katniss is not thinking of the significance of her choice or the potential consequences it may illicit. It’s an emotional decision, not a calculated one. In comparison, laying Rue to rest in a bed of flowers was a far more calculated act of rebellion from Katniss.

But despite all this, President Snow almost solely blames Katniss for the oncoming rebellion. And while Katniss does do many things that help initiate that spark, such as volunteering for Prim, singing to Rue, risking her life for Peeta at the feast- it isn’t that he blames, but rather her lying about loving Peeta back. Because Snow is stuck in the past with his belief that Lucy Gray tricked him into loving her. And Katniss, with her singing and her Mockinjays, is such an obvious parallel of Lucy Grays ghost- he misses the fact that Peeta has been a far more calculated player that has actively rebelled from everything the games are meant to turn you into from the moment he was reaped.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: Apples [Yandere Shinigami Light Yagami x Reader]

Title: Apples [Yandere Shinigami Light Yagami x Reader]

Synopsis: The inhuman thing that calls itself Light Yagami won't leave you alone.

For Horrorfest request: Reader thats haunted by Shinigami Light Yagami please!

Word count: 800ish

Notes: yandere, stalking

“Leave me alone.” 

The words come out bitter and soft, like a piece of fruit that’s been sitting at the bottom of the fridge for far too long. They smush inwards like overripe flesh underneath your thumb, from the weight of the creature hovering in front of you, the inhuman thing that refuses to go away for good.

Sometimes he leaves for a few days, a week, even a month or two. Long enough that you think he’s finally gotten bored or died–can Shinigami even die?--and you’ll never see him darken your doorway (literally and otherwise) again.

But then he’s there, an unwanted flicker. Standing by your bed. Sitting on your professor’s desk, a prim smile on his face. Waiting behind a shelf at the grocery store, in the gap between open boxes of cereal. Intruding on your everyday life with his awful extraordinariness. 

“Aren’t you even the smallest bit grateful?” He asks, not for the first time, shifting towards you. He’s too close. When he speaks, his breath hovers, smelling of apples and rot. 

You press further away, tucking yourself into the corner between your bed and the wall. The edge of your nightstand digs into the flesh of your upper arm. 

“I don’t want you to follow me,” you say, pathetically, stupidly, because you know it will change nothing. It hasn’t before. It won’t know. “Find someone who will be grateful, if it matters that much to you.”

That’s your dream, really. That he will find someone else to follow, to obsess over, to whisper awful things to in the night; dreams of a reinvisioned world, remaking the world of mortals in an image that suits him. You’ll be there, too. Forever, he says, even if he hasn’t figured out how just yet. 

But no matter how much you plead, how much you try to make yourself unappealing, this thing–it calls itself Light Yagami, and isn’t that awful, to give itself a human name?--won’t leave you alone. 

A clawed hand reaches out and you squeeze your eyes shut. It’s easier not to see him when he touches you. That much you’ve learned. Because when he does, the look on his face gets too tight, too manic. His eyes go a touch red and there’s something inside them that is too awful to bear.

The claw drags down your cheek, resting underneath your chin and tilting it up like a lover would. It makes you sick, this gesture; it’s too practiced, too human. How did a Shinigami know what might make someone go weak at the knees?

And you do–you do–for all the wrong reasons. 

“You can learn to be grateful,” he whispers, voice going low, almost gray. “I’ll even teach you how to use my notebook properly.”

Oh, that fucking notebook. It’s what started this whole mess. It was just sitting there, on the park bench. You’d walked by that bench a million times and nothing was ever out of place, but the one day there’s something new–it’s something that’s condemned you to this.

To him.

All you’d done is pick it up. Touched the edge of it, wondering if some kid has left it behind. But instead of a name written on the front, there was only an odd title. 

“Death… note?” You’d read–and by the time you glanced back up, he was there, suddenly, in a blink.

Smiling politely and introducing himself, as if he wasn’t some creature that had popped up out of nowhere. Came from nowhere a more accurate statement, if his brief descriptions of his world were anything to go by–a vast gray rotting wasteland.

“You wouldn’t like it there,” he told you once, musing more to himself, you thought, than actually speaking to you. He liked to hear himself talk. “That’s why I’ll remake this world instead.” As if he did anything for your benefit, and not his. 

If only you’d passed on by the bench, by the notebook, that day.  You might be free from all this. 

But you’re not free. You’re here, in your bedroom, trapped between the wall and a god of death.

“Open your eyes,” he says, just tightly enough that you know he’s approaching the edge of his patience. It was much harder to be around him, when he was genuinely angry with you.

Weary, tired, your eyes open, slow and sluggish. You give in, like you always do. What other choice do you have? 

“There you are,” he says, claw tracing your cheek, just underneath your eye. “Much better.” 

His other hand reaches for yours, covering it with his own, gripping tight.

“Are you ready to write a name in my notebook now?”

[ilguna]

☼ perfectly timed pt2 (Finnick Odair) ☼

summary; when you figure out that the arena's a clock, Finnick promises that he'll be your bodyguard from then on, and he doesn't take that responsibility lightly.

warnings; swearing, death, death mention, murder, gore, blood.

wc; 11k

part one.

–

“I’m not going to tell you right now, though.” You warn Finnick, he doesn’t seem to care. “You can’t say anything just yet.”

“I won’t.” He tells you.

“I’m just going to work out the details.” You say.

The two of you walk a couple of steps, before he realizes that he still has his arm around your shoulder. He removes it, offering you an apologetic smile, before joining Katniss, Peeta and Johanna in the treeline. 

“Well, it must be monkey hour. And I don’t see any of them in there." Peeta says. “I’m going to try to tap a tree.”

“No, it’s my turn,” Finnick says.

“You’re going to put (Y/n) in danger?” Peeta asks. 

Finnick looks at you for a second, “She’ll stick close.”

“I’ll at least watch your back.” Peeta says.

“Katniss can do that.” Johanna says. “We need you to make another map. The other washed away.” She reaches up and yanks a large leaf off of a tree to hand to him.

You shake your head. “I’ll stay here, too, then.”

“No, you’re not leaving my sight, remember?” Finnick motions for you to come.

“Johanna can—”

“Come on, (Y/n). I won’t let anything touch you here.” Finnick takes a step toward you, grabbing your wrist. He begins to pull you into the jungle, you struggle to keep up with his steps.

You travel about fifteen yards into the jungle, when Finnick finds a good tree to tap into. He takes the knife from your hand to stab into the bark of the tree to make a hole with the knife to stick the metal object into. You stick close to Finnick’s side, eyes sweeping the jungle.

Katniss is on guard, too, but she doesn’t appear to be as concerned as you feel. She’s lost in thought, eyebrows twitching in. You look back at the beach, wondering if Finnick will get mad if you go back there, anyway. None of you have any idea what time it is right now, making the jungle dangerous. Katniss said it was going on four, meaning four is beginning…

“Finnick, I don’t think the monkeys are out anymore.”

“We’re fine, (Y/n).” He brushes you off.

“If it’s going on four, then that means we’re in the next hour. We have no idea what we’re facing.”

“The jungle’s fine, see?” Finnick says, straightening briefly to motion to the greenery. “I’ve got you.” He then looks at Katniss, “Katniss, got that spile?”

She blinks, cutting the vines that were holding the metal tube to her belt. She holds it out to him from between her fingers. Finnick’s just reaching to grab it, when a scream breaks the silence. It belongs to a young girl, one that must be terrified.

Katniss drops the spile, whipping around and running straight to where the scream had come from, barely dodging vines and branches as she travels further into the jungle. You shake your head, going to plead with Finnick, but he’s sweeping the spile into one hand, grabbing you with the other, dragging you after Katniss.

“Prim!” Katniss’ shrill scream sounds close, “Prim!” Another agonized scream comes from further in the jungle. “Prim!”

“Finnick, we’re in the next hour!” You tell him, looking behind you to the beach, wondering if Johanna and Peeta can hear Katniss. “We’ve got to get out, not go further!”

“Katniss is our priority.” Finnick tells you firmly. 

You block branches with your forearm to keep them from leaving cuts on your face. The pace Finnick sets is difficult to keep up with, you’re not used to running this far for this long. He doesn’t care, pulling you along, forcing you to keep moving whether you like it or not. You think about stopping, but he’d just pick you up to keep going. 

Sweat begins to run down the side of your face in the same way that the blood rain did, past your ears and to your chin, where it drips on the front of your jumpsuit. You suck in deep breaths of air, but they provide no help, with how humid it is in here. You need cold air, the type that was coming off of the seawater.

“Prim!” Katniss screams. She rips through a wall of green, stumbling into a clearing ahead. The screaming continues, Katniss is looking up, into the trees. “Prim?”

“What is it?” You gasp.

“I don’t know.”

The two of you make it to the clearing, where you struggle to suck in the air that your lungs are demanding. Katniss seems calmer, at least. She’s wiping one of her arrows clean of blood with moss.

“Katniss?” Finnick says.

“It’s okay. I’m okay.” She says. “I thought they had my sister but—”

The hair on the back of your neck rises when another scream fills the air, this time it’s not a girl. It’s his. You turn, lips parting as you search the jungle. How can he be here? How did they get him here? He’s supposed to be safe at home, untouchable.

“Zero?” You call.

“(Y/n)!” Zero screams back.

“Zero!” You take off in the direction it’s coming from.

“(Y/n), wait!” Katniss shouts behind you.

You don’t stop, running up the incline, heading for the sound of his voice. You manage to keep an eye on the ground, avoiding the roots and snarls that stick up, waiting to trap your feet in its grasp. 

“(Y/n), please!”

“I’m coming!” You shout, gasping for air, “Zero, I’m coming!”

You duck beneath a branch, not bothering to stop for it. You can hear Finnick and Katniss behind you, struggling to keep on your heels. The further you travel, the faster you go, getting a hang of the incline.

You fly through a group of bushes, tripping over a branch when it catches on your clothes. You fall to your knees, eyes searching the sky above. You can hear him screaming for you, up in the tree.

“Zero.” Your lips are trembling as you get to your feet. “Zero!”

“Help!” He screams.

Katniss and Finnick come through the bushes, panting. You move around the tree, tears in your eyes that you wipe away.

“I’ve got it.” Katniss tells you, “I’ll get him.”

“Zero.” You murmur. “My brother, they have my brother? How is that possible?”

Katniss sticks her fingers in the bark in places you couldn’t have begun to imagine. She scales the tree, the branches and foliage concealing her. She doesn’t say a word, but the screaming stops. And something falls from the tree, landing in the grass at your feet.

Finnick picks it up, turning it over in his hand. 

Your face smooths. “It’s a jabberjay.”

Katniss slides down the tree, coming to join you two. “It’s all right, (Y/n). It’s just a jabberjay. They’re playing a trick on us.” She says. “It’s not real. It’s not your… Zero.”

“No, it’s not Zero, but the voice was his.”

“Jabberjays mimic what they hear. Where did they get those screams, Katniss?” Finnick says.

Katniss pales. “Oh, Finnick, you don’t think they…?”

“Yes I do. That’s exactly what I think.” Finnick says.

You struggle to get your hands to stop shaking, palms flat against your thighs. You and Finnick share a long look, as Katniss sinks into the ground, fingers grabbing at the grass.

Zero’s supposed to be safe at home. You promised him that he’d be okay without you, he’d be protected by the neighboring victors. If anything happened, he would be the first person they retrieved so he could be protected if a war broke out. You didn’t think that they’d just collect him to torture him for samples…

“We have to go.” Finnick says, “This must be the hour.”

“That’s what I was trying to tell you.” You look at him.

“I know, I should’ve listened.” He turns his attention to Katniss. “You have to get up, we need to get back to the others.”

She doesn’t respond, doesn’t so much as glance in your direction to confirm that she’s heard what he said. You wipe the sweat from your forehead, pulling at your fingers. You don’t like being here, in the middle of the jungle. You’re so exposed.

A bird starts to scream off to your right, this causes Katniss to leap to her feet, jerking in the direction. Finnick catches her arm before she can run. “No. It’s not him.” He starts pulling her downhill, you stick close to them. “We’re getting out of here!” Katniss doesn’t care, struggling to get free. “It’s not him, Katniss! It’s a mutt!”

Zero’s screams overlap, your feet freeze in place for a second, you stiffly get them to work again. Finnick glances at you, you press your lips together, sliding your arm beneath his to keep together. 

As you go further away from the screams, Katniss is less combative. In fact, she becomes eager to get out of the jungle, pulling you and Finnick behind her. It takes only a few minutes for you to reach the treeline, where Johanna and Peeta are standing there, unmoving.

Finnick lets go of Katniss, but you keep your hold on him.

Peeta’s got his hands raised, palms facing towards you. His lips are moving, but there’s no sound behind it. It isn’t until Katniss and Finnick run smack into the transparent wall, do you know that it’s there. The two of them fall back on the jungle floor, Finnick pulling you down with him.

Katniss grips at her shoulder, but when you look at Finnick, you see that his nose is gushing blood. He must’ve hit it face-first. You search the area nearby, and find some of the moss that Katniss had been using earlier to help clean up Beetee’s back. You pull it from the rock, handing it to Finnick.

“Thanks.” He squishes his nose. “So much for going to the beach.”

Johanna and Peeta shake their heads, and even demonstrate that the wall is unbreakable, by swinging their weapons at it. None of you even bother to try to check any of the other walls, all that’ll happen is you’ll be met with disappointment when you can’t make it through there, either.

For the next minute, you think that this will be manageable. You can sit through and listen to your brother screaming for help. Then the birds arrive, one by one, perching in the surrounding branches. An orchestrated chorus of screams and pleas begin to spill out of their beaks.

You slam the heels of your hands over your ears, pressing tightly. “No, no, no!”

Finnick comes over, guiding you to the wall, helping you to the ground. He doesn’t seem affected by the screams, he even pries your hands from your ears, only then to immediately replace them with his. He blocks them out entirely, but you still reach up to hold them there, afraid of the sounds that are happening out there.

You watch for a while as Katniss empties her quiver of arrows into the birds. She’ll take one down, and it’ll be replaced by two more. When she realizes this, she stops, coming to sit beside you and Finnick, clenching her own hands over her ears to keep out the wretched noise.

You keep your eyes closed for the remainder of the hour, distracting yourself by thinking about the plan to kill off the Two tributes. You come to the conclusion that it’ll work best if you hide in the trees, let the tidal wave come at ten, hike up to the lightning tree to somehow connect the wire to the tree, and then bring the spool back down to the beach before the lightning hits. By then, Enobaria and Brutus will want to be out of the jungle, and they’ll get electrocuted to death.

That is, unless the rebel plan takes over first. As far as you know, the mentors haven’t sent any hints as to what day and what hour you’ll be executing everything. Haymitch worked out a plan, hopefully fool proof. You’ll use the type of district bread for day, and the amount of bread for the hour. 

He’s supposed to send multiple rounds of the bread to confirm that it’s still happening at the same time. You haven’t thought to ask about it until now. Before, your mind was occupied with the jungle, then a plan to kill the careers. With that almost done, you need to look at the final and bigger picture.

Finnick’s hands loosen from your ears, you’re left with an ache in the area from how hard he was pushing. The hour must be done, because Peeta is now sitting with Katniss, and you can’t hear anymore screaming.

Your head falls into your hands as you rub beneath your eyes, sighing. Finnick gets to his feet, when you look up, you can see he has his hand out for you. You take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Thank you, Finnick. You didn’t have to do that.” You place your hand on his shoulder.

“They have no one to use against me, (Y/n).” Finnick says, “And I didn’t want to watch you being tortured.”

Your eyebrows twitch, “Right.”

“I’m going to go find a tree to tap.” Finnick tells you.

“Do you want me to go with?” 

“No, stay here with them. I’ll be back in a minute.” He says, picking up his trident. He strides off, presumably toward the original tree that he had carved out before the birds attacked.

“It’s all right, Katniss.” Peeta whispers.

“You didn’t hear them.”

“I heard Prim. Right in the beginning. But it wasn’t her,” He says. “It was a jabberjay.”

“It was her. Somewhere. The jabberjay just recorded it.” Katniss says, not budging.

“No, that’s what they want you to think. The same way I wondered if Glimmer’s eyes were in that mutt last year. But those weren’t Glimmer’s eyes. And that wasn’t Prim’s voice. Or if it was, they took it from an interview or something and distorted the sound. Made it say whatever she was saying.” He says.

What Peeta says gets you thinking. He’s right. You thought the same thing she and Finnick did, until Peeta mentioned the distorted sound a second ago. At home, you learned how to do that in school. It’s basic technology manipulation. You’re not sure why you didn’t think of that before.

Maybe it’s because you wouldn’t put it past the Capitol to kidnap and torture innocents. Zero has never been directly in contact with the capitol, unless it’s through you. Even then, they don’t focus on him for very long.

“No, they were torturing her.” Katniss says. “She’s probably dead.”

“Katniss, Prim isn’t dead. How could they kill Prim? We’re almost down to the final eight of us. And what happens then?” Peeta asks.

“Seven more of us die.” Katniss mutters morbidly. It’s almost comical.

“No, back home. WHat happens when they reach the final eight tributes in the Games?” He lifts her chin. “What happens? At the final eight?”

Katniss doesn’t respond right away. “At the final eight?” She repeats. “They interview your family and friends back home.”

“That’s right.” Peeta says. “They interview your family and friends. And can they do that if they’ve killed them all?”

“No?” Katniss asks.

“No. That’s how we know Prim’s alive. She’ll be the first one they interview, won’t she?” He asks, Katniss is apprehensive still. “First Prim. Then your mother. Your cousin, Gale. Madge,” he lists. “It was a trick, Katniss. A horrible one. But we’re the only ones who can be hurt by it. We're the ones in the Games. Not them.”

Finnick is coming back through the trees, a woven bowl in his hands. They hardly pay any attention to him. He hands you the water first, you take a few sips out of it, giving it back to him.

“You really believe that?” Katniss asks.

“I really do.” Peeta says.

Katniss looks at Finnick, who’s handing her the bowl of water. “Did you hear any of that, Finnick> Do you believe it?”

“It could be true. I don’t know.” His eyes land on you. “Could they do that, (Y/n)? Take someone’s regular voice and make it…”

“Yes, I completely forgot it was possible at first.” You let out a sigh. “It’s not even that difficult. Our children learn a similar technique in school.”

“Of course Peeta’s right. The whole country adores Katniss’s little sister. If they really killed her like this, they’d probably have an uprising on their hands.” Johanna says flatly. “Don’t want that, do they?” She throws her head back to shout, “Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn’t want anything like that!”

You look at Finnick, and then out at the beach. “We should move.”

“Good idea.” Peeta agrees, sweeping Katniss into his arms. 

Finnick grabs the bowl of water that was left behind, offering it to Johanna. She holds her hand out, “I’m going to pee.”

“No, don’t.” Katniss calls. “The birds—”

“They can’t hurt me. I’m not like the rest of you. There’s no one left I love,” Johanna says, walking away.

You and Finnick make your way to the beach to join Katniss and Peeta, who are now sitting in the sand. You find the wire sitting by a tree, reflecting the sunlight. Finnick places the bowl of water on top of it to keep sand from getting inside. He doesn’t stop to sit down, wandering to go be in the water.

You sit in the shade, knees against your chest as you stare at Finnick’s back. You knew he was going to keep you safe, but you didn’t realize that he was going to take every measure necessary. He pulled you away from the careers when you went to grab Beetee, took Enobaria’s knife in his thigh for you, and then dived in the water to grab the wire so you wouldn’t.

And now he’s keeping you close. 

“Who did they use against Finnick?” Peeta asks.

“No one.” Katniss murmurs. “It was (Y/n) and I.” She glances at you, “Her brother.”

Peeta looks over too, curious now. “I think I remember. (Y/n), there was a tragedy, wasn’t there?”

You nod, not speaking right away. You’re surprised he even remembers, your Games took place almost eight years ago. It wasn’t a very popular one because of how boring you’d been the entire time. The only notable event was the fire that took place, eating up the entire forest that you’d been using as your shelter. It’s how the Two girl was able to find you, because you had to adventure out and pick new spots to rotate between, places she’d frequented and knew like the back of her hand. 

What Peeta’s asking about isn’t about the arena and that fire. It was what happened a couple months later after you’d arrived home. You used to be bothered by people asking what happened exactly, but a few years ago, you realized that it was going to haunt you if you didn’t let it go.

You started out as a miracle, the first Three victor in a good number of years. When you didn’t follow the ideas that the people had around you, it sparked controversy. Where Beetee helped the Capitol with projects, you refused to even step foot on a train to go back if it wasn’t for mentoring. 

Your parents wanted you to pursue the Capitol, in hopes that it would make a better future for generations. You didn’t listen, so they decided they were going to stay in the childhood home. Your brother was supposed to, too, except he frequently slept over at your victor house, because it was bigger and warmer. 

One night, the home was set aflame. By the time you got the news, there was nothing left to salvage, whoever had done it did a thorough job. The peacekeepers investigated it for a couple months, but they stopped when they couldn’t find any more information.

It killed your parents, and your brother would be dead too, if he hadn’t stayed at your house that night, like he wasn’t supposed to.

“My childhood home burned down, killing my parents.” You tell them. “I only have my brother.”

Peeta nods, stroking Katniss’s hair. “I’m surprised they didn’t use Annie Cresta against Finnick.”

“Who?” Katniss asks.

“Annie Cresta. She was the girl Mags volunteered for. She won about five years ago.”

You raise your eyebrows, and then allow your face to relax. You don’t think about Annie much, she was one of those victors that got covered up quickly. Kinda like Johanna, except she refuses to let the light go out on her. The Capitol can’t either, because she’s the only female victor in Seven. She has to mentor tributes.

“I don’t remember those Games much.” Katniss says. “Was that the earthquake year?”

“Yeah. Annie’s the one who went mad when her district partner got beheaded. Ran off by herself and hid. But an earthquake broke a dam and most of the arena got flooded. She won because she was the best swimmer.”

“Did she get better after?” Katniss asks. “I mean, her mind?”

“I don’t know. I don’t remember ever seeing her at the Games again. But she didn’t look too stable during reaping this year.” Peeta says.

“From what I heard, Finnick and Annie broke up two years ago.” You draw a figure eight in the sand. “She’s not doing well.”

That’s all hearsay, though. Information that you’d gathered over time while you mentored. Annie won, the following year, Finnick was still by himself mentoring. The year after, he was the happiest you’ve seen him in the Capitol. Then last year, he was back to who he was before.

Johanna comes out of the trees a few minutes later, arrows in hand. She drops them in a pile next to Katniss and Peeta, who murmur out a thanks. A cannon blasts, Finnick rises to come join the rest of you in watching the hovercraft. It appears over the six-to-seven zone, and dips down five different times to retrieve the pieces of one body. There’s no telling who it was.

Once again, Peeta gets a leaf to draw a new map, adding JJ for the jabberjays in the four-to-five area. He writes beast in the area the tribute was collected in pieces. With the map, you’re able to see where you sit on the clock face again.

Finnick makes a net for fishing, going out into the water to throw it. Katniss joins him to take a quick swim, and then sits at the edge of the water to clean the fish that Finnick catches. The sun sets fairly quickly in this time, the moon rising on the other side.

You’re all beginning to settle down to eat when the anthem begins, followed by the faces of the dead. Cashmere, Gloss, Beetee, Mags. The five of you sit in solemn silence, trying to be respectful for one another. The women from Five and Six, with Blight and the man from Ten pulling up the rear.

Another eight dead.

“They’re really burning through us.” Johanna says.

“Who’s left? Besides us five and District Two?” Finnick asks.

“Chaff.” Peeta says, not missing a beat.

You continue to draw in the sand, watching as a parachute comes down from behind the trees, teetering from side to side. “We’ve got a sponsor gift.”

Peeta gets to his feet, letting the parachute land in his palm. He sets it down in the middle with the rest of the food, pulling back the square of fabric, allowing you to see its bread.

That’s right.

There’s a pile of small square shaped rolls. “These are from your district, right, (Y/n)?”

“Yes, from District Three.” You lean forward. “How many are there?”

Finnick gets to counting them, being thorough by turning each one over in his hands before he sets them into a neat pile. “Twenty-four.”

“An even two dozen, then?” You ask.

“Twenty-four on the nose.” Finnick meets your eyes. “How should we divide them?”

“Let’s each have three, and whoever is still alive at breakfast can take a vote on the rest.” Johanna says, Katniss lets out a laugh. 

The five of you eat the food that’s presented in front of you, passing around the water bowl to whoever asks for it. They try to keep up conversation, but you’ve already sunk back into your mind. 

District Three means day three. Twenty-four rolls of bread means midnight. They want you to be at the lightning tree, don’t they? It’s perfect for the plan you went through this afternoon. Your idea to kill the careers will act as a cover for the real rebel plan that’s taking place.

When you’re done eating, the bread rolls are placed into a dry bowl to keep them safe. You retreat into the woods when the wave comes, wait for the water to recede, and then head to that part of the beach to make camp. If everything goes according to plan, there should be a full twelve hours before you have to move again.

There’s a chorus of clicking coming from the eleven-to-twelve wedge. You all agree to keep away from that area and the beach, in case the insects are waiting for misstep in that area.

Katniss and Peeta volunteer to take watch, because they’ve had the most sleep out of all of you. Johanna goes down without a fight, she’s only had an hour all day. Finnick finds a space between you and Johanna. You’re a little different, though. While they fall asleep almost instantly, you can’t find the same peace.

You get to your feet, this causes Peeta to sit up.

“Is there something wrong?” He asks.

“No, I’m just going to take a walk. I’ll stay in sight.” You tell him.

You pull off your shoes, dropping them where you’d been sitting. You then wander down the beach, even going a few steps into the water. When you’re sure that you’re far enough away from them, and they won’t be able to hear you, you stop.

A shaky breath escapes your lips as you lean over your knees. You breathe deeply in through your nose, trying to calm the aching feeling that’s growing in your throat. You sniff, closing your eyes, shaking your head.

Beetee was more than your mentor. He turned into your second parent after yours died. He made sure that you settled into your house, that you were sound enough to take care of your brother on your own. He even got Wiress to offer to volunteer for you, if you weren’t up for this. 

And now he’s gone.

You can’t help the tears that escape, placing a hand over your mouth as you sob into your fingers. You knew that there were going to be sacrifices made, he even warned you that there was a good possibility that you could die, too. You just never thought it would be him.

You get tired of standing, opting to sit in the water. It’s warm, not at all refreshing. You don’t care, you don’t want to go back over there. It’s clear Katniss and Peeta needed time by themselves. You don’t want to see the looks on their faces either, when they realize you’ve been crying.

You just hope Zero is being good for Wiress. The victors are all supposed to watch over him together, but she said that she’d keep a close eye. Zero told you he wouldn’t get into any trouble, it’s hard to believe him. He’s got the whole house to himself and no older sister to limit him. He has to have some idea of what kind of danger he’s in though, right?

A crack of lightning hits the tree, altering you that it’s now midnight, officially bringing you into the third day. You hear a shout coming from camp, and when you turn to look, you see that Finnick is sitting up in the sand. He looks to where your shoes are, and then his head whips in your direction.

You sigh, getting to your feet. Either you go back, or he’s going to come over here. You walk through the water most of the way, enjoying the way the water laps over your feet. When you get there, Katniss is just laying down, Finnick is taking her spot.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” Finnick asks.

“I’m not tired.” You tell him, which is part of the truth. You did sleep most of the night last night, but if you were to lie down again, you’d be left to your thoughts. Same if you stayed away. “I’ll stay with Finnick, Peeta. Go ahead and be with Katniss.”

“Are you sure?” Peeta asks, he’s getting to his feet.

“Yeah.”

Katniss looks over her shoulder, watching as Peeta goes to join her. You sit where Peeta had been, which faces the jungle. You cross your legs, stabbing the knife Finnick gave you into the sand, and leaving it there.

Neither of you speak for a long while. Katniss and Peeta must fall asleep fairly quickly, wrapped around each other. You brush the sand from your legs once it’s dried.

“I’m sorry about Mags, I know how close you two were.” You murmur.

“Thank you, (Y/n).” He says. It’s quiet between you two for a moment. “You were wrong, you know.”

Your eyebrows twitch. You turn your head far enough to see the back of his shoulder. “About what?”

“Annie.”

You press your lips together, he must’ve heard you talking earlier to Katniss and Peeta. “I’m sorry, Finnick. I didn’t mean for it to be malicious.”

“We never dated.” He says. “She was my best friend before she went into the Games. Recently, we haven’t been as close.” He shakes his head, you can feel his hair brush the back of yours. “I was surprised they didn’t use her against me during the jabberjays, and then I realized that it must be because we’re not even friends anymore.”

“What happened between the two of you?” You ask, “If you want to talk about it.”

“It’s a short story.” He pauses. “She started getting better after her Games, so I started to visit her more. And when I thought that she could handle it, I asked her if she’d take over mentoring temporarily.”

You hum. “She wasn’t ready?”

“She called me selfish, we stopped speaking altogether.” He sighs. “I guess the Capitol has eyes everywhere.”

“Of course they do. You really thought they didn’t?” You laugh slightly.

“I had hope.” He chuckles, letting out a breath. “Did you work out the details to your plan, yet?”

“Yes, actually. And I think it’ll be a perfect addition to the plan.” You elbow him, as a way to nudge him into your line of process.

“Really? Let’s hear it.” He says.

“We should wait for the others.” You tell him.

“What, are you afraid that I’m going to claim the idea belongs to me?”

You laugh, “No, I guess I could tell you.” You clear your throat, “I was thinking, if we want to take out the careers, we should do it tomorrow night. The wire isn’t completely useless. See, the wave happens at ten, which makes the sand damp, and with the lightning at midnight, it could work as a conductor. We could electrocute the shit out of them when they come down to the beach, thinking it's safe.

“Or… for something else, if we find it.”

Finnick laughs, “That’s a great idea, (Y/n). This is with all the kinks worked out?”

“More or less.”

“I’m glad you’re here, I don’t know what we’d do without you.”

“You’d survive, figure it out on your own but a little slower.” You look down at the beach. “You don’t need me here.”

Finnick moves behind you, you look over your shoulder to see that he’s turned to face you. “That’s not true, you need to give yourself more credit.”

“Fine, you’d be lost without me.”

“I mean it, (Y/n). We need you here. You’re just as important.”

You give him a smile. “Thanks.”

—

As much as you wanted to be the one to keep Finnick company for the night, Johanna woke up a couple hours later and insisted that she swap with you. You didn’t feel tired, but laid down anyway. Sure enough, you went out like a light once your eyes were closed.

You didn’t sleep for long, the arena is unusually hot today. The sand is burning your sensitive skin, which you’ve opted to occasionally splash water onto in order to keep cool. It works, partially. The water is warm, but if you time it right, it’s perfectly paired with a breeze.

You kick water in Finnick’s direction, he looks up from his trident, giving you a challenging head tilt. A warning that if you continue, he’ll come over here and teach you a lesson. You give him an innocent look, and then go back to standing knee-deep in the water.

Katniss stirs on the beach, rolling over to squint at the sun angrily. She’s going to have to get in line if she wants to explode the damn thing. None of you are happy with the Gamemakers right now.

You turn to look at the jungle, and find another parachute coming down from the sky. “Sponsor gift.”

Peeta and Johanna look up from the leaf map that he made last night. Finnick gets to his feet, taking a few steps and catching the gift before it hits the sand. You get out of the water, joining them in what little shade is covering the beach. When he sets it down, you’re able to see that it’s more bread, twenty-four rolls, all coming from District Three again.

It’s divided so that everyone gets five, leaving eight left over. You eat in silence, listening to the waves eat up the sand, and then retreat again. You play with the end of the wire, twisting it into a spiral, before pulling it straight. You need to tell them about the plan you’ve made, it just has to be done at the right time.

Katniss gets up, grabbing Peeta’s hand, pulling him in the direction of the water, “Come on. I’ll teach you how to swim.”

He doesn’t fight her. The three of you watch as they go about waist-deep into the water, then she begins to teach him basic strokes. Finnick gets up to collect vines, strategically weaving them into a net. While Johanna refuses to take her eyes off of the teenagers for longer than ten seconds at a time.

She must be worried that they’re going to run off, but if that were the case, Katniss wouldn’t have left her bow here. The only thing they can do now is talk to one another, which is what they did last night, too. If they try to leave, they’re not going to make it very far. They’ll be hunted down within the hour.

Johanna yawns, “I’m going to nap, wake me if anything interesting happens.”

She scoots back so that her upper body is protected from the sun. She uses her arm as a pillow, and bends her other arm over her eyes to make it easier to sleep.

“You can sleep, too. You don’t have to sit with me.” Finnick says.

“I’m fine.” You shrug. 

Finnick works quickly, creating the net in a circular shape. He explains to you that if it’s bunched up, he can throw it a certain way and it’ll expand and cover more water. You stare at him for a few long seconds, wondering if he thinks you’re stupid or if it’s the other way around.

“You mean… a casting net?” You ask slowly.

Finnick blinks, “You know what a casting net is?”

“Finnick, I know what a lot of things are.” You breathe a laugh. “A casting net is one of them.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “Right.”

“Hey, Finnick, come on in! We figured out how to make you pretty again!” Katniss waves her hand.

He looks up from the sand, eyebrows drawing in. She’s talking about the scabs that they’re completely covered in, which was a result of the ointment they used because of the poisonous fog. Finnick gets to his feet, leaving the net next to you as he goes over to join them.

You watch as the three of them use handfuls of sand to rub off the scabs gently. They take turns helping each other get the ones on their back. When they’re done, they come out of the water to apply another round of the medicine because their skin isn’t taking well to the sun.

“I think it’s time we talk about the careers,” You tell them. “I doubt they’ll attack us openly again, now that they’re outnumbered. We could track them down, but it’s dangerous to pursue them.”

“Do you think they’ve figured out about the clock?” Katniss asks.

“If they haven’t, they’ll figure it out soon, just not as specifically as we have. They must know that at least some of the zones are wired for attacks and that they’re recurring. And the fact that our last fight was cut off by Gamemaker intervention will not pass over their heads, as much as we’d like to think it will.

“We know it was an attempt to disorient us, but they’re going to be asking why it happened, and that might lead them to the clock idea, as well.”

“Wait, let me get Johanna up.” FInnick says. “She’ll be rabid if she thinks she missed something this important.”

“Or not.” Katniss mutters, you tilt your head, agreeing with her. 

Still, he gets Johanna awake and up to speed. She crosses her arms, staring at you intensely. You squint at her briefly, before making Katniss and Peeta scoot back.

You draw a circle in the sand, dividing it into twelve wedges. “If you were Brutus and Enobaria, knowing what you do now about the jungle, where would you feel safest?” You ask, looking between them.

“Where we are now. On the beach.” Peeta says. “It’s the safest place.”

“So why aren’t they on the beach?” 

“Because we’re here.” Johanna sighs impatiently. “Is there a point to this?”

You ignore her. “Exactly, we’re here, claiming the beach. Now where would you go?”

No one speaks for a second, until Katniss does, “I’d hide just at the edge of the jungle. So I could escape if an attack came. And so I could spy on us.”

“Also to eat,” Finnicks ays. “The jungle’s full of strange creatures and plants. But by watching us, I’d know the seafood’s safe.”

You smile, “Of course, now that we’re all on the same page, here’s what I propose: a twelve o’clock strike. What happens at noon and at midnight?”

“The lightning bolt hits the tree.” Katniss says.

“Yes, so what I’m going to suggest is that after the bolt hits at noon, but before it hits at midnight, we run Beetee’s wire from that tree all the way down into the saltwater, which is, of course, highly conductive. When the bolt strikes, the electricity will travel down the wire and into not only the water but also the surrounding beach, which will still be damp from the wave at ten. Anyone in contact with those surfaces at that time will be electrocuted.”

Silence takes over as the words sink in, you let them think it over. You’ve had more time to work out the finer details of the plan between telling Finnick last night and this morning. You’ve found every issue, and carefully ironed it out. If it works the way you want it to, you’ll be all set for Haymitch’s plan.

The looks on their faces are giving you different ideas on what they want to say. Peeta starts first. “Will that wire really be able to conduct that much power, (Y/n)? It looks so fragile, like it would just burn up.”

“Oh, it will, but not until the current has passed through it. It will act something like a fuse. Except the electricity will travel along it.” You play with the wire.

“How do you know?” Johanna asks.

You take in a breath, “I have come to realize that Beetee invented it.” You look at her. “I’ve worked with wire, and this isn’t any wire, it’s the one he created. It’s not wire in the usual sense, just like how the lightning natural lighting or that tree a real tree. You know trees better than any of us, Johanna. It would be destroyed by now, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes.” She nods.

“There’s no need to worry about the wire. It’ll do its job.”

“And where will we be when this happens?” Finnick asks.

“Far enough up in the jungle to be safe.” You tell him.

“The careers will be safe, too, then, unless they’re in the vicinity of the water.” Katniss says.

“That’s right.” You agree.

“But all the seafood will be cooked.” Peeta objects.

“A lot more than cooked.” You laugh. “We will be eliminating that as a food source entirely this way, but Katniss found other edible things in the jungle, right?”

“Yes. Nuts and rats.” She says. “And we have sponsors.”

“I don’t see it as a problem, then.” You smile. “This isn’t something I can do on my own. I say we go for it, but it can’t get done without you four. The decision on whether or not we do it is up to you.”

Katniss looks between them. “Why not? If it fails, there’s no harm done. If it works, there’s a decent chance we’ll kill them. And even if we don’t and just kill the seafood, Brutus and Enobaria lose it as a food source, too.”

“I say we try it. Katniss is right.” Peeta nods.

Finnick looks at Johanna. They share a long look while she decides. “All right.” She finally says. “It’s better than hunting them down in the jungle, anyway. And I doubt they’ll figure out our plan, since we can barely understand it ourselves.”

Finnick then looks to you, “What’s next, (Y/n)?”

You smile. “I need to take a look at the tree.”

The five of you get to pack up your belongings, with Katniss telling you that she believes it has to be somewhere around nine in the morning. You have to leave the beach soon, anyway. When everyone is ready, you head to the beach that bordered the lightning section, and Johanna takes lead into the jungle.

Finnick follows after her, then you, and Peeta and Katniss take up the rear. It’s a straight shot up to the tree, there’s no need for directions. The further you travel, the harder it is to convince yourself it was a good idea to hike. You hated it during the first day, too, but you didn’t complain nearly as much as Beetee did. To be fair, though, he did have a nasty gash on his back.

You hum a short tune, which earns you a glare from Johanna. You pretend you don’t see it, because the silence is killing you. The birds aren’t nearly as vocal here, they were much louder in the blood rain wedge. Then again, after yesterday, you’re not sure if you want to see a bird for the next year.

When you begin to near the top, Finnick makes a suggestion that Katniss should take the lead.

“Why is that?” You ask, beating Johanna to the question.

“Katniss can hear the force field.” He says.

Your face twists, and so does your body as you go to take a look at Katniss. You and Beetee were the ones that showed her in the first place, in the gymnasium. You were sitting together at the fire station, fixated on how the Gamemakers decided they needed the protection. That’s when Katniss came along and enlightened you; she’d shot an arrow at them last year. 

However, the force field doesn’t have a noise to it. It didn’t in the gymnasium, and it didn’t when you got close to Blight’s body. What Finnick is saying right now isn’t possible, otherwise there’d be a constant hum in the arena depending on how close you were to the force field.

“Only with the ear the Captiol reconstructed.” Katniss tells you.

That’s bullshit, and she knows it too. Maybe this has something to do with Peeta running into the force field on the first day. She chose not to tell them what she knew, possibly afraid of what the Gamemakers would do with it.

“Interesting.” Is all you say, moving out of the way to let her pass.

The lightning tree is unmistakable. It towers high above the trees that surround it. Katniss takes a handful of nuts, slowly moving toward the top. You peer around her, and when you see a square ripple, you know that you have plenty of room to work with.

Katniss throws a nut, which hits the wall and sizzles. “Just stay below the lightning tree.”

With that, everyone divides up different jobs while you take a closer look at the tree. Finnick follows you, continuing his guarding duty. Johanna decides to tap a tree for water, while Peeta gathers nuts and Katniss wanders away briefly to hunt for the tree rats.

You stare at the tree, arms crossed over your chest as you think. Finnick stands beside you, trident in his hand, occasionally glancing at you to see if your face has changed. You can’t imagine how boring this must be to him, especially when he has no clue what you’re looking for.

You take the spool of wire, find it between your fingers to see how thick it is. With how tightly its wound, there’s got to be miles of the wire. You won’t have to worry about running out of it between wrapping it around the tree and bringing it back down to the beach.

Speaking of the tree, it doesn’t look right now that you’re standing in front of it. You knew that it wasn’t a real tree, but you thought the inside of it would be the artificial stuff, not the outside. You run your fingers over the bark, and find that it’s weirdly patterned.

When you look at the trees behind you, the appearance of those are completely different. It’s almost like the Gamemakers made half an effort at trying to hide that it’s not real. Or maybe, making the bark anything other than fake could increase the potential of setting the entire jungle on fire.

You wander around the tree, and Finnick follows for a while, but when he sees that you’re making rounds in circles, he steps back and watches you. You measure the tree, thinking about how much wire it’s going to take to make the plan actually work. The base is thicker than you thought it would be.

You stop at the sound of the wave, which causes the others to pause, too. A few minutes later, Katniss comes out of the trees, bearing three tree rats. She draws a line in the dirt to remind everyone how far away they must stay from the force field, and then proceeds to sit with Peeta to roast nuts and sear cubes of meat.

Johanna joins them after she’s had enough of making fun of you to Finnick, who seems less than interested by the names she’s calling you. You stop between the force field and the tree, looking at the malfunctioning square, then back at the bark. You wonder…

You break off a piece of the bark, which doesn’t come easily. Katniss tells you and Finnick that the food is ready when you are, so as you go over, you toss the bark against the force field. It bounces off, landing on the ground, glowing a bright orange color. It takes about a minute for it to return back to the original bark color.

“Huh,” You let out, “Well, that explains a lot.”

The bark and the force field are made of the same material. You should’ve guessed.

You take a seat next to Finnick, picking at the nuts and meat chunks. 

“I have a question.” Your attention turns to Katniss, Peeta and Finnick. “Regarding Peeta and the force field situation. What happened, exactly?”

“Peeta was clearing a way with his machete and he hit the force field.” Finnick tells you.

“With the machete?” You ask, “And what happened to the force field?”

Finnick shakes his head, and Peeta looks lost too. Katniss, however, sighs, “It disappeared, and then it came back.”

You hum. Whatever you do around the lightning tree must be with precaution from now on. You’re not an expert on the force field subject—Beetee would’ve known more—but weapons cannot come into contact with it. You think that’s where the problems will arise, since you were able to touch it with your hands.

The sound of clicking nearby causes the rest of you to glance in the direction. It’s eleven, only an hour left until twelve. The noise is far louder here than it was on the beach last night. You quiet to listen.

“It’s not mechanical.” You tell them after a minute.

“It has to be insects.” Katniss says. “Maybe beetles.”

“Something with pincers.” Finnick adds.

The sound increases, as if the insects are dying to get to you.

“We should get out of here, anyway.” Johanna says. “There’s less than an hour before the lightning starts.”

Katniss brings you to the next section over, which happens to be the blood rain area, stopping next to the identical tree here. With food being interrupted before, you resume here, finishing what’s left in the bowls. You wait until Katniss is done eating and the insects fade out, before you ask her to climb the tree to get a better look for you when the lightning strikes.

It shakes the ground, you and Johanna share a look. You might not like each other, but the uneasiness begins to stir in your stomach. The idea of being here, only an hour before the rain, makes you feel sick. You don’t want to be covered again, not if you can help it.

Katniss comes down from the tree a few minutes later. She goes on to tell you that the lightning takes the entire tree, which makes it glow a hot blue-white. The air up there was crackling with electricity.

“Perfect.” You murmur.

With that, you feel satisfied enough to go back down to the beach. The sand is damp, clear of any footprints until the five of you begin to step on it, leaving a clear trail wherever you walk. There’s nothing to do beyond this point but wait, you fiddle with the wire, wrapping it around a large stick to see how much it would take to make a dent, since it’s so thin.

Katniss, Peeta and Johanna lay down to sleep. Finnick watches you curiously, occasionally asking questions that you’re more than happy to answer for him. By the time the lightning has stopped and the rain has begun, you’ve decided that you’ll have to work quickly tonight, and might even need help.

You yawn, Finnick’s eyes snap to you. “Sleep.”

“Finnick.” You warn, “I’m fine.”

“We need you at your best. If anything happens, I’ll wake you.”

You sigh, not really wanting to argue with him. You make him promise to keep an eye on the wire, before joining the others in the shadows to nap. 

—

A hand roughly grabbing your bare calf jolts you awake. You sweep the knife out of the sand, swinging it to stab while you open your eyes to see who it is. Another hand grabs your wrist, and you’re met with Finnick’s cheeky face.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you like that.” Finnick lets go of you. “Johanna pushed me over.” Johanna’s standing behind him, her arms crossed, staring down at you. She laughs, and then turns away. “We’ve got more food, if you’re hungry.”

You shake your head, “No, but I’ll sit with you.”

The others are only a few feet away, shifted to let you sleep but also to chase the shade, since it’s growing slimmer. Finnick must’ve woven more bowls, because the amount has multiplied. Finnick reaches to help Katniss and Peeta clean out the seafood, while Johanna wanders around in the treeline to keep an eye out for the careers.

Peeta pops open an oyster, laughing. “Hey, look at this!” He holds up a glistening pearl. “You know, if you put enough pressure on coal it turns to pearls.” He says to Finnick.

“No, it doesn’t.” Finnick says, cleaning a fish. Katniss laughs, you give a smile.

Peeta rinses it off in a bowl that holds unopened oysters, handing it to Katniss. “For you.”

She lets him set it in her palm. “Thanks.”

Peeta’s smile fades. “The locket didn’t work, did it?” He asks, you avert your eyes. “Katniss?”

“It worked.” She says.

“But not in the way I wanted it to.”

Silence, as they shuck open shellfish and oysters. You watch as Finnick easily cuts away scales, making squares beneath, and shaking them free into a bowl. He works quickly, he must’ve been doing this whole life. He even feels comfortable enough to look away for several seconds, into your eyes.

“You’re going to cut your hand.” You tell him.

“I won’t.” He says, tossing the fish scrap into the trees. “Do you want to try?”

“No, I’d rather watch.”

He smirks, getting to work on another fish. In the time it takes them to finish what they’re doing, you’re a little hungry. Johanna’s just coming to sit down with you four, when she stops at the sight of another sponsor gift. She catches it, and when she sets it down, you’re able to see that it’s a red sauce for the seafood, and another pile of bread.

Finnick counts them, “Twenty-four again.”

So it’s settled, the plan is happening at midnight, tonight. 

With there being thirty-two rolls in total—eight being leftover from this morning—it’s divided so that everyone gets five again, leaving seven. You dip a chunk of fish into the red sauce, and the moment it touches your tongue, you close your eyes, letting out a hum.

“It’s good?” Finnick asks, reaching to do the same.

“It’s spicy.” You tell him. “So much better.”

It improves the flavor, making you hungrier. While they gorge themselves on everything in front of them, you take your time, not wanting to be so full that you feel like throwing up. You still have to hike up the hill, and it’ll be more difficult than this morning after a meal.

The red sauce is completely gone by the time they’re done, and there’s still food left over. They make sure that you’re full, and then they toss the leftovers into the sea because it won’t be good in a couple of hours. And no one wants to give the careers an opportunity to eat.

Katniss and Peeta go to sit on the edge of the water. Johanna goes back to patrolling, and you and Finnick sit and do nothing. That is, until he gets up to talk to Johanna away from you. You pull your knees to your chest, leaning forward into them, staring absently into the jungle.

The anthem plays a couple of hours later, but there are no faces in the sky tonight. The only people left in the arena are your group, the careers, and your missing member of the bigger alliance. There will be no more deaths until the careers.

When Finnick and Katniss believe nine o’clock has rolled around, you leave the shell infested camp to go to the twelve wedge. No one speaks as the hike begins, but it’s clear in the first ten minutes that they’ve eaten too much, because they’re walking at a slower pace. Miraculously, you feel just fine.

At the tree, Finnick takes point being your help, while the other three stand guard nearby. You pick up a branch, wrapping it in wire, and then make Finnick stand on the other side of the tree, as you pass it back and forth. You’re not sure if he notices, but you have him help you do it in a pattern, slowly drifting downward, and then back up, and then down again, covering as much of the bark as you can.

Your fingers brush his each time you hand it off, and you have to hold your breath to kill the butterflies that swarm.

You’re done with the wire around the time the wave begins. You gather together, holding the wire out for Johanna. You take your time explaining to them that this part is crucial. They need to carefully unwind the wire as they go down through the jungle, lay it across the beach, and throw it as deep into the water as they possibly can.

“Johanna and Katniss should take it, because they’ll be quicker. I’ll stay up here to make sure nothing goes wrong on our end.”

“I want to go with them as a guard.” Peeta says, shaking his head.

“You’re too slow.” You tell him flatly. “We can all see it. Besides, I’ll need you on this end. Katniss will guard.” You look at Katniss. “There’s no time to debate this. I’m sorry. If they want to get out of there alive, they need to move now.”

“It’s okay.” Katniss says. “We’ll just drop the coil and come straight back up.”

“In the one-to-two sector, not in the lightning zone.” You tell her. “If you’re running out of time, move over one more. Don’t even think about going back on the beach, until I can take a look at it.”

Katniss cups Peeta’s face. “Don’t worry. I’ll see you at midnight.” She kisses him, turning to Johanna. “Ready?”

“Why not?” Johanna shrugs. “You guard, I’ll unwind. We can trade off later.”

The two of them begin to go down the slope, you barely look at Peeta, eyes landing on Finnick. He spins the trident in his hand, and then he moves away to watch the jungle. You cross your arms, standing close to the wire, watching as it goes rigid from them pulling it on the way down.

You pace, taking measured breaths to calm the anxiousness rising. It’s not the wire you’re worried about, it’s the rescue plan. You have less than two hours to pull this off and get lifted out of the arena. Hopefully you’ll be all together by then, making it an easy rescue.

You just hope they already have your brother somewhere safe. If you get out of here, and they don’t have Zero, you’re not sure if the rebels will bother keeping you around. You won’t help. You swear you don’t lift a finger to help them. It’s what you did after your Games, it’s what you’ll do now if they go back on their promise.

It’s almost twenty minutes later, right when the clicking has begun, the wire snaps, you turn to look at where the sound had come from. You watch as it bunches and curls, stopping at the tops of your shoes.

“Finnick.” You say, but he’s trying to make a swipe at Peeta.

He’s gone, running down the slope, leaving you and Finnick to stand there, dumbfounded. It has to be the careers, they’re not on the beach. They’ve been stalking you the entire time. And now that you’re split, it’s the perfect time to attack.

“Stay here.” Finnick orders, running after Peeta. “Stay!”

He disappears into the jungle, leaving you by the tree. A part of you wonders if you should go running after him, because he’s supposed to be guarding you. You know better than to move, your feet firmly planted in the grass and dirt. The careers won’t come here, they’re too busy.

Your hand reaches to grab onto the tree, needing something to lean onto, because the ache in your feet is beginning to become unbearable. Finnick told you to stay here, so that’s what you do. You won’t move a muscle, if it means that you make it out of this jungle tonight.

You don’t know how much time passes before a cannon goes, fifteen minutes, maybe? You hold your breath, waiting, straining to hear if there’s any yelling happening out there. Finnick calling for Katniss and Johanna, Peeta calling for Katniss, anything.

It’s too quiet.

Your eyes slide to see the stick that you’d set aside earlier, as well as yards of the wire that you’d unraveled to have on standby in the case of an emergency. If your plan didn’t work. While it was supposed to electrify and kill the careers, there was a good chance that it’d short-circuit the force field, too.

Now, with the wire here and nowhere near the water, you need another way to fry the field. No one is going to make it out of this arena alive if you don’t fix this. 

A new idea creeps into your mind, whispering in your ear, telling you that a sacrifice has to be made. Your eyes go from the stick, to the malfunctioned square on the force field that you’d spotted earlier, finding that it is, still, very much there. If you can’t do it through water, you can surely do it with the tree and the force field, you just need something to act in between…

The knife.

You move for the first time in thirty minutes, falling to your knees as you dig through the grass to find the knife that Finnick gave you in the Cornucopia. You find it only a few feet away, pulling it into your hands. You then remove the wire from the stick, wrapping it around the blade, instead.

You look at the force field, taking deep breaths to calm the beating in your chest. This could go two ways. The first way is that you drive this knife into the square, your fingers lock around the handle of the knife, and you die. Or, you get electrocuted, and by some miracle you walk out of this alive. 

That’s all you want. To get out of here, and have a chance at seeing your brother again. He can’t live in this world without you, he won’t do it. He’ll have no one if you die. But, if this means that he won’t have to live in fear of the Hunger Games, then you’ll do it.

You’ll do it a thousand times.

You get to your feet, gripping and fixing the knife in your hand. You approach the force field, swinging your arm back, aiming for the square. And the second it connects, there’s a loud zapping sound, and then you’re airborne.

—

You breathe in deeply through your nose, as if you haven’t in the past ten minutes. A tight and sharp pain hits the center of your chest, stopping you in the middle. Your eyes open, staring at the bright, silvery light overhead as you try to carefully let the air out.

Your eyebrows draw in, turning your head to the side, blinking away the blurry vision. There’s several beds to your right, and on one of them, it looks like Katniss Everdeen is hooked up to machines, tubes in her arms. They did it, they got you out. Where’s everyone else?

You can’t help the groan you let out as you sit up, wincing. You place a hand over your lower stomach, and you’re able to see that your skin is covered in soot and blood. You rub it away the bed you can, swinging your legs off the bed to get on your feet.

If it were the Capitol that got you out, they would’ve sedated you, and ensured that you wouldn’t wake up during the ride. This is the work of Haymitch, letting you wake up on your own to go to them. 

You drag your feet through the room, leaving Katniss as you pass through a doorway, entering a narrow hallway. With your free hand, you reach to hold onto the wall as you go. Your forearm is bandaged, they must’ve gotten the tracker out. It seems as if their stitching could use work, because there’s blood seeping through, more than there should be.

You don’t care.

The metal door at the end of the hall is open a quarter of the way. You push it open, and on the other side, you can see Haymitch, Finnick, and the Head Gamemaker, Plutarch Heavensbee.

Haymitch looks up first, letting out a noise, prompting the other two to look. “Back from the dead.”

“(Y/n).” Finnick breathes. He’s dressed in a grey robe, the same that you are. He shuffles around the table, opening his arms.

You let him hug you, pulling you into his body tightly. You squeeze your eyes, the pain being more than you were prepared for, but you laugh, hugging him back.

“It was a smart idea, trying the knife on the force field.” Plutarch tells you. “It’s what sparked Katniss to do the same. It caused some chaos, we weren’t able to get everyone out, but we didn’t expect to, anyway.”

You pull away from the hug, “Who did we leave?”

“Johanna and Peeta.” Haymitch says.

Your eyebrows twitch, “Who was the cannon?”

“Chaff,” Finnick says. “I don’t think you were awake when the other cannon went off. Peeta killed Brutus.”

“What about Enobaria?”

“Taken by the Capitol, as well.” Plutarch says.

“Oh.” You breathe, “Is there somewhere I can sit?” Finnick leads you to a chair, your whole body aches when you go to sit down. When the motion is done, the relief is immediate. “So, where to now?” 

“District Thirteen.”

[crappy-writings]

Orpheus and Eurydice

Natasha RomanoffxReader // Fluff

*Images are not mine, credit to its creators and sources

Summary: You recount the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice with your girlfriend.

Trigger Warning: Greek mythology?

*No pronouns were used for the reader

Word Count: 1,242

A/N: Listen, I’m actually pretty proud of this one, but would still like some feedback! I was originally gonna make this longer and with some angst, but then I liked it as it is, so. Hope y’all enjoy!

Links to the myth’s Summary and Analysis that I used.

Main Masterlist | MCU Masterlist | Recced Fics Masterlist

“Do you like Greek mythology?”

The question had been a simple one and yet, it had made Natasha’s brow furrow in curiosity. You were sitting across from her on the couch, having been completely engrossed in a book, whose title she could not read by the way you were nursing it, up until you asked that question. She raised her gaze from her computer screen, emerald green eyes staring into the pensive ones that stared back.

“I learned some of the myths and read some of the literature, like The Iliad,” Natasha replied. The Red Room was a lot of things. Aside from turning young, vulnerable girls into weapons and masters of espionage, they expected them to be prim and educated. She learned quite a bit about every conceivable topic, a Jack-Of-All-Trades, master of none.

“But do you like it?” you pressed, marking the page you left off in before shifting your position to fully look at her. There was a soft twinkle in your eye, one that held a sense of wonder and curiosity. It caused Natasha to smile ever so gently as she pondered your question. “I never really thought about it. It’s certainly interesting, and I did like reading the Iliad,” Natasha replied truthfully, setting her laptop aside so as to give you all her attention. 

“Did you ever read about Orpheus and Eurydice?” you ask with a cute tilt of your head as you chew on the inside of your lip.

“Orpheus was a musician, said to be the son of Apollo and of Calliope. Eurydice was a beautiful wood nymph that heard him play during one of his gatherings,” Natasha began recounting what she remembered of the myth, “They fell madly in love with one another, and they got married.”

“And shortly after the marriage, a shepherd that wanted Eurydice for himself chased after them. She stepped on a snake’s nest as they ran away and got bit. She dies and he’s overcome with grief,” you continued the tale as you stand up from your side of the couch, looking to close the large gap between the both of you, your book now long forgotten, “all he ever did after her death was mourn her until he decides to go look for her in the Underworld.”

Natasha watches as you saunter on to her side, laying down beside her and offering to hold her hand, your open palm faced up at her, your finger flexing oh so slightly. She accepts it graciously, the length of your forearms fitting snugly beside each other as they often do. You were staring down at your intertwined fingers with a soft smile, your free hand falling on top of hers before running your fingers up and down her exposed forearm. 

Your touch was gentle and soothing, providing Natasha with a sense of warmth, the kind that had been denied to her for so long. A trail of goosebumps follows your touch on her skin, and you smile all the more. This was only achieved after years of breaking down tall, emotional walls that had never allowed her to be so vulnerable. She is very aware of the effect you have on her and she loves every single bit of it. 

“Orpheus reached the king of the Underworld, and he sang a song so beautiful and so heartbreaking that Hades cried. He let Orpheus try to save Eurydice, telling him that if she followed him until they both reached the exit to the Underworld without him looking back, she could return to the living world. If he did turn to look at her before that, she would have to return to the Underworld,” Natasha continued the myth as you continued to draw arbitrary patterns along the top of her skin.

“He reached the other side, and, in his excitement, he turned to look at her, but she hadn’t seen the light of the living world yet, and she’s forced back into the Underworld. He tried to go back, but the gods wouldn’t let him, and he loses her for a second time. All the songs he sang were sad and bitter and he never wanted to be in the company of another woman after that,” you finish the story, resting your head upon her shoulder. It was around now that Natasha realized that the lines you drew on her skin were, in fact, words. Three of them, to be exact. Ones that were rarely ever spoken aloud. Those three words were more often than not showcased instead of said, only being reserved for the most vulnerable and intimate of moments.  

“A tragic Greek myth,” Natasha comments as she herself laid her head against yours. 

“The part of the story that people leave out is that Orpheus is later killed by a group of women who resented him and he’s able to reunite with Eurydice in the Underworld in the end,” you added, never relenting on writing those three familiar words upon her skin, “it’s my favorite of the Greek myths.”

“Why is that one your favorite?” Natasha asked pensively, her head lifting off yours to admire your features. You adjusted yourself slightly, your gaze meeting hers. She stared at your wide, innocent eyes, watching as you gave her the smallest of smiles. There’s a flutter in Natasha’s chest with the way you looked at her. 

“They loved each other so much. Orpheus went to the Underworld just to get her back. Hades cried hearing Orpheus’ song about her. And, you know, they still find each other in the end. It’s a tragedy, yes, and it's a story about death and grief and the pitfalls of devotion, but it’s still a story about true love,” you respond thoughtfully, your gaze having settled back on your connected hands. You had always been regarded as a hopeless romantic, making your love for this particular myth all the more ironic. 

Natasha hums thoughtfully at your response. “What are your thoughts on Romeo and Juliet, then?” she asks with a teasing air to her. The question would sound dismissive to anyone else, but you let out a soft laugh. Years of knowing the woman beside you meant that you knew this was her way of showing she was listening to you. There was never any malice in her words, especially when you are speaking about a topic you enjoy. 

“I prefer The Merchant of Venice. Othello, if we want to talk tragedies,” you respond with a teasing smile, eyes staring up at her with a similar, mischievous glint. Natasha smiles down at you, the ones that reach the corners of her eyes and that intoxicate you with warmth and love.

Then your expression changed. The corners of your eyes softened, and she got lost in the lovely hue of your eyes that simply held the warm feeling of complete and utter adoration. The smile on your lips was no longer teasing, but held a loving look that could hold the stars and the moon in place.

“I would travel a thousand years to the Underworld for you,” you say quietly at her, eyes never straying from hers. Your tone was sweet and soft, and Natasha had no doubts that you meant what you said. Her gaze softens around the corners of her eyes as her heart swells with emotion. 

“And I would follow you ‘till the ends of the earth if it means getting back to you.”

[thesweetnessofspring]

A little different version of "so after" and loosely inspired by Far From the Madding Crowd. Rated M and bordering E because..."so after."

Peeta's scarred hands work in the fireplace, arranging everything for the fire. First he situates the New Year log, taken from an oak tree in the woods, in the grate and places the kindling of pine needles on top. Peeta guides he singular flame of the match onto the kindling and it catches. I lean against the armrest of the couch, watching his lips pucker as he blows on the fire. Some of my own fire, left to nothing but embers, burns low and pleasant at the thought of the way those lips press to my forehead and cheek after a nightmare. And leads me to think of the night on a beach. As the fire in the hearth builds, the orange glow shadows his face, his hair appears golden with the light.

The fire reaches a steady crackle, lighting the room with its promise of a new year bringing better days. It's been just over a year since Prim's death and those days I was lost in my grief. And yet, ever so slowly, good has come. I make it a game, thinking of the good things that have happened this past year. Most are from Peeta, who first coaxed me from my empty days into the spring air and reminded me how flowers still grow.

I wait for Peeta to join me, so that I can burrow myself in his arms, my ear over his heartbeat. Yet he stays where he is, sitting back on his heels and staring at the fire. If his hands weren't flat against his thighs, I might suspect he was having a flashback, he's so far away from me.

"Peeta?" I ask. "Come sit by me."

He still stares at the fire, not moving toward me. "Does it bother you what people are saying about us?"

"What's that?" I ask. I hadn't noticed much. But then again, I don't bother with most people these days. Peeta doesn't, either, though he will go on walks and pass by the market that's popped up during the rebuild. He hears more than I do.

"That we're living as husband and wife," Peeta says. He turns his head to peek over at me, half of his face shadowed and cautious.

"I suppose we are. In our way."

We've shared our meals, kept each other company, and held hands since he came back. When I couldn't take sleeping alone anymore, I went into Peeta's bed. I'm surprised by how comfortable it feels to admit that what we have is almost like a marriage. Not since before my father's death have I ever thought I might be someone's wife.

"They don't mean it like that," Peeta says. "They're saying I'm taking your milk without paying for the goat."

It was an old saying, talked about with judging looks. The man for taking advantage of a woman without ensuring her proper legal protection. The woman for running the risk of having a fatherless child. When he found out Peeta and I were sharing a bed again, Dr. Aurelius encouraged me to take birth control and I could think of no reason to object. So even if Peeta were taking my milk as they say, it couldn't hurt me. Not in the way I worried about so much before.

I still flush at the thought of it, of the two of us naked and touching each other, of his lips on mine and his hands on my body. I clench my legs together at the thought.

"That's stupid," I say.

Peeta's cheeks turn dark in the firelight and he avoids looking at me. "I'm only saying what everyone else says. And of course, the idea of us—like that—it's stupid."

"I said they're stupid," I say. "Not us—"

I fluster and can't say the words. Only there's the thought again, the thought of olive skin to pink skin, scar to scar, and him inside of me, all over me. Tasting him again. Would he taste the same? Or sweeter this time, after so much bitterness?

"Not us what, Katniss?" Peeta asks quietly.

Our eyes connect and there's something burning brightly inside of me. Life. A warmth that I'd thought had long been extinguished, and yet persists despite all we've lost. What he means to me, the safety and goodness he brings to me, had never gone away. It only waited for this moment, when everything was right.

I slide from the couch and crawl to him on the floor. When I sit by his side, my back to the fire, it's just how it was at the beach. Only he hasn't even touched me yet and I'm craving him. So I lean in and kiss him, soft at first, as we brush off the last dust of distance between us, and then the kiss grows deeper and slows so we can savor it. Although I've kissed Peeta a thousand times before, and a couple made me want more, this feels like the first time. It's certainly the first time we've been able to kiss like this all on our own with no one watching. I want more, and he must, too, because our kisses build to crushing, breathless events.

At some point, I swing one leg around him so I'm on his lap and his hands are at the small of my back and I want, I need his skin on mine. So I break our kiss to pull my shirt over my head and then reach for his, too.

Once we're both topless, I cup his cheek to draw him into another kiss. His bare hand rests on my waist, then travels up to my breast. I tremble from the intensity of the feel of him there, of the way I need him more. My body seeks it, pressing down on his lap and finding him seeking me, too.

It's not enough. As much as I know we're on the right track, it's as if I'm smelling the food instead of tasting it. The motions only make me want more.

Peeta pulls back for a moment only to flip us so that I'm on my back parallel to the fire and he hovers over me, elbows holding him up. His curls cascade around his face as he peers down at me.

"Don't stop," I tell him, missing the contact more than anything.

The flames catch his eyes and he kisses all over my face and down my neck, my chest, my arms, my stomach and taking extra time where the scars run deepest, his tongue running along them. At my belly button he looks up at me and I hurriedly lift my hips up to slide off my pants. He moves back up to kiss me on the mouth, but I'm more aware of his hands gently tracing my underwear. I open my legs to his touch.

"This okay?" he asks, uncertainty in his words.

"Yes," I assure him and he moves more confidently in rubbing me over my underwear. It doesn't have that same spark as when I was on top of him, but I do like him touching me there. Then there's a place he finds and I jerk with a sharp pleasure and give a little cry.

"Right there?" he asks, going over the spot again.

"Yes!"

He swipes up and down and I whimper, biting my lip. Still, I need more. I put my hand on top of his and guide him beneath my underwear. When his fingers find my bare flesh over that spot, my whole body blazes with heat and I move my hips against his hand. Peeta's free hand cups himself, squeezing over his pants, his body shaking now. He's holding back, keeping himself hidden from me, as if we were still those kids in the arena. Me squeamish at the idea of seeing him completely naked, and him waiting for me to let him in, even though our lives depended on it. But we're not as we were before in the arena. The most obvious sign now is that I want to feel him, too.

I grab hold of him over his pants and for a second he falters where he rubs me, giving a short curse. That reaction makes me more responsive in turn. I lift my head up to kiss him and then make for his pants, first unbuttoning and then tugging them and his underwear down.

While Peeta untangles his bottoms from his prosthetic leg, I peel my damp underwear off and then we're naked together, both of us pausing to look from the other's bodies to making eye contact and swiftly looking away again. It hits us both what we're about to do, what we could do.

"We don't have to go further unless you're sure," Peeta says.

He's right. I know we could keep going the way that we have, with our easy routine and companionship for the rest of our lives. Neither of us will abandon the other. If we were going to, it would have happened long ago. Yet, even if we don't do this tonight, it's obvious we will in time. I don't think there is a single thing in the past that could have changed us coming to this point eventually.

"Come here," I say.

Peeta doesn't need telling twice. We take our time exploring each other, asking questions, trying things out. I almost feel foolish how little I know about my own body while Peeta gives more to guide me on, though he says he doesn't mind experimenting. Some things feel wonderful, others are just nice because Peeta is touching me. He takes it all in until he has me soaring from his caresses.

After Peeta asks if it's what I want and I confirm it, finally, we're joined. I'm breathless for a moment and there is a tightness that's uncomfortable at first, until I adjust to him. Peeta hovers above me, staying still, watching my face. When I make eye contact with him and nod, he begins to move. Our communication then is through our sounds of delight, quick kisses, the tilt of our bodies, quick affirmations, a cry of the other's name.

The fire dances beside us when Peeta brings a blanket over our naked skin and I'm in a haze of blissful sleep, making a pillow of his chest.

"Katniss?" he asks.

I hum to let him know I'm listening, so warm and happy the next words, said as soft and low as a baby bird's downy feather, take me by surprise.

"You love me. Real or not real?"

The question I've asked since after the berries myself, always in a muddle of confusion, comes to light like a spring morning. There is now, and for always, only one answer to give.

"Real."

[avoxrising]

The Feral One • Ch 28

Finnick x Y/N

Series Masterlist Link

This may be the last chapter for a few days as we’re approaching the end of the story rapidly and I haven’t finished editing it yet lol. I apologize for leaving it off with a cliffhanger but I want to make sure the end is perfect before posting it. Life’s been busy this week so I haven’t had the time to finish it the way I want to.

Content Warnings - Injury, death, medical issues, I promise Finnick isn’t being stupid this time lol

The next week was full of recovery. You slowly regained your strength and were able to try solid foods again. The doctors polished all your scars off, including the one on your face from your games, at your request. You wanted nothing left to remind you of them.

You started physical therapy, as well as regular sessions with Dr. Aurelius. He allowed Finnick to join you, realizing you felt more comfortable with him nearby. You still had to use a walker to get around, but you were making progress.

A few weeks after the war ended, Coin called all the victors into a meeting. There were barely any left, mostly due to the war.

“I’ve called you all here for a very symbolic vote,” she states. You don’t like where this is going.

She proceeds to pitch her idea for a hunger games featuring capital children. There are mixed reactions from the remaining victors, with some believing the idea to be fair and others believing it to be cruel. Votes are cast around the room and it finally comes down to Katniss.

“I get to kill Snow,” she tells Coin, who agrees to this proposition.

“Then I vote yes,” she states. “For Prim.”

You can’t even process what this means. Another games? Was Coin out of her mind? You finally realized what you had been denying all along, as long as Coin was in charge, you would never be free.

Finnick brings you back to your shared room after the meeting. You allow his touch but still flinch away at everyone else. Dr. Aurelius had been working with you on that but it’s hard to undo the trauma of many years.

“I just want to go home,” you tell him.

“You have to stay here for a bit,” he explains. “District 4 doesn’t have the resources for your treatment. Once you are better I promise you can go back to 4.”

“What about you?” you ask him. “Are you staying?”

He hesitantly shakes his head.

“I have to go to 4 for a few weeks but I’ll come back as soon as I can,” he states. “Johanna will be here with you in the meantime and I’ll call every day.”

“You’re leaving?” you ask, dumbfounded by his response.

“I promise it’s for a good reason,” he says, squeezing your hand. “I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important.”

“When do you leave?” you ask.

“In two weeks,” he responds. “I’ll be here for the first bit of your treatment and return before it’s over. Then we will both go back to 4 together. Do you trust me?”

“Always”

That afternoon Finnick helps you walk out onto the avenue to stand next to the other victors. Snow was finally falling, and you were both alive to witness it.

Standing in front of all the capital people made you uneasy. What did they think of you? Were they going to hurt you?

You’re lost in your thoughts when suddenly the crowd erupts into chaos. You look up to see Coin lying dead on the podium, an arrow in her heart. A mob of people begins rushing towards Snow, eager to kill him.

Finnick quickly scoops you up and carries you away from the commotion. When he finally sets you down, you ask what happened.

“Katniss killed Coin,” he states. “Snow is dead.”

He has to take you back to your room before you have a breakdown. What evil creature was going to seize power of Panem next? All of this was too much.

You end up collapsing on the floor of your room, shaking uncontrollably.

Taglist:

@randomgurl2326 @mystargirl-interlude @uther-pendragon-is-an-ass @yourdailymemedelivery @americanprometheuss @l3xi3luv @noisyalmonddreamer @nordicvxid @teaganthemorningstar @samatokisunfinishedcigarette @justtrying2getby @lvsticm @notplutos @innercreationflower @nexxus13 @kachelleee @helluvafire @haymitchabernathyslover @memeorydotcom @frostsword @meri-soni-meri-tamanna @giverosespls @honethatty12 @just-levyy @dd122004dd @nekee-lilac02 @impeterporker @nox-the-gay-nerd @redsakura101 @hopefulatrocity @eddiemunson4ever @fangirlvibez @kittimbo @zucchinimalfoy @sleepy-roman @secretsicanthideanymore @writerofadream @finnysmusic @mayonesavegana @lilifl0wer @finnickodaddy @abbersreads @fox-bee926 @ginger-swag-rapunzel @isasalom @yizhoutv @livingdead-reilly @imaegonstargaryenswife0 @faephoria @omwtkydttfym @iris1587 @sarcasm-and-stiles @10ava01 @impossessedbyjeongyeon @littleanubis21 @scorpiolystoned

*if the tag didn’t work please check your settings to make sure other blogs can tag you

[catastrxblues]

the stark differences between book!gale and movie!gale after katniss asked him about the bomb was something i was kinda surprised about when i first watched the movie yesterday. like, i had to get my book out for this when i first came to the scene. because in the movie, he actually had the decency to look guilty, to sound like he was actually sorry that he couldn’t protect her family. when katniss said he didn’t try to visit her at all, he tried to make reason for himself and said that he actually wanted to. hemsworth even went as far as making his voice break, and he actually seemed like he felt remorse for the loss of her sister etc etc.

but in the book, what did he do??? when katniss said he didn’t visit her at all, he didn’t answer. when katniss asked if that was his bomb, he only shrugged and said “does it matter? you’ll always be thinking about it” and then continued to say that taking care of her family was the only thing he had going for him. and that’s it. as if his place in katniss’ life was more important for him to talk about at this moment rather than i don’t know. sorry for your loss??? sorry for prim?? the loss of a person you loved more than anyone else?? the reason you did everything you did?? sorry that i might be the cause of it?? even just a slight empathy?? none of that and yet he still had the audacity to touch her cheek before leaving the room. this whole peeta-katniss-gale isn’t the main point of the hunger games, it never was. but how did the debate for the love triangle even came about? how was there even any other choice? you have a man who did this shit and you have a man who came back home to her and plant a garden there to honor her sister’s death with evening primroses because that was the flower her sister was named after. how was there even a competition in the first place

[allisluv]

Ooh what do you think THG characters ended up like after the rebellion? (Btw I wanna hear ALL the thoughts you have bc this topic is so interesting sorry if it's kinda weird)

i have so many thoughts so i apologise in advance.

katniss suffers for years after prims death and the only light in her life is knowing that she is healing with peeta right by her side. its hard for peeta to tell what's real and what's not, even years down the line, and katniss starts sticking up post it notes around the house so he knows that he's not in a dream. katniss goes hunting in her spare times while peeta opens up his very own bakery in what used to be the hob. when peeta and katniss officially start a relationship and realise that they're wanting to spend the rest of their life together, he ropes johanna into helping him build a house in the meadow.

johanna moves to district four to help annie with the baby--- whether or not their relationship is platonic or romantic is up for debate. annie helps johanna get over her fear of water and johanna helps annie with her episodes of disassociation. finnick jr is a lovable menace, just like his father. his mom and auntie jo make sure he knows finnick died a hero.

unpopular opinion, but i think haymitch stopped drinking. there was no need to drown his sorrows for any longer -- he had to face the fact that president snow killed his family and although it was a tough pill to swallow, it was a necessary thing to come to terms with.

effie moves to district twelve to be closer to her found family and she slowly comes to the realisation that she likes being around haymitch. the two of them skirt around their feelings but eventually she kisses him and the rest is history. they adopt a family of geese and haymitch names them after his children (katniss, finnick, peeta etc...)

beetee moves back to district three to start a technological firm but stays in touch with the others. gale is consumed with guilt from what happened to primrose, so he moves there, too, and helps beetee as a distraction from what really happened. he never speaks to katniss or peeta again.

[mononijikayu]

only fools — fushiguro toji

In that fleeting moment of intimacy, time seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into insignificance as you lost yourself in the warmth of each other's embrace. It was a kiss filled with promise, a silent vow of love and devotion that echoed in the depths of your souls. Over and over again, you smiled against his lips and he smiled back. It was contentment, it was everything.

GENRE: Pre-Hidden Inventory Arc, 1990s - 2000s;

WARNING/s: Alternate Universe ─ Canon Divergence, Friendship, Romance, Star-Crossed Lovers, Emotional Hurt, Mentions of Character Death, Mention of Grief, Mention of Mourning, Mention of Alcholism, Mention of Death, Depiction of Physical Touch, , Heavy Angst, Heavy Pining;

masterlist

kayu's playlist, side 400;

listen: only fools (cover) by bts rm and jungkook

note: this one has a bit of connection to us and them, as my ocs were heavily featured in this!!! i went back and forth with how to write this. but this is what i came out with. its lent and the holy time for many christians and muslims, so i thought writing about something this long. i wanted to cut it even more but well, i thought whatever i wrote is more genuine. if i cut it, i feel like it would lose the genuinity. so here it is!!! enjoy it, i hope you have a good holiday, i hope you all rest up and hydrate!!! i love you all!!! <3

YOU WERE BOTH SO YOUNG WHEN ZENIN TOJI MET FIRST MET YOU. In the expansive grounds surrounding the Zenin manor, amidst the towering trees that seemed to stretch towards the heavens, your presence stood out like a delicate bloom in a field of thorns. Zenin Toji couldn't help but notice you, a small figure nestled among the dense foliage, almost like a forgotten relic of a bygone era. You were like the little geisha dolls Genmei carries around with her, long black hair falling over your knees, dressed prim and proper like a proud and noble lady. Toji was used to seeing girls like you around Zenin manor. But rarely did he ever see one in such a state like you. 

If uncle Naobito’s wife saw you, she would have smacked your head up and down. But she was not and Toji was never going to tell. Not that he needed to. You were no Zenin. You were someone else. It was intriguing to watch you, how tightly you rested your head against the bark of the tree. How deeply your kimono is tightly pressed against your body. You were cocooned in your own touch, as though protecting yourself from the world beyond. Despite the grandeur that existed about your presence, you appeared diminutive and unassuming, as if time itself had overlooked your presence.

Your posture, huddled against the chill of the earth, spoke volumes of your resilience and quiet strength. Even as your elegant sleeves trailed along the ground, gathering flecks of dirt and grime, you seemed unconcerned with the state of your attire, your focus directed inward rather than on superficial appearances. It was a stark contrast to the lavish gatherings and opulent displays that often characterized life within the Zenin estate. The last place for such a fine little noble lady should be this edge of the Zenin estate. Not even servants dwelled here.

Toji couldn't help but be drawn to you, the embodiment of serenity amidst the chaos of their world. As he approached, a sense of familiarity washed over him, as if he had stumbled upon a kindred spirit in the midst of the vast wilderness. This shared affinity forged a connection between them, bridging the gap between two souls seeking refuge from the pressures and expectations of their surroundings.

In the tranquility of that secluded spot, Toji couldn't help but sense a shared need for sanctuary, a desire to escape the relentless demands of their respective worlds. He understood, perhaps more than most, the weight of expectation and duty that rested upon your shoulders. It was a burden he bore himself, one that had been ingrained in him since they had concluded that he was useless to them. Despite being the son of the previous clan head, Toji was relegated to be as lowly as servants. The name Zenin did not mean anything, if he didn’t have powers. The good will of others was what let him remain untouched. Well, untouched enough not to be beaten.

Toji's mind drifted to his cousin Naoki, a constant presence in his life and a rare source of solace amidst the turmoil of their upbringing. Naoki had always been there for him, offering companionship and camaraderie when the weight of their responsibilities threatened to crush them both.If anything, cousin Naoki was the only one that ever truly felt genuine to him in this house. Together, they sought refuge in the simple pleasures of childhood, finding respite from the rigid expectations of their noble lineage. As he had gotten older, he was more a brother to him than Jinichi ever was. Toji supposes he likes it that way. He felt a little bummed out that he was forced to meddle about with those high rise pricks from the other clans. But that’s his duty, as uncle Naobito’s eldest son, after all. 

As he observed you from his vantage point, towering over you with a mixture of curiosity and intrigue, The young Zenin man couldn't help but wonder about the young beauty before him. He wonders about what’s there behind the serene facade of your silk fabrics. He had many questions for you. How had you stumbled upon this hidden sanctuary? What trials and tribulations had led you to seek solace among the trees of the Zenin estate? Most of all, where were your shoes?

Yet, despite his curiosity, Toji remained silent, content to observe you from afar, his gaze silent. As though he was trying to figure out the puzzle in his head before he even dared approach you. He had to be careful. None would perhaps mind if it was another Zenin he was meddling with. But it’s quite obvious that you were not Zenin. You were in fact another clan child. And if he doesn't thread carefully, then the clans may end up with animosity. He did not want any trouble, that was pointless. And even then, that would be another headache for Naoki. He couldn’t give more trouble to solve. In that moment, surrounded by the gentle rustle of leaves and the soft whispers of the wind, you were a mystery waiting to be unraveled, a puzzle whose pieces he yearned to uncover.

The three big clans always came together in these little clique circles, echoed in the small bubble that existed between each and everyone of them. In truth, no one wanted to be here. None of the big three ever liked each other. Yet it was more pretense than anything else. Whoever plays the best, becomes the face of their world. No one has ever liked the bullshit of it all. Not his cousin Naoki, not his daughter, not even Toji himself wanted to be here. And so he escapes as often as he can. He goes to the farthest echoes of the manor, on this tree and lays here, wallowing in the world he builds underneath the shades of the tree.

Seeking solace from the stifling atmosphere, Toji made his escape, slipping away from the confines of the courtyard into the relative sanctuary of the surrounding trees. It was there that he encountered you, the sight of your expensive attire contrasting sharply with the disheveled state of your posture. Your kimono, adorned with the finest silks and threads, hung loosely on your frame, creased and crumpled from your slouched position against the massive tree trunks.

Toji couldn't help but feel a pang of annoyance at the sight. What a waste, he thought, observing the careless disregard with which you treated such exquisite garments. With a resigned sigh, he crossed his arms over his chest, knowing that he couldn't ignore your presence any longer. As much as he longed to bask in the warmth of the sun and enjoy his peaceful afternoon uninterrupted, he understood that he had to address the situation at hand.

As Toji prepared to address you, his words poised on the tip of his tongue, he was taken aback when you suddenly lifted your head, tears streaming down your face. The sight of your tear-streaked cheeks and brimming eyes hit him like a physical blow, leaving him momentarily speechless. Your eyes, wide and doe-like, held a depth of grief that struck a chord within him, stirring a pang of empathy in his heart.

In that moment, all of Toji's intentions to reprimand you dissipated, replaced by a profound sense of compassion. He found himself unable to speak, his lips pursed as he took a hesitant step back, overwhelmed by the raw emotion emanating from you.

As you continued to cry, your cheeks flushing with embarrassment at your display of vulnerability in front of a stranger, Zenin Toji felt a surge of discomfort mingled with empathy. He watched as you wiped your tears away with your silk sleeves, your sobs muffled against the fabric, your words lost amidst the tumult of emotions.

Toji's voice broke through the heavy silence, surprisingly gentle as he approached you cautiously. It shocked him too. Not even to little Genmei. So, he supposes he wasn’t accustomed to sounding so gentle, but maybe his body was being courteous for once. "Hey," he began, concern evident in his tone. "Are you alright?"

You sniffled, glancing up at him with tear-stained eyes, your expression a mixture of embarrassment and anguish. "I... I'm sorry," you managed to choke out between sobs, your voice trembling with emotion.

Toji's lips tightened in a line, his initial irritation melting away in the face of your distress. "No need to apologize," he reassured, his voice softening as he crouched down beside you. "I just didn’t expect to find anyone here, that's all. What's wrong? Did you get lost?”

You could only shake your head at him, unable to form coherent words as your emotions threatened to overwhelm you once more. That was not the answer Toji wanted or needed. It seemed like a lie that you did not get lost. But he doesn’t speak just yet. Letting you cry as you do.Pushing would just give him more of a headache. Instead, you buried your face in your hands, your shoulders trembling with the weight of your grief. Toji was at a loss. He’d never had anyone cry to him like this. Not even Genmei. She cries and then hits him profusely, like the little brat she was. He’d never had anyone be this emotional. Not even his mother was this emotional.

Toji hesitated for a moment before tentatively placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "It's alright," he murmured, offering what little solace he could muster in the midst of your tears. He wasn’t accustomed to comforting anyone. If anything, what little he knew of it came from cousin Naoki. But Zenin Toji felt rather uncomfortable with this explosion of empathy. He wasn’t used to it at all.

He waited patiently, allowing you the space to compose yourself, the sounds of your quiet sobs filling the air around you. The wind blew against your pristine long hair, the edges dancing against its blow. After a moment, you lifted your tiny head, wiping away the last of your tears with a shaky breath. Toji couldn’t help but think it was a pity you were crying. You were really pretty. Not like some of his Zenin cousins. They’re rough, too rough and edged bluntly. Genmei was more like a Mikoto in her beauty, she did not count. You felt like a small beautiful flower, one that needed sheltering. You were out of place here.

"I'm sorry for intruding," you whispered, your voice still raw with emotion, lips trembling. “I’m sorry for causing your annoyance too.”

The raven-haired young man sighed, rubbing the back of his head. You’ve apologized enough for his liking. "It's alright. You're not intruding. If I were here in the Zenin manor too, I would weep tears too.”

You paused, uncertain whether to trust this stranger who stumbled upon your moment of vulnerability. It was wise to be cautious; after all, you knew nothing about this young man. He appeared rough around the edges, far from the picture of gentleness. Yet, despite his outward appearance, there was something in the calmness of his voice and the sincerity of his gaze that put you at ease. He seemed to understand, at least to some extent, the turmoil you were experiencing.

"What's wrong?" Toji's gentle voice pierced the heavy silence once more, his concern evident in his tone. "It's okay if you don't want to share everything."

Taking a deep breath, you mustered the courage to speak. "My mother... she hit me," you admitted, your voice trembling under the weight of your confession. Toji regarded you with newfound insight, recognizing the resemblance to Lord Kamo's brother. You must be Kaiko's cousin, the one often seen alongside Genmei. You were one of those Kamo girls he occasionally encountered.

"Just because I sat improperly at the table," you continued, your words laced with sadness and frustration. "She called me a stupid girl and said I'm not at all a proper lady."

The emerald-eyed man's expression darkened at your words, a mixture of sympathy and anger flashing in his eyes. It saddened him deeply to see someone belonging to a prestigious clan endure such treatment. He knew all too well the coldness and cruelty that could lurk within those esteemed families. Having lived through it himself, he harbored a profound hatred for the lack of warmth and empathy that often pervaded such environments. 

And as he looked into your eyes, gleaming with bitterness and sadness, he sensed that you shared his disdain for the oppressive traditions of your lineage. You were all just pawns, little toys to the powerful. If the powerful were the oppressive gods, both of you, many of you, were just the mindless little monkeys that they could play around with. And he hated it. He hated it ever so much.

"It's not your fault," Toji asserted firmly, his voice carrying both reassurance and conviction. "You don't deserve to be treated like that. You're not a stupid girl. And you are a proper lady, no matter what anyone says."

You huffed in response, frustration evident in your tone. "You don’t even know me," you retorted.

Toji chuckled softly, his amusement tinged with a hint of bitterness. "No need to know you to recognize the truth. We're both nothing but pawns to our clans. I understand how you feel."

Your eyebrows furrowed at his words, a mixture of surprise and curiosity flickering in your eyes. "You do?"

Toji nodded solemnly, his gaze distant as if lost in memories of his own struggles. "Yeah, I do," he replied, his voice tinged with a hint of resignation. "I've seen enough to know how it goes. The expectations, the pressures... It's suffocating."

As you looked at Toji, a wave of gratitude washed over you, accompanied by a newfound sense of respect for the young man kneeling beside you. Despite the initial wariness you felt towards him, his kindness and understanding had softened your heart. In a world where every interaction seemed transactional, where people often looked out only for themselves and their own interests, encountering someone like Toji was a rare and unexpected blessing.

His rough exterior belied a depth of character that took you by surprise. Beneath the stoic facade lay a compassionate soul, willing to lend a sympathetic ear and offer comfort without judgment. It was a revelation, a reminder that humanity still existed amidst the harsh realities of their world.

For the first time in a long while, you didn't feel quite so alone in your struggles. The simple act of sharing your burdens with Toji, of knowing that someone else understood your pain, lifted a weight off your shoulders. It was a fleeting moment of connection, but in that moment, it felt like you had found a kindred spirit, a companion in the darkness who offered a glimmer of light and hope.

"I'm sorry," you murmured softly, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't mean to burden you with my problems."

Toji shifted his sleeves to the side. "Don't worry about it," he said plainly. “It’s nothing.”

As you sniffled softly, a sense of vulnerability washed over you, prompting you to confess your earlier deception to Toji. The admission hung heavy in the air, accompanied by a blush of embarrassment that colored your cheeks. 

Toji's response, a hearty laugh that echoed through the tranquil surroundings, caught you off guard. His laughter was infectious, and despite your initial indignation, you couldn't help but find yourself chuckling along with him. It was a moment of unexpected levity amidst the weight of your shared troubles, a brief respite from the seriousness of your conversation.

However, as your laughter subsided and you attempted to regain your composure, Toji's teasing remark caused your blush to deepen once more. His playful jab at your earlier statement about being a lady caught you off guard, and you shot him a playful yet reproachful glare.

"That's not funny," you protested, your tone laced with propriety’s indignation. "Laughing at a lady—"

“I thought you weren’t a lady.”

Toji's mischievous grin widened as he observed your playful indignation, finding amusement in your reaction. He recognized your beauty, undeniable even in the midst of your embarrassment, but there was something more to you that intrigued him. Unlike many of the beauties he had encountered within the prestigious clans, who often seemed devoid of personality or charm, you possessed a spark of vitality and spirit that set you apart.

In that moment, as you exchanged banter beneath the shade of the tree where you had first met, Zenin Toji couldn't help but feel a sense of appreciation for your authenticity. There was a depth to you that went beyond mere appearances, a complexity that intrigued him and drew him in. And as he teases you playfully, he finds himself enjoying the lively exchange. It’s more anyone of those clan ladies can offer him, he thinks.

“But I am a lady!” You insist on him, standing up to face him and stomping your feet. You looked so small to his bigger figure, you looked exactly like a doll. “You ought not to laugh!”

As Toji's laughter subsided, he met your indignant gaze with a calm yet playful demeanor, his emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. Despite your insistence on your ladylike status, he couldn't help but find your defiance endearing, a testament to your spirited nature.

"Toji," he corrected you gently, his tone soft but firm. You blinked in surprise, absorbing the simplicity of his request. "My name is Zenin Toji."

You paused, momentarily taken aback by the informality of his address. It was unusual for someone of his status to discard the formalities associated with his surname. Nevertheless, you nodded in acknowledgment, offering a shy introduction of your own as a member of the Kamo clan.

"N-nice to meet you, Lord Toji—" you began, only to be interrupted by his gentle interjection.

"Just Toji," he reiterated, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. His demeanor was relaxed, devoid of the pretentiousness often associated with those of noble lineage. "The Zenin part doesn't matter."

You felt a warmth spread through you at Toji's casual demeanor, a stark contrast to the rigid formality you were accustomed to within the confines of your own clan. His easy nonchalant nature had put you at ease, allowing you to shed some of the layers of formality that typically accompanied interactions with individuals of higher status. It didn’t feel stifling to stand beside him, to exist beside him like this. Zenin or Kamo, it didn’t matter. 

"Alright, Toji," you replied with a shy smile, the sound of his name rolling off your tongue feeling strangely liberating. "It's nice to meet you too."

Toji nodded in response, a snicker appearing on his lips. “Nice to meet you too, little doll.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, its golden hues painting the world in a soft, ethereal light, you were drawn to the serene connection that had blossomed between you and Toji. It was a sanctuary amidst the chaos of your clans' expectations, a tranquil haven where the weight of tradition melted away.

Beneath the comforting shade of the ancient tree where your paths first crossed, you and Toji nurtured a bond that defied the confines of lineage. Here, amidst the whispers of nature, you found solace from the rigidity of societal norms, basking in the freedom to simply exist as yourselves.

You looked at him, as he watched the sun sleep.

For the first time in your life, you had a friend.

And so you smiled, finally ever so genuinely.

YOU ALWAYS WANTED TO SEE HIM AS MUCH AS POSSIBLE. As time flowed onward, your excursions to the Zenin Manor alongside your cousin Kaiko grew more frequent, granting you ample chances to cross paths with Toji in his customary haven beneath the ancient trees. Though these visits were not formal arrangements, they became a welcomed routine, a quiet understanding between you and your cousin, Kaiko. 

When you expressed your desire to reconnect with the friend you had made at the last clan gathering, she embraced the idea with enthusiasm. Without hesitation, she incorporated you into her entourage. None can stop her. There was no other heir to the Kamo. No son can rival her strength and so she was free to do as she wished. In that power, she grants you the freedom to pursue your own interests while she pursues her own amusements, often joining the Zenin heir's child in their playful antics. For that, you were delighted.

As time progressed, your interactions with Toji blossomed from mere pleasantries into meaningful exchanges. You often found him diligently serving the Zenin heir, Lord Naoki, as his trusted aide. Lord Naoki was a figure constantly in motion, overseeing every aspect of the manor's affairs. Once his duties in the field were fulfilled, he would immerse himself in the endless paperwork, particularly those tasks neglected by his father, Lord Naobito. Toji revealed to you that the elder Zenin had little interest in anything beyond his indulgences, leaving the responsibilities to accumulate unchecked until Lord Naoki intervened, assuming his father's duties and restoring order to the estate. 

Before his current role, Toji had been relegated to menial tasks among the ranks of the servants, a position considered beneath his station as the son of a former clan leader. It was a stark reminder of the disdain harbored by Lord Naobito's cronies, who deemed Toji unworthy of the Zenin name due to his lack of cursed techniques. Despite his lineage, they saw him as a stain upon the clan's reputation, dubbing him a ‘useless monkey’ in their disparaging remarks. Meanwhile, Lord Naoki was absent from the Zenin manor, accompanying his wife on a journey to Hida to pay respects to her family's lineage.

Upon Lord Naoki's return, his fury knew no bounds. Toji recounted the scene with a mix of awe and trepidation, describing how his cousin's usually composed demeanor had been replaced by a seething rage unlike anything he had ever witnessed before. In a violent display of retribution, Lord Naoki exacted vengeance upon all those who had belittled Toji, leaving them bloodied and broken in his wake. He even dared to confront his own father, defying the authority of the patriarch in defense of his cousin.

Witnessing this ferocious loyalty, you couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude that Toji wasn't alone in his struggles. He had someone in his corner, just as you did with Kaiko. In a world where alliances were crucial and loneliness loomed like a specter, the bond you shared with Toji deepened as you both found solace in each other's company, united by the shared experience of feeling marginalized and underestimated by those around you.

As time passed, your visits to the Zenin Manor became more than just occasional encounters. They evolved into cherished moments of respite from the rigors of clan life, offering you an escape into a world of serene tranquility alongside Toji. The towering trees of the manor's grounds became your sanctuary, a haven where you could seek refuge from the chaos of your respective families.

In these quiet moments, you found solace in the gentle presence of Toji, his silent companionship offering a soothing balm to the wounds inflicted by the harsh realities of clan politics. Together, you would while away the hours beneath the shade of the familiar tree, lost in the pages of a book as you read aloud to him. Toji, reclined against the sturdy trunk, would listen intently, his emerald eyes tracing the dance of sunlight filtering through the leaves above.

For Toji, the spoken words held a melody that transcended mere literature. He was never that interested in literature. Not even when his cousin Naoki would insist on him reading the classics—that Toji admits without shame. Yet when he encouraged her to continue reading, he had that tender look in his eyes. Ones that she could never read. They were a symphony of solace for the soul. Words that weave a tapestry of comfort and understanding that enveloped him in a cocoon of peace, at least that's what you hope. He rarely spoke, content to let the beauty of the natural world and the soft cadence of your voice wash over him like a gentle tide.

In the tranquil embrace of Toji's company, you discovered a newfound appreciation for the beauty of silence. In contrast to the rigid expectations of the Kamo clan, where silence was enforced as a virtue and communication often felt stifled, the quiet moments shared with Toji felt liberating. There was no pressure to fill the air with meaningless chatter or conform to the expectations of societal norms. Instead, you found freedom in the gentle cadence of shared silence, where words were unnecessary and understanding transcended verbal communication.

With Toji by your side, the silence became a sanctuary—a space where you could simply be yourself without fear of judgment or scrutiny. It was a welcome reprieve from the cacophony of expectations that surrounded you in the world of the clans, offering a sense of peace and tranquility that was both rare and precious.

As you reveled in the simple pleasure of each other's company, you found solace in the serenity of the natural world around you. The rustle of leaves in the breeze, the gentle hum of insects, and the distant song of birds formed a symphony of tranquility that enveloped you both in its embrace. In those moments, the unspoken understanding that bound you together felt palpable, weaving a tapestry of connection that defied words.

Indeed, there was a time when silence unnerved you, when the enforced quietude of the Kamo clan felt suffocating. But with Toji, silence became not a source of fear, but rather a source of comfort and warmth. It was a silent language shared between kindred spirits, a language that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. And in the presence of Toji, perhaps there was never a need for words to describe the depth of your connection—it was simply understood, felt deeply in the quiet spaces between conversations.

In the quiet moments spent together beneath the sprawling branches of the ancient tree, you discovered subtle ways to bridge the gap between you and Toji. Whether it was through shared moments of silence or simple acts of kindness, you sought to connect with him on a deeper level.

One day, as you noticed the frayed edges and worn fabric of his shirts, a determination stirred within you to mend them. Toji initially protested, insisting there was no need for such fuss. But you persisted, your fingers deftly weaving delicate stitches to mend the fabric with care. Despite his reluctance, Toji eventually relented, allowing you to tend to his clothing with quiet determination.

As the days passed and your visits to the Zenin Manor became more frequent, you couldn't help but notice the state of Toji's shirts. The fabric was worn and frayed, with small tears marring the once pristine garments. Each time you saw him, your heart ached at the sight of his tattered clothing, a stark contrast to the polished appearance expected of those belonging to prestigious clans.

Unable to ignore it any longer, you approached Toji one afternoon as he sat beneath the familiar tree, his shirts displaying signs of wear and tear. "Toji," you began, your voice soft but determined. "Your shirts... they're torn. Let me mend them for you."

Toji glanced down at his shirts, his expression unreadable. "It's fine," he replied dismissively, waving a hand as if to brush off your concern. "I can manage."

But you refused to be deterred, your determination unwavering. "Please, Toji," you insisted, reaching out to gently touch the torn fabric. "Let me help. It's the least I can do."

There was a brief moment of hesitation before Toji finally relented, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of gratitude and resignation. "If you insist," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. He knew you would not budge on it. He’d rather take his losses—and his wins.

With a soft smile, you started to question him about all the things that were broken in each article of clothing he owned. You kept asking him one after the other. He was stingy for money, you didn’t ask why. But being a favorite of his cousin, he would have been handsomely paid. You wonder why he hoards old clothing and wears them consistently. But that didn’t matter. Perhaps those lessons with your nanny finally worked out for you. 

For a while, the only sound that filled the air was the quiet rustle of leaves overhead and the soft hum of your needle weaving through the fabric. You both were sat by the tree again — the tree you had both become ever so fond for. It was a peaceful moment, one that allowed both of you to simply exist in each other's presence without the need for words. Having a day out was nice, with the weather being calm and the wind being cool. You had him carry all the things that needed repairing in a basket and marched on to your tree. 

As you worked, you stole glances at Toji, studying the lines of his face and the way his brows furrowed in concentration. There was a vulnerability in his demeanor, a rare glimpse beneath the stoic facade he often presented to the world. You think he was intrigued, seeing someone do something for him, without any expectation nor without any exchange. But you think, a Zenin might think that. It was hard to find anyone with genuine intentions here.

Eventually, you finished mending the last of Toji's shirts, the fabric now restored to its former state. With a sense of satisfaction, you held up the garments for him to see, a small smile playing on your lips. You looked so proud, somehow as though this was your best achievement in life. There were stars practically beaming in your eyes. 

"There," you said softly, a hint of pride in your voice. "All done."

Toji's gaze softened as he examined the repaired shirts, a flicker of appreciation in his eyes. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice laced with genuine gratitude. "I appreciate it."

You nodded, a warmth spreading through your chest at his words. In that moment, beneath the canopy of leaves, you felt a connection deepen between you, bound not just by the threads of fabric you had sewn together, but by the silent understanding and companionship you shared. By the time you had finished this other shirt, you were due to return home with the rest of the Kamo retinue. You promised to come back and finish them as the days passed. 

That you did. With a small smile, the days continued and you would not say a word. You would gather the necessary supplies and set to work at any new little article of cloth that needed mending. Toji would watch as your nimble fingers carefully stitched one of the torn fabric back together. He would tell you to be mindful not to hurt yourself, to be slow and think about your hands. Each reminder is softer than the next, mellower than before. You could not help but feel your cheeks warm at each reminder. He was such a huge man, one that frightened even those who looked down upon him. Yet he was so gentle, so wonderful. 

As you worked, you couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction knowing that you were able to offer Toji a small gesture of kindness in return for the quiet companionship he had provided you. You worked hard because you think he deserved to have someone care for him. You stole glances at Toji's stoic expression, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor as he watched you mend his shirts. Though he remained ever so silent, stoic as a statue, you sensed a silent appreciation in his gaze—a recognition of the care and effort you poured into each stitch.

When you presented him with the final fixings, Toji accepted them with a nod of gratitude each and every time, his expression softening ever so slightly. From that day forward, he wore the shirts you had mended with unwavering dedication, despite their outdated appearance or the judgmental gazes of others. 

Toji understood the significance of your efforts, recognizing the depth of your kindness and devotion in each carefully stitched seam. And in his silent acceptance, you found a connection that transcended words—a silent understanding that bound you together in quiet companionship. And that perhaps is all that mattered to you.

In the tranquil embrace of the natural world, enveloped by the gentle symphony of rustling leaves and distant bird calls, you and Toji discovered a sanctuary away from the tumultuous demands of your respective clans. Beneath the canopy of green above, time seemed to stand still, allowing you to savor each precious moment spent in Toji's company.

With each passing day, your bond with Toji deepened, weaving together threads of understanding and mutual respect into the fabric of your relationship. In his presence, the burdens of duty and expectation that once weighed heavily upon your shoulders dissolved, leaving behind a sense of liberation and lightness.

Every shared glance, every soft smile exchanged between you carried with it a silent promise of companionship and support, a reminder that you were not alone in navigating the complexities of your world. You found solace in the simple joy of being together, of basking in the warmth of his presence and the quiet strength that emanated from him.

As you lay side by side beneath the verdant canopy, watching the shifting patterns of light dance across his features, you couldn't help but marvel at the beauty of the moment. With Toji by your side, the world felt like a place worth living in, filled with endless possibilities and untold adventures waiting to be discovered.

And as you gazed upon him, his eyes closed in serene contentment, you felt a swell of affection and admiration in your heart. In that fleeting moment, you knew that there was nowhere else you'd rather be than here, with Toji, sharing in the quiet splendor of nature's embrace.

The serene melody of birdsong filled the air, a symphony of nature's chorus that seemed to resonate deep within your soul. Nestled side by side beneath the expansive canopy of the ancient tree, you and Toji found yourselves enveloped in a tranquil oasis, far removed from the bustle and chaos of the world beyond.

The soft blades of grass beneath your backs provided a gentle cushion against the earth, inviting you to surrender to the soothing embrace of nature's embrace. Above, the vast expanse of the sky stretched out like an endless tapestry, its azure hues mingling with the ethereal wisps of cotton-white clouds that drifted lazily across the heavens.

In this idyllic sanctuary, time seemed to stand still, allowing you and Toji to bask in the timeless beauty of the natural world around you. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant murmur of a nearby stream, and the distant calls of unseen creatures all combined to create a sense of serenity that washed over you like a gentle tide.

As you lay together beneath the sprawling branches of the ancient tree, the worries and cares of the world melted away, replaced by a profound sense of peace and contentment. Here, amidst the harmonious symphony of nature, you found solace in each other's company, sharing in the quiet beauty of the world around you.

Lost in the tranquility of the moment, you turned to Toji, a curious glint in your eyes. "Toji, what's your dream?" you asked softly, breaking the peaceful silence that surrounded you.

Toji's brow furrowed slightly at your question, his gaze fixed on the expanse of sky above. "Why do you ask?" he inquired, his voice quiet but thoughtful.

You shrugged, a playful smile tugging at your lips. "Just curious, I suppose," you replied. "Everyone has dreams, don't they?"

After a moment of contemplation, The green eyed young man turned his gaze back to you, his expression thoughtful. Slowly, he raised a hand to gesture towards the vast expanse above. As though he was trying to reach for the sky, for the birds that fly ever so freely above the wide blue deep. 

"I suppose... I'd like to feel what freedom actually feels like," he confessed, his voice tinged with a hint of longing. "To live, to breathe, to love without constraints."

With a gaze that conveyed both comprehension and compassion, you regarded Toji, sensing a kindred spirit in his yearning for freedom from the burdens of obligation and societal norms. It was a recognition born from your own experiences, from the weight of expectations placed upon you by your respective clans, and the longing to break free from those constraints.

In Toji's eyes, you saw the echo of your own desires, mirrored in the depths of his gaze. The shared understanding between you transcended mere words, an unspoken bond forged through the silent acknowledgment of each other's struggles and aspirations.

Together, you existed in a realm where the burdens of tradition and duty held no sway, where the pursuit of personal freedom and fulfillment took precedence over the demands of society. It was a sanctuary you had created together, a space where you could share your dreams and aspirations without fear of judgment or reproach.

"And what about you?" Toji asked, his gaze searching for yours. "What's your dream?"

A wide smile spread across your face as you met his gaze. "Funny you should ask," you replied, a playful twinkle in your eye. "Because I think we have the same dream."

Toji's lips quivered upwards in a rare display of warmth, a genuine smile gracing his features. "Is that so?" he remarked, a hint of amusement in his tone.

You nodded, your smile widening. "Yes," you affirmed. "And I hope we can make it together."

A softness settled over the two of you, the weight of unspoken hopes and shared aspirations binding you together in silent understanding. "Me too," Toji murmured, his gaze fixed on the horizon, where the promise of freedom beckoned on the gentle breeze.

The way he looked at you, it burned you.

And as you smiled, you know he felt it too.

You wonder if it was safe to say those words.

‘Ah, is this what it is? Is this what love feels like?’

HE STILL THINKS ABOUT YOU OFTEN, MORE THAN HE’D LIKE. In the quiet solitude of his drunken reverie, Toji's mind often drifted back to the memories of you, like delicate petals carried on a gentle breeze. It wasn't just nostalgia that drew him back to those moments; it was the profound impact you had made on his life, an indelible mark etched upon his heart.

He remembered the way you would smile at him, your eyes alight with warmth and affection, as you made your way to that sacred tree—the tree that had become a symbol of your shared bond. In your presence, Toji felt a sense of peace and acceptance that he had never known before, a feeling that he longed to hold onto with every fiber of his being.

Your touch was like a balm to his wounded soul, soft and comforting, as though you could heal the scars of his past with just a simple caress. In your embrace, he found solace from the storms raging within him, a refuge from the harsh realities of the world outside.

And when your lips met his, it was as though time itself stood still, suspended in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. In those stolen moments of passion, Toji felt a connection so profound, so intense, that it transcended the boundaries of time and space.

But as the years slipped by, like grains of sand through an hourglass, Toji found himself haunted by the memories of what could have been, the dreams that had been shattered by the cruel hand of fate. He mourned the loss of the future he had envisioned with you, the life that had slipped through his fingers like grains of sand.

Yet even in his darkest moments, amid the haze of alcohol and regret, there remained a glimmer of hope—a hope that one day, he might find a way to reclaim the love that had been lost, to build a future with you that defied the constraints of time and circumstance.

And so, with each passing day, Toji carried the weight of his memories like a burden, a constant reminder of the love that had once burned brightly between you, and the promise of a future that still remained within reach, if only he dared to reach out and grasp it.

But despite his yearning for what once was, Toji found himself trapped in a cycle of self-destructive behavior, drowning his sorrows in alcohol and reckless pursuits. He sought solace in the fleeting distractions of the world, hoping to numb the pain that gnawed at his heart like a relentless beast.

Yet amidst the chaos of his existence, there remained a flicker of the man he once was—a man who had loved deeply and dreamed of a future filled with happiness and purpose. It was this spark of humanity that kept him tethered to the memories of you, reminding him of the love he had lost and the person he had once been.

In his darkest moments, when the weight of his regrets threatened to crush him, Toji would close his eyes and summon forth the image of your smile, the warmth of your touch, and the sound of your laughter echoing like a melody in his mind. It was these memories that kept him going, fueling his determination to someday find his way back to you, no matter the cost.

But as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, Toji's hope began to wane, replaced by a bitter resignation to the cruel twists of fate that had torn you apart. He cursed himself for his weakness, for his inability to protect you from the fate that had befallen you, and for the pain he knew you must be enduring without him by your side.

In the quiet depths of his thoughts, Fushiguro Toji often finds himself contemplating the bittersweet truth of your relationship. To him, you were like the sun—bright, radiant, and unattainable. And he? He was but a mere moon, destined to orbit around you, never truly belonging to your world. Yet, despite the inevitable distance that separated you, his love for you burns steadfastly, unwavering in its intensity. 

When he made the decision to depart from the Zenin clan, he understood that it meant leaving behind any chance of ever crossing paths with you again. Still, the memory of you lingers like a haunting melody, weaving its way into the fabric of his existence. Though you may never belong to each other, he carries you in his heart, a cherished remnant of a love that was never meant to be.

Toji's heart shattered into a million pieces when he had to leave you behind. And now you were forced to be engaged to his brother. You cried for help, you did. That’s what everyone said. You called for him and asked someone to look for him. It was a betrayal of the highest order, one that threatened to tear apart everything he had ever hoped for. The thought of you being wed to his older brother, Jinichi, filled him with a rage unlike any he had ever known.

For years, he had harbored dreams of returning to the Zenin clan, of freeing you from the suffocating grasp of your lineage with Naoki's help. Naoki had the ear of all clans. He could make something happen. But now, those dreams lay shattered at his feet, crushed beneath the weight of cruel reality. The mere thought of you being subjected to a marriage of convenience, forced to spend your days with a man who could never appreciate the gentle soul that you were, filled Toji with an overwhelming sense of despair and helplessness.

Driven by a blind fury, he had once entertained thoughts of storming into the Zenin manor, of whisking you away from your fate by force if necessary. You were alone, there was nothing left for you in the Kamo clan. How long can your cousin protect you from what the clans expect of young women like you? He couldn’t take it. He wanted to leave. Storm back there. But Naoki, ever the voice of reason, had intervened, urging Toji to reconsider his reckless actions. He told him to wait, that he had a plan. That it will all work out. 

And so he let himself wait and wait.

Drink after drink, to let his anxiety hurl.

Yet not everything does work out.

No matter how drunk he got at each round;

He would never end up finding you in this life.

Zenin Naoki found his younger cousin Toji in the dimly lit room, his figure slumped over the rough wooden table, an empty bottle of sake clutched tightly in his hand. He could see the anguish etched into Toji's features, the lines of pain and sorrow etched deep into his brow. He was too drunk, Naoki knew. But the moment he would speak those words, he knew that his cousin would be wholeheartedly sober. He didn’t have the heart to say it.  

Naoki’s weary palms sharply echoed into fists. He takes the steps toward his little cousin. Naoki lets one fist unclench and open, grabbing an empty chair for himself and taking to sitting. His lips pursed as he moved closer towards his cousin’s bed. His eyes waver, as though giving away all that he was about to say.

"Toji," Naoki began cautiously, his voice soft but firm. "There's something you need to know."

Toji's bloodshot eyes lifted to meet Naoki's gaze, filled with a mixture of desperation and despair. "What is it?" he asked hoarsely, his voice barely above a whisper.

Naoki hesitated, knowing that his words would only add to Toji's suffering. "It's about her," he began, his voice heavy with regret. "Your Kamo flower."

Toji's grip on the bottle tightened, his knuckles turning white with the force of his emotions. "What about her?" he demanded, his voice trembling with barely contained rage.

Naoki took a deep breath, steeling himself for Toji's reaction. "She's... she's married," he confessed, his words hanging heavy in the air like a death knell.

The color drained from Toji's face, his eyes widening in shock and disbelief. "Married?" he repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "To who? I thought the engagement would be broken—"

"To your brother, Jinichi," Naoki replied, his heart heavy with guilt. "It was rushed. Father wanted to strengthen the alliance between our clans. The Gojo clan….had gotten strong recently. As soon as I arrived, it was different. They bypassed me. The marriage already took place."

Toji's world shattered in an instant, the pain of betrayal and loss consuming him like a raging inferno. He felt as if the ground had been ripped out from beneath him, leaving him to plummet into an endless abyss of despair.

But deep down, Toji knew the truth of Naoki's words, and it tore him apart like nothing else ever could. He just couldn’t register how no one could let her free. How no one could help her. Genmei, her cousin Kaiko, his cousin Naoki. There were so many people there. How could none of them have been able to do anything?  In that moment, he felt as if he had lost everything—the woman he loved, his dreams of a future together, and the very essence of his being.

"I don't believe you," Toji spat, his voice laced with venom. "She would never agree to such a thing. She loves me, she always has. She would never....."

"Not in her own will." Naoki agreed quietly, leaning back exhaustedly. "But now she has no choice. Once it is done, it is done."

As the reality of his situation sank in, Toji's mind began to unravel, consumed by a maelstrom of rage and despair. He cursed the gods for their cruelty, cursed himself for his weakness, and cursed the world for its injustice. And in that dark, lonely room, Toji wept for the love he had lost, for the dreams that lay shattered at his feet, and for the woman who had stolen his heart and left him to suffer in silence.

‘You can't risk your life like this. Please, Toji,’ Naoki had pleaded, his words echoing with a painful truth that Toji was unwilling to accept. When he cried, when he beat Naoki down, when Naoki didn’t fight back. All he could hear was those words over and over. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Little cousin, I am sorry."

In the end, he saw the wedding photos. That bastard Jinichi had sent them all clans, including the Mikoto — to announce the marriage far and wide. You were miserable beside his brother. Jinichi stood over you, as though he now owned you. As though you were his to tarnish, to harm, to brutalize. Toji’s blood boiled over and over. He screamed over and over. He threw beer bottles over and over. In the end, all Toji had left was his tears, swallowing his own grief over and over. He let himself drown his sorrows in a sea of alcohol and vice. 

He couldn’t stop. The bitterness of his betrayal festered within him, consuming him from the inside out. But not at you. Never at you. At everything, at everyone. Toji was angry, for a long long time. All he could think about was how you suffered all these years. And how he could do nothing. He had absolutely nothing.

Each day was a struggle, each night haunted by visions of you suffering at the hands of a man who could never hope to understand the depths of your gentle spirit. Toji's anger burned like a raging inferno, fueled by the injustice of it all.

But deep down, beneath the layers of resentment and despair, there lingered a flicker of hope—a hope that one day, he might find a way to free you from the shackles of your unwanted marriage, to offer you the tenderness and love that you so rightfully deserved. Until then, he would carry the weight of his failure like a heavy burden, a constant reminder of the cruel twists of fate that had torn you apart.

“You know, I always wanted to have my own family.” You whisper to him out of the blue, the corner of your eyes looking at him. He looks at you with a curious gaze, a grin on his face. 

“Oh? A big family?”

You shake your head. “No, I have enough siblings as it is. One, two at most.”

“Hm, a boy or a girl?”

You smiled at him tenderly, your hand brushing against the edges of his lower head, your fingertips meeting the dark raven hair over and over. “It doesn’t matter. As long as they’re healthy.”

“Hm, but if you have to choose?”

“A girl would be nice as the eldest.” You tell him softly. “A warm elder sister to welcome her little sibling to the world would be most tender.”

Toji's gaze softened as he listened to your words, a faint smile gracing his lips at the notion of starting a family. "I want that too," he admitted quietly, his voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "A family of my own, someday."

Your heart swelled with warmth at his confession, knowing that you shared this cherished dream. "I've always dreamed of having a family," you confessed, your voice filled with quiet longing.

Curiosity sparkled in Toji's eyes as he turned to you, his hand reaching out to gently intertwined with yours. "If you had a child, what would you name the girl, if you had her?" he asked softly.

Without hesitation, you smiled and replied, "Tsumiki." As you spoke, you traced the characters for each letter onto the palm of his hand, the strokes delicate and deliberate. "It means 'haven of beautiful chronicles'.”

Toji's eyes met yours, his expression reflecting a mix of awe and tenderness. "It's a beautiful name," he murmured, his thumb brushing over the characters etched into his skin. "For a beautiful future."

Toji's words stirred a tender warmth within you, melting your heart away to be his. His vulnerability echoed your own desires, creating a connection that transcended the boundaries of words. As he expressed his longing for a family, you couldn't help but feel a deep resonance within your heart, a shared dream that bound you together on purpose.

Toji's reaction was one of gentle reverence, his thumb brushing over the characters etched into his skin with a touch of awe. As you traced the characters onto his palm, you infused each stroke with the depth of your love and hope for the future.

In his eyes, you saw a reflection of your own dreams, a shared vision of a future filled with love, warmth, and possibility. And as he spoke of the beauty of the name you had chosen, you felt a sense of gratitude wash over you, knowing that in each other's company, the seeds of a beautiful future had already been planted.

“I see the regular life everyone has, though.” Toji whispers to you as he moved closer to you, his arms on your waist. “I see swimming pools, living rooms. Those little airplanes, the toy ones.”

You giggle against him. “The little house on the hills? Just enough for us. Walls with children’s names, their height.”

Toji hummed at you, placing a small kiss upon your head. “Quiet nights with those ice and those booze, when its just.”

“Yeah,” You say to him, meeting his eyes. “I want that.”

“With me?”

You smiled widely, nodding. “Yes, with you.”

As the tender moment lingered, a soft breeze stirred the leaves above, casting dancing shadows over your intertwined figures. The air was charged with an electric anticipation, the warmth of Toji's presence enveloping you like a comforting embrace.

With a gentle lean, Toji closed the space between you, his lips meeting yours in a tender kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken emotions. It was a moment of pure vulnerability and trust, a silent affirmation of the deep connection that had blossomed between you.

As he pressed his body against yours, you felt the weight of his presence grounding you in the present moment. His touch was both gentle and passionate, igniting a fire within you that burned with the intensity of shared desire and longing.

In that fleeting moment of intimacy, time seemed to stand still, the world around you fading into insignificance as you lost yourself in the warmth of each other's embrace. It was a kiss filled with promise, a silent vow of love and devotion that echoed in the depths of your souls. Over and over again, you smiled against his lips and he smiled back. It was contentment, it was everything.

And as you surrendered to the sweetness of the moment, you knew that in Toji's arms, you had found your sanctuary, your haven of beautiful chronicles, where love knew no bounds and dreams were born anew with each tender caress.

In the end, these memories wilted little by little.

But he couldn’t let his brain forget who you were.

He never allowed himself to let your smile die out.

You were his drug, one that kept him moving forward.

A gun on his head, your smile on his mind, he pauses.

Tears poured over and over, like  it was the first time again.

IT WAS ALL TOO EARLY FOR THIS. Fushiguro Toji, now a widower after losing his wife just a year ago, was caught off guard by the unexpected knock on his door. Opening it, he found Kamo Kaiko standing there in her sorcerer uniform, hand in hand with a little girl who appeared to be about three years old. The girl wasn't very tall, her brown hair tied in a ponytail, her eyes bright amber-brown. She had an innocence about her, like a little doe, yet there was a warmth in her gaze that seemed to suggest a familiarity beyond their meeting.

Despite his initial surprise, Toji couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort at the sight of the smiling girl. There was something about her demeanor that put him at ease, as though she already knew him, as though they shared some unspoken connection.. 

“It’s been a while, Toji.” Kamo Kaiko says to him, a wave of her hand and a charismatic smile. She hadn’t changed. He wonders if that smile of hers will ever be genuine. 

“What are you doing here?” He says roughly, his body resting against the door frame. “Who knows you’re here?”

“No one.” She tells him, her eyes narrowing confidently at him. “You ought to believe me. I’m good at covering my tracks.”

Toji felt exasperated by her words, as much as this early morning has. He rubs his eyes. He opens the door wide. “Come in.”

“Thank you very much~” Kaiko says as she comes in, taking off her shoes. “Mimi, say the same thing!”

The young girl let out a sound, as though she had forgotten. The girl bows politely and smiles at Toji warmly. “Thank you for letting us in!”

“Come, Mimi! Here’s the tiny indoor shoes for you~”

“Thank you, Kaiko-san!”

Toji thinks he should have not opened the door.

Toji's apartment was in disarray, a tangible reflection of the turmoil that had engulfed his life since his wife's passing. Clutter littered the floor, and the air felt heavy with the weight of grief and solitude. However, Kaiko didn't utter a word of reproach or judgment. She knew all too well the challenges of single parenthood, having navigated them herself in the past.

The young girl, full of curiosity and innocence, caught sight of Toji's son nestled in his crib and couldn't contain her excitement. With wide eyes brimming with curiosity, she asked if she could see the baby. Kaiko's smile softened, and she nodded warmly, reminding the little girl to be gentle and careful with the fragile infant. Toji didn’t mind. It was better that someone was looking after Megumi, even for a little while. He’s absolutely exhausted.

As the children played, Kaiko and Toji settled down to talk, the weight of the conversation heavy in the air. Kaiko offered her condolences on his wife's passing, but Toji's impatience cut through the pleasantries like a sharp blade. "Cut to the chase," he demanded, his tone curt and brusque.

Kaiko's expression turned somber as she delivered the heartbreaking news. "I came to tell you... she's gone," she uttered softly, her voice laced with sorrow. "You lost her at childbirth."

Toji's face contorted with a sudden wave of anguish. His mouth went dry as he anticipated the words he dreaded to hear, yet yearned to know for certain. "Who?" he pressed, his voice barely above a whisper.

"You know who," Kaiko replied gently, her gaze unwavering.

"I know," Toji acknowledged, his eyes trembling with emotion as he stared at Kaiko. Despite knowing the answer, he still needed her to say it aloud, as if hearing the confirmation would somehow make the pain more real.

Kaiko's lips tightened as she observed the man before her, grappling with his own torment. She knew that this news would shatter him, just as it had shattered her. With a heavy heart, she spoke your name, the weight of the words hanging in the air like a dense fog.

"It was... a bad situation," Kaiko continued, her voice laced with sorrow. "There were numerous stillbirths and miscarriages. This last one—"

"And none of you stopped him?" Toji's voice cracked with a mixture of anger, anguish, and disbelief. The news of Megumi's mother's death had devastated him, but the thought of you suffering and ultimately losing your life in such a tragic manner ignited a firestorm of emotions within him. His hands slammed down on the table with a force that reverberated throughout the apartment, his eyes narrowed with fury as he confronted Kaiko. "None of you had the courage to intervene? To protect her? You let her die. You let her die at the hands of that monster?"

As Toji's anguished cries filled the air, baby Megumi's response was almost immediate. His tiny wails rose in crescendo, mingling with his father's tumultuous emotions, creating a symphony of sorrow that seemed to echo off the walls of the apartment. Toji's heart clenched at the sound, each cry a painful reminder of the fragility of life and the weight of his loss.

But just as despair threatened to consume him, a figure emerged from the shadows, a ray of hope amidst the darkness. The young girl with doe-like eyes approached with a serene smile, her presence a comforting presence amidst the chaos. With delicate hands, she reached out for baby Megumi, enfolding him in her arms with a tender embrace that seemed to soothe his cries.

"It's okay," she whispered softly, her voice a gentle lullaby that seemed to resonate with the infant's distress. In her arms, Megumi found solace, his sobs gradually subsiding as he nestled against her, finding refuge in her comforting embrace.

Toji's tumultuous emotions seemed to subside, if only for a moment, as he witnessed the touching scene unfolding before him. The sight of the young girl cradling his son and humming a gentle melody cast a tranquil spell over the room, momentarily quelling the storm raging within him. He found himself entranced by her soothing presence, his troubled thoughts momentarily quieted by the tender moment.

As he watched the girl, a flicker of recognition sparked in Toji's eyes, a distant memory stirring within him like a long-forgotten dream. It was as if he could see glimpses of you in her, the way you used to comfort him with your gentle touch and calming voice. His hands trembled with emotion as he turned to face Kaiko, his heart heavy with the weight of grief and regret.

Kaiko met his gaze with a sorrowful expression, her eyes filled with remorse and longing. "I'm sorry, Toji," she murmured softly, her voice laced with emotion. "I couldn't save her from her fate. I couldn't save you from this pain."

Toji's heart tightened at Kaiko's words, the weight of her apology settling heavily upon him. Despite the sorrow in her voice, there was a hint of resolve, a determination to honor a promise made long ago. "But I wanted to keep a promise," she confessed, her gaze drifting towards the young girl who now cradled Megumi in her arms. "At least one more."

Toji's eyes followed Kaiko's gaze, settling on the girl whose presence seemed to bring a measure of solace to the room. A question lingered on his lips as he turned back to Kaiko, his voice barely a whisper. "What's her name?" he inquired softly, his heart heavy with a mixture of curiosity and longing.

A sad smile graced Kaiko's lips as she met Toji's gaze. "Her name is Tsumiki," she revealed gently, her voice tinged with emotion as she spoke the name that carried both sorrow and hope. “Just as she always wanted.”

Toji's heart ached with a mixture of sorrow and gratitude as he gazed at Tsumiki, his tears mingling with Kaiko's. The realization that Tsumiki was the living embodiment of his lost love washed over him like a tidal wave, leaving him feeling both overwhelmed and strangely comforted.

Kaiko's words pierced through the haze of his grief, her voice gentle but firm. "They don't know that she's alive, Tsumiki," she explained, her own tears betraying the depth of her sorrow. "Genmei arranged it all. They wouldn't look for her now."

The weight of her words hung heavy in the air, leaving Toji grappling with a torrent of emotions. "Why?" he whispered hoarsely, his voice barely audible. "Why are you...?"

Kaiko met his gaze with unwavering resolve. "This is what my cousin would have wanted," she replied softly. "You were the only person that truly did love her. Tsumiki would be safer here. She would be loved and..."

Toji's voice trailed off, his eyes fixed on Tsumiki's innocent face as he wiped away his tears. "I didn't notice," he murmured, his words tinged with regret. "How much she looked like her mother."

"Spitting image of her," Kaiko agreed in a bittersweet tone, her gaze filled with a mixture of sadness and fondness.

Toji's fingertips grazed Tsumiki's silky hair, the soft strands a poignant reminder of the gentle touch he had once known. As he watched her tender care for his son, a bittersweet ache tugged at his heartstrings, stirring memories of you and the warmth you had always exuded.

In Tsumiki's innocent gestures, Toji glimpsed echoes of your compassionate spirit, a fleeting reflection of the love and kindness you had bestowed upon him. The sight filled him with a mixture of longing and gratitude, a silent tribute to the precious moments he had shared with you.

Struggling to articulate the depth of his emotions, Toji's voice quivered with unspoken sorrow as he whispered his thanks to Tsumiki. His words hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the comfort her presence brought amidst the tumult of his grief.

As Tsumiki cradled his son with unwavering tenderness, Toji felt a flicker of hope stir within his heart. In her gentle embrace, he found solace and strength, a beacon of light illuminating the darkness of his sorrow and reminding him of the enduring power of love.

For the first time in a long time, he felt alive.

He felt alive having known that he has you.

You were always with him, you always loved him.

Years later, Gojo Satoru stood before him, watching.

He could only smile, feeling the chasing sunset.

Two fools would be together again, after all this time.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Blessed Are The Meek 7

Summary: you are trapped in an awkward circumstance with a widowed commander. (Handmaid AU)

Warning: this series will contain violence, dystopian aspects, rape and noncon, blood, coercion, sterility, and other dark elements. Please read these warnings and beware.

Character: Tommy Shelby

Note: thank you for following along. I’m sure yall didn’t expect to write Tommy again but here we are. Also feedback and comments if you dont mind. Maybe a reblog. 💕💕💕💕

The Commander drives through the streets of the capital. You are as you always are. Eyes down and forward. You touch the grey cuffs of your smock and a wash of dread flows through you.

The weight in your chest sinks further as he comes to a stop. A guardian approaches the car and opens your door. You’re ushered out onto the street. You don’t look back as the tires roll away and you’re left without explanation.

The man makes no move to seize you. He merely directs you onward towards an unmarked door at the side of a tall brick building. Not a word between you as he gestures you inside.

It is brighter within. You follow long bending hallways, pure white walls and unscuffed floors. On and on until you are stopped again. Another door without number or word. He opens it and lets it fall open.

“Go inside. Sit.”

You obey. The door remains open as your footsteps echo in the empty room. You sit in the single chair across from a long curved table. While the chair you claim is cold and hard, those behind the table are cushioned.

You perch on the edge and wait, examining the featureless walls. You twine your fingers together and squeeze. A sterile smell dries your nose as the blankness reminds you of somewhere else. Some time else.

The beeping of machines, the chatter of staff, the sweeping of shadows from doorways, a nurse with a clipboard calling for the next to triage. A child against you, shivering and sobbing against your shoulder. Your son, clinging to his mother, needing her, trusting her.

Another door opens. Three men emerge and claim the seats behind the table. Your vision comes to focus. You don’t know any of them but they are dressed prim like most Commanders.

Your name echoes around you. Not ‘martha’, not ‘woman’, no, your name.

“Is that you?” The man in the center asks.

“Yes,” you answer, your voice catching in your throat.

A pen scratches on paper. The next question. Birthdate? Birth place? Medical conditions? Each answered in confusion. Why do they need to know all this. They’re just sending you to die.

“Children?” The man on the right prompts.

“One.”

Silence. Waiting. You continue.

“A son.”

“Would that be Elijah. Commander of Nalor County.”

“That is his name, I am unable to confirm his title,” you reply in a wisp. A commander? Your some is just the same, torturing women, living off their suffering. 

“You have been a martha to Commander Shelby for how long?”

“I believe four years, but I cannot confirm for sure.”

“You aided his wife in her labour?”

“I did.”

Your neck trickles with sweat and your hair stands on end.

“During which, she died.”

“Yes.”

“And you would agree with the physician’s diagnosis that this was an unpreventable death?”

“I can only take his word. I was there to assist. I am not trained in that practice.”

“And when was your last menstruation?” The man on the left takes over.

You hesitate. You wet your lips with your tongue.

“You do still have a cycle?” He prompts.

“Two weeks ago.”

“And it comes routinely?”

“Yes.”

The men are quiet. They look at each other and then the papers before them. They nod and stand up. They say nothing else before they leave you. You frown. There is little use for an old woman who bleeds like a stuck pig.

You stay as you are. You wait. Your ears ring in the static silence. When at last footfalls approach, you do not look up. The guardian tells you to stand and you follow him from the room.

You are taken to another, again left alone. Two women in tan enter and bark at you to undress. They help, moreso strip you with tugs and yanks. Once you are naked they lay you on the metal table. They force you to bend your legs. You do not fight, too stunned to resist.

They poke and prod between your legs, a single digit slid inside, feeling around until they are content. They take your clothing and leave you, shivering and bare. You sit up and stare at the wall.

Another woman in brown enters. She nears with a parcel and puts it beside you, placing a pair of blue suede shoes on top. A simple word; ‘dress’.

She remains and watches you peel the paper back to reveal the blue dress, a fresh shift, stocking, and cape. You pull each piece on and the aunt helps impatiently, snapping into place the blue cape. You look at her but she will not meet your eye. She is not much older than you.

“Go out. The guardian will guide you.”

You cross the room, shuddering as you try to understand what is happening. It does not make any sense. This whole damn world has no sense.

You go out into the hall and the man in gray leads you on again. You walk with him, not behind him, this time. To what end, you are now completely unsure.

[major-toast]

Deathblow

@rosekillermicrofic // lies // words: 701 // cw: grief, mentions of death

The air feels stuffy, stale. No matter how run-down – how ancient – the courtroom looks, to Barty it will always feel too clean, too uptight.

He hates it here, hates the people in it. A flood of wizards with prim and proper robes, hard-nosed expressions, and an attitude too haughty for their lack of importance. Just looking at them makes him sick.

But he has to. For the sake of his mission, he has to. Born and raised in the wealthier social class of wizarding society, with connections reaching throughout the entire Ministry, it had been a simple decision to appoint him an undercover agent. All he had to do was pull a few strings, charm his way in, make false promises. Barty Crouch Jnr – the perfect fucking son.

Lies.

Yeah, he doesn’t like it, despises it even. The room is too stuffy, too stale, and the people have no soul. The faster he’s out of here, the better.

“Next?” calls Crouch Snr from his bench, dressed in his most formal judge’s robes, looking the sternest in this place. Barty wishes he had set this stupid piece of clothing on fire. Preferably while the man is still wearing them.

“Karkaroff, Igor” comes the business-like response, followed by the ruffle of paper.

Barty frowns. Karkaroff had been one of their most important connections to the north. Shame they’ve caught him. But, then again, he’s an annoying piece of shit, so maybe not a shame they caught him. The Dark Lord needs people, who can be discreet, and trustworthy. Not an obnoxious loudmouth like the man currently wheeled in. Easily, the frown turns into a condescending huff.

Two weeks. Two weeks ago, the Dark Lord has been defeated. By a toddler no less.

Lies.

He’ll be back, Barty is sure of it. No one can defeat someone as brilliant and considered as Riddle. All they need to do is to lay low for a while, wait in patience.

Growing bored, he leans back in his seat, staring at the ceiling, whistling a tune. Irritated glares are thrown his way, throats cleared in indignance, but Barty doesn’t care. He smiles and waves at them, treating it like another Potion’s lecture. It never interested him, to begin with.

“Rosier?”

The question is a sharp blade cutting through the air. Immediately, Barty perks up. He hasn’t heard from Evan in… well, since their fight a while back, honestly. 

I am a coward!? You should look in the fucking mirror, Crouch! You’re so fucking desperate for his attention, you’re fucking losing yourself! What do you think you’ll gain out of this? That he’ll love you like a fucking son?

Fuck off, Rosier. As if you have any idea what loyalty is! You couldn’t even be loyal enough to yourself to admit you wanted to fuck me! ‘I am scared, Barty. What if someone catches us?’ Grow a fucking pair, Evan, for Merlin’s sake. And don’t pretend you’re caring about me. You never really did.

It was stupid. A heated argument, nothing more. Barty will apologize to him eventually. They’ll always find their way back to one another. It is fate.

He wonders what Evan is up to right now. How his mission went.

He can’t wait to hear about it.

“Rosier’s dead.”

LIES.

Barty laughs. That’s the stupidest thing, he’s ever heard. Evan can’t be dead. He cannot-

The room grows dark, the walls are closing in. Somewhere a whistle is going off, somewhere near his ears, growing louder and louder, but Barty cannot locate it. Frantically, he looks around. Eyes are watching him, too many eyes. God. He wants to scratch them out, poke them out with his wand. He wants to bite off the dumb fucking grins directed at him, spit it right back into their arrogant faces. Hands. There are hands everywhere. They are touching him, tugging at him. He screams, fights back, but to no avail. They are dragging him. Down. Down, down, down. The light vanishes, plunges him into an abyss. His hands disappear and so does his body. Where did it all go?

Rosier’s dead. The words repeat like a mocking sneer inside his ears.

Look where loyalty got you now, Crouch.

[tumbleweed-writes]

Death and the Lady: Chapter Thirteen: Chibs Telford X Reader

PREVIOUS CHAPTER HERE

Tag List: @youngadult9016 @mrsfilipchibstelford @mamawiggers1980 @ravennaortiz @liveinsteadofdreaming @redwoodmaya

========

18+ Only please. Smut ahead.

Chapter Thirteen: Where the Heart Lies

Her hand felt delicate in his. Of course the longer he knew her the more Chibs Telford realized that Y/N Y/L/N was far less demure than she appeared at first glance. She might appear at first glance to be so prim and proper, but she was far more fierce and strongwilled than anyone really gave her proper credit for.

Her determination was disregarded as her just being too stubborn for her own good and at times written off as a sign of immaturity to those who weren’t willing to attempt to work through the walls she placed up. Her fierceness was written off as her simply having a smart mouth and never knowing when to shut up and stop being so hostile. 

Chibs had found though that he appreciated the stubbornness and the wit. He’d admired these traits in her from their first meeting, and had only grown to adore this facet of her personality as the months wore on. 

He was perfectly content coaxing her to trust him and let go of her need for control. He was happy to put up with the occasional sass and even willing to allow her to give him a hard time. He was willing to encourage her to not build walls around herself and isolate her heart. He allowed her to be vulnerable without judgment, thankful she trusted him enough to be open with him.

Still, even with as strong willed as he was aware she was; he couldn’t help but to focus on how fragile her hand felt against his as she led him down the hallway back to her bedroom.

His heart began to pound in his chest though the blood flowing through his veins began to fill in a lower region of his body. His body was already eagerly and joyfully anticipating what she was asking of him.

He let out a shaky breath at the thought of what she’d asked of him.

He felt ridiculous admitting it, but the notion of what she had asked of him made him feel a sense of anxiety. A nervous energy began to bubble up in his gut along with the lust coursing through him. 

He felt foolish for feeling anxious at the thought of taking her to bed and loving her at her request. 

He was far from a blushing virgin. He was more than sexually experienced. He would like to think that he was quite gifted in that department. He had enough experience under his belt to know how to pleasure a woman. He was confident in his sexual prowess.

He knew though of course, that quite a bit of his experience involved less of the act of loving and more of the simply primal act of fucking. Bedding the croweaters did not require such tenderness nor gentleness.

Sex with a croweater was just that; sex. There was no feeling behind it. He didn’t want to cherish them and hold them close to him. He didn’t want to protect them and make it clear to them that he adored them with every last ounce of his heart. 

Bedding a croweater was usually more of an act of finding release. There were no soft kisses, no gentle touches, and no words of adoration passed between lovers.

It was more of a pure physical act. There might be some occasional dirty talk but the end goal was always the same. Find release and then move on. Kisses and touches could be rough and desperate and movements could be harsh. There was no love there. His heart had not been involved in the process of bedding a croweater. 

Chibs Telford knew that this was no romp in bed with a sweetbutt who honestly cared less about him and more about the fact that she had attracted the attention of a patched in member of SAMCRO.

He knew that what Y/N was asking from him was an act he’d not engaged in in such a long time.

He knew that his estranged wife was probably the last person he’d attempted to make love to.

He shoved the thought from his mind not wanting to focus on any thought of Fiona at the moment.

He’d begun to realize that thoughts of his estranged wife did not fill him with the same aching sense of longing that had once overtaken him. He felt a fondness for the life they’d had and a care for her, but his heart had begun to pull in a different direction. Thoughts of Fiona filled him with a sense of guilt more often than not nowadays.

It was an equally exciting and terrifying realization to have that his heart was shifting and changing. 

Chibs was certain he was following her too closely as they neared her room and to be honest it took everything in him not to attempt to scoop her up and throw her over his shoulder to get her there a little quicker. 

He silently told himself that throwing her over his shoulder could be reserved for a future time.

He was also tempted to kick his shoes off and perhaps lose a few articles of clothing as they made their way to her bedroom. He pushed back the temptation telling himself that she would be none too amused if he left a trail of clothing down the hallway especially considering his gun and knives would have to join this discarded clothing.

She turned to face him as they finally reached her bedroom, they entered the room, he kicking the door shut behind them. 

Her lips met his, his hands sliding along her body once again taking in the curves he’d been dying to caress from their first meeting. Caressing her and holding her was a privilege she’d allowed him as their relationship had grown more serious. It was a privilege he was taking full advantage of.

Her hands slid along his body caressing him in return not helping but to always enjoy the feel of him. She knew that she could easily describe him as being sturdy and strong. When she thought of his form she associated him with a sense of dependability and security.

He reluctantly parted his lips from hers, he moving away from her embrace. He reached down to slide his kutte from his body gently folding it and placing it where it rested most nights he slept over; over the red velvet living chair in the corner of her room. 

He avoided her gaze as he placed his gun and knife over the kutte. He hated to admit that it made him feel uneasy to reveal the weapons to her. He always feared that it would be a reminder of just who and what he was for her.

He knew her past with the club might make her feel a sense of unease when she allowed herself to think too long and hard about the fact that the man she was allowing to be by her side was very much an outlaw. 

He’d realized her memories of being around the club were filled with more bitterness than sweetness. He was hoping to ease her back into his world and feared pushing for too much and making her pull away. 

He knew of course that her past with Gunner might aid this sense of unease and bitterness. Chibs had recently begun to wonder if Gunner had lorded his status as a Son over her head to intimidate her. She had been so young then and so vulnerable; the thought floated around in his mind. He imagined that the Tacoma Son had been quite proud to show off any means he had to harm Y/N to her, as a little reminder to keep in her place when he perceived her as being too difficult. The man had proudly declared that he’d flashed a gun at a woman more than once the few times Chibs had been unfortunate enough to overhear Gunner’s bragging over his past sexual encounters.

Chibs felt sick having to admit that he’d begun to wonder if any of the horrifying stories he’d heard in the past from Gunner had possibly featured Y/N as unnamed the sexual partner in question. The thought made his stomach turn considering that he’d realized Gunner’s propensity for rough sex apparently did not always involve a partner that consented to violent acts. If he knew then what he knew now; he had a feeling he would have been less inclined to sit by and let Gunner run his mouth so smugly. 

Chibs pushed the thought from his mind not wanting to focus on the asshole when he was about to experience this moment with the woman he adored. He had already promised himself that Y/N would never know that pain again. She’d certainly never know it from him. 

Y/N kicked off her shoes and socks as Chibs focused on removing his rings lining them along her dresser allowing the silver cross he wore around his neck to join the rings.

He kicked his own shoes and socks off before he made his way back over to her his lips sliding along hers.

She felt her knees grow weak against his kiss and was certain she might easily collapse to the floor if he was not so lovingly holding on to her keeping her pressed close against his body.

She allowed him to deepen the kiss, his tongue sliding along hers with skill, the act working a moan from her lips.

She placed a hand against his back allowing her other hand to mess his hair. He pulled his lips from hers sliding them across her cheek working them down her neck. He nipped at the delicate skin of her neck determined to leave evidence of his affections behind.

He smirked as she let out a soft gasp at the action, her knees feeling all the more wobbly.

She pulled back from him her voice soft suddenly feeling far more bashful than she’d ever felt about the act of sex in her life. “Bed?”

“Aye, bed sounds perfect, Hen.” He replied, tempted to tease her that they didn’t need a bed. He’d gladly take her on the floor or against a wall.

He held in the remark though reminding himself that it would be best saved for a different time. He was suddenly reminded of that night on her sofa when he’d gone down on her after she’d opened up to him about her past. He remembered his determination to show her exactly how she deserved to be treated by a man. He was still determined to do just that.

He knew that he needed to make sure she was comfortable. He needed to be sure that she knew that the act of loving her was all about making sure she felt as good and as secure as she possibly could.

They laid back against the bed he lying by her side. His hands reached out to embrace her, his lips sliding along hers, the kiss feather light allowing her to be the one to deepen it this time around.

He let out a soft moan as she pulled her lips from his pressing them against his cheek. He closed his eyes, soaking up the affection the act still filling him with that cozy sense of warmth. He’d recently realized the warm feeling he had anytime her lips pressed against one of the scars embedded along his cheeks was a sense of feeling adored and accepted. It was a feeling he’d not thought he’d ever have again in his life.

His hand slid down her side as her lips moved along his jawline pressing soft kisses to his skin. He opened his eyes as he let out a soft content sigh, his hand sliding underneath the soft cotton of her shirt. He gently caressed her skin as her lips slid along his neck.

He felt a soft moan leave his lips the words leaving him as she nipped and sucked along his pulse line making it clear she intended to leave a few marks of her own along his skin. “Yer, so fuckin soft, Hen. Warm an perfect.”

She felt a soft moan of her own leave her lips. She was tempted to shrug off his comment and insist to him that no one was perfect. There was something about the certainty of his words though that told her that he was convinced she was perfection and that was enough to make her not want to shake off his praise.

She ran a hand of her own up his shirt relieved he’d not worn layers of shirts today. It seemed that she only had one long sleeved shirt and an undershirt to contend with as she caressed his skin lovingly.

He sighed, his hand still caressing her side sliding it along her back pressing her closer to him. He rubbed soothing circles into her back as she continued to press sucking kisses against his neck.

She pulled from his neck her voice soft. “Can I take this off?”

He furrowed his brow, it taking his lust hazed brain a moment to realize what she was asking. “Aye, ye can.”

She began to pull his shirt up he sitting up to aid her in pulling both it and his undershirt up and over his head.

He laid back down his stomach churning, he was not entirely thrilled with his torso. He knew that in the years since his banishment from Belfast he’d neglected his health. He drank too much, smoked far too much, and ate a poor diet. He had not really seen a reason to take care of himself. That meant his midsection had grown wider than he would prefer. He also knew his face carried more weight than he’d like.

The insecurity he felt over his physique was not noticed by Y/N her eyes scanning his bare torso landing on the tattoo over his heart.

She slid her fingers across it, her voice soft as she read the name; Kerrianne. “Told you, you’re sweet.”

He felt a smile spread across his face, the comment making his worries about his less than fit form leave his brain in an instant.

She leaned up her lips sliding along his, her hand pulling from his chest sliding along his back, her touch loving and far more gentle than anyone had ever been with him.

He pulled from her lips his hand running along the hem of her shirt it his turn to ask. “Can this come off?”

She nodded her head sitting up allowing him to pull the shirt up and over her head. He tossed it across the room to join his discarded shirts.

He moaned at the sight of her torso, his eyes landing on the white lace over her breasts. He resisted the urge to bury his face against her lace covered tits the way the lower region of his body was insisting he should do. 

He wanted to yank her bra off and take one of her tits in his mouth. He wanted to suckle at the skin making her nipples harden. He wanted to suck and kiss the delicate skin leaving love bites in his wake. He wanted to massage her breasts taking in how soft they truly were. He wanted to slide his dick along her soft smooth skin cumming against her skin. He wanted to watch her breasts bounce as she rode him out. 

He swallowed the lump developing in the back of his throat putting a lid on his hormones. There would be plenty of time to do every single filthy thing he wanted to do involving her breasts later. Right now he needed to take his time with her and worship her body. 

She pressed her lips to his, the kiss brief the words that left her taking him by surprise. “Remember that thing we talked about a moment ago? The thing you teased me I haven’t given you the privilege of doing yet?”

He nodded his head eagerly, his heart and his cock jolting at what she was hinting at. “Aye, I recall it.”

She spoke her voice soft as she pressed her lips along his chest. “I want to suck you off, Filip. You made me feel so good the other night when you ate me out. I want to make you feel good too. Can I suck your cock?”

He groaned at the words, his response spilling from his lips. “Shite, Hen. Aye, do it, Love.”

She gently pushed him down to rest on his back, her body moving over his. She straddled his hips, he groaning at the image. He grunted as she teasingly rocked her hips against his, a soft gasp leaving her lips. He groaned, rocking up against her his hands placed at her hips enjoying the delicious friction they were building up.

He cursed their jeans for separating the lower regions of their bodies from building up the friction he wanted to create. He wanted to rip those jeans off her body and feel her hot center through her panties. He could imagine her panties growing so damp with need as she grinded against him. 

She leaned down her lips pressing to his a moan leaving him at the feel of her lace covered breasts pressing against his torso. He ran his hands along her back toying with the clasp of her bra. He wanted nothing more than to unclasp it and feel her bare torso against his own. 

He did not have the opportunity to unclasp it though as she moved down his body, her lips sliding along his torso, her lips pressing along the million dollar tattoo at the center of his chest she making a mental note to ask him about it at a later date. 

 He reluctantly allowed her to slide down his body, her lips soft against his skin, he knowing the promise of what she was about to give him was enough for him to wait to reveal her breasts.

He moaned as she slid her lips down his stomach pressing soft kisses along the scar along his belly; another gift from Jimmy O’. 

She placed a hand over the obvious bulge contained in his jeans giving it a squeeze, the action making him grunt.

She slid her hand along his belt making quick work of unfastening it. He groaned as she unfastened the belt unbuttoning and unzipping his jeans. He managed to aid her in pulling the denim from his body without kicking her in the process.

The jeans were tossed aside her lips pressing to his thighs a soft moan leaving his lips as she slowly pressed her lips along his skin avoiding his boxer clad cock. She took her time pressing soft teasing kisses to both thighs, her movements far too slow. He whined as she finally pressed her lips against the bulge in his boxers. 

The kisses didn’t last nearly long enough but he didn’t have long to mourn their loss as her fingers slid underneath the hem of his boxers. She gazed up at him, her voice soft. “Is this okay, Baby?”

He groaned, nodding his head eagerly at the words leaving him. ‘Aye, Hen.”

She pulled the garment from his body, he lifting his lips helping her remove his boxers. They were dropped over the side of the bed to join his other clothing.

She moaned at the sight of him standing at full attention, her voice teasing mirroring what she’d said the night she’d given him a handjob. “Still impressive, Filip.”

He groaned, his cock twitching at the praise. He parted his lips to reply but only managed to let a moan leave his lips as she pressed her lips to the underside of his cock pressing gentle kisses to the velvety skin.

She spoke, her voice filled with admiration. “You have a gorgeous cock, Filip.” 

He grunted, unable to form words as she ran her tongue along his cock tracing the veins, her hand reaching down to caress his balls gently massaging them.

He felt a strangled moan leave him as he reached down pushing her hair aside giving him full view of her as she wrapped a hand around his cock her tongue running along his tip lapping at the precum leaking from the slit.

She took his tip between her lips, her tongue swirling around the sensitive head of his cock. She hallowed her cheeks lowering her mouth taking more of him. He gripped down at the bedsheets with the hand not currently holding back her hair as she began to bob her head. 

She stared up at him, maintaining eye contact as she bobbed her head, her hand still massaging his balls.

She moaned around his cock as she took him deeper with each bob of her head engulfing his cock in the wet heat of her mouth. He grunted her actions, working praise from him. “Fuck, Hen, fuckin perfect, Love. Takin my cock like this, oh, shite. Fuck yes, take it so fuckin good.”

She pulled her lips from his cock stroking him his cock slick from her treatment, her voice teasing her lips swollen. “I love this cock, Filip. Can’t wait for you to bury it in me. It’s going to make me feel so good, Baby.”

“Fuck, Hen. It is, I’m gonna make you cum on this cock.” He grunted his balls aching at the words he having to admit he was an absolute sucker for dirty talk both giving and receiving.

She took him back between her lips bobbing more enthusiastically, her cheeks hallowing. He groaned, unable to take his eyes off her his voice still so full of praise. “Christ, Love. Look at ye. Ye look so fuckin prim and sweet, but ye love suckin my cock. I can fuckin tell ye love this.”

She moaned around him giving him the affirmation that she did in fact enjoy this. She could admit that she’d not quite been fond of oral in the past or at least she’d not been fond of giving it to most of her past sexual partners. 

Most of the guys she’d gone down on were too forceful and seemed to not always care about her comfort. They seemed to think that porn was a guidebook for how to react when a girl went down on them. She didn’t exactly appreciate it when a guy tried to slam down her throat to the point that she wanted to vomit. Sore throats and having to take a guy’s release because he didn’t bother to warn you was not ideal nor enjoyable.

There was something about giving head to Chibs that just felt so rewarding and pleasurable. He was so adoring and so lovely with her. She had to appreciate the fact that she was clearly pleasing him. It was a turn on to know that she was able to make him feel this good.

She took him deeper breathing through her nose and relaxing her throat, the act making his eyes practically roll into the back of his head. He groaned as she took him so deep the praise leaving him. “Fuckin, perfect, Hen. So fuckin gorgeous, Lass. Shite.”

He whined as her hand left his balls but the disappointment was short lived as she slid a hand down her body unfastening her jeans just enough to slide her fingers underneath the waistband of the denim.

He groaned as she moaned against his cock it taking his lust hazed brain a moment to realize she’d slid her fingers underneath her panties and was currently touching herself.

He spoke his voice thick with lust at the realization of just what she was doing. “Fuck, look at ye, Love. Touchin that sweet pussy while ye suck my cock. Does havin my cock in yer mouth get ye that wet?”

She moaned around his cock her fingers teasingly sliding along her slit she toying with her clit the bud aching at the stimulation.

She pulled her lips from him, her voice teasing. “I’m so wet, Filip. I’m so ready for you.”

He groaned not having a chance to respond as she took his cock back between her lips bobbing her head.

He grunted, beginning to rock against her ever so slightly, his grip on her sheets remaining tight, resisting the urge to rock against her face as eagerly as he wanted to. He told himself he could fuck her mouth later if she’d allow it. Right now he was doing his best to chase his release and treat her with care without getting too lost in lust. 

He spoke his voice thick with need, his balls drawing up closer to his body, the stimulation and the knowledge that she was touching herself bringing him closer and closer to orgasm. “Gonna make me cum, Hen. Shite, yer gonna make me cum so hard, Love.”

She moaned around his cock bobbing her head with even more enthusiasm gagging around him as she took him as deeply as she could the blow job, easily growing sloppy.

He grunted his body tensing, his pelvis thrusting more freely, his balls aching the words leaving him his accent growing so thick his words were nearly intelligible as he came his load shooting from him in hot spurts . “Fuck, perfect, Hen, Shite, Lovely Girl, Makin me cum. Fuck yes. Mo ghràidh.”

She took his release moaning around his cock surprised to find that she did not mind taking all he had to give her and felt no desire to spit his release out the same way she’d felt with some men. The taste of him was at least not unpleasant, it was far more tolerable than some of her past experiences in this act. 

She allowed him to ride out his orgasm continuing to bob her head, her fingers continuing to slide along her aching clit and her soaking slit.

He groaned, his body feeling heavy and satisfied as the last of his release seeped from his aching cock.

She pulled from him pressing soft kisses to his oversensitive cock it softening and resting against his belly.

He groaned, it taking him a moment to recover from his orgasm and for his body to feel less like putty.

He leaned up resting on his elbows a groan leaving him when he realized her hand was still down her jeans and she was still playing with herself.

He spoke, his voice gentle and lazy despite the fact that he very much knew that he still had plenty of plans with her tonight. “Come here, Hen.”

She moved up his body, Chibs gently taking a hold of her arm pulling her hand from her jeans. She whimpered at the loss, her clit throbbing. Her hips rocked chasing the stimulation she’d been so happily enjoying.

He pulled the hand she’d had pressed against her pussy up to his lips. He took her fingers between his lips suckling greedily at her wetness, the action making her moan.

He spoke as he pulled from her lips his voice husky with need. “Fuckin’ sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, Hen. Jus’ as sweet as ye.”

She whined as he reached out, unfastening her jeans and working them down her legs. He groaned glancing down at her pink cotton panties spotting the wet patch along the front of them revealing that she was as soaked as she’d told him she was.

He was tied between wanting to yank her panties off or wanting to rid her of her bra.

He made his choice, unfastening her bra with one hand, tossing it across the room. He stared down at her bare breasts praise leaving him. “Perfect breasts, Hen. Shite, better than I imagined.”

She didn’t have time to tease him over the admission that he’d imagined her breasts as he eagerly leaned forward taking a nipple between his lips suckling.

She whined her head falling back as he attended to both breasts sucking, licking, and kissing. He slid a hand down her torso, his fingers sliding under the waistband of her panties. His fingers slid along her slit, his voice muffled against her breasts. “Ye really are fuckin soaked, Hen. Shite, this all fer me?”

“Uh huh.” The words barely managed to leave her as his fingers slid along her slit teasingly sliding along her clit before sliding back down.

She rocked her hips against his ministrations, Chibs rewarding her by dipping one finger into her entrance quickly followed by another.

She whined as he thrust his fingers into her curling them just right to hit her in an angle she could rarely manage to find on her own. 

She rode his fingers unashamed of the moans that left her lips as he continued to finger her his lips focusing on her breasts.

She whimpered as he spoke against her breasts. “Feels so good ‘round my fingers, Mo ghràidh. Christ, yer gonna feel like heaven round my cock. Not gonna ever want to leave yer pussy.”

He reached forward with his other hand yanking her panties down to her knees wanting to watch in full view as his fingers thrust in and out of her.

He moaned at the sight of it she obediently parting her legs for him giving him more room to work with. He stared down at her the sight gorgeous; her legs spread for him, his fingers sliding in and out of her soaked with her.

He buried his face back against her breasts suckling them as he fingered her.

Her head fell back, his name leaving her lips, he continuing to murmur praise against her breasts, his fingers continuing to thrust in and out of her. “Fuckin, gorgeous. Perfect tight pussy, fuckin wet and hot. Perfect, Hen. Made me feel so good, gonna keep makin me feel good once I bury my cock in ye.”

She gasped, her body flushing knowing no man had ever managed to make her feel this amazing with his fingers alone and the praise he was giving her made the pleasure all the more palatable. She’d never imagined herself having a praise kink but there was something about pleasing him and being admired for it that made her wetter than she was certain she’d ever been in her life.

She managed to speak her voice a broken whine. “Gonna feel so good, Filip. Want you so bad.”

“Ye got me love, always.” He remarked continuing to please her knowing he wanted to make her cum on his cock. He knew he had to wait longer than he might have had to wait had she met him in his twenties.

He groaned knowing had he met her in his twenties they would have been absolute sex addicts. He had a feeling that had he known her in his twenties then neither he nor she would have ever left the bed or whatever surface they could manage to find. He had a feeling had he met her years ago he would have knocked her up several times over by now or at the very least had to buy stock in a condom company as to not have dozens of wild little Telfords running around causing havoc.

He continued to finger her, they both moaning at how wet she was. The sound of just how soaked she was as his fingers slid in and out of her was audible and would have made her feel embarrassed if she wasn’t so lost in the pleasurable sensations washing over her. 

She spoke her voice shaky uncertain if she was begging to cum or begging him to bury himself in her and never leave. “Please, Filip, fuck, Baby, please.”

He groaned knowing that she wouldn’t have to wait much longer. He could feel himself starting to perk back up his refractory period ending.

He was shocked that his cock was perking back up this quickly. He had a feeling the woman he was currently pleasing was a perfect inspiration for the lower region of his body to get back into the game so quickly.

He spoke, his fingers finally pulling from her as he realized he was finally ready. “Ye ready fer me, Hen?”

She nodded her head sliding her panties down the rest of the way tossing them across the room.

"Want you, Filip." The words left her she feeling needy as she rolled onto her back, her legs spreading for him eagerly.

He groaned at the sight, unable to stop himself from speaking. “Look at ye, Love. So fuckin eager fer me.”

He pressed the fingers he’d had buried in her to his lips, cleaning her taste from them, a pleased moan leaving him.

He spoke as he moved over her reluctantly pulling his fingers from his lips. “If I wasn’t so eager to bury my cock in ye, I’d eat ye out right now.”

“There’s always later.” She remarked, the comment working a giggle from him.

“Aye, there is definitely later.” He agreed a moan leaving him as his cock slid along her soaked center. She was so soaked that it made his cock ache almost painfully.

She spoke a sigh leaving her, her lust filled brain clearing enough for her to motion towards the nightstand. “Condoms in the drawer.”

He groaned reluctantly, pulling away from her enough to reach into the nightstand finding several boxes of condoms, her cheeks flushing as she explained., “Bought them a few weeks ago when it hit me that we were headed in this direction…it was before I saw your dick. I didn’t know what to expect and I wasn’t about to just try to casually ask you what size dick you have?”

He snorted at the comment nodding his head finding the appropriate size. “We can dump the ones that don’ fit at the clubhouse. Lads’ll appreciate free rubbers. I’ll drop em off without em knowin the source. Migh’ give the smalls to Half-Sack.”

She rolled her eyes giving his shoulder a playful nudge. “Please, don’t mention your prospect when your dick is this close to being inside me.”

He giggled at the comment, tearing the foil packet open, working eagerly to slide the condom over his aching cock a groan leaving him at the action and the realization of what he was about to experience.

He tossed the package of condoms aside, turning his focus back to her. He took himself in hand positioning himself against her, opening his words soft and filled with reverence for her. “Christ, yer fuckin beautiful.”

She spoke the words sliding from her lips without hesitation. “So are you.”

He snorted at the comment, shaking his head. “I still think ye need glasses, Hen. Ye think I’m pretty I worry bout yer vision. Shite, the state of California lets ye drive…we let ye drive a Hearse and yer blind ‘nough to think I’m pretty.”

He didn’t give her a chance to protest as he did his best to make sure he was positioned against her just right. “Ye ready, Hen?”

“Yes, please.” She replied knowing she’d never been so certain that she wanted a man inside of her before in her entire life.

He pressed his lips to hers the kiss light as he thrusted his hips forward pressing himself inside of her slowly inch by inch.

She gasped her arms wrapping around him, her head falling back a gasp leaving her. She moaned knowing she was right to assume he would be capable of providing a pleasant stretch at his size. 

He groaned as his cock was enveloped by her snug heat, his cock aching remembering how wet she was underneath the barrier of the condom.

She gasped his name as he finally pressed all the way within her, her body taking him to the hilt. She slid her hands along his back enjoying the wonderful stretch of her body adjusting to his thickness. He pressed his lips against her face pressing them to every bit of skin he could reach, praise spilling from his lips. “Fuckin perfect, feels amazin’ Lass. Mo leannan.”

She whined the words leaving her they broken as she struggled to speak through the blinding pleasure washing over her. “Feels amazing, Filip.”

He kept still for a moment wanting to give her time to adjust to the feel of him, his lips continuing to press to her skin, her hands sliding up and down his back.

She rocked her hips slightly giving him the hint that she was more than ready her voice soft. “Please, Filip. Love me.”

He groaned at the comment, a voice in the back of his head exclaiming I do love you.

He bit back the words, he rocking his hips against her gently, groaning at the sensation of her center around him. He was overwhelmed with the realization that he could not remember if any past lover he’d had at least in the past decade had felt this incredible wrapped around his cock. 

She whined at the sensation not helping but to realize no man had ever been this gentle with her before. She’d had very few lovers who had approached sex with a sense of ease and tenderness. Most of her past experiences managed to be rushed, rough, or clumsy. 

She wasn’t going to claim that she had not had good sex before. She’d had at least a small amount of decent lovers who managed to get her off. There had been a couple of guys who managed to figure out how to make her feel good though it was a rare treat. She was sure most of her experiences of her late teens and twenties at SAMCRO’s clubhouse had been hazy and less about tenderness. 

Experiences with Gunner had held zero tenderness to them. She shoved the thought from her mind refusing to allow the man to taint what she was experiencing in the moment with Chibs.

She could admit that sex had never felt quite this satisfying before and she was astounded by the knowledge as they’d barely gotten started. 

He began to thrust in and out of her moving at a slow pace both wanting to appreciate the sensation of making love to her. He found himself wanting to move slow with her, remembering her request to love her.

He found himself determined to show her exactly how a man should have been making love to her all this time. He wanted to fuck away any memories of the awful sexual encounters she’d had with Gunner. He wanted to fuck away any of the experiences she’d had with any man in a kutte during her years hanging around with SAMCRO. A possessive voice in the back of his head told him that he wanted to show her that he was the only man in a kutte who should have the privilege of being inside of her. 

He found that he even wanted to out-fuck any man who she’d known in her time in New York. He wanted to ruin her for other men because she’d already ruined him for any other woman without being aware of it. 

He spoke his words needy and adoring. “Yer so perfect, Hen. Shite, never thought I could have this. Wanted ye from the second we met. Fuckin saw ye that firs time and couldn’t stop starin at ye, couldn’t stop thinkin bout ye. Had to have ye.”

She whined remembering the lust that had washed over her the moment he’d peered at her over his sunglasses upon their first meeting in the crematorium.

She was certain if someone had told her that the strange Scottish Son who had come along with Jackson Teller and a few other Sons to complicate her life, would one day not only be in her bed but have his dick buried in her, she would not believe it.

She managed to speak her voice soft. “Oh, Filip. Fuck, wanted you too, didn’t want ot admit it, but my body knew it wanted you. You feel so good.”

“Aye, how do I feel, Hen?” He dared to ask continuing his thrusts the words strained it taking everything in him not to just give into lust and fuck her hard up into her headboard.

He wanted to slam into her ensuring she’d not be able to walk the next day without remembering his dick inside of her. He wanted to flip her over and take her from behind spanking her backside. He wanted to lie on his back and have her ride him so he could watch his cock disappear into her tight heat. 

He held back knowing he’d have plenty of opportunities to take her in every position she’d allow. 

She spoke, her nails digging into his back, her head falling back, her eyes sliding shut as she soaked up the pleasure. “You feel so big, amazing.”

He nipped at her neck knowing he had already probably left several love bites along her skin so what was another?

He continued to thrust in her, his eyes unable to leave her features. He was certain he’d never seen a more stunning sight; her head fallen back against the pillows, her skin flushed with arousal and damp with sweat, her lips parted sweet moans leaving her, her eyes fluttering caught between wanting to sink into pleasure and wanting to watch him.

He rocked into her eagerly, her legs wrapping around his hips, her hips tilting back allowing him to thrust at a deeper angle.

He grunted at the deeper angle knowing that he was not lying to her earlier. She did feel like heaven and he was almost certain he never wanted to leave her tight body. He was quite certain she could ask him for anything in this moment and he’d readily agree to it without hesitation.

He was once again overtaken with the knowledge that he’d do anything for her. It was a realization that should make him nervous, but all he felt was a sense of ease and comfort.

He knew she’d never ask him for anything that would betray his trust or his loyalty to the club or any of his brothers. She wanted him as he was, SAMCRO, his tragic past, the complicated life he’d left in Belfast, the danger that he was capable of, and the danger that might follow him.

She wanted him. It was a beautiful realization knowing Y/N wanted him. 

He was once again taken with the desire to be worthy of her wanting him. He didn’t feel nearly deserving of her affection or her desire. 

A voice in the back of his head exclaimed that she could do a hell of a lot better than him. She could date some nice normal guy; someone like Deputy Hale.

It would be so easy for her to find a good guy after dealing with all the horror dating bad guys had subjected her to with Gunner. 

She’d chosen Chibs though. It was a shock to him but he was thankful she’d chosen him. He was astounded that she’d chosen Filip the outlaw with the complicated past who wore evidence of that past along his face. 

He was in awe that she’d chosen him and seemingly adored him.

She whined her fingers digging into his back the longer he thrusted her hips rocking against his overwhelmed with how good he felt.

She had a feeling with as overwhelming as this was, if it had been any other man she might have tapped out.

She was once again overtaken with the awareness that sex had ever felt so good with a guy. Her past encounters after leaving Charming had been unsatisfying.

She knew she and her traumas were partially to blame. After her violent relationship with Gunner, she had not quite felt comfortable in most sexual situations. 

The few boyfriends she had in New York had realized she was jumpy and closed off in the bedroom and cold and distant outside the bedroom. She’d struggled to relax during sex enough to actually feel good. 

With Chibs it was so easy to relax. She had to wonder if it was just that he knew about her past and knew exactly how to approach all of this without freaking her out. Or perhaps it was just simply that she trusted him so deeply. She knew he would never harm her.

She knew it was a contradictory thought; the dangerous outlaw would not hurt her. She was well aware of what he was capable of by seeing what little she’d been forced to see of his rap sheet. 

She trusted in her heart though that Filip Chibs Telford would never harm her. This was the man who had been so gentle with her from the start. She knew what was in his heart. She knew she was lucky enough to be in his heart.

She gasped, her voice pleading. “More, Filip, Please.” 

He groaned, willing himself to speed up his pace, his thrusts growing a little more frantic, struggling to keep his pace and the rhythm that seemed to be pleasing her.

She whined her hand sliding down her body finding her clit. She caressed the bundle of nerves rubbing tight circles into it, the sensation increasing everything she was feeling.

Chibs groaned it hitting him what she was doing. He gazed down at her hating that he couldn’t angle his body enough to fully appreciate the sight of what she was doing. He made a note to get her to do this again when he got  her to ride his cock. 

“Fuck, Hen. Touch that clit fer me. That’s my Lass.” he groaned, encouraging her.

She rubbed more rapidly the combination of her fingers against her clit and his cock sliding in and out of her making her slide closer and closer to the edge.

She moaned his name, the sound urging him on his cock aching. He was certain his name never sounded so perfect on anyone’s lips. He could remember how overjoyed he’d been when she’d told him she would prefer to call him Filip during that first proper phone conversation they’d had. 

She moaned all the more, her clit throbbing as her end approached closer and closer by the second. She felt it building within her so close she could almost grasp it. It felt as though a spring was coiling tightly within her bound to release at any moment. 

Chibs moaned his voice low and full of adoration encouraging her. “Come on, Hen. Cum fer me, Love. Let go fer me.”

She moaned, her body shuddering as she fell over the edge shockwaves washing over her. Her fingers continued to rub circles into her clit as she came, her center contracting around his cock causing him to groan.

His thrusts sped up all the more growing sloppy his cock throbbing as his end drew nearer and nearer.

She whined moving her fingers from her clit, it quickly becoming overstimulating. She gasped her hands sliding along his back caressing him as he continued to thrust chasing his own end. 

Her body felt heavy and sensitive underneath him, the feel of him sliding in and out of her almost too much. She resisted the urge to pull from him wanting him to find his release in her. 

He groaned his voice thick and slurred the closer he got to the edge. “Gonna fuckin cum, Shite, Lass.”

She spoke encouraging him to reach his end, wanting so badly to please him as much as he’d pleased her. “Please, Filip. Cum.”

He groaned his end hitting him hard, his last thrusts desperate and clumsy as he slid over the edge releasing into the condom. His body jerked his cock pulsing as he fell apart. His release spilled into the condom with far more force than he’d anticipated. A voice in the back of his head marveled that he’d not cum with this much force since his earliest sexual encounters. 

She rocked her hips against his encouraging him working her pelvic floor to help work his end the action making him groan her name leaving his lips along with a few low curse words. 

He moaned it hitting him this was the second time he’d cum tonight, the thought making a pleasant shudder run through his body.

He collapsed against her thrusting weakly against her, rocking the last of his orgasm into the condom, his cock twitching as he spilled the last drops of himself.

He pressed lazy kisses against her skin as he came down from his orgasm. He found himself unwilling to pull from her just yet wanting to soak up the feeling of her underneath him, her arms wrapped around his waist.

She kept a tight grip on him, apparently just as eager to keep him within her and over her, the sensation making her feel safe and adored.

He groaned as his cock began to soften, it slipping from her against his will. He reluctantly rolled off of her, she allowing him to do so.

They laid on their backs, their breathing heavy and their bodies soaked in sweat.

She spoke weakly waving off towards the nightstand, her hand feeling heavy. “There should be tissue somewhere…for the condom.”

He nodded his head lying there for a moment trying to find the will to move his body feeling so heavy and relaxed.

He reached out, grabbing a tissue, removing the condom and tying it off. He tossed it in a little wicker wastebasket by the bed before he collapsed back into the bed.

He opened his arms for her, relieved as she scooted close to him, her head resting against his chest.

She wrapped an arm around his waist finding it easy to sink against his embrace, her body feeling so relaxed a sense of security washing over her.

He found the bedsheets as the cool room began to make them both feel clammy. He spoke his voice drowsy, he wanting to check in on her hoping he’d managed to love her the way she’d requested. “How’re ye doin, Hen?”

“Perfect…you?” She responded, unable to deny the giddy drowsy feeling washing over her.

“Perfect.” He replied, his eyes growing heavy, struggling not to give into the desire to pass out his body feeling satisfied and he feeling completely at ease.

She felt her own eyes grow heavy, she overcome with how adored and secure she felt at the moment. She couldn’t remember feeling this at ease with a man before in her entire life. The words left her lips before she could stop them. “I love you, Filip.”

She felt her stomach drop as soon as it hit her just what she’d blurted out. She shot up in bed certain that she had just screwed everything up.

A voice in the back of her head exclaimed that she was an idiot for blurting this statement out like this. What if he didn’t feel the same? The voice claimed that he couldn’t be in love with her. In her experience she wasn’t the kind of woman men loved. It was too soon for declarations of love, a voice taunted her. She was most likely coming across as a clingy mess. Men hated clingy. 

Chibs widened his eyes, the words washing over him. He gazed up at her stunned by her reaction to her declaration of love.

He sat up gently reaching out for her terrified that her reaction meant she regretted saying the words.

A voice in the back of his head told him that she could not actually love him. He was not the kind of man that was deserving of something so pure. He’d done so many awful things and was not the kind of man women wanted to give love to. 

Y/N spoke hoping to do some damage control. “I am a big girl and can take it if you ….don’t feel the same, or aren’t there yet. I just, I can’t hide how I feel. I promise this isn’t just the fact that you gave me an amazing orgasm talking. I love you. How could I not? I-uh. So, you don’t have to feel pressured to say it back because I said it. I’m fine if you aren’t ready to say it back.”

Chibs furrowed his brow, thrown off by her comments. How could she not realize he loved her? How could she think he couldn’t?

He pressed his lips to her temple, his voice gentle. “Look at me, Hen.” 

She turned her head to face him cringing fearing the worse. He spoke, his lips pressing to hers, his voice reassuring. “How could I not love ye, Hen? I don’t know if ye noticed, but I’m a wee bit crazy fer ye. Pretty sure I offered to kill fer ye.”

He cringed at the last part of his statement; he was not quite sure if bringing up his offer to kill Gunner was welcome when she was clearly feeling vulnerable.

He spoke again soothing any possibility that he’d made this so much worse. “I love ye, Y/N. I have already said I love ye to ye…I technically said it firs, Hen. Ye were jus asleep the firs time I said it.”

“I was?” She blurted out, he nodding his head, his cheeks darkening somewhat.

“Aye…it was ah…after that fuckin incredible handjob ye gave me a few weeks back. I promise that was not my orgasm talkin, Hen. Ye made me cum hard, but I swear to ye that I was speakin from the heart and not my dick. I promise, I love ye.”

She spoke the words leaving her before her lips pressed to his. “I love you, Filip.”

He smiled against the kiss he reluctantly pulling back the words leaving him. “I love ye too.”

He managed to pull her back against him, settling down into her bed, his lips pressing to the top of her head as she rested her head against his chest.

He held her against him, his words soft as he allowed sleep to flood his system exhaustion hitting him. “I love ye, Mo leannan.”

She spoke, her own eyes growing heavy, the words spilling from her without hesitation or shame. “I love you.”

The thought washed over her making her feel secure and cozy as sleep took hold. He loved her. Filip Chibs Telford loved her. 

—---------------------------------------------------------------

Chibs groaned reluctantly, pulling from her embrace and her warm bed his aching bladder making it clear that he would not be able to hold off needing to pee much longer.

He found his boxers on the floor sliding them on the air conditioning flipping on making her bedroom icy.

He was certain that she’d practically ran to the bathroom an hour or so ago. He had only woken briefly long enough to hear her grumble something about UTI’s and how peeing after sex was the best way to avoid them. She was half asleep, the comment being clearly not meant for his ears. 

He was so drowsy though that he was unsure if he’d heard her correctly.

The run to her bathroom and back into bed had been quick; she clearly wanted to get back to the warm bed and back to his embrace.

He walked his movements slow and careful not to wake her as he went into her master bathroom shutting the door behind him before he flipped on the lightswitch.

He took care of business washing his hands, the cold room and the overhead lights making his brain wake up more than he would prefer.

He groaned, wanting nothing more than to slide back into bed with her and embrace the comfort of sleep.

The file sitting out in her living room was a sirens call though. His mind could not pull from it the need to see just what Agent Stahl had shown Y/N too tempting to ignore.

He shut off the light in the bathroom blinking trying to adjust to the darkness around him as he left the bathroom making his way through her bedroom thankfully without causing any noise.

He made his way down the hall, his stomach in knots as he approached her living room.

He felt his stomach turn as he spotted the file even with all the clutter she complained about in her home; past heirlooms from the generations that had lived here before her.

He sat down on her sofa thankful she’d forgotten to turn off the lamp on the table before she’d asked him to take her to bed.

He reached out his hands shaking as he opened the folder, his eyes scanning the police reports, nothing featured within them a surprise.

At least Stahl had not doctored some fake reports in an attempt to make him appear to be more brutal than he knew he was.

He felt his stomach churn knowing that there was far more that he’d done than was featured in these reports. These were just the actions he’d been caught doing.

He felt his stomach churn all the more, spotting the mugshot of his estranged wife within the folder.

He remembered the arrest as she’d been handcuffed by his side and shoved into the back of a police car beside him. He’d been cursing up a storm and throwing out expletives about the arresting officers insulting their loyalty to the crown calling them dirty loyalist pigs.

Fiona had been so calm though; elegant even in the back of a police car. She had said nothing, only occasionally telling her husband to calm himself. 

They’d been arrested for a brawl. There was always fighting in the streets back in those days. His twenties were a haze of bombings, bullets, and fists. He had thrived in the violence and the chaos.

He had loved the chaos. He had found a home in the horror of it all. He had found a cause to dedicate himself to and he was willing to die for it. He was a loyal man when he found something to fight for, even back then. 

He was certain that he’d die at any moment and he’d been at peace with it. He had told himself he’d be dying for a cause he believed in.

When Kerrianne had been born in his thirties he no longer was at peace with the thought of dying for the cause. His baby had shifted his heart. He was no longer as filled with rage and pure spite. He was still loyal to the cause but he was less quick to fly off the handle without a second's notice. He had learned to hold back the need to fight first and ask questions later. He was more prone to sit back and observe.

He knew his hesitance to fly into a rage had made him appear weak. His loyalties to the cause had been joined by loyalties to his baby.

Jimmy O’ had used this appearance of weakness to push Chibs from the cause. All it took was the suggestion of disloyalty and weakness and Jimmy O’ had been given the go ahead to dispose of Filip Telford. 

Chibs was unsure if Jimmy O’ had also been given the go ahead to take Fiona and Kerrianne for his own, or if that had been a personal choice that had just been tolerated from the Army Council. 

Chibs knew Jimmy O’ had won over favor with the Army Council. He was proving to be a smart and resourceful soldier to the cause. He’d earned leadership of his own crew who he ran with an iron fist. He didn’t care about risk or danger when it came to his actions. He was willing to cost lives for the cause and the council only saw it as Jimmy O’ being dedicated and capable of bringing out that dedication in others. 

They saw him as someone who was willing to get his hands dirty and deal with the day to day tasks that were required of the cause. 

Chibs knew that Jimmy O’ was still in favor with the Army Council. He only had to answer to them for any of his actions. He was still running his own crew. He was still involved in recruitment and he was good at it. He had found himself a cushy position in the True IRA.

Chibs frowned at the photo of Fiona overtaken by the thought that her first love had always been the cause. He was sure she’d loved in order; the cause and then him. Then when Kerrianne had come along she’d loved her of course, though she’d not been entirely pleased to be pregnant seeing it as a hindrance in her fight for the cause.

She had been a good mother though; she’d loved their child. She had remained a loyal soldier though.

He at times had wondered if it had been so easy to believe in the cause and fight for it because he associated the fight for a free Ireland with his love for Fiona. He had loved her therefore her passions had become his own.

He knew of course that he was unable to blame her for the path he’d taken. She had introduced him to the concept of a free Ireland, but he’d been the one to listen so intently and practically trip over himself to become involved. He’d been loyal to the cause. He could admit he’d found an outlet for his anger in it. He fell into the promises of the True IRA hook line and sinker. Fiona had been an encouragement of his dedication to the cause, but he’d made the choice on his own.

He was overcome with mixed feelings at the sight of Fiona’s mugshot. A few years ago he would have wanted to take the photo and keep it close to him. He would have cherished the captured image of her even if it had been taken in a moment of such chaos.

He found that he had no desire to cradle it close to his heart though. He felt no need to cherish the image. He found that gazing upon it only filled him with sorrow and a mix of feelings he could not place. He did love her; though he’d found that it was not that deep longing love he had always assumed he felt for her. He cared for her. He did not want to cherish an image of her though and long for her to be by his side. 

It was a shock; not feeling the longing that he’d become so familiar with when it came to thoughts of Fiona. 

He picked up a mugshot sitting alongside it, a younger version of himself staring back up at him.

He felt his heart twist at the image. The man in the photo looked like a stranger. His face was free of the scars Jimmy O’ had left him with. He was in his twenties in the photo. He was far too thin, his hair dark and free of the hints of silver that had developed over the past few years. His mouth was fixed into a scowl and his gaze was intense and dark. He’d been young and so filled with an immature and honestly unearned sense of pride. 

Chibs jerked almost dropping the photo as a soft voice sounded out beside him. “What are you doing up? I’m missing my in-bed furnace. I need someone to shove my feet against when I get too chilly.”

He gazed up at the owner of the voice, his heart lifting at the sight of her. The sight of her was a welcome distraction from his trip down memory lane.

She’d found a nightgown from her dresser, this one a long pale green silk gown with thin straps and white lace along the trim. He admired the sight of her, sure he’d never get enough of seeing her in a nightgown.

He had found that he enjoyed lying by her side at night, the soft silk of her nightgowns pressed to him the material soft against her curves. 

She sat down beside him, her stomach turning at the open file in front of them and the photo of his estranged wife sitting out. 

An insecure voice in the back of her head told her he’d been gazing at it longing for a woman he could not have.

She shoved the insecure paranoid voice back as Chibs spoke nodding down to the mugshot he was holding in his hand. “Jus rememberin how young I use to be. Shite, look at me. Fuckin full of piss vinegar and cum.”

She rolled her eyes at the last part of his statement. She gazed at the photo in his hand studying it closer than she’d allowed herself to do in front of Agent Stahl. “You look like you were an intense guy.”

“Aye, I was. I had a fuckin loud mouth too…never knew when to shut up until I learned the hard way.” Chibs admitted staring down at the photo of himself.

She dared to ask, unable to shove back her curiosity. “What was the hard way?”

“Fuckin bomb almost took me out. Was helpin plant some explosives with an older lad…he was more experienced than me, but I didn’t care. I was too cocky and runnin my mouth, not listenin to his warnings...one of em got set off and I was at least smart nough to hear it and run. Thank god the one that went off was weaker than it shoulda been. Wasn’t hooked up righ so it was a small fire more than anythin… Still got knocked flat on the ground, broke my damn arm. Taught me to shut up more often. I learned to listen and not assume I knew what I was doin. I learned to take direction a wee bit better. I learned to sit back and let people act before I jumped into action and got myself a world of hurt….I was still an angry lad of course, but I was less stupid in my rage. It was a hard lesson to learn, but it probably kept me alive.” He admitted not wanting to meet her gaze at the mention of bombs.

He spoke again, shaking his head a soft sigh leaving him. “It was a miracle I survived my twenties. Belfast in the eighties and early nineties was somethin else. I was pretty sure I wouldn’t have survived it…and I didn’t care….not till my Kerrianne was born. She made dyin in fer the cause seem less noble.”

Y/N dared to speak, trying not to focus on the mention of his deeds in Belfast knowing it was something she might never feel at peace with but it was his past all the same. “She was four the last time you saw her?”

He cringed, nodding his head, the memory feeling so fresh still. “Maureen Ashby…she was a lass that hung round SAMBEL…datin our club pres…she an Fiona were close…she managed to sneak me by a market she knew Kerrianne would be at with Fiona…I was only able to see em from far away…Jimmy O’ never let em out of his sight without one of his lads nearby. I was able to see her for a moment…watch her smelling the flowers…She was so tiny…head full of curls and my nose and ears…She was carrying this wee stuffed animal…a white teddy bear. It should have been comfortin…but it was jus torture. Seeing my baby knowin I couldn’t go near her. She was a baby when Jimmy O’ attacked me. I loved her…loved her so much it hurt. I loved bein a Da. I thought it was a chance to be better than my own Da…I wanted so much fer her, had so many dreams fer her…Maureen promised to give her photos of me as the years went by…let her know I exist, let her know I love her. Don’t know if she jus told me that to comfort me. It would probably be too dangerous…lettin Kerrianne know her da is out there and he loves her. Jimmy O’ wouldn’ stand fer it. Even if he allowed it I’m sure he told her I ran off to America and abandoned her like some sort of arse, running from his family and the cause. Sometimes I dream bout my baby…memories of her. It hurts. I hate it.”

He paused, his throat growing tight he shaking his head. “Pretty soon after that tensions between the True IRA, SAMBEL, and SAMCRO started gettin too much and hinting they might fall apart…sendin a lad over to patch into SAMCRO and help deal with the Irish was a suggested way to ease tensions. I was a perfect candidate given my involvement with the cause and the MC. They knew where my loyalties would lie. I took the chance to get the hell out of Belfast…ain’ been back since.”

She wrapped her arms around his upper arm, her head resting against his shoulder as she spoke. “I’m sorry.”

He furrowed his brow, tempted to tell her that she did not need to apologize for bringing up the memory. 

She spoke, her head turning to press a kiss against his arm. “For what it’s worth…I hope Kerrianne does know you’re out there. I hope she knows you love her…if you didn’t love her you wouldn’t keep her so close to your heart.”

He felt a small smile cross his lips knowing she was referencing the tattoo across his heart. His daughter’s name in celtic print. “Aye, it's all I can do.”

They sat in silence for a moment, she daring to speak. “What do you want me to do with the file…do you want it?”

He frowned, understanding that she was not exactly asking about the file itself nor the police reports. This was about the mugshot of his estranged wife. 

He could feel the tension in her body as she continued to hold on to his arm. She was testing him, waiting to see where and with whom his heart laid. 

He felt the words leave him without hesitation. “Fuckin burn it, Hen. Ain’ nothin in there I need.”

He paused, not missing the chance to tease her. “Though…we can save one of these mugshots of me…ya can frame it to put by yer bed…or I can get ye a locket and ye can size down one of the photos to keep in it. Ye can show it off when people ask bout yer boyfriend…really give em a shock. We can put one of yer mugshots on the other side of the locket…make it real romantic.”

She rolled her eyes at this comment, the tension leaving her body a giggle leaving her the sound a relief to him given the tension of the conversation. “I think if I want a photo of you by my bed or in a locket, I would prefer you to look less pissed off…and more sober judging by a few of those mugshots I spotted in there.”

“Aye, fine. I do think there is a photo in there of me was when I was fuckin shitefaced. Pretty sure I’m flippin the bird at the camera…I look like hell in it. I got picked up with fuckin Juice fer some shite, I don’t even remember it, I think I was fightin though…maybe breakin and enterin too. I jus remember the hangover more than anything. It aint the one we have hangin in the clubhouse though I was pretty stoned in that one  and I’m flippin the bird in it. That one was from Kern county. Pretty sure I was on a run with Tig and Bobby in that one, or on the way back from a run. I had a wee bit of a joint with Bobby and ye can see it in my face…Got pulled over and ran my mouth, cops weren’t amused.” He admitted recalling a few of the mugshots in the file. He knew those were the milder offenses on his record. 

He paused an idea entering his brain, unable to avoid the temptation to tease her.

“ Still gettin ye a mugshot of me…ye know fer yer fridge or somethin…or in yer office…really make Skeeter cringe.” He teased not wanting to admit that he was pretty tempted to make good on the offer.

She shook her head standing up, her voice drowsy. “I am both starving and exhausted…we literally did not eat dinner…and don’t you say that you fed me your cock.”

He snorted at the comment biting his tongue to keep any smart comments from leaving him.

She spoke nodding at the file. “If I get you the matches will you burn that damn file in the fireplace in the dining room? I have some leftover Chinese takeout in the fridge that I can heat up for us and some beer too.”

He chuckled standing up from the sofa as he spoke, tossing the mugshot down on the file more than eager to burn it to ashes. “Aye, takeout and burnin my criminal record. Sounds like a good night in.”

She shook her head, her lips pressing to his cheek before she headed to the kitchen. He called out behind her the words leaving him without hesitation. “I love ye.”

“I love you too.” She replied over her shoulder the comment filling them both with ease.

He gazed down at the file shutting it knowing that he’d been telling her the truth. There was nothing in that file he wanted nor needed.

He knew where his heart laid.

[strawberrybasilsorbet]

Jilytober Day 31

Managed to write one more @jilytoberfest microfic to end the month! Happy Halloween, everybody :) October 31st Prompt: Unintentional couples costumes

It wasn't until just before they'd planned to leave — when she was running the curling iron through her fringe —  that Lily noticed.

She had thrifted the dress a week ago, before she'd taken the plunge on the new haircut. With its itty-bitty skirt and bright purple fabric, the silhouette was a bit dated, but it had been among the cutest looks that she could wrangle for the price — and with the Order sending them out undercover every other day, price was no small concern for Lily when she shopped for Muggle clothes nowadays.

It had only been four months since she, her boyfriend, and half a dozen of their Hogwarts classmates had graduated from school and joined Albus Dumbledore's secret coalition opposing the Death Eaters. Although it had seemed a daredevil decision at first, the Order of the Phoenix had so far set its youngest recruits only to low-stakes missions and a rigorous run of trainings with some of its members from the Auror Department. None of them had yet found themselves in any real fights.

Instead, the intimidating Mad-Eye Moody — whom most of her peers found vaguely terrifying, but whose dry sarcasm had endeared him to Lily — had set his new recruits as spies and lookouts, spending afternoons blending into the crowds at Muggle locations suspected of being vulnerable targets for attack. As the summer blazed into autumn, Lily and her friends paired off in twos or threes to sit in cafés, stroll the zoo, or (in the case of the Muggle-born members) drive back and forth along major bridges, ready to send a message by Patronus in case something went wrong.

It a strangely peaceful way to enter a war. Lily wondered if it could last.

She turned from the mirror, grinning at the silliness of her realization. Sirius was lounging on the sofa in a biker jacket and Led Zepplin T-shirt, but James — who had never been quite as comfortable in Muggle clothes — had played it safe with his disguise, opting for a plain pair of blue jeans and a white, collared shirt. "James," she said, trying not to laugh. "I just realized — we're dressed like Fred and Daphne!"

"Hmm?" James asked, looking down at his own clothes.

"From Scooby-Doo!" James looked back blankly. "The cartoon? I don't suppose you would have seen it, but it was pretty popular show when we were kids."

Lily had loved watching Scooby-Doo, Where Are You! on the BBC when she was nine or ten. She remembered squeezing on the couch between Tuney, prim face scrunched up in grudging tolerance, and Sev, who would often stop over for breakfast on weekend mornings when his own parents' finances were stretched thin. In those days, piling onto the couch and watching cartoons together had been one of the only activities that could sustain a truce between Lily's prissy sister and her shabby best friend.

"A cartoon — that's from the telly-vision?"

Sirius looked up, curious as always. "I don't know if I've heard of it."

"I'll have to find us a re-run," Lily said. Nostalgia warmed her voice. With a swish of her wand, she set about enhancing their accidental costume — adding a touch of blue to James's collar; conjuring herself a pair of heels, a headband, and a green scarf. Sirius snorted when she transfigured a stubbed-out cigarette into a bright orange ascot and pursed her lips, trying to tie it properly around James's neck.

James raised his eyebrows. "Why do I feel ridiculous?"

"Because Mystery Inc. are ridiculous, James!" Lily said, teasing. "This really is too perfect. We won't be the only people dressed up this weekend — it's practically Halloween."

"Ah! Costumes, right?" asked Sirius, unable — as usual — to resist an opportunity to show off his Muggle Studies bona fides.

"I have always wanted to try that," James said.

Lily quirked her head and considered him, fingering her wand thoughtfully. "Do we have time to make you blond?"

Sirius burst into laughter. "Oh, definitely," he said, raising his own. "Let's make it really authentic."

James's shield charm was accompanied by a handful of enthusiastic epithets. Lily giggled and turned back to the mirror, fluffing up her fringe to cinch the look. "Don't worry, love," she said, "I think people will get the gist." Lily tossed on a coat of pink lip gloss. "What we really need," she said, turning back to James, "is a few more Order members. Do you think we could call another girl to join our route?"

James shook his head. "I think everyone is out on assignments today." This wasn't a surprise — Halloween was a major Wizarding holiday, and Moody thought it was a prime time when Voldemort might strike — but Lily still felt a little disappointed. "Why?" James asked. "Do we need more people for the costume?"

Lily shrugged. "We don't really need more people, but...Fred and Daphne are side characters. It would help if we could add Shaggy and Velma — they're the rest of the mystery gang — or if we could add a van, or a dog. Something like that."

James and Sirius exchanged a look.

"A dog?" asked James.

"Mm-hmm," Lily affirmed, pulling on her shoes. "That's what happens on the show — the gang solve mysteries with their dog. Animals are a big thing in Muggle cartoons." She glanced up. James and Sirius were still looking at one another. "What?" Lily asked.

Breaking his staring contest with James, Sirius turned to Lily and smirked.

"Hey, Evans," he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. He raised an eyebrow. "Can you keep a secret?"

[galaxiasgreen]

📚🐦‍🔥Stay With Me

Slow burn Garreth x F!Reader romcom-mystery [T-Rated, 8.3k words]

"Now, I need you to ruffle yourself up a bit. Make yourself look dishevelled." He starts doing that to himself, raking his hand through his hair, unbuttoning his shirt collar, bunching up his cloak. You copy him, unsure, and when you're done, he thumps the door. Hard. "What? Garreth—" He lifts his hands. "May I?" "May you what?" "Touch you?"

During the next tutoring session, you admit you have no friends, so Garreth's determined to be your first.

It doesn't go quite to plan.

[PREV][NEXT]

[read on AO3, read on Wattpad]

2: A Near-Death Experience

The tutoring sessions continue.

On Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings, Garreth says goodbye to his friends, mentally rehearsing excuses for not doing your assigned homework, and makes his way to the agreed meeting spot. You both decide to change it frequently – sometimes in the library, sometimes in unused classrooms, and once or twice in the Great Hall, after dinner is served and the house tables are cleared of crumbs and spillages. And although he peddles his whoopsies, I missed a few questions by accident, you see through the lies and scold him for laziness anyway.

It becomes... somewhat of a strange routine, and even stranger, he accustoms to it quite naturally. His friends get used to hearing your name – Prim – mentioned in daily updates. One time you actually come up to him outside the required hours, before he sits for lunch at the Gryffindor table with Leander, Natsai and Cressida. You stall awkwardly for a moment, unwilling to interrupt his conversation.

"'Afternoon, Prim," he pipes when he sees you – then notices your closed expression. "What's the matter?"

"I'm sorry, I— have to reschedule tonight's session."

"Oh." To be honest, he's not that disappointed, but it does make him sad to see you clearly put out. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Just some family issues, is all. I have to sort it this evening. Would you be willing to meet tomorrow instead?"

Though curious, he decides not to pry.

"Or, and here's a crazy thought... we cancel it."

"Not a chance."

"Tomorrow it is. Good luck with your family things."

"Work on your transfiguration spells in the meantime."

You go then, back to the Ravenclaw table, and Garreth takes his seat. He notices then that Leander, Natty and Cress are staring at him. Grinning.

"What?"

"That's your study buddy?" Leander wiggles his brows. "She's cute."

"She sets me homework."

"... All right, less cute."

Natty elbows him. "Don't be mean."

"I may not be into swots, but if Garreth really gets off to the sadistic torture of history essays, fair play to him."

"Eat an entire Dugbog, Prewett."

"Having said that," Cress cuts across the boys, expectantly steepling her fingers, "we would like detailed descriptions of your alone time together. You know, for research purposes."

When they all await his answer, actually serious, Garreth scoffs. "You lot are mental. I make a new friend and you instantly think something else is going on?"

"Yeah," says Cress, "because you're you."

"Don't know what you mean."

"When you fancied Nerida Roberts," says Leander, "you just happened to stumble upon her at the boat house. Every day. That wasn't a coincidence, was it?"

"That was a long time ago!"

"It was literally last year."

"You're one to talk, Mr Fancy Every Girl Who Looks at Me Twice," Garreth remarks. "Prim and I, we're just studying."

"Oh, that what people call snogging nowadays?"

Leander narrowly dodges the bread roll. Garreth doesn't keep entertaining their silly notions – his friends have a penchant of taking the mickey out of everything. They don't really believe anything untoward happens in your tutor sessions...

But now that it's out there, he's surprised to find his best friend is kind of... right. You are cute. You have a pleasant face – if it weren't scowling all the time he might even look at you long enough to find you attractive. When the conversation moves on, he takes a discreet peak of you at the Ravenclaw table, nursing your food, textbook open, not saying a word to anyone else. What family issues do you have? What's so pressing that it's forced you to put aside your upcoming O.W.L.s?

At the next tutoring session, he dares to ask.

"Sort your family things out, then?"

Your shoulders rise – again, an easy sign that he shouldn't have asked. Yet this time you reply.

"Yes, I did. Thank you."

"Was it bad?"

"Did you finish the homework I set you?"

The dismissal is obvious, but he lets it slide.

By October, you've warmed to him a little. He notices, in the way you don't scold him for being late, in the way your notes are less neat, in the way your tone relaxes as you instruct him on his pitiful wand technique. Most importantly you're less focused on only doing revision, letting other topics of conversation slip through the cracks. It culminates in a session on a Friday evening, when night has fallen and the library is quiet as most – okay, all – students have left their workloads behind for the weekend.

"I... have a question for you."

He's scribbling some key points for his Divination essay. "No, I can't remember where the witch trials took place. Salami, Mass-Murder-something, or whatever."

"No, that— that's not what I was going to ask." A beat. "And it's Salem, Massachusetts."

"That's what I said. What was your question?"

You hesitate long enough for him to look up from the parchment.

"What... actually happened last year? You know, down in the caverns below Hogwarts? With the goblin rebellion?"

He preens a little. "Ah." Finally, a chink in your armour. Finally you've asked the question most normal people asked the day after it happened. He sets his quill down. "That's a long, exhaustive story, not one for the weak-minded. You sure you can handle it?"

You give him the look.

He winks. "Just checking. It all begins with my friend, Missy – new student, started here last year. Remember her at the Sorting Ceremony? Came late, much taller than the first years, went to Slytherin?"

You nod. "I thought it was unusual to see someone start in fifth year."

"It was. Then it turned out she was spending the whole year with Professor Fig trying to stop the goblins mounting an attack on the school. No idea how she got involved, but it was a right muddle. Last year was just..." He blows a raspberry. "I had another good friend in Slytherin too. Sebastian Sallow."

Recognition flashes in you. "Wasn't he expelled?"

"Yeah. For murder. Also cursed my friend Gibby." Still, Sebastian showed nothing but remorse at his trial, and Garreth doesn't have the heart to think any worse of his friend. For a Slytherin he was great company, but Azkaban won't be treating him well; it deflates him a little. "Anyway, he showed up to fight against Ranrok with Missy and me and my friends. We were all determined to help her. Missy's the sort to want to do everything herself, but you know me. I can convince a Hippogriff it's a Horklump."

You crack a smile at that. He feels gratification. A real smile!

"Ranrok and his goblins were there, going on about taking over wizardkind, blah blah blah, and we banded together to defeat them. With the professors' help, of course." He's sworn to omit another truth, that Missy absorbed some sort of primordial magic into her body. That she's basically Bombarda in human form. "Ranrok was defeated, Gibby woke from her curse, and Hogwarts and the wizarding world was saved. You're welcome."

"That's astonishing," you mumble. "And you did that all with your... friends?"

"Of course. I mean, I wouldn't say I was friends with all of them before. Imelda would've happily fed me in pieces to a Flobberworm, for example. Now she would probably feel guilty enough to sacrifice me to something a little grander. A Grindylow, maybe. And I thought Ominis was an uptight arse, but actually he's not as intimidating as he pretends. I've been getting to know him a little better this term." He grins. "Once you have a near-death experience with someone, you're kind of obligated to be friends with them for life."

You tilt your head, taking this in.

"And you?" he asks. "I guess you were hiding out in the Ravenclaw common room when it all went down?"

"No. I was in the library."

"What? Why?" You make a face. Obviously, Garreth. "Studying, right, right, but didn't you... you know, think maybe this was the end of life as we know it, and decide you didn't want to spend it with a nose in a book?"

"I mean... what else was I supposed to do?"

"Er, accept your terrible fate and brave death with your friends?"

Your lips form a thin line then. Your expression sours.

"I— I don't have any friends."

He laughs, because the statement is so absurd it's unbelievable, but when you flush, he cuts himself short.

"That's— that's just nonsense! How can you not have friends?"

"I just— don't."

"As in, you had friends but then you had an epic fight and no longer speak to them? Or... or you never had any to begin with?"

Your silence speaks volumes, and it stuns him. Five years you've been here, and not made a single friend.

"What about the other fifth-year Ravenclaws?"

"They're all friends with each other. Not me."

"And the girls in your dorm?"

"We're polite."

But not close.

It really hits him then. His aunt hasn't just assigned you through an alignment of the stars, because you happen to need help with every subject he's good at, and he happens to need help with every subject you're good at. She's also bound you together because you are lonely. Because, despite everything, Garreth is good with people, and you're... not.

The machinations of his clever Aunt Matilda. Oh, how sly.

But all right. Maybe this was more than a lucky coincidence. Maybe this was his aunt's scheme all along. But he can gain something from this, too: fulfilment from your enforced time together. If he can bring you out of your shell, help you engage with your life here, not just the books, then you will be better for it, and he will feel accomplished.

And less of a failure.

"Well, I can be your first friend then," he says. "That is, if you want."

Surprise colours your cheeks, and your eyes dart back and forth across him, searching for the lie, the trick.

"Why?"

"Because it's sad, that's why," he says earnestly. "Everyone should have at least one friend. You should really find someone in your year, but you know. I'm pretty great too."

"I— I guess, but..."

"But what?"

"I mean," you sound flustered, "I don't really know how to have friends."

Merlin's beard, this is not the conversation he thought he'd be having today. Or ever. "It's easy. You spend time together. You laugh and empathise with each other's anecdotes. You tell one another that Garreth Weasley is a delightful young man— that was a joke," he tacks on at your deadpan expression. "You just... you know, enjoy each other's company. Just like – prepare to be shocked – we're doing right now."

Your brow furrows. "You're not doing this because you want to, though. You're doing it because you have to."

He leans back then, contemplative, because it's true. At least, it was. Now, though he finds the studying part extraordinarily dull, he rather likes coming to meet you. You're stern and aloof, but in a fun way. He can prod you and find a sense of gratification when you bite back.

"Maybe at the start, but actually, you're all right, Prim."

"I still hate that nickname."

He laughs. "Good. There, that's something friends do too. Give each other terrible nicknames."

"Then what should I call you?"

"Handsome, obviously."

You roll your eyes. Another emotion. He swells with pride.

Your next session, which you decide should take place in the Transfiguration classroom itself – with his aunt's permission, of course – is two days later, after a particularly gruelling Herbology class (Arthur Plummly almost lost his hand and six-and-a-half toes). Still, he looks forward to seeing you again, and you work on his terrible attempts to change a pawn piece to a queen as you chat.

"What do you like to do in your spare time?" When you look at him, confused, he notes airily, "Friends have common ground. You know, like sharing hobbies?"

You shift and place your wand down. "Okay, well... I like to bake."

"To bake, huh? That's a very Muggle activity."

You shrug. "My mother is a Muggle, so that makes sense."

"You're a Muggle-born?"

"No. My father is a Squib."

"Oh?" That's an interesting combination. "That must've been a surprise for him."

"It was," you say fondly. "I suppose he thought he was going to have an ordinary family when he and my mother— when they moved here from Asia." You seem stiff suddenly. "Then I came along. We lived in— a regular Muggle neighbourhood. I wasn't aware of my father's heritage and neither was my mother, so she wasn't best thrilled when I got my letter, though it did bring her comfort to know the truth behind the many times I accidentally set fire to her washing line."

"We've all set fire to a washing line once or twice in our lives," he muses. "Is she superstitious?"

"Very. It's different in Asia."

He waits for you to elaborate, but you don't.

"Well," he says, going back to the original topic, "baking's great fun. I don't do it much at home, but my sister Clara's a fiend for it. Loves stuffing herself with cakes. Surprised you like it, to be honest. Bit ironic for someone bad at Potions."

"If I get the wrong measurement of flour," you say haughtily, "the bread isn't going to explode in my face."

"Fair point, but they're both about the coming together of ingredients to make a homogenous whole. If you approached Potions like that, you'd do much better at it, you know."

Your bottom lip juts. "I still prefer writing essays to blowing up cauldrons."

"That will change once I'm through with you."

"Doubt it."

He snorts, but fine. Rome wasn't built in a day, as the phrase goes, and this Rome might take an eternity to build.

But he's not one to give up.

"We'll see about that. And you'll have to bake me something soon. Not to brag, but I'm an excellent judge of a good cake."

"... You just want free food, don't you?"

"Obviously."

He walks you back to the Ravenclaw common room the next session – by total accident, mind, because he's chatting so enthusiastically about some potion ideas and you obviously don't have the heart to stop him.

"You brought Mr Weasley, I see," the eagle knocker sniffs once you reach the door. For a voice so musical it can sound so bloody smarmy. "Back from another revision session?"

"That's right," you say politely.

"Don't be nice to it," Garreth murmurs. "This knocker has attitude and doesn't deserve it."

"Only to you, because you think pranking me is entertaining."

"... I mean, it kind of is."

"Well," it says tartly, "you've never been able to solve any of my riddles, and that is something I find amusing."

"Yeah?" He's feeling particularly brazen today. "Go on, try me."

You quickly stifle a snort – which he doesn't miss – as the knocker clears its throat.

"Very well. A simple one then. What has eighty-eight keys, but no lock?"

He repeats the riddle to himself, twice. Nothing comes.

"A... key... collector?" He gives you a sidelong glance – you have sealed your lips together. "You already know the answer, don't you?"

"Yes."

"Ravenclaws..."

You wait, presumably so he can attempt another answer, but in the end he crosses his arms, frustrated. "All right, I give up."

"It's a piano." You turn to him. "Keys, but not referring to door keys."

In hindsight, it's really obvious, but the damn eagle knocker smarts.

"Correct." The door opens. "You may enter. You," it looks pointedly at Garreth, "need to work harder."

Don't I know it. Garreth sticks out his tongue. Very mature. You let out a sharp laugh, which makes him smile.

"You'll get it next time," you say. "I'll see you next Monday?"

"Next Monday," he confirms.

He finds himself still smiling on the way back to Gryffindor. He'll solve one of those riddles one day, if only to prove he can.

And, maybe, to impress you.

Inspiration strikes near Halloween. A genius idea, if he does say so himself, for something so simple. A drink that makes you float off the ground, like a Fizzing Whizzbee. Fizzing Whizz-beer, even.

Yes, he thinks, that's very clever. Instead of listening to Professor Garlick's treatise on the properties of Venomous Tentacula, Garreth hunches over his planting station and scribbles some ideas for the concoction. He'll need a slew of ingredients. Firstly it has to taste good – so Mallowsweet and sherbet is a must. Standard ingredient to mesh it together, then some sort of acid and base, for fizz.

Then he'll need the key thing rumoured to make Fizzing Whizzbees. Dried Billywig stings.

Where's he going to get dried Billywig stings? They're a bit of a rare commodity, given that they have the ability to grant temporary levitation. He can't buy the ingredients at J Pippin's, not with his aunt enforcing a ban on his going to the village (for fear of doing the very thing he's doing right now, naturally).

The answer pops into his head. Honeydukes. They have tons of them, used in their own sweets. But then, of course, he'll need to sneak inside...

And for that, he needs an accomplice.

Aptly, the very girl he considers first is next to him, sat upright, hands on lap, patiently listening to Garlick's lecture. He leans over.

"Missy. Pssst."

Her expression doesn't change as she leans towards him. "What is it?"

"How would you like to be part of something extraordinary?"

"Depends on what that is."

Slytherins and needing details, ugh. "Would you be up to, ahem, grabbing a few more ingredients for me?"

She bolts upright exactly when Garlick turns to them – rather an unnerving ability of hers which probably has something to do with that strange magic now running through her veins. Garlick smiles sweetly, unaware of their conversation, and continues down the row, marvelling on Tentacula leaf sizes. Missy leans to him again.

"The answer to your question," she says, "is no."

"No? You don't even know what I'm going to ask."

"I can read your parchment."

"I haven't written everything down."

"It literally says ask Missy to nick Billywig stings from Honeydukes."

Hmm. Perhaps nick was a strong word. "You nabbed the Fwooper feather from Sharp's office."

"And you got me in trouble for it."

"You get yourself into trouble all the time, need I remind you of, let's think... the entirety of last year?"

"Precisely why I'm trying not to this year," she says coolly. Merlin, her and her eerie composure. "Can't you do it?"

"'Course I can. I'm just asking you to accompany me. Give me an alibi if my aunt happens to notice I'm missing. I'll watch your back, you watch mine, you know?"

"You can't even watch your front," she says. "Why not ask someone else? Like Leander or Natty? Or Cressida?"

"None of them understand my talent for potions, Missy." And I don't want to drag them down if this goes horribly wrong. "They're above stealing."

"And I'm not?"

He arcs an eyebrow. She purses her lips.

"Just because I can doesn't mean I will. How about Everett?"

"That troll brain couldn't be sneaky to save his arse."

"Imelda?"

"I rather value my life, thank you."

"Gibby?"

"Would trip on her own feet before she even left her common room."

Missy scowls. "Well, I'm sorry, but it won't be me."

He groans – too loudly, as this time, Garlick does look over.

"Everything all right, Mr Weasley?"

"Everything's grand, Professor," he says, brooding. He doesn't have many options, if Missy won't do it.

Then lightning strikes a second time.

You could go with him.

Yes. This is a potion, after all, and you are but his acolyte, sponging knowledge from his inventive genius. He's determined not to make all his sessions laboratory-based, after all, just to doubly prove a point that a classroom isn't always the best place to learn. A trip down to Honeydukes would reinforce the memory of Billywig stings in your mind so hard, forgetting it for your O.W.L.s would be impossible.

And, bonus, he could dress it all up as a learning experience, and definitely not slacking.

So that Tuesday, a day before your session, he grabs you after dinner in the Great Hall.

"How would you like to have a fun session tomorrow?"

Your deadpan expression doesn't falter. "Your definition of fun is very different to mine."

"Honestly, why does no one trust me?"

"Do I really need to answer that?"

"... No, obviously not." He leans closer to you – you smell of peppermint. "Bring a bag, wear comfortable clothes, and meet me in the third-floor corridor, five o'clock sharp."

"Before dinner?" Your bottom lip curls. "What are you planning?"

"I promise, it'll be brilliant."

He winks and leaves, not giving you the chance to say no.

You meet him in the third-floor corridor the next day, in typical you fashion, half an hour early. It's quite surprising to see you in casual clothes, a tidy blouse and cardigan, tweed breeches and sensible shoes, all beneath a plain cloak. Your reticule ropes around your shoulder, but for once, it doesn't bulge with books.

You frown. "What's wrong with your jumper?"

"Hmm? Oh." He tugs at it beneath his own cloak. "My mama knitted this for me. It's red wool."

"I can see that. I meant the... design?"

"It's a G. It stands for Garreth."

"Why does it look like a man hunched over the privy?"

"Hey, letters are hard, and I never said my mama was any good at knitting. Come on."

He takes you to the statue of the one-eyed witch. He taps his wand to it. "Dissendium." The witch swivels, revealing the dusty trap door beneath. You freeze when he kneels to open it.

"What exactly are we doing?"

A rush of stale air funnels out when the door swings opens to a ladder below. "We're going on a little adventure to grab a rare potion ingredient."

Your tightening face betrays panic as your gaze flickers between him and the rungs.

"Adventure? Garreth, I didn't agree to that."

"You agreed to our tutoring session. Time to broaden your perspective, Prim. No essays today."

"And where does this lead?"

"Hogsmeade."

"Hogsmeade?" You step back. "Oh no, I can't go."

"Why not?"

You bite your lip in the silence. It's a very odd gesture that for some reason makes his heart stammer.

"I don't have permission to go to Hogsmeade..."

"What." Another day, another question that's not a question. "What do you mean, you can't go to Hogsmeade? Wait, wait. Have you ever been?"

You are silent. Merlin's sweaty armpits.

"You can't have never been, Prim! How do you get stuff? Quills and books and potion ingredients?"

"I ask the teachers."

He scoffs. Auntie Matilda must have known. "You're definitely coming now. No, no objections, Prim."

"My parents—"

"Don't have to know. Unless there's a specific reason you can't go?" Silence again. "Are you allergic to, I don't know, village air?"

"No."

"Halloween cheer?"

"No."

"Other people?"

"Yes," you say, then remembering yourself, "But not actually, no."

"So then what are they afraid of?"

"They're just— protective."

His brow furrows. It's absurd really. He shouldn't question it. He knows he's lucky when it comes to family – that his have never cared about what he does in his free time so long as he does what he's meant to during his school time. You've mentioned your Muggle mother is jaded with the magic world, so maybe this is her superstitions coming into full force. She doesn't trust an entire village of wizards.

Though that doesn't explain why your Squib father is the same.

"Then," he insists, "we are going to have a great time having a little look around. I'll be with you so you don't have to panic about... whatever it is you're panicking about. We can't go to J Pippin's, of course – Parry Pippin would mount a Graphorn for the opportunity to snitch my whereabouts – but the Three Broomsticks, definitely. Sirona Ryan's a treat." When your brow crumples, he says again, "Nope, this is a non-optional adventure."

"But—"

"Too late, I'm kidnapping you."

And he offers his hand.

You stare at it like it's a foreign object, leaving him in this awkward limbo where his hand is just... hovering there, waiting. Something light dances behind your eyes, sweeping colour across your face, and you reach over, slip your fingers, warm and delicate, into his. He makes the first step down, testing the weight, as he always does – you never know when this old thing will break – and it holds.

"Mind your step."

"This doesn't look safe."

"It's safer than a spider's den."

"That bar is so low it's in Australia, Garreth."

He hits the ground, followed shortly by your graceful alight, and dust swirls up at the disturbance. The trap door shuts, and he hears the grind of the witch's statue clanking back into place.

"Lumos." Your wand tip lights, and your face comes back into view as you take in the sight of the stone staircase. "What's this ingredient we're getting, then?"

"Dried Billywig stings."

"A Billywig's sting makes you giddy," you recall, "then makes you float."

"That's right."

"Wait." You clasp his arm – the touch surprises him. "You're getting it from the sweet shop?"

"Yep."

"But— you can't buy it, surely?"

Ah, yes. When he asked you to come along, he hadn't exactly thought about the intense cardinality of your moral compass. "Well, no, but I promise they won't miss them."

Your eyes go round. "You're stealing?"

"Goodness, Prim, I'm not robbing Gringotts! They have loads, won't even notice a handful are missing." You glare at him, making him wince. "I'll leave a Sickle on the counter, all right? I really need them—"

"For what?"

"A new potion I'm making! Beverage, really." He grimaces harder as your glare intensifies. "It's a Fizzing Whizzbee drink! Or, as I like to call it... Fizzing Whizz-beer."

You continue to stab him with eye daggers, completely unaffected by his extremely clever pun.

"So this isn't a Potions revision session, is it?"

"Is too. What potions use Billywig stings? If you can answer that, I'll let you go, on my honour."

But you are silent, and he knows he's got you.

"If it'll make you feel better," he suggests, continuing on down the steps, "I'll let you quiz me on Divination questions as we go."

It doesn't seem to assuage your doubts, but it does distract you enough that you pad after him, cautious of where you place your feet. You fire off questions Garreth only half-heartedly attempts to answer until, beyond the broken lift shaft, the rocky path tapers into a promontory over a deep cavern. The bridge here last time lies in a wrecked heap on the cavern's wet floor, far, far below.

He peers down at it, suspicious. "This a lot more... treacherous than I remember."

You squint at the other end of the splintered walkway, protruding over the gap.

"Do tell."

"Your sarcasm is noted and not appreciated."

"Do you know the spell to repair it?"

He pouts. "I'm not that incompetent." He takes out his wand. "Reparo!"

The pieces whirl back into place. Garreth feels good about the way your eyebrows dance in mock surprise. You test the build with a toe, pressing onto the wood cautiously, then stride over to the other side.

He preens as he strides after you. "See? I can do Charms."

"Not that incompetent," you say, with a tone that might be a little wry. "Your words."

"Hey, only I can parrot myself back to me. Unless I'm complimenting myself, in which case, feel free to copy."

Your lips quirk, which sends another flutter of pride through him. He likes that he can do that, make you smile, especially since you're usually so frosty. Like a great hurdle has been overcome between you. He follows you down the bridge, whistling Ernie Lark's tune – which you quickly decide is the most annoying song ever, and if he would kindly stop you would be most appreciative, which of course he doesn't – before you meet another three felled bridges, this time overlooking an abyss of damp earth, brimming with silty ditchwater.

"Why has this place been destroyed?"

"Good question. No idea."

"Don't you come down here frequently?"

"Not if I can help it. I don't need to sneak into Hogsmeade when my parents have already given me permission, remember. It's only because I'm technically under watch that I have to go this way. Last person probably wanted to use it as hex practice."

"How did you find out about it?"

"My cousins Leon and Hector. They knew every nook and cranny in this school. Could make a map if they really wanted."

He repairs the bridges one by one, and you cross each with apprehension. He should probably feel offended that you don't trust him, but, well, the wood is mossy and rotting, even after repairs – nasty – so it's no wonder you're so antsy. He's been here plenty of times though, so it doesn't concern him in the slightest.

You reach another tunnel, carved through the rock face, as he steps off the bridge behind you. Something scurries by your feet, and you shriek.

"A rat! A rat!"

Without thinking he thrusts out his wand.

"Fera Verto!"

Direct hit. The rat warps into a goblet, clattering onto the ground.

"Look at me go," he says. "A Transfiguration spell!"

You hoist a sigh, say, "W-Well done," and come to stand next to him, close enough that your peppermint scent threads through. "I'm glad you have been listening."

He puffs out his chest. "My aunt will be so pleased."

"I mean, that was a second-year spell, so..."

"Let me bask in my victory a minute, won't you?" he mutters. "Not a fan of spiders, and now not a fan of rats?"

"Who is? Wait. Don't say yourself."

"Come on, have you seen them nibbling cheese? It's adorable!"

You roll your eyes.

When the stone wall comes upon you, he sets the braziers to light, opening a crack in the door, and ushers you through. The end of the passage – a ladder leads to the surface, and the Honeydukes cellar. He climbs up and peers through the trapdoor first, into the darkness of the storeroom. "Coast is clear."

"All right." You seem to remember yourself then, and ripple with displeasure. "I can't believe I'm condoning theft."

He makes a show of taking out a Sickle and waggling it in front of you. "Not stealing if I pay for it."

He climbs into the storeroom and offers his hand to help you up, and your touch crackles through his palm again, making his stomach swoop. Strange. He enjoys the look on your face as you take in the place around him, the shelves upon shelves of sweets, jarred confections, crates that hum, bottles that pop and giggle, the sweetness and tang in the air, the pastel and neon packaging. He spots the dried Billywig stings immediately and pockets a few, making sure to place the Sickle in a visible spot. Hopefully the proprietor Patrick Redding won't be too mad about it – a Sickle for three stings is definitely overpaying, and it's not like he's flush with gold, here.

"You have your stings, then," you say. "How do you propose we leave the storeroom without being caught?"

He grins. "I do have an idea."

"... Why do I get the impression I won't like this idea?"

"It involves acting."

"Garreth," you chide, with a little fleck of fear too. "I... I can't—"

"Trust me, you won't have to say a word. He'll have no clue." He tugs you to the backdoor. "Now, I need you to ruffle yourself up a bit. Make yourself look dishevelled."

He starts doing that to himself, raking his hand through his hair, unbuttoning his shirt collar, bunching up his cloak. You copy him, unsure, and when you're done, he thumps the door. Hard.

"What? Garreth—"

He lifts his hands. "May I?"

"May you what?"

"Touch you?"

"Touch— what?"

"Better be quick, Prim. He'll be coming by now."

The handle rattles. You look panicked.

"Fine, yes—"

And he pulls you in until you're flush against him, until there's no space between you. He can feel the way your body curves against his – there's a surprising suppleness to you, to your waist beneath his fingers, to your chest, moulding with his. As your face closes on his, your breaths cloud together, only for a second, long enough for him to detect peppermint again, for his stomach to plunge into his legs. Your eyes dart between his, surprised, and your face lights up—

The door opens. Patrick Redding splutters when he sees you both, and Garreth immediately pushes you away.

"Mr Redding! So sorry, sir. We were just—"

"What in Merlin's name— Mr Weasley?" His eyes slide to you, but of course, he doesn't recognise you at all. "What do you think you're doing in here?"

"Well, sir," Garreth says, smiling bashfully, "when a pretty girl asks you to take her somewhere private..."

Mr Redding makes a disgruntled noise and ushers you forwards. "No, no, I don't want know. Out, both of you. And have some decorum, please!"

You barely get the chance to take in the sight of Honeydukes before Redding shoos you out the front door, depositing you onto the high street. Its quiet out, the sky a dark bowl above, flecked with winter stars, and the square is lit with strings of lanterns that glow golden pools on the cobblestones. A very romantic sight, and a perfect first impression.

"Huzzah!" Garreth says, quite proud of himself. He throws up his cowl in case anyone might recognise him. "Told you it would work. Hope he doesn't snitch to Auntie, mind, but I don't think he will, because then he'd have to explain that a student snuck into his stockroom to snog— Prim?"

He notices, then, how deeply your face is awash with colour. How you can't look him in the eye. His gaze travels to your hands, knitted together, restless by your waist. Your very nice waist. He immediately questions the thought, because, first of all – nice waist? Merlin. Second of all, he shouldn't be thinking such things at all. Especially not about you.

"I— you—" You cross your arms, turn away. "Why didn't you tell me that was your plan?"

"Because you'd never have agreed to it."

"Well... yes, but— but you didn't have to hold me so close."

"I think he'd be suspicious if we weren't close, Prim."

"Yes, but— think about what he must think now!"

"He doesn't even know who you are!"

"Yes, but— ugh, never mind!"

"What?" He wiggles his eyebrows. "Did you enjoy being handled in my lordly grasp?"

"Don't be ridiculous."

He laughs, and likes to believe you're lying, just a little. If you've never had friends, after all, he doubts you've ever courted. You huff and keep distance between you, and his stomach flutters as his eyes go back to your waist again.

The feel of you... it lingers.

"Nonetheless, my plan worked." Dispelling the frivolous thoughts, he grins and opens his arms. "So welcome to Hogsmeade, Prim."

Your face softens as you take in the sights. There's only two hours before Honeydukes closes for the evening, so he gives you quick version of the patented Garreth Weasley tour – less of the history, more of a rundown about the best places to hide for pranks, where the teachers frequent, and where the Dark wizards go, and ergo where you should avoid. You only contribute once or twice to conversation, but you absorb the cosy atmosphere, the crooked buildings and crazy, cranky peoples, your attention wholly taken. Annoyingly he can't read whether you're enjoying yourself. There aren't many students out, owing to how late it is and the fact that it's a weekday. As the grand finale he takes you to the Three Broomsticks, conscious of how both his and your stomachs rumble. He'll have to fork out more Galleons for food, yes, but it'll be worth it.

"Late out, Garreth?" Sirona greets him when you walk in, rising from a table she's scrubbing. "You should be going back soon, shouldn't you?"

"Was just showing my new friend Prim around."

"Ah," she says warmly, and smiles at you. "Didn't think I recognised you. Welcome to the Three Broomsticks, Prim."

"It's not Prim," you say quickly, shooting him a glare. "It's actually—"

"A round on me, Sirona," Garreth interjects, batting his eyelids at you as you fume. "My treat, because Prim's never been to Hogsmeade before."

"Never been? Well, then you have an excellent tour guide. Garreth knows all the best hotspots." Sirona heads around the counter as you both take a seat. "You can have a Butterbeer each on me today."

"Ever had Butterbeer?" he asks you, as Sirona prepares the drinks.

"No," you say, earnest and slightly fearful. "It looks very... sweet."

"It is. You'll love it."

You don't love it. In fact, you hate it, wincing so hard you choke when the first sip goes down your throat.

"That's revolting."

He shrugs and pulls your tankard over. "More for me!"

You sigh and sink down into your chair, and he sobers. A blue aura permeates you.

"Hey," he says, quieter now, "you're enjoying yourself, right?"

It takes you a moment to answer. "Yes."

"But you're worried."

"I'm worried."

"You'll be fine. Your parents aren't here. Seems kind of mean that they won't give you permission."

"It's not that simple."

"Why?"

"It's just not." You lean forwards, frustrated. "Are you going to tell me what potions use dried Billywig stings then, or not?"

You seem to do that a lot, change the subject when things get too heated. He lets it go, because you're having a nice evening and he doesn't want to spoil it, but still... what's not so simple about letting you come to Hogsmeade? As long as you know where to avoid, the place is harmless.

"Well," he says, leaning forwards as well, spinning his drink around. "Think about it. Billywig stings cause giddiness and levitation, right? So what potion do you think it would be used in?"

"A potion that would induce dizziness?"

"If you mean Dizziness Potion, then yes, but you're missing the big one."

"... Floating Potion?"

"Try again."

"I... don't know."

He plucks his eyelids. "Wide-Eye!"

"Wide-Eye? Why?"

"... Why-de?"

"Garreth."

"It wakes you up. Makes you giddy."

He orders a bowl of fried squid, some chips and, because you insist, a garden salad, and you share it over revision chatter – A. K. A., you asking him for answers he doesn't know to questions he doesn't understand. After a while, he notices you relax, less vigilant about glancing around, paying better attention to him and his wayward conversation topics.

But the night can't last, and when the clock strikes quarter-to-seven, fifteen minutes before Honeydukes closes, you clear the table.

"We should go back."

He downs the rest of the Butterbeers – he feels it sloshing in his stomach, gross – and shoves the rest of the nibbles in his mouth, then calls his thanks to Sirona as he heads outside after you, pulling up his cloak hood.

When he gets to Honeydukes however, with ten minutes to spare, he finds Mr Redding has been all too proactive in preventing another unfortunate encounter in his stockroom again, as the door is now well and truly padlocked. Garreth tugs at it when Redding is distracted by customers.

"Dragon dung," he mutters, as you keep an eye out. "It's locked tighter than Azkaban."

You frown. "Are you a wizard or what?"

"Encouraging breaking and entering, Prim? You surprise me."

"Just hurry. I really don't want to get caught."

He draws his wand. "Alohomora."

The lock doesn't budge. Ah.

"We may have a problem."

You glance over as he tries again, and panic overrides you. "It doesn't work?"

"It has an advanced Locking charm that I can't break."

Something wars on your face before, "Switch with me, quick."

He swaps places just as he catches a flash of Redding's hair from behind the candy floss machine. Coming towards them. He nocks his wand, sending a basic cast at a jar of hardboiled Noisy Treats, which sends it crashing to the floor, piercing the air with a zoo of lion growls and elephant toots. Redding doubles-back, cursing – but for how long?

"I don't know what you're going to do," Garreth mutters, "but you need to do it now."

But you're already waving your wand in a complicated, impossible-to-copy pattern. "Alohomora Perplexitas."

The lock hisses, as if resisting, but then the hook gives way. You grab his arm and yank him inside, and clamber into the secret passage before Redding spots the busted padlock. The darkness and silence is sudden, though his heart beats like a drum.

"You have been keeping secrets," he murmurs, when you light the passage. "You know advanced lock-picking spells?"

"Advanced unlocking spells," you correct. "Come on."

He easily keeps up with your marching along. "Not going to tell me how you know an advanced unlocking spell, then? Or more importantly, why?"

"No."

"I mean, I think a slight explanation is owed."

"I just know it."

"How mysterious. Are you secretly a cat burglar? Little hypocritical of you to be calling me out for stealing."

You stomp over a rock. "I've never stolen anything."

"Then why—"

"I'm not going to tell you, Garreth," you snap, "so stop asking. Please."

Oh. That stings a little. "All right then. Forget I asked."

The silence after that isn't so companionable. He mulls over it as you cross the bridges, unyielding in your fervent pace. You seem determined not to look in his direction at all, because you know as well as he does that the whole knows complicated lock-picking spells is suspicious as a Niffler in Gringotts. It's clear that, whatever the reasons for your proclivity for the prohibited, he doesn't want to end what has been a fun evening on a sour note. As you go to cross the last bridge before the lift shaft, he hurries to catch you.

"Prim—"

You stamp down. The bridge groans suddenly – then, without warning, it collapses, and you're falling. He acts on instinct, grabbing your arm, digging his foot for purchase as the rotten planks splash onto the ground far below. Wand lost, as well as the light, you hang, the darkness so thick he can only see the whites of your eyes, wide in fear.

"G-Garreth—"

"I've got you."

He hauls you up a little too hard, and you stagger into him. His hands end up on your waist again – Merlin, him and his stupid instinct – and you quickly step back.

"T-Thank you. I thought we repaired the bridge?"

"I— thought so too." It was a brief touch on a girl's waist, Weasley, get it together. "The wood here is pretty decayed, though. Guess it's not particularly stable even if we repair it."

He draws his wand to light the place, then summons yours from the depths. You repair the bridge this time, but hesitate to cross it. "I don't trust this anymore."

"Well then, time for another lesson!" He slips his hand into his bag and pulls out, to your shock, a potion bottle. "Prepare to be amazed!"

He winds his arm back and flings, and the bottle explodes all over the bridge – turning it to stone.

"All right, that should last us approximately, hmm... five seconds."

"What?"

He grabs your arm. "Go, go, go!"

Together you hurtle across the bridge, you shrilling. It holds, rock clacking beneath his boots, and by the time you're both on the other side, the stones peel back into wood, groaning from the transformation.

"What was that?" you shriek, rattled, taking your arm back. "You have potions in your bag?"

"A great potioneer never comes unprepared. That," he says, grinning, "was my version of an Edurus potion. Know what that does?"

"I have an inkling that it turns things into stone."

"It gives the drinker a stone-like skin, yes, and boosts their durability. My adaptation turns objects into stone. Granted, it doesn't last very long. Think I need more Ashwinder eggs..."

You hug your arm. "I-I'm sorry."

"Er, I know you're smart, Prim, but I don't expect you to know everything."

"No," you say, flushing again, "I mean, for... for snapping. I... didn't mean to snap. Well, I did, but..."

His eyebrows rise. Colour him surprised, you apologising for something? He thinks for a millisecond about teasing you for it, but then he registers your face again, that injured expression and downcast eyes, refusing to look his way, and the retort tumbles back down his throat.

"No harm done, Prim. I shouldn't have prodded." Instead, he smiles. "Now come on, let's get out of here."

You don't say anything, but even in the waning light of the tunnel, he catches a hint of your grateful smile.

You ascend the lift shaft without complication and hurry back up the steps. When he reaches the ladder, he taps his wand to the trap door above and mutters "Dissendium," again to move the statue before opening the door, and offering a hand to help you back out. In the natural light, you look a right state, dishevelled but for real this time, and he imagines so does he.

"Well, that was fun," he says, dusting himself off. "Looks like I was right, wasn't I?"

"About what?"

"Near-death experiences."

You scoff. "That was hardly near-death, was it?"

"Not what your face said when you dropped off that bridge."

He stares at you. You stare at him.

And to his surprise, you crack a genuine smile, and let out a single – single – chuckle.

"I suppose there is something to be said about near-death and... and being friends."

That fills him with a distinct sense of joy.

... Which gets stolen one breath later.

"Out revising, were you?"

He freezes. Spins around. By the doors, Professor Weasley waits with her arms crossed and her lips a thin line. Her gaze travels down you both, your very non-studying clothes, the dirt on his cheeks and hair, the torn knees of your trousers.

Oh Merlin, he's so dead.

"Auntie!" He pries a grin from somewhere inside. "What brings you here?"

She doesn't fall for it, not even for a second. "Honestly, Garreth, you weren't subtle, coming out of the passage."

"What passage? I don't know what passage you mean."

"Who do you think your cousins learnt it from, hmm? Because I can tell you, just because I'm a professor now doesn't mean I wasn't a student before." Her stringent gaze diverts to you. "And I admit I'm most surprised at you, Miss—"

"We were studying, Professor," you say, with all the grace of a ballet dancer. "I know it doesn't seem it..."

"It looks like you skipped dinner to take a trip to Hogsmeade. Which I remember barring you from doing, Garreth."

But you're quick. "We skipped dinner, yes, but we only went into the passage."

He glances sidelong at you, trying to hide his surprise at your total composure.

"I was having Garreth practice his Transfiguration there, since there are plenty of rats, and I thought his Fera Verto could do with some work." The lie unfurls from your tongue with such practice, he could swear you wrote it beforehand. "Garreth, on the other hand, was testing my potions knowledge."

"Yeah," he says, catching on. "Billywig stings?"

"Cause giddiness and levitation. Used in Dizziness and Wide-Eye potions."

"Edurus potion?"

"Gives the drinker a stone-like skin. Has Ashwinder eggs."

"See?"

Matilda's sternness doesn't waver. "Whose idea was this?"

Garreth laughs sheepishly. "If I said it was only my idea if you like it, would you be mad?"

She stares for one second, two.

Then softens.

"I only want to suggest a more formal approach to your tutoring sessions, please. Stick to Hogwarts grounds." She doesn't include what she really means: to stay where she can keep an eye. "I'll ask the house elves to bring you some supper to your dorm rooms. Don't let me catch you doing this again."

"Yes, Professor."

She hovers for another moment before she goes, and all the tension exhales from Garreth's chest.

"That was close." And Merlin's beard, this girl is a good liar. His gaze slides to you, stone-stiff – but it's too late, he perceives you anew again. "Can't act, hmm?"

You flush. "I can't act. I only lie when I have to—"

"They're basically the same thing!"

"— and I was telling the truth. I did recite ingredient properties, and you did practice Fera Verto." Your face deepens in colour. "I didn't want to get in trouble, all right?"

"So you know how to do a complex Unlocking charm and you can just roll out a lie when you need to? Really starting to believe this whole cat burglar persona you have."

"I'm not a cat burglar."

"Then what are you?"

"No one." He doesn't believe that, and you know he doesn't. "I've had enough excitement for one night. I'm going back to my dorm."

"Prim." You halt, and he says with sincerity, "Thank you for covering for me." He quirks his lip. "Or covering for yourself, and inadvertently covering for me, too."

Your eyes dart between his again, and he remembers that slip of a moment in Honeydukes, the both of you intertwined, your surprise just as intriguing.

"You're welcome," you say quietly. You bow your head. "And— thank you. For showing me around today. I... had fun."

"Good. We should do it again some time." He grins. "You'll be the first to taste my Fizzing Whizz-beer when it's ready."

You shake your head, turning to go again. "If it's anything like Butterbeer, I think I'll pass."

It is, quite possibly, the highest praise you'll ever give.

[PREV] [Next chapter soon <3] [Divider credit]