#when my body begins to feel hunger again like. that shit is PAINFUL.

[bunnyhopkins]

cw: ED

[a-aexotic]

HEYYYY! So like every other mf on the planet right now I am in my hunger games era!!

Please could you write a Finnick x Reader where she is selected for the quarter quell (Maybe in her games she was lethal and killed like 10+ people?)

And when Katniss shoots the arena in catching fire she gets taken by the capitol (Like Peeta) and they torture her and shit? Then Finnick and her get there reunion she’s all like battered and bruided and it’s dead sad? Not sure if this made sense because i’m half asleep and dyselxic but let me know😭🤣

Maybe he says “It’s okay baby i got you” ??? x

hey of course i can! i hope u enjoy it babe <3 its a tiny bit long! my apologizes

cw's: angst, mentions of killing/dying, typical thg stuff, torture, ptsd, lmk if i missed anything

You were one of the youngest victors alongside Finnick, being only 15 and having won your games. You were also from District 4. You won the 68th Hunger Games, a few years after Finnick.

When you were reaped, Finnick and Mags were your mentors. Finnick came off as self absorbed and arrogant but once you started talking to him, the more you realized that was total bullshit. He wasn't how the Capitol portrayed him, he was much more caring and compassionate. He was very sympathetic to your situation, having gone through the same things.

During your time in the arena, you were one of the most ruthless tributes of all time. In the beginning, you were easily overlooked. The tributes weren't thinking that you were going to be much of a challenge because of your size and the way you carried yourself.

But that was exactly how you wanted to be portrayed. You tricked the Careers into thinking you were some naïve little girl, stabbing them in the back (literally) the first chance you got. The Capitol loved the turn of events, cheering you on.

When you had come back home, you had finally understood the intensity of what you had done. You had killed a whole group of people, ending their lives permanently. Those people had lives and family who loved them, and now they're gone because of you.

You suffered through months and months from never ending nightmares. Even getting consoled by your mother didn't help anymore; she doesn't understand. You didn't even feel worthy of food anymore.

You closed off Mags and Finnick when you had come home, driving yourself into isolation and depression. You rarely went out anymore, eating one meal a day and slept more than 80% of the day. Even sleeping couldn't mend the eternal tiredness you had, the void that filled your body.

Finnick had felt more than responsible for your pain. He gave you time before he realized he was just adding to your pain. Even when you didn't communicate back to him, Finnick visited you every day. He gave you advice and told you what he had went through after the Games as well. Eventually you opened up more to Finnick, and slowly, he had become your best friend.

He had told you that numbing it wasn't going to make it go away. He reminded you that you had him and Mags to help you with this process, and that you weren't alone despite of how you felt.

He helped you regain your sense of purpose again, your self image again. Finnick had singlehandedly helped you rebuilt your sense of self again.

He saw a part of you in him, that scared 14 year old boy who was trying to go back home to his parents. He never wanted anyone to feel that, especially you.

He promised you that he would never let anything bad ever happen to you again.

During your Victor's tour, Snow had suddenly deemed you desirable by the Capitol, wanting to sell you as he did with Finnick. Finnick couldn't risk getting involved, wanting to protect his family.

Every night in the Capitol, you were always consoled by Finnick. Every time you had to do a favor, you remember walking to Finnick's room to sleep, not baring the thought of having to sleep alone in the cold bed. He was always there, holding your hand comfortingly as you both slept.

The Capitol adored you both, nicknaming you the princess and prince of Panem. The more time you spent with Finnick, the more the media had speculated a relationship between the young victors.

You and Finnick had connected in many ways. Both having the same trauma, it was easy to talk to him and for him to understand how hard it was.

You and Finnick eventually got together a few years later, then getting married (in secret, of course) almost right after. You were both deeply in love.

Finnick found solace in the thought of always having you by his side, remembering that no one could tear you apart. That was until the Quarter Quell was announced.

You and Finnick were sitting at the edge of the couch, listening to Caesar's words carefully as he explained that this year's Hunger Games was going to be very different.

When it was announced that there will be only be Victors in this year's games, you heard dropped. You looked over at Finnick and he shared the same terrified look on his face.

--

When Annie's name had been called, you without any second thought, put up your hand. "I volunteer as tribute."

The crowd gasped and you looked over at Annie and you could tell she was a bit relived but still scared nonetheless. You immediately embraced her tightly, letting her let out a small sob. "It's okay, you're okay."

Mags looked just as terrified and you took her hand. When Finnick's name was called, you felt your stomach drop. Not only were you back in the arena, but you were with Finnick.

You looked over at Finnick and he looked prepared to fight. You both stood up and he grabbed your hand, raising it up in union.

The trainride to the Capitol was pretty uneventful. Finnick had wanted some time to think about the plan and so did you. A part of you knew what he was planning; he kill everyone else in the arena and then eventually himself, all for you.

As you sat on the bed, you felt the sadness and anger turn into numbness. No amount of crying was going to stop the Quater Quell and you had to be smart.

You didn't want to survive without Finnick. You were either winning with him or dying with him. Life would be meaningless without him.

Finnick knocked on your door slightly, before walking in. You looked up at him and he gave you a small smile. He took a seat next to and took your hand.

"I have a plan."

"Finnick, I know what you're thinking, and no. You're not killing yourself for me."

Finnick looked defeated. "One of us has to survive, Y/N. For Annie. For Mags."

You look a deep inhale, looking away from Finnick. "I don't want to life without you, everything would lose all it's meaning without you."

Finnick felt his heart burst into two pieces as he squeezed your hand. You felt your eyes watering again and you couldn't help but let out another quiet cry as Finnick pulled your head in, as he embraced you tightly.

"Shh, it's okay. I promise, I won't... I won't leave you."

--

It had all happened so fast, you couldn't even comprehend what had just happened. One moment, you were with Finnick trying to find Johanna and Katniss and suddenly there was big loud boom. You were relieved for a moment; Plutarch's plan had worked. Until you realized how far away you were from the others.

You were wandering, trying to find anyone until you heard people behind you. You turned and then you saw some unfamiliar faces; suddenly, your vision went black.

Then, you woke up in a white room. You felt like your stomach had dropped out of your body once the realization hit you; the Capitol captured you.

You were strapped down to a bed and you couldn't move or shake it off. The severity of the situation had hit you; even if by some miracle you did escape, where would you go? How would you find your way to 13 and back to Finnick?

You knew how ruthless the Capitol was to everyone who disobeyed them. Your worst fears had come true and there was no getting out of here.

You heard the door open and you saw some Peacekeepers come in and then you saw the person you dreaded to see most; Snow. You felt like your whole had come crashing down, how could this nightmare become any worse?

"Hello, Y/N."

You didn't respond, resorting to stare at the wall in front of you instead.

He tutted disappointedly. "Out of all the tributes, you were the one I expected least to be involved in this mess. You are the Princess of Panem... What a shame."

You still hadn't replied and you hadn't dared to look at Snow. Months and months you spent trying to heal the trauma he had caused you, you were sure if you had to look at him now, you would break.

"I want to take mercy on you, dear Y/N. If you tell me everything you know about the rebellion, I will make sure the Peacekeepers are gentle with you."

You shook your head. "No."

He let out a small chuckle. "Sorry, I couldn't hear you. What?"

"No." You said again, louder.

He hummed in disapproval. "Okay then, you leave me no choice. You are going to regret this."

He nodded to the Peacekeepers and walked out of the room. You were then met with Peacekeepers, loosening the straps then taking you to another room.

If Snow knew one thing about you, it was that being only physical with you wouldn't hurt you enough. He had to hit you were it hurt most.

They threw you in the seemingly vacant room and immediately locking it. You were confused until you heard it.

"Y/N, help me!" Finnick's voice screamed. "Please, help me! Get up and do something, they're killing me! Please."

You looked everywhere in the dark room, trying to find the source. It kept going.

"Y/N, please! Help! What the hell are you doing, just sitting there? You are such a disappointment!" The voice started shouting. "We should've just left you to died in the arena! You are useless!"

Now this was something new. Your body was filled with panic and fear and even though you knew it was fake, you felt like you were going to throw up from all the noise.

Suddenly, Annie's voice came in as well. Then Johanna's. Then your mother's. There was nonstop noise filled with screams for help, shouting with disapproving messages. Your body couldn't handle it; it was so overwhelmed with fear that you started shaking on the ground, putting your hands on your ears but that did little to nothing.

You wanted it to stop. It was too much, you were trembling. It felt like days, just sitting there in that room listening to all those demeaning voices of your loved ones. You couldn't even think straight anymore.

It was so bad you had started to pound your head on the ground, screaming and crying. You had have enough. And then, it all stopped. Silence was foreign for you; your ears were ringing.

You were sitting on the ground, almost lifeless as the Peacekeepers took you away. Your eyes hurt from the tears, your body sore, your ears ringing and your head was pounding.

But you knew that was just the beginning.

--

You were asleep in bed and you were awakened by the door opening, you instantly jolted up. You looked over to see a group of masked men in front of you and you had started to tremble again, silent tears rolling down your face, thinking that the Peacekeepers had come again.

"No, no, no." You started to mumble to yourself.

A man came up to your and took your bruised hand slowly, rubbing it gently in silent empathy. That was the first soft touch you'd felt in a few weeks and it almost stung.

"It's okay, you're safe now. You're going to 13 now."

You had to blink a couple times, trying to process what he said. Was this a dream? You went to pinch yourself but it was real life.

He then helped you up but you couldn't help but stumble; your legs were weak, you couldn't remember the last time the Peacekeepers let you walk for this long.

As you got into the hovercraft, you saw Annie. Your eyes widened as you both ran up to each other, embracing each other. She had started to cry a little bit and so did you.

That was when it hit you. You were going to see Finnick. You were going home. You started crying into Annie's shoulder as she held you. "We're safe now, we're safe."

You had seen Johanna as well but she didn't seem too responsive. Neither did Peeta. You fell asleep on Annie's shoulder on the ride back and for the first time, you actually felt yourself drifting off calmly.

--

There were lots of doctors and nurses looking at you and asking you all sorts of questions and you tried your best to answer them. You were still in shock; you were safe. They couldn't hurt you anymore.

"Y/N?" You turned around to see Finnick. You immediately got up from the examiner's table and ran into his arms, your eyes starting to water up again.

"Finnick," you sighed slowly. You pulled away, putting your hands on his face and touched him as if he wasn't real.

"Are you.. Are you really here?"

"Yes, I'm really here." Finnick looked at you and suddenly his voice transported you back into the dark room. You quickly twisted out of his embrace and his expression changed.

His voice was back and you heard all of the nasty things he had to you. You back away, stumbling into the examiner's table and your breathing became heavy. "No, no, no, please-please go away. No."

You slid down to the floor and you closed your eyes, putting your hands on your ears and rocking back and forth trying to get that voice to stop.

Finnick ran up to you and put his hands on your knees, trying to get you to look at him. His heart broke in half; he didn't know what the Capitol had done to you but now he knows it has something to do with him.

Of course the Capitol would try to ruin him. His eyes started to tear up at the sight of you, in so much pain and panic.

You opened your eyes, Finnick in front of you. You started to cry some more before Finnick slowly went up to you, wrapping his arms around you.

When he had started wrapping your arms around you, your instinct was to push him away but his warmth was welcoming and safe and you started to focus on his touch. The voices slowly drifted away, the sounds of your silent sobs only being heard.

You then gave into Finnick's touch, falling into him and putting your head in his chest as he caressed your back gently, shushing you.

"It's okay baby, I got you. You're safe now, they can't hurt you."

[lupinqs]

SAFE AND SOUND (3/3) ━━ pazzi

☆ ━ summary: in which azzi fudd forms an unexpected alliance with paige bueckers as they fight for survival in the hunger games.

☆ ━ word count: 16.6K

☆ ━ warnings: violence, angst, death, really depressing ending

☆ ━ links: part one, part two, my masterlist, ao3 link

☆ ━ author’s note: hi!!!! so actually turns out that deleting this made me much more productive and motivated and i wrote this in like a day and a half be proud. it’s a very action packed chapter, lots of things happen, and i hope you enjoy it. might make you a little depressed but we all need some angst in our lives!

THE MORNING creeps in gently, sunlight slipping through the canopy of trees above, dappling the forest floor in soft patches of gold. Azzi stirs faintly, her awareness coming back to her in pieces. Her body feels warm, cocooned in a strange, comfortable stillness. When she opens her eyes, everything comes into sharp, startling focus.

She’s still lying across Paige’s lap.

Her first instinct is panic—her mind racing to all the reasons why this shouldn’t be happening, why she should’ve moved the moment Paige fell asleep. But then her body shifts slightly, and she feels Paige’s arm, the uninjured one, slung loosely over her side, her fingertips brushing lightly against Azzi’s ribs. Paige’s breathing is soft and even, her chest rising and falling against Azzi’s back.

Azzi freezes, unwilling to move just yet. Her head tilts slightly, enough to let her eyes flicker upward. Paige is waking, her body stirring beneath Azzi, her fingers twitching against the brunette’s side.

Then, Paige lets out a small, sleepy sound—something between a sigh and a groan—and rubs at her eyes with her free hand. She looks bleary but not broken, not like last night. The color has returned to her cheeks, and her features seem softer, less drawn. When she finally looks down at Azzi, she smiles, slow and dopey, her voice raspy as she murmurs, “Hey.”

The word is so simple, so casual, but it sends a terrible rush of warmth through Azzi’s chest, lighting her nervous system on fire. Her stomach flips violently, and she suddenly feels much more awake.

“Hey,” she replies, her voice a little quieter than she meant it to be. She shifts her body, sitting up so she and Paige are face to face.

As soon as she does, Paige’s smile fades quickly, replaced by a waterfall of surprise. Without warning, her hand comes up, cupping Azzi’s face. The motion is so sudden that Azzi flinches, blinking in confusion. “Holy shit,” Paige breathes, her fingers skimming lightly over Azzi’s cheek. “It’s so much better! The cut—it’s, like, completely gone!”

Azzi’s heart stutters in her chest, her breath catching. Paige’s fingers are warm against her skin, and she feels their faint pressure as they ghost over where the gash had been. She doesn’t feel any pain, no sting, no soreness. Azzi’s own hand flies up to her cheekbone, her fingertips brushing the spot where she remembers the cut vividly.

Smooth skin.

There’s maybe the faintest hint of a scratch, but that’s it. Nothing like the deep wound she fell asleep with.

“Oh my God,” Azzi whispers, voice barely audible.

She pulls away slightly, her mind racing. She looks at Paige again, who’s now staring at her with a mixture of amazement and something else—something unreadable. Paige’s grin stretches wider, lighting up her face in a way Azzi doesn’t know if she’s ever seen.

But Azzi’s not done yet. Her gaze darts down to Paige’s injured arm, her heart thundering with a possibility that maybe—just maybe—

Without thinking, she grabs Paige’s wrist, startling the blonde. Paige lets out a surprised, “Azzi—” but doesn’t pull away, watching as the younger girl begins peeling back the makeshift bandage of leaves.

Azzi’s movements are hurried, frantic, her hands shaking as she works the wrapping free. She’s not careful, probably pulling harder than she should, but Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even wince.

When the last of the leaves fall away, Azzi freezes.

The gash that had once been so deep and gruesome, red and angry, is now reduced to something barely noticeable. The skin has knitted itself back together, leaving behind a faint pink line, the kind of thing you might slap a Band-Aid on and forget about.

“No way,” Azzi breathes, her voice breaking on the words. Her eyes dart up to Paige, wide and disbelieving.

Paige stares at her arm for a moment before laughter bubbles out of her, light and bright, filling the quiet air between them. Azzi blinks at her, caught between confusion and awe, before the sound tugs at her lips, coaxing a grin from her that she doesn’t even realize is there until it’s too late.

Their eyes meet, and Paige’s laughter softens into something gentler, warmer. The grin she gives Azzi is the kind that burns its way into her chest, leaving her breathless and weightless all at once. Azzi watches as Paige’s hood hand brushes lightly over the faint line on her arm as if to check that it’s real. The brunette feels her muscles tighten with something she can’t even name—relief, maybe, or something warmer, something deeper.

Then, Paige surprises her.

Before Azzi can process it, Paige shifts, leaning forward and wrapping both arms—injured one included—around Azzi in a hug that’s all at once clumsy, tight, and utterly genuine. It catches Azzi off guard, her body stiff for half a second before she melts into it. She shouldn’t, she knows she shouldn’t, but she lets herself sink into the embrace, her arms coming up to circle Paige’s waist.

Paige’s face presses into her shoulder, and Azzi feels the soft puff of Paige’s breath against her neck. “I kinda thought we were goners,” Paige whispers, and her voice is thick, the words carrying more weight than Azzi expects.

Azzi doesn’t respond—not verbally. Instead, she tightens her arms around Paige, letting the gesture say everything she can’t. She hates how much she’s missed this kind of closeness, how safe it feels, how terrifying it is to want it.

Eventually, they both pull back slightly, though Paige’s hands linger on Azzi’s shoulders, her touch warm and steady. Azzi freezes as she realizes how close they still are, their faces only inches apart. Paige’s breath brushes against her cheek, and her eyes are impossibly blue, locked onto Azzi’s like they’re the only two people in the world, like there’s not a million cameras probably latched onto this very moment.

Azzi’s gaze moves before she can stop it, flicking down to Paige’s lips. Her heart pounds, her breath hitching audibly, and it feels like the air between them is crackling, charged with something she knows better than to name.

She can’t help it, though. She sees Paige’s eyes drop too, following the same path, lingering on Azzi’s lips for just a beat too long.

Azzi swallows hard. She knows how wrong this is. She knows what lines she’s already dangerously close to crossing.

And yet, when Paige leans in just a fraction, Azzi finds herself leaning too—

Abruptly, she pulls away, standing so fast that it startled Paige, who blinks up at her in confusion. Azzi’s pulse races, and she runs a hand across her face, her voice tight and shaky as she says, “Um, we should probably move. Y’know, we’ve been in the same spot for way too long now.”

Paige tilts her head slightly, her brows furrowing, and for a moment, Azzi’s sure she’s going to press the issue. But then Paige nods slowly, her expressions smoothing into soma thing neutral, though her eyes still carry a hint of something unreadable.

“Yeah,” Paige says softly, shifting to stand. “You’re probably right.”

Azzi busies herself with their things, not trusting herself to look at Paige again just yet. Her hands tremble slightly as she gathers the remaining supplies, her thoughts a chaotic tangle of relief and regret and something dangerously close to longing.

THE MORNING feels hopeful, almost bright, despite the heavy clouds overhead. They’re stocked on fruit, and their water supply is steady. Paige, miraculously, looks fine. She’s walking with surprising ease, considering what her body endured just last night. Her arm—while not perfect—is functional, and the exhaustion that clung to both of them like a second skin yesterday seems less oppressive today.

Azzi’s head, too, feels remarkably clear. No throbbing pain, no sharp aches to send her reeling. It’s almost enough to make her believe that they might finally catch a break.

And then the rain comes.

At first, it’s refreshing. The jungle is humid, suffocating even, and the coolness of the droplets feels like relief against Azzi’s overheated skin. But it doesn’t take long for the drizzle to evolve into a torrential downpour.

The rain is relentless. It pounds against the canopy overhead, slips through gaps in the foliage, and soaks them both to the bone within minutes. Azzi can barely see through the water streaming into her eyes, blinking furiously and swiping at her face every few seconds. Beside her, Paige does the same, muttering something under her breath that Azzi can’t hear over the sound of the rain hammering the leaves around them.

The ground beneath them turns treacherous quickly, the dirt path dissolving into thick mud. Every step is a calculated risk, and Azzi finds herself walking slower, her shoes squelching loudly with each movement. She glances over at Paige to see if she’s managing any better, but Paige looks just as miserable, if not more so.

The storm intensifies, thunder rolling through the sky in low, ominous waves. Lightning flashes briefly, illuminating their surroundings in stark, silver light. It’s unsettling, almost unnatural, and Azzi can’t help but feel a prickle of unease crawl up her spine.

It’s when Paige’s foot catches on something—a root, a rock, Azzi doesn’t know—and she goes down hard, that the tension breaks.

Paige lands with a wet, squelching sound, arms flailing uselessly as she tumbles into a thick pile of mud. Azzi freezes for a moment, startled, before the sight of Paige sprawled out on her hands and knees, covered head-to-toe in muck, sends an unexpected laugh bubbling up in her chest.

She tries to suppress it, she really does. But the combination of Paige’s indignant expression and the sheer absurdity of the situation—it’s too much. The laugh escapes before she can stop it, loud and abrupt, cutting through the sound of the rain.

Paige looks up sharply, her face a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Are you serious right now?” she exclaims, her voice rising over the storm. She’s already clawing at her arms, trying desperately to scrape off the mud, but it only seems to smear further.

Azzi bites her lip, attempting to stifle another laugh, but it’s no use. Paige just looks so utterly disgusted, her mouth twisted into a grimace as she uses the rainwater to wash herself off. The more she tries, the less successful she seems, and Azzi can’t stop herself from snorting.

“It’s not funny!” Paige snaps, though there’s no real venom in her tone. She wipes furiously at the Capitol-provided suit she wears, which is now a patchwork of soaked fabric and dark brown stains. “This is disgusting. Disgusting!”

Azzi shakes her head, wiping at her eyes again as more rain streams down her face. “It’s a little funny,” she says, though her voice is tight with the effort of holding back her laughter.

Paige glares at her, but there’s no heat behind it. The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, and Azzi knows she’s close to cracking too.

The thunder growls again, closer this time, and Azzi feels her humor wane, replaced by a thread of worry. The storm isn’t letting up—it’s only getting worse. The rain is so heavy now that she can barely see a few feet in front of her, and the paths they’ve been relying on are rapidly turning into rivers of mud.

“We need to find some kind of shelter,” Azzi says, her voice louder than she intends. Paige nods, still wiping at her arms, though her movements have slowed. The disgusted look on her face has softened, replaced by something more serious.

They trudge onward, their progress painfully slow as the rain continues to batter them from all sides. The lightning flashes more frequently now, illuminating twisted trees and thick undergrowth that seem to press closer with every step. Azzi keeps her eyes on the ground, watching for roots and rocks, hyper-aware of how easy it would be to slip and fall just like Paige did.

She tries to focus on the practicalities—the weight of the fruit in her bag, the amount of water they have left—but it’s hard to ignore the growing unease settling in her chest. The jungle feels different today, more alive, more threatening.

Another flash of lightning lights up the sky, and Azzi catches a glimpse of Paige beside her, her hair plastered to her face, her lips pressed into a thin line. Despite everything, Paige keeps moving, her steps determined even as the mud sucks at her boots.

Azzi doesn’t know how she does it. Paige should be weak, drained, barely able to stand after everything that happened last night. But somehow, she’s still going, her stubbornness as unyielding as ever.

Azzi wipes at her face again, sighing heavily as she steps over another puddle. The rain continues to hammer down in torrents, so relentless that it’s hard to distinguish the sound of thunder from the pounding water. Every step Azzi takes sinks her deeper into the mud, her feet dragging like dead weights. Beside her, Paige is muttering under her breath, her words barely audible over the roar of the storm but unmistakably irritated.

“This is—fucking—” Paige grumbles, her arms flailing as she tries to scrape off more mud. “It’s like—ugh, it’s everywhere. On my arms, in my hair—I think it’s in my mouth now.” She spits exaggeratedly, her face twisted in dramatic disgust.

Azzi can’t help but laugh again. It’s short and quiet, but in a moment like this, where everything is miserable and soaked and uncertain, Paige’s melodramatic whining is almost comforting. The blonde glares at her without any real anger.

“Glad you’re enjoying this,” Paige says, shooting her a mock-offended look as she wipes at her arms again. It doesn’t help—her hands are just as muddy as the rest of her.

Azzi shakes her head, water dripping down her face and neck. “I’m not enjoying it,” she says, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Paige just rolls her eyes, continuing to groan dramatically. Azzi snorts at her again. Leave it to Paige to care about mud when we might die out here.

The thought sobers her quickly. It’s true—if they keep going like this, they might die out here. The storm is bad. So, Azzi begins to scan their surroundings, her eyes darting through the dense jungle, searching for something—anything—that might offer them shelter. The rain is too heavy, the lightning too frequent. They need to get out of the open, and they need to do it now.

“Over there,” she says, pointing toward what looks like a hollowed-out tree, it’s wide base dark and inviting. It’s hard to tell through the rain, but it seems big enough for the two of them to crouch under.

Paige turns to look, wiping at her eyes with a muddy hand, smearing her face in the process. Azzi can’t see her expression clearly, but she hears the faint note of relief in her voice when she says, “That’s good.”

They move toward the tree, their progress slow and awkward. The mud sucks at Azzi’s shoes with every single step, and she has to fight to keep her balance. Her muscles scream in protest, but she grins her teeth and keeps going, focusing on the tree ahead. It’s closer now, just a few more steps—

And then the lightning strikes.

The world erupts in a flash of blinding white light, so close that it feels like the air itself is splitting apart. The crack of thunder follows instantly, so loud and violent that it reverberates through Azzi’s chest. She freezes, her arms instinctively flying up to protect her head as the tree they were heaving for explodes in a shower of sparks and flame.

The heat from the blast is searing, even through the rain. Azzi stumbles backward, her foot slipping in the mud. Her heart is racing, her ears ringing from the thunder. For a moment, she thinks she might fall, but then she feels a hand on her waist, steadying her.

“I got you.” Paige’s voice is close, low and reassuring. Azzi’s heart is still pounding, her breath coming in shallow gasps, but the solid weight of Paige’s hand against her side anchors her. She glances up, sees Paige’s face—mud-streaked, rain-soaked, but focused—and feels a flicker of calm.

The tree in front of them is burning, the flames licking hungrily at the wet bark. The rain hisses and steams as it clashes with the fire, but the flames don’t falter. Azzi stares at it, transfixed, her mind racing with the sudden, visceral realization of how close they came to being struck.

“Okay,” Paige says, breaking the silence. Her voice is shaky but steady enough. “Yeah, not here.”

She grabs Azzi’s hand without waiting for a response, her fingers sliding against Azzi’s in the rain. The contact is slippery and uncertain, but Paige’s grip tightens, refusing to let go. Azzi doesn’t resist. She lets Paige pull her forward, her legs moving on autopilot as her mind struggles to catch up.

They move quickly, the burning tree fading in the background as they put distance between themselves and the lightning strike. Azzi’s boots slide and stumble in the mud, but Paige’s hand remains firm, guiding her forward. She focuses on that—the feel of Paige’s hand in hers, the shared determination to keep moving, to find someplace remotely safe.

Eventually, they stumble upon a rocky overhang nestled between two massive boulders. It’s shallow but wide enough to sit under, the stone providing some relief from the relentless rain. Paige drags Azzi under it, both of them collapsing against the cold, damp rock with matching sighs of exhaustion.

Azzi leans back, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her entire body feels heavy, weighed down by the rain and mud, but for the first time in hours, she feels a sliver of safety. The storm still raged around them, the rain pounding against the rocks, but here, under the overhang, it feels distant.

Paige is a mess. Her suit is soaked, clinging to her skin, and the mud—God, the mud—is smeared across her arms, her face, her hair. She looks beat, her shoulders slumped and her head tilted back against the rock.

Azzi glances down at herself and realizes she’s not much better. Her suit is plastered to her skin, and her legs are streaked with mud, but at least she’s not actively dripping in it like Paige.

For a moment, they sit in silence, the sound of the rain filling the space between them. Azzi closes her eyes, letting the tension drain from her body. Despite everything—the storm, the mud, the fact that she’s currently an active tribute in the Hunger Games—there’s a strange sense of peace in this small reprieve.

She feels Paige shift beside her, hears her let out a low, frustrated groan. “This sucks,” Paige mutters, her voice heavy with exasperation.

Azzi opens her eyes and glances at her, watching as Paige wipes at her face again, accomplishing nothing. A quiet laugh escapes Azzi.

Paige turns to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says, shaking her head. The corners of her mouth twitch upward. “You’re just… a little muddy.”

“Oh, really?” Paige huffs sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “I couldn’t tell.”

Azzi doesn’t answer. Instead, she just shakes her head again, softer this time, still smiling, and pushes herself up, crouching low under the rock. Her legs are stiff and protesting after hours of trudging through the jungle, but she forces them to cooperate.

“Wait—what’re you doing?” Paige’s hand shoots out, her fingers curling around Azzi’s wrist in an instinctive, almost panicked gesture. “Azzi—”

“Relax,” the younger girl says, waving her off. “Stay here.” She gently shakes off Paige’s grip and ducks out from under the rock before Paige can argue further.

The rain is like a wall, slamming into her with unyielding force the second she steps into it. She just grits her teeth and ignores the discomfort. There’s a cluster of broad-leafed plants just a few steps away, their thick, wavy leaves glistening with water, and Azzi makes her way toward them.

She rips two of the largest leaves from their stems, the action quick and forceful, and then hurried back to the overhang. The cold of the rain is seeping into her bones by the time she crouches back under the rock, but she doesn’t care.

Paige is staring at her with a mix of confusion and mild exasperation, her muddy face tilted slightly in question. “Seriously, what—”

“Let me help,” Azzi interrupts, cutting her off before she can spiral into another round of complaints. She sits down across from Paige, their knees almost brushing in the cramped space, and holds up one of the dripping leaves like it’s some kind of peace offering.

Paige opens her mouth as if to argue, but whatever she was about to say gets lost somewhere between her brain and her tongue. She closes her mouth again and more, her movements jerky and unsure.

Azzi leans in, taking one of Paige’s arms in her hand, and starts to work. The mud is caked into the fabric of her Capitol-issued shit, streaked and smeared from hours of trudging through the jungle. Azzi drags the leaf along Paige’s arm in slow, deliberate strokes, watching as the dirt gives way to the dark, water-resistant material.

Her movements are careful but firm, focused entirely on the task in front of her. Or at lea at, that’s what she tells herself. But she can feel Paige’s eyes on her, following every motion, and it’s impossible to ignore the weight of that gaze. It feels like a spotlight, unrelenting and all-consuming, and Azzi’s stomach twists in response.

When she moves to Paige’s abdomen, dragging the leaf over the curve of her stomach, she feels the contraction of muscle beneath her hand. The reaction is instinctual, a reflex, but it sends a jolt of awareness through Azzi all the same. Her fingers tremble slightly, and she exhaled through her nose, trying to steady herself.

Get it together, she thinks, but her heart can’t seem to listen.

The tension between them feels tangible now, a living, breathing thing that presses against Azzi from all sides. She doesn’t look at Paige—not directly. She can’t. Instead, she focuses on the mud, on the leaf, on the way her hands move as she works.

When the first leaf grows too dirty to be useful, she tosses it aside and grabs the second. This time, she starts with Paige’s neck, wiping away the dirt that’s settled there. The curve of Paige’s throat is warm under her touch, even through the rain, and Azzi’s chest tightens painfully.

Their eyes meet, just for a second, and it feels like the world stops spinning. Azzi’s breath catches, her heart stuttering in her chest, and the intensity of Paige’s gaze is almost unbearable. She looks away quickly, her face burning, and focuses on the mud again.

She moves to Paige’s face next, ghosting the leaf along her cheek and chin, brushing away the streaks of dirt that have clung to her skin. Her movements are slower now, as if she’s afraid to press too hard. The mud doesn’t come off entirely, but she gets most of it, and the sharpness of Paige’s features emerges from beneath the grime like something carved out of stone.

When she’s done, Azzi tosses the second leaf away and leans back slightly.

The silence between them is deafening.

They’re so close now, their knees touching, their breaths mingling in the damp air. Azzi’s heart is racing, pounding against her ribs like it’s trying to escape, and she’s sure Paige can hear it. This moment feels like the one from this morning, after Paige hugged her. Azzi doesn’t move, doesn’t dare look up.

That is, until Paige shifts.

The air between them tightens, and before Azzi can think, before she can process, Paige leans in.

The kiss is soft, a tentative press of lips that feels more like a question than an answer. Paige’s mouth is warm against hers, and Azzi’s mind is screaming at her that this is reckless, dangerous, stupid, but it doesn’t feel like any of that. It feels…relieving, like the first deep breath after holding herself underwater for too long.

Paige pulls back slightly, her lips still hovering close enough that their breaths mingle. Azzi’s eyes flutter open, and she blurts the first thing that comes to her mind. “This is dumb.”

Paige’s hand comes up to the back of her neck, her flinders sliding against damp skin. Her voice is low and steady when she replies, “Yeah.”

Azzi exhales sharply, her chest aching with the weight of her own reckless feelings. “We’re so stupid.”

Paige’s gaze flicker to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Completely.”

The words hang between them, fragile and dangerous, and Azzi feels like she’s teetering on the edge of a cliff. She’s acutely aware of everything—the rain, the heat of Paige’s hand on her neck, the rapid thrum of her own heartbeat—and it’s overwhelming.

But then Paige says, “But we’re here,” and everything shifts.

The words hit like a punch to the gut, simple but profound. They’re here. Here. In the middle of the Hunger Games, in the middle of every kid’s nightmare, in the middle of something that shouldn’t exist but does. They’re competitors, but also allies, the only two people that have each other’s backs here even if that sentiment is precarious and might not last much longer. Azzi likes Paige, and Paige likes Azzi, and both of them are far closer to death than survival—that’s just the odds. And, yes, Azzi knows that this might all end up in flames and they may have to kill each other in the end—but Paige is right. They’re here.

And maybe that’s enough.

The kiss that follows is different. It’s deeper, hungrier, the kind of kiss that feels like diving headfirst into something you know will destroy you. Azzi’s hands find Paige’s shoulders, clutching at the fabric of her suit like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth, and Paige pulls her closer, her fingers tightening against Azzi’s neck.

For a moment, the rest of the world disappears. There’s no rain, no arena, no Capitol, no audience watching their every move. There’s just this—this moment, this connection, this fleeting, fragile thing that feels like both a beginning and an end.

THE GAMES wear on, and they don’t talk about it. Azzi tells herself it’s for the best. They’re still here, after all, still breathing, still surviving. A kiss isn’t supposed to matter when everything around them screams of death. It’s a distraction, a risk, a mistake. Even so, it’s hard to forget, and even harder not to do it again.

Paige doesn’t change. She’s still sharp-witted and too bold for her own good, cracking jokes in moments that should be far too tense for humor. She makes Azzi’s head spin sometimes, flipping from cocky grins to quiet, almost tender observations without warning. She pokes fun at Azzi’s serious nature, but it’s never mean-spirited. Somehow, it’s endearing. Azzi’s started noticing the way Paige’s lips twitch into a half-smile before she delivers one of her little quips. She notices a lot about Paige now, and that realization is almost as dangerous as the kiss itself.

Their relationship shifts, subtly. It’s in the way Paige seems to lean closer when they’re hidden away in the dark, their shoulders and sides pressing together. It’s in the way Azzi doesn’t pull away, even when her brain screams at her to keep her distance. They’re touchier, sometimes accidentally, sometimes not. When Paige’s fingers graze hers during the rare moments of silence, Azzi doesn’t flinch. And late at night, when Paigemd breathing evens out into the soft rhythm of sleep, Azzi sometimes catches herself wondering what it would be like to kiss her again.

But she doesn’t.

She won’t.

Because this isn’t a life where things like that make sense.

Sometimes, she lets herself imagine, though. Not often, but enough. In another world, they’re teammates, not tributes. Maybe they’re playing for some great basketball dynasty, Paige with her impossible confidence and Azzi with her perfect precision. Maybe they’d have a future, not this fragile thing that feels ready to shatter under the weight of the Capitol’s gaze and the threat of the other tributes. Maybe they’d have moments that aren’t stolen, conversations that don’t feel like whispers against the roar of inevitable death.

But they aren’t in that world. They’re here, in a nightmare where every breath is borrowed time, and any dream of a life beyond this arena feels laughable.

So, Azzi doesn’t let herself dwell. She focuses on survival—on the sharp edge of reality that keeps them moving, keeps them alive.

They’re good at it, too. A formidable pair. Azzi’s calm, calculated strategies balance Paige’s impulsive, quick-thinking instincts. Together, they’ve avoided the larger, deadlier alliances. They stay on the move, never lingering in one place for too long. Besides quick glimpses, they haven’t seen any of the other tributes since the boy from Eleven nearly ended them both. It’s odd, and the arena has begun to feel emptier, quieter, but not in a way that offers peace. It’s the calm before the storm, and Azzi knows it. Every night, the anthem plays, the sky lighting up with the faces of the dead. Every night, the number of tributes dwindles.

There are only a handful left now. Most of them are the ones everyone feared from the start—the stronger, deadlier tributes. The Careers from One and Two who have trained their entire lives for this. Other than them, Paige, and Azzi, there’s a couple other straggles, but not many.

The odds aren’t in their favor.

Paige doesn’t seem to care. Or maybe she’s just better at pretending.

One night, it was calm—not too hot, not too cold, no rain, no storms, no tributes. Just them, staring up through the foliage at the stars. Paige’s voice had cut through the silence, asking, “D’you think there’s any point in dreaming about it?”

Azzi’d glanced at her, frowning. “Dreaming about what?”

“You know.” Paige gestured vaguely, her fingers twitching like she’d wanted to grab something she couldn’t reach. “The after. If there even is one.”

Azzi hadn’t answered right away. She didn’t know how. The idea of an “after” felt—and still feels—laughable, like trying to picture sunlight while drowning in darkness. But Paige’s eyes were on her, waiting, and Azzi felt the weight of her gaze like a physical thing.

“I don’t know,” she’d said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I try not to think about it.”

Paige had hummed softly, tilting her head. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Azzi’s frown deepened. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” Paige shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “Just… you’re the smart one. Uh, like, practical. Always thinkin’ about what’s right in front of us. Makes sense you wouldn’t waste time on something as stupid as hope.”

The words had stung, even though Azzi knew Paige didn’t mean them that way.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” she’d responded almost hesitantly. “Hope, I mean. I just—” She paused, glancing away. “I don’t think it helps. Not here.”

Paige didn’t respond right away. And when Azzi looked back, Paige was watching her, something soft and unreadable in her expression.

“Maybe not,” Paige said eventually, her voice low. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

The words sat heavy between them then, and they sit heavy within Azzi now as the sun beats down on her relentlessly, a furnace of heat filtering through the thick canopy of trees. The air is humid, suffocating, and Azzi can feel sweat trickling down her back, soaking into the fabric of her suit.

Paige is ahead of her, as always, sword in hand, cutting through the undergrowth with steady, practiced swipes. Azzi doesn’t know how Paige does it—keeps going like she’s made of something indestructible, some alloy that doesn’t bend under pressure. But then Paige glances back over her shoulder, her lips quirking in that half-smile that’s almost a smirk, and Azzi remembers: she’s just as scared as she is. Paige is just better at hiding it.

“Still with me, princess?” Paige calls, her voice light and teasing as she says that nickname that Azzi pretends to hate but secretly doesn’t mind.

Azzi doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow and gives the blonde a look that says keep going. She’s already tired, so she’s saving her energy for walking, for survival, because the more she thinks about it, the more she’s realizing that every step could be her last.

That’s when it happens.

A scream, distant but piercing, rips through the jungle. It echoes through the trees, sharp and desperate, before cutting off abruptly. Azzi freezes, her heart slamming into her ribcage, and she sees Paige go still, her grip tightening on her sword.

And then, Azzi hears it.

A low rumble, like the growl of some monstrous creature. It grows louder, swelling into a deafening roar that shakes the ground beneath their feet.

“Azzi,” Paige says, her voice tight.

Azzi turns, and her stomach drops.

Water. A wall of it, surging through the jungle like a living thing, uprooting trees and swallowing everything in its path.

“Run,” Paige breathes, and then they’re moving.

Azzi’s legs scream in protest, but adrenaline pushes her forward. She can hear the flood gaining on them, a relentless, crashing tide. Her feet slip on the muddy ground, and she nearly falls, but Paige grabs her arm, yanking her upright.

“Faster!” Paige shouts, and Azzi doesn’t waste breath responding. She pumps her legs harder, her lungs burning, her vision narrowing to the path ahead.

The water is impossibly fast. Even so, for a moment, Azzi thinks they might actually have a chance to outrun it. But then she hears the sharp crack of a tree snapping right behind them and knows it’s too late.

The flood hits them like a battering ram.

Azzi is thrown forward, the force of the water slamming into her back and knocking the air from her lungs. She tumbles, weightless and disoriented, the world spinning in a blur of green and brown and white. Her mouth fills with water, and she chokes, coughing and sputtering as she’s dragged under.

She thrashes, clawing at the water, trying to find the surface, but the current is too strong. It pulls her deeper, twisting her around until she doesn’t know which way is up. Her lungs scream for air, her chest tightening, and panic claws at her throat.

Paige.

She forces her eyes open, the sting of the salt water blurring her vision. She can barely see? but she reaches out blinding, her fingers scrabbling for anything, anyone.

Nothing.

Azzi’s chest feels like it’s about to burst, and she kicks harder, fighting against the current. Her head breaks the surface for a split second, and she gasps, sucking in precious air before she’s pulled under again.

She doesn’t know how long she’s in the water. It could be an hour, it could be twenty seconds. Every bit of it is a battle to stay afloat, to keep breathing. Her arms ache, her lungs burn, and she’s starting to lose strength.

And then, suddenly, the current slows.

Azzi’s head breaks the surface again, and this time she manages to stay up. She coughs violently, spitting out water, and blinks the sting from her eyes. She’s in a wide expanse of still water now, the flood having pushed her into what looks like the shallow bay area near the Cornucopia.

For a moment, all she can do is float there, gasping for air, her body trembling with exhaustion.

Then she feels it: hands, grabbing at her.

She flinched, her instincts screaming to fight, but then she hears it—a breathless, desperate gasp.

“Az.”

Relief floods through Azzi, so overwhelming it’s almost painful. She turns, and there she is—Paige, her hair plastered to her face, her eyes wide and frantic.

Azzi doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Paige’s arm, and together they start swimming, their strokes uneven and shaky but determined. The water is shallow enough now that they can touch the bottom, and they half-swim, half-stumble their way to the edge.

They collapse onto the sand, their bodies tangling together as they sprawl out, too exhausted to care about anything but the fact that they’re alive.

Azzi’s face ends up pressed against Paige’s chest, her lips brushing against her collarbone. Paige’s arm is draped across Azzi’s back, her fingers digging into Azzi’s shoulder as if she’s afraid to let go.

For a moment, neither of them moves. They just lie there, gasping for breath, their bodies trembling from the adrenaline and the cold. Azzi can feel Paige’s breath against her forehead, her lips ghosting over her skin.

It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t.

Eventually, Azzi pushes herself up, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. She sits back on her heels, dragging Paige up with her, and they both sit there for a minute, staring at each other, eyes tracking their faces, because they almost just died.

Then, Azzi’s eyes catch on something in the water.

A body.

It’s floating face-down, the lifeless form a girl with dark hair fanned out around her head like seaweed. Azzi recognizes her—the girl from District Five.

Her stomach churns, and she realizes she must have missed the cannon while she was underwater.

“Jesus,” Paige mutters hollowly.

They stare at the body for a second longer, the weight of it pressing down on them. It could have been them. It almost was.

Paige shakes Azzi’s shoulder suddenly, snapping her out of her daze. She gestures across the water, her eyes narrowing.

Azzi follows her gaze and sees them—four figures moving along the shore. The tributes from One and Two—the Careers.

Azzi’s heart sinks. They’re too good, too strong. Azzi and Paige might be fighters, but they can’t take four-on-two, not against tributes who’ve spent their whole lives training for this.

“They haven’t seen us yet,” Paige whispers urgently.

Azzi nods, her mind already racing. Her bag is floating a few feet away, and she grabs it, pulling it toward her. She slings it over her shoulder, her movements quick but careful.

Paige holds out her hand, and Azzi takes it without hesitation.

They run.

Azzi’s legs scream in protest, her lungs burn, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t look back. The Careers might not have seen them yet, but they will soon, and Azzi knows they won’t get another chance to escape.

The jungle swallows them, the dense undergrowth closing in around them like a shield. They don’t stop running until they’re sure they’re far enough away.

When they finally collapse against a tree, Azzi’s legs give out beneath her. She slides to the ground, her chest heaving, her body trembling from exhaustion and fear.

Paige sinks down beside her, her head falling back against the tree trunk. She doesn’t let go of Azzi’s hand—in fact, her grip tightens.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

But Azzi can see it in Paige’s eyes—the same realization that’s clawing at her chest.

Their time is running out.

THE TWO DAYS since the flood have been maddeningly quiet, the kind of stillness that creeps under Azzi’s skin and refuses to leave. The arena is suffocating in its silence, the oppressive heat of the jungle seeping into her bones. She and Paige have walked the same endless stretches of sand, weaving between trees with the cautious precision of prey unwilling to draw a predator’s gaze. Seven of them are left now. The endgame is close enough to taste, and Azzi knows their strategy of running and hiding won’t be enough anymore. Not with the two pairs of Careers prowling.

The boy from Ten doesn’t concern her much. He’s a shadow, a rumor that exists only when the cannon fired for someone else. No, it’s the Careers that are the problem—their brute strength, their careful hoarded Capitol supplies stacked neatly at the Cornucopia, their unwavering confidence that they’ll outlast everyone else simply because they always do. Azzi and Paige have talked endlessly about it since they were nearly flooded right into them.

Azzi doesn’t want to kill. She knows she can, knows she’s capable. She’s done it before—once, the boy from Eleven. Every time she thinks of it, it makes her sick. The sound of the dagger slicing through the air, the way it dug right into his neck, the sharp taste of bile in her throat afterward. She doesn’t want to do it again.

Paige had argued the opposite, suggesting that if they just separated them, they could easily take them out and be done with them like that.

But Azzi had shaken her head, throat tightening at the thought. “They’ve got good. Water. Supplies,” she’d listed. “Take that away, and they’ll destroy themselves.”

It had taken hours to agree on the plan, both of them stubborn in their positions. It had only settled when the parachute came—a gift from the sponsors, with a sleek, silver explosive device tucked inside. The Capitol, it seemed, wanted a show. And, as much as Azzi hates being part of their entertainment, she can’t deny the relief she’d felt when she realized they wouldn’t have to improvise. Destroying the Careers’ supplies is the cleanest option, even if it means risking everything to pull it off.

The plan itself is simple in theory, far more dangerous in execution. Paige is the distraction, something Azzi hates the moment it was suggested. They’d fought tooth and nail about it, neither of them wanting the other to be the bait. But Paige was resolute, and she eventually won. She usually does.

Azzi knows Paige isn’t stupid—reckless, yes, but not stupid. But that doesn’t stop the knot of anxiety from tightening in her chest as they crouch in the jungle now, hidden by the thick underbrush that separates the sand from the Cornucopia. She can hear the Careers talking in the distance, their voices low and confident. It’s almost mocking, the way they laugh like this is nothing more than a game to them.

Azzi forces herself to focus on the task at hand. She’s got the explosive device in a pouch at her side, her daggers strapped to her thighs, and an ache in her chest she can’t shake. If this works, if they destroy their supplies and the Careers are weakened enough to fall… what then? Azzi knows exactly what then. It’ll be her and Paige, and the boy from Ten if he’s still hiding out there.

She promised her family she’d come home. Jon and Jose had cling to her when she left, their eyes wide with fear she couldn’t soothe. And her parents looked at her with so much hope. She had promised to try to win, to try to survive, to try to do everything she could to return to them. But that promise feels like a weight crushing her now because surviving means watching Paige die. Or worse—doing it herself.

She can’t think about that now. Not when Paige is standing in front of her, close enough that Azzi can feel the heat radiating from her skin. Paige grips her sword tightly, her jaw set with determination.

“Please be careful,” Azzi says, her voice quieter than she means it to be.

Paige nods once. “I will.”

That’s not good enough, though. So, Azzi grabs her arm, forcing her to meet her gaze. “No, Paige,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. Please, be careful. Promise me you won’t do some stupid reckless shit.”

Paige’s eyes soften just enough to make Azzi’s stomach twist. She takes a long moment before nodding again, slower this time. “Okay,” she says gently, sincerely. “I promise.”

Azzi nods, exhaling a shaky breath. She feels Paige’s fingers brush against hers briefly, a fleeting moment of contact that lingers like a ghost. “You be careful too,” Paige murmurs.

“I will,” Azzi replies, sounding steadier than she feels.

Paige takes a small step back, and for a moment, neither of them moves. Then, Paige straightens, the sharpness returning to her expression as she says, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

Azzi doesn’t respond, her throat too tight to form words. She watches as Paige turns and bolts away, her blonde ponytail the last of her that Azzi sees before her form disappears completely into the dense jungle. Azzi’s chest tightens as she stands there, still, her eyes fixed on the spot where Paige vanished.

She doesn’t let herself dwell on the what-ifs. She doesn’t think about what could go wrong or the countless ways this plan could end in disaster. She just hopes—prays, even—that this isn’t the last time she’ll see Paige.

She takes a deep breath, and then locks in, though there’s not much to lock in on yet. Because she has to wait. The Careers need to be far enough away, taking Paige’s bait. If they’re not, this entire plan is dead on arrival—and possibly Azzi along with it.

She tells herself to breathe, but each inhale feels razor-sharp. Her mind flickers to Paige, somewhere out there, leading the Careers away. Azzi can’t see her, and she doesn’t dare imagine what might happen if Paige doesn’t pull it off. She pushes the thought down, locks it away. Focus.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she decides it time. The clearing appears empty; the only sound of the faint rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. Azzi steps out onto the sand, her shoes sinking slightly into the grainy surface. She moves quickly, but each step feels painfully exposed, the weight of the jungle at her back like a thousand watching eyes.

The supplies are piled high against the Cornucopia’s base: food, water, medical kits, weapons. The lifeline of the Careers. Azzi’s heart races as she pulls the small explosive device out of its pouch. Her fingers tremble slightly as she sets the timer, forcing herself to breathe evenly. She gives herself a good thirty seconds—enough time to get back into the cover of the trees. Her heart is a drumbeat of panic as she activates the device, the red light blinking like a countdown to chaos—which, it is.

She throws the explosive right into the pile and doesn’t wait around to watch it roll. Instead, she bolts, sprinting back toward the foliage. The sand shifts beneath her feet, slowing her down, but she reaches the edge of the jungle just as the timer hits zero.

The explosion is deafening, a fiery burst of destruction that lights up the clearing like a second sun. Azzi clamps her hands over her ears, the shockwave rattling her skull even through her precautions. The Cornucopia groans as part of its structure collapses, supplies reduced to flaming shrapnel and smoke. The air reeks of burning plastic and charred food.

Azzi crouches low, her chest heaving as she stares at the destruction she’s caused. Relief floods her for half a second until—

“No!” the word rips from behind Azzi, the voice of a boy. She spins around, and, sure enough, the boy from One is there, eyes flashing with anger and disbelief as his gaze shifts between Azzi and the destroyed supplies. He’s holding a spear, and it glints in the light of the sun and the flames. “You fucking bitch—”

And then he’s striking, lunging forward with the spear aimed at Azzi’s midsection. She twists her torso just in time, the blade grazing her side but leaving her untouched. She counters immediately, grabbing one of the daggers strapped to her thigh and slashing toward his exposed forearm. Her blade catches skin, opening a thin gash.

He grunts, and Azzi doesn’t wait for him to recover. She lunged, aiming a dagger at his ribs, but he anticipates the move and sidesteps. His elbow catches her temple as he pivots, a glancing blow that sends her stumbling back.

“That all you got?” he asks, his tone mocking but full of clear and raw anger.

Azzi ignores the sting in her head, forcing her focus back to the fight. He’s strong, she knows that. But she’s strong too, muscle built up from years of basketball and working in Nine. So, she moves fast, feinting left before striking right, her blade carving a shallow cut across his bicep.

His face hardens. He doesn’t respond this time, just swings the spear in a brutal arc aimed at her legs. Azzi leaps back, but the tip catches her thigh, ripping through fabric and skin. She hisses at the sharp pain but doesn’t slow down, tossing a dagger aimed at his chest.

He moves out of the way just in time for it to not be deadly, but it still slices his shoulder, blood staining his suit. And then she’s driving forward with her other knife. He blocks this blade with the shaft of his spear, the clang of metal reverberating in her ears.

He swings the spear again, aiming lower this time, a precise jab at her legs. Azzi shifts to dodge, but her injured thigh slows her down just enough. His foot catches her left knee with brutal force, a perfect strike to the vulnerable joint.

The pain is instantaneous, sharp and sickening. She feels a pop and a snap, the joint or muscle or something twisting in a way that shouldn’t be possible. She crumples to the ground with a sharp scream, clutching at her knee as waves of agony shoot up her leg.

She sucks in shallow, panicked breaths, her hands shaking as she grips her knee. It’s wrong, all wrong. It feels loose and tight at the same time, everything out of place. Her vision blurs with tears, but she forces herself to look up.

He’s standing over her now, the tip of the spear pointed at her throat. “Weak little bitch,” he spits. Clearly, he’s taken the supplies thing personal.

Azzi’s mind races, desperation clawing at her. She fumbles for one of her daggers, but her fingers feel clumsy, the pain overwhelming her focus.

“Fucking pathetic,” he continues, pressing the spear closer to her neck. “I almost feel bad for you.”

The sound of her own heartbeat fills her ears, drowning him out. She tightens her grip on the dagger in her hand, her fingers slick with sweat and blood.

With a burst of adrenaline, she twists her body, throwing her weight to the side and slashing upward with the blade. The dagger slices into his side, deep enough to stagger him.

“Damnit!” he shouts, stumbling back.

Azzi forced herself up, her injured knee screaming in protest. It feels like it could give out at any moment, but she doesn’t care. She can’t care. She lunges again, aiming for his chest once more.

He recovers quickly, batting the blade away. His other hand slams into her shoulder, sending her sprawling onto her back.

He doesn’t hesitate, taking the opportunity. He’s on her in an instant, pinning her to the ground with the weight of his body. Azzi struggles, her daggers slipping from her grasp as his hand clamps around her throat. His face hovers inches above here, his breath hot and ragged.

She can feel the spear’s tip pressing against her ribs, and panic claws at her chest. This is it. This is how she dies.

But something ignites within her—a desperate, furious refusal to give up. Because she can’t give up. She made a promise she’s not about to break. Her fingers grope blindly, finding the hilt of one of her knives. With a surge of strength she didn’t know she had left, Azzi drives the blade upward, burying it in his neck.

The boy jerks, his eyes widening with shock and horror. Blood erupts from the wound, hot and sticky, sprawling across Azzi’s face, her neck, her suit. He gurgles, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as the life drains from him.

A cannon rumbles through the arena as his body goes slack above her. She shoves him off with a pained grunt, rolling onto her side as her chest heaves. Her knee pulses with pain, her skin slick with his blood, and her ears ring faintly, but she’s alive. Somehow, she’s alive.

She lies there for what feels like forever, her chest heaving as she stares up at the sky. She can feel his blood drying already, itching against her neck and face and collarbone. The boy’s body is a dark, crumpled heap a few feet away, his lifeless eyes still open.

She forced herself to look away.

She can’t stay here. She knows that. The others will have heard the cannon. They’ll come looking.

With a grown, she pushes herself onto her elbows, her knee screaming in protest. The pain shoots up her leg and settles in her hip, making her vision swim for a moment. She grits her teeth, swallowing the cry that threatens to spill out. She can’t afford to be weak now, no matter how much her body is begging her to lie back down and give in.

Her hands tremble as she grips the ground, dragging herself upright. Her left leg barely bolds her weight, and she nearly topples back down. But she steadies herself, forcing her injured leg to bear just enough to limp.

The jungle calls to her, offering safety in its shadows. She just has to get further in. She can think about her knee later.

She’s only managed a few steps when she hears it: rustling. The sound is faint at first, like the wind moving through the trees. But it grows louder—faster—until it’s unmistakable. Footsteps. Someone is running.

Azzi freezes, panic gripping her chest like a vice. She doesn’t have it in her to fight again—not now, not so soon. Her hand flies to the hilt of her knife, tightening around it as she turns toward the sound. Her breath catches.

Of course, with her luck, it has to be another one.

She steels herself, setting her stance as best she can despite the throbbing pain in her leg. Her teeth grind together, and her muscles coil tight, ready to spring. She’ll die here if she has to, but she’ll take someone with her.

Then she hears it: “Azzi!”

The voice cuts through the jungle, desperate and raw. Her grip on the dagger falters for just a moment as the sound registers. She knows that voice.

Before she can fully process what’s happening, Paige crashes into view.

She looks wild, disheveled—her little braids and ponytail half-undone, her face pale beneath streaks of dirt. Her chest heaves as if she’s run miles, and her eyes dart frantically before landing on Azzi.

Everything in Paige seems to shift. The terror in her expression melts into something else—relief, disbelief, and something deeper Azzi can’t name. Paige’s lips part as if to speak, but instead, she staggers forward, her voice breaking as she says, “Oh my God.”

And then she’s running.

Azzi barely has time to react before Paige is on her, arms wrapping around her so tightly that Azzi can’t breathe. She feels Paige’s hands clutching at her back, her shoulders, her hair—like she’s trying to hold all of Azzi at once.

Azzi’s dagger clatters to the ground as she sinks into the embrace, too stunned to do anything else. It hits her then—the sobs shaking Paige’s body, the wet warmth of her tears against Azzi’s neck. Azzi realizes, distantly, that she’s crying, too.

Paige pulls back just enough to cup Azzi’s face in her hands, her thumbs brushing blood and tears away from Azzi’s cheeks. Her eyes burn blue with something so real, so raw, that it slices through Azzi like a knife.

“I—oh my God,” Paige stammers, her voice trembling, her words stumbling. “I—I saw the explosion, and I was so happy. And then—fuck—I heard you scream. And then the fucking cannon went off, and I thought—” She cuts herself off with a choked sob, shaking her hand as her hands tighten on Azzi’s cheeks. “I thought one of them killed you. I thought—I thought I lost you, Az.”

Azzi swallows hard, her throat thick with emotion. “I’m okay,” she says, her voice slow and soft, as if she’s not only trying to convince Paige, but also herself. “I’m okay.”

Paige stares at her like she doesn’t quite believe it. Then, suddenly, she pulls Azzi in again, her hands still framing Azzi’s face as she presses their lips together.

The kiss is nothing like their first. It’s desperate, messy, full of too many emotions for Azzi to untangle. She can taste the salt of their tears and the metallic tang of blood—hers, his, she doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.

For a moment, all of the danger, the pain, the fear—it all disappears. Here, in Paige’s arms, Azzi feels something she hasn’t felt since the Games began: safe.

It’s stupid—so stupid. They’re in the middle of a killing field, and only a few people stand between them and having to kill each other. But Azzi can’t bring herself to care. She kisses Paige back just as hard, pouring everything she has left into it.

When Paige finally pulls away, her hands move to wipe at the blood smeared across Azzi’s face. “God, Az,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Where’s all this blood from?”

Azzi sighs, nodding toward the boy’s body a few feet away. Paige’s eyes follow her gaze, and her expression hardens for a moment. Then, she looks back at Azzi, her tone firm, almost protective. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

The question snaps Azzi’s brain back to the sharp, searing pain in her knee. She grimaces, glancing down at it. “My knee,” she says. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s bad.”

Paige glances down before kneeling slowly. Her hands ghost over Azzi’s leg as she inspects it carefully. The fabric of her suit is a little torn, but there’s nothing visibly wrong with Azzi’s knee. Paige nods as she stands back up, her expression steady despite the worry in her eyes. “Okay,” she says. “We can handle that. It’s okay.”

Before Azzi can respond, a cannon fires in the distance.

The sound tears through the air, sharp and defeating, and both of them jump. Azzi stiffens instinctively, her hand twitching toward her dagger before remembering it’s on the ground. Her pulse races, the adrenaline kicking back in despite her exhaustion.

“Who—?” Azzi asks, her voice tight.

Paige exhales shakily, her shoulders slumping. She doesn’t look surprised. “It’s probably the girl from One,” she says quietly, glancing toward the trees as if expecting someone to burst through them. “We were fighting.”

Azzi blinks, confused. “You didn’t—”

“No,” Paige cuts in, the words thick. “I didn’t finish her. I couldn’t.” She hesitates, pushing a loose blonde hair that’s escaped one of her braids out of her face. “I heard you scream, and—I left her. She was bleeding out already, and I just… I had to find you.”

Azzi stares at Paige, her chest tightening painfully. There’s so much weight in those words, in the way Paige’s voice cracks ever so slightly at the end.

“You left her,” Azzi repeats, slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige more, her eyes meeting Azzi’s with a raw, unflinching honesty. “Yeah,” she says. “I left her.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The jungle around them seems to press closer, the silence thick and oppressive. Azzi’s mind races, trying to process what Paige has just admitted. It’s reckless—so reckless—but also…

God, Azzi doesn’t even want to finish the thought.

“Paige,” she starts, but the words catch in her throat.

Paige shakes her head quickly, cutting her off. “Don’t,” she says sharply but not unkind. “Don’t say it, Azzi. I know. I know it was stupid. I just—I couldn’t. Not when I thought you—” She falters before looking away, her jaw clenching.

Azzi swallows hard, her hands twitching at her sides. There’s so much she wants to say but doesn’t know how. Instead, she leans closer, her forehead resting tentatively against Paige’s.

“‘M here,” she says softly but steady. “I’m here, and I’m okay. And so are you. We can figure out the rest later.”

Paige closes her eyes, letting out a shaky breath before nodding.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Okay.”

But even as she says it, Azzi can see the weight Paige is carrying—the guilt, the fear, the overwhelming relief. And she knows that no matter what they tell themselves, things will only get much harder from here.

EVERY STEP feels like a dagger twisting into Azzi’s knee. Her weight shifts onto Paige more than she’d like, and though Paige doesn’t complain—not once—Azzi feels the guilt pooling in her chest with every labored step. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, her body screaming at her to stop, to sit, to just give up. But Paige is steady beside her, one arm looped tightly around Azzi’s waist, murmuring, “You’re doin’ good. Just a little further, Az.”

Azzi wants to believe her, but each step feels like she’s dragging herself closer to fucking collapse. She’s not sure if Paige’s words are meant for her or Paige herself, and the thought makes her stomach twist.

When the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of purples and oranges, Paige stops them. “We can rest here,” she says, and Azzi doesn’t argue. She sinks to the ground with a quiet groan, letting her back rest against the rough bark of a massive tree.

They settle under a canopy of vines, a natural curtain that offers some semblance of cover. Paige drops down beside her, leaning back against the tree with a sigh. Azzi shifts, resting her head on Paige’s shoulder, too exhausted to fight the impulse. She half-expects Paige to pull away, but instead, Paige’s fingers find their way to her hair, gently tracing one of her braids. The motion is soft, almost absentminded, but it sends a strange comfort through Azzi.

They’ve stopped pretending. There’s no point anymore, no space left for lies or walks. Not when the whole world is pressing down on them, when every breath feels borrowed.

Azzi closes her eyes briefly, trying to will away the relentless throbbing in her knee. When she shifts closer to Paige, her knee protests, but Paige doesn’t move—doesn’t complain. She just wraps an arm around Azzi and holds her tighter. It’s selfish, Azzi thinks, to let herself take this comfort when she knows what’s waiting for them at the end of all this. But she’s too tired to pull away.

The moment is interrupted by a faint sound above them. Azzi’s eyes snap open, and she follows Paige’s gaze skyward. A parachute, small and shimmering in the fading light, drifts toward them.

“Thank God,” Paige breathes, sitting up straighter. She reaches for it as it lands gently in the dirt beside them, her hands fumbling with it’s the clasp before opening it.

Azzi leans closer as Paige pulls out a neatly wrapped piece of fabric, some sort of compression wrap meant for her knee. Relief washes over her, but it’s short-lived as Paige pulls out a slip of paper and hands it to her.

Azzi reads it silently, the words sinking in:

Not much longer now. Please take care of yourself. Hang in there, kid. —Cyrus

The word yourself is bolded for emphasis, and Azzi knows exactly what her mentor is trying to say. It’s a warning, a plea. He’s telling her to focus on her own survival, to stop letting caring about Paige’s.

Azzi swallows hard, crumpling the note in her hand. She knows Cyrus is right, knows that every second she spends leaning on Paige, letting Paige patch her up or fight her battles, is another second she’s getting closer to losing everything. But she just doesn’t know how to stop.

“Good guy, your mentor,” Paige says softly, breaking the silence. She gestures for Azzi to stretch her leg out. “Let’s get this on your knee, yeah?”

Azzi nods, not trusting herself to speak. She bites the inside of her cheek as Paige works, her hands careful but firm as she wraps the fabric around Azzi’s swollen knee. Every touch sends a jolt of pain through her, but she doesn’t flinch. Paige’s brow furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“This’ll help,” Paige tells her, her voice low and sure. She ties off the wrap with a small, satisfied nod. “It will. Just don’t push it too much, aight?”

Azzi exhales, leaning back against the tree again. “Yeah,” she murmurs.

Paige leans back, too, her movements slow and careful, as though every second spent near Azzi is precious. Azzi watches her through heavy-lidded eyes, the pain in her knee dulling slowly. Paige settles beside her, tucking Azzi close under her arm like she’s trying to shield her from the rest of the arena.

Boom.

Another cannon.

The sound splits through the silence like a gunshot, making Azzi’s whole body tense. She squeezes her eyes shut, her breath catching in her throat. Fuck.

Beside her, Paige lets out a sharp exhale. It’s not fear exactly, but something close to it. Something raw and pained. Before Azzi can even begin to process it, Paige pulls her tighter, her grip firm and almost desperate, as if she’s afraid Azzi might slip away from her—might decide to get up and leave (as if Azzi even could). Paige’s voice is low and taut when she murmurs, “Final four.”

Azzi’s head aches. She doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to consider what it means for them. For Paige. For her. But she knows Paige is right. They’re down to four.

They sit in silence, the weight of the cannon settling between them like a third presence. And then, as if the arena itself is mocking them, the anthem begins to play.

The two of them glance skyward, the shifting lights reflecting in their tired eyes. The faces of the fallen appear one by one, each accompanied by a grim silence. Today was a long day, clearly.

The boy from One flashes first, obviously. It makes Azzi’s chest burn a little, knowing she’s the reason he’s in the sky now.

Then, the girl from One—just as Paige suspected. Azzi spares a glance at Paige, who doesn’t flinch. Her expression is unreadable.

Finally, the last face: the boy from Ten. He’s the most recent, the cannon they just heard.

When the anthem ends, the night seems quieter than before. Oppressive. Azzi leans back against Paige’s chest, her weight sagging into her like she’s trying to press all of her fear into Paige’s body, hoping Paige can somehow bear it for her.

“That leaves us and the pair from Two,” Azzi says quietly. And then, after a beat, she adds, “They’re gonna work together.”

Paige nods, jaw set. “So are we.”

Azzi doesn’t reply, because what’s the point? She knows Paige means it, knows Paige will fight tooth and nail for her. But the sinking reality of their situation presses against Azzi’s chest like a vice.

They stay like that for a while, not speaking, just existing in the fragile quiet. Paige’s fingers brush over Azzi’s hair again, gentle and rhythmic, and Azzi lets her eyes flutter shut. She’s so soft, Azzi thinks, so careful with her. It feels cruel to indulge in this, but she can’t help it.

And then Paige starts talking, unable to keep the thoughts in her head, the words spilling from her like a dam breaking. “We’re gonna figure somethin’ out,” she says, her voice laced with a frantic kind of hope. “We’re gonna do it. ‘Cause you can’t die. And I can’t die. We gotta live. Together. So—y’know, maybe they can bend the rules or something. The Capitol and the sponsors love us. We’d give great publicity if we both won. Two victors. Some kinda Romeo and Juliet shit. It could work.”

Azzi’s chest burns at the desperation in Paige’s voice. She knows it won’t happen—knows it can’t happen. The Games don’t work like that. The Capitol doesn’t bend rules. But she doesn’t have the heart to tell Paige that. Not when she’s clinging so tightly to this fragile thread of hope.

So, Azzi stays quiet, letting Paige’s words hang in the air like a lifeline she can’t bring herself to grab. Instead, she tilts her head to, her eyes meeting Paige’s—brown on blue. The moonlight filters through the vines, illuminating Paige’s face in soft silver hues. She looks beautiful.

And then, without thinking—without over analyzing it the way she does everything else—Azzi leans in and kisses her.

It’s slow at first, tentative, as though Azzi’s afraid Paige might pull away. But Paige would never, and when she doesn’t, when her lips press back against Azzi’s with a tenderness that feels like it might shatter her, Azzi deepens the kiss.

She lets herself get lost in it, pouring everything she can’t say into the way her lips move against Paige’s. It’s not just a kiss—it’s an acknowledgment of all the things they’ve been too afraid to say aloud. It’s a promise, fragile and fleeting.

Paige’s hands come up to cradle Azzi’s face, her fingers brushing along her jawline and sending shivers down Azzi’s spine. She tastes like the berries they’d shared earlier, like desperation and warmth and something that—if they were absolutely anywhere else—Azzi might call home.

Azzi’s hands find their way to Paige’s shoulders, then her hair, tangling in the soft blonde strands as she pulls her closer, like she’s trying to memorize the feeling of her.

Because she knows this can’t last. She knows this moment is borrowed, that the Games will rip it away from them sooner rather than later.

But for now—for just this one perfect, terrible moment—Azzi lets herself believe in the impossible.

THE MORNING dawns heavy and gray, the air thick with an electric tension that seems to press against Azzi’s chest. She sits propped against the base of the tree she and Paige slept on, absently adjusting the wrap on her knee as Paige moves around under the vines, collecting their things. Even without any announcement from the Capitol, Azzi knows—this is it.

Today will be the last day.

She doesn’t know how she knows. It’s not like the Gamemakers have explicitly said so. But the weight of it is undeniable, a silent agreement between the arena and the remaining tributes. If they don’t find the pair from Two soon—or if the pair from Two doesn’t find them—the Capitol will force the confrontation. They always do.

Azzi knows Paige’s mind is still churning, trying to devise some kind of impossible scenario where the two of them make it out together. Where Paige’s relentless optimism wins out against the Capitol’s cruelty. Azzi wants to believe in it, hope for it. She really does.

But she can’t.

Her knee is a liability now, and she knows it. The wrap helps her walk without wincing, but she can’t run—not like she needs to if they’re ambushed. The odds were already slim before, but now? Now they feel closer to nonexistent.

Azzi adjusts the wrap one last time, fingers lingering on the fabric as a wave of guilt washes over her. She promised her family she’d try her best, that she’d fight as hard as she could to get back to them.

She wants to. God, she wants to see them again so badly. Her parents. Her brothers. But Paige wants to see her family, too—her little siblings, Drew, Ryan, and Lauren, whose stories have become so vivid in Azzi’s mind she feels like she almost knows them. Paige has talked about them so much during the long, quiet nights in the arena, her voice soft and full of longing.

And Azzi knows the pair from Two probably has families waiting for them, too. People who are praying just as hard as hers are. It’s a horrible truth she can’t escape: none of them deserve this. But the Capitol doesn’t care about who deserves what.

The sky grows darker as the morning drags on, the clouds thickening and swirling in ominous patterns. Paige notices it first, pausing mid-motion as she stuffs the last of their things into a bag.

“You see that?” she asks.

Azzi tilts her head back, squinting up at the sky. A storm brews in the distance, jagged lightning flickering at the edges. The wind picks up, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. Azzi’s stomach churns.

“They want it to end,” she says quietly. Her voice falls flat with resignation. “This is how they force us to face them.”

Paige glances at her, and Azzi sees something fragile in her expression. Fear, maybe. Or something close to it. She tries to mask it with a sharp nod, her jaw clenching as she grabs their bags.

“Then we’ll give ‘em what they want,” Paige mutters determinedly.

Azzi doesn’t say anything as Paige steps closer, looping an arm around her waist. She doesn’t really need the help today—not like she did before—but she doesn’t protest. Instead, she leans into Paige’s steady presence, letting herself take comfort in the closeness.

The first drops of rain fall as they set off, light at first but steady, and Azzi can feel the storm building. The wind howls through the jungle, pulling at their suits and hair. It’s not hard to guess where they’re heading, even without any explicit direction.

The Cornucopia.

It’s always the Cornucopia.

Azzi doesn’t bother asking if Paige is thinking the same thing—she knows she is. Anyone that’s watched the Games before knows that’s almost always where they end.

The pair trudge forward together, moving slowly to avoid putting too much strain on Azzi’s knee. Paige’s hand stays firm on her waist, her grip protective but not overbearing. The terrain grows harsher as they go, the jungle thinning out and giving way to open stretches of land that make Azzi’s heart race. She hates being this exposed, hates the idea of someone—them—watching from the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Paige’s voice pulls her out of her spiraling thoughts. “We’ll make it,” she says, sounding more confident than Azzi knows she really feels. “We’ll find a way.”

Azzi doesn’t respond. She just presses her lips together, letting Paige’s words hang between them.

They walk for what feels like hours, the storm growing angrier with each passing minute. The rain comes down harder now, soaking through their suits and making the ground slick beneath their feet. Azzi’s knee protests more and more with every step, but she doesn’t stop.

When they reach the edge of the jungle, they’re immediately crouching low behind the underbrush, trying to stay as hidden as possible. The clearing ahead is a trap—they both know it—but there’s no other choice.

Paige drops their bags just inside the jungle’s cover, her movements hurried and sharp. She pulls out two of Azzi’s daggers, handing them over with trembling hands. Azzi takes them silently, the blades cold and reassuring against her wet palms. Her thigh straps and waist sheath are already full, but these feel different—more immediate. She grips one tightly and tucks the other against her belt.

“You ready?” Paige whispers, though her voice barely carries over the pounding of the rain.

Azzi nods, the gesture more instinct than thought. Her knee throbs beneath its tight wrap, but she does her best at ignoring it.

Ahead, the sand of the clearing is slick and reflective under the rain, the shallow saltwater lake churning with the storm’s fury. The Cornucopia, half-collapsed from yesterday’s explosion, looms like a broken monument of death. The air smells metallic, a mix of wet earth, blood, and the storm’s electricity.

“We don’t move til we see ‘em,” Paige murmurs firmly, despite the tremor in her hands.

Azzi watches the clearing, her heart hammering in her chest. The silence feels oppressive, broken only by the occasional boom of thunder. She doesn’t hear the arrow until it’s too late.

Suddenly, Paige cries out beside her, a sharp, startled sound that cuts through the storm. Azzi’s head whips around just as Paige stumbles backward, clutching her shoulder. An arrow juts out of her flesh, its shaft trembling as if mocking their failure to notice.

“Paige!” Azzi gasps, lunging to grab her before she collapses. But another arrow zips past, this one so close that Azzi feels the air shift by her ear. She ducks instinctively, dragging Paige down with her into the mud.

“Shit,” Paige mutters, her tone tight with pain. Her free hand digs into the wet earth, her face pale as she tries to steady herself.

“Let me take it out,” Azzi says. The words tremble as they slip past her lips.

Paige gives her a tight nod, biting down hard on her lip. Azzi grabs the shaft of the arrow, her hands slick with rain and mud. “This is gonna hurt,” she warns.

“Just—do it,” Paige grits out.

Azzi pulls, hard and fast. Paige cries out, her back arching against the pain as blood wells from the wound, staining the torn fabric of her suit. “Fuck,” she breathes raggedly.

Azzi barely has time to assess the damage before she hears heavy footsteps crashing through the jungle. Her head snaps up, and her stomach drops.

The boy from Two is barreling toward them.

It’s not just his size—it’s the way he moves, like a predator. He’s massive, easily half a foot taller than Azzi and built like a mountain, his shoulder broad and his arms corded with muscle. He’s carrying a long-handled axe with a wicked, gleaming blade.

Azzi doesn’t even have time to think. She and Paige are shoved out of the jungle and onto the sand, the boy’s sheer momentum forcing them into the open.

Immediately, Paige is scrambling to her feet, pulling Azzi up with her, her sword already drawn. Azzi grips her dagger and lifts it, about to let it fly towards the boy. But, before she gets the chance, another arrow is sailing toward her and she has to duck. Just as she does, the boy charges at Paige, his axe swinging in deadly arcs that carve through the rain. Azzi watches as Paige ducks and sidesteps, her movements sharp but hindered by the sand and her injured shoulder. The sound of their weapons clashing echoes through the storm, a violent rhythm that makes Azzi anxious.

She’s about to get up and help Paige before her eyes land on the girl. She’s smaller, wiry, but no less dangerous. She’s holding a bow, another arrow already notched and aimed directly at Azzi.

The girl releases her arrow once more, and Azzi dives to the side, her knee screaming in protest as she hits the ground hard. The pain is sharp, a lightning bolt up her leg, but she can’t stop. She rolls onto her feet, barely catching her balance before the girl is on her.

She’s fast, faster than Azzi expected, and her short blade flashes in the dim light as she slashes at Azzi’s midsection. Azzi parries with her dagger, the clash of metal sending vibrations up her arm.

Rain pours down in sheets, making it hard to see, hard to think. Azzi’s grip on her knife is slippery, her breaths coming in short gasps as she blocks another strike.

The girl is relentless, each attack more precise than the last. Azzi’s knee buckles as she tries to sidestep, and she stumbles, barely managing to keep her balance. The girl sees the weakness and presses harder, driving Azzi back toward the edge of the sand, near the water.

Azzi’s mind races, searching for an opening, a way to turn the fight in her favor. She ducks under a wide slash, her free hand grabbing a handful of wet sand and flinging it into the girl’s face.

Just as the girl recoils, momentarily blinded, a sharp cry from Paige draws Azzi’s attention. She turns just in time to see the boy pinning Paige’s sword against the sand, his axe raised for a killing blow. Without thinking, Azzi hurls one of her daggers.

It flies true, embedding itself in the boy’s shoulder. He roars in pain, stumbling back and giving Paige just enough time to regain her footing.

Azzi’s momentary distraction costs her. The girl from Two has recovered, wiping mud from her eyes as she lunges with a renewed ferocity. Azzi blocks the first strike but can’t avoid the second. The blade slices across her arm, hot pain flaring as blood mingles with the rain.

Azzi bites back a scream, her vision swimming as she staggers. Her knee is flaring, too, the wrap doing little to support her under the strain of combat. But she ignores them both, countering the girl with a sharp jab of her dagger, the blade now slicing across the girl’s own arm.

The girl hisses but doesn’t falter. She circles Azzi, her eyes cold and calculating, waiting for an opening. Azzi’s watching carefully as she hears a cry echo behind her—a sharp, desperate sound that cuts through the storm like one of her knives. It’s Paige.

Her stomach twists, panic surging through her veins, but she forced herself to focus. The girl is front in front of her, blade raised for a killing blow. If Azzi falters now, it’s over.

She takes a shaky step forward, raising her dagger. The girl hesitates, just for a second, and that’s all Azzi needs.

With a burst of adrenaline, she drives the blade upward, straight into the girl’s chest.

The girl gasps, her eyes wide with shock as Azzi’s dagger pierces her heart. For a moment, time seems to stop, the rain washing away the blood as the girl’s body goes limp, falling from Azzi’s grasp.

Boom.

Her cannon fires.

Azzi takes a long inhale, her chest heaving as she stares at the girl from Two’s lifeless body. The dagger is still in her hand, slick with rain and blood, but it feels like an extension of her arm now, part of her in a way that terrifies her. She forces herself to let go, the blade slipping from her grasp and landing in the wet sand with a dull thud.

The rain pelts her skin, cold and unforgiving, but she can’t move. She stands there, rooted to the spot, her breathing ragged and uneven as her eyes linger on the girl. The world feels muffled, like she’s underwater, and everything—the storm, the blood, the suffocating ache in her knee—fades into the background. It’s over. At least, this part is.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest, faster than it should be. She doesn’t feel victorious. She doesn’t feel anything at all, just numb. Her gaze flickers to the girl’s face—eyes open, staring blankly at the stormy sky. Azzi swallows hard and finally looks away.

She turns, her body protesting every movement, and just as she does, her eyes catch a shape through the rain. The boy from Two stumbles, falters, and then crashes to the ground at Paige’s feet like a felled tree. His own axe is lodged in his chest, buried deep.

His cannon booms, its hollow echo vibrating through the air, and Azzi flinches at the sound. Her eyes stay fixed on him, her mind struggling to process what she’s seeing. He’s dead. Paige killed him.

Leaving just the two of them.

It takes Azzi a moment to shift her focus, her eyes drifting to Paige. When she does, the sight hits her like a punch to the gut.

Paige is standing a few feet away, drenched from head to toe, her blonde hair plastered to her face. Azzi can tell she’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling with each gasp of air, but there’s a dazed sort of smile on her face. She looks over at Azzi, and when she says her name, her voice is soft, almost tender.

“Azzi,” she murmurs, and for reasons Azzi can’t understand—because they’re supposed to be killing each other right now—she feels herself smile back, just a little.

But then Paige takes a step forward—or tries to. It’s more like a stumble, her foot catching awkwardly on the slick ground. Azzi’s brows knit together in confusion, alarm prickling at the edges of her mind.

“Paige?” she says, her name coming out sharper than she means.

Paige sways, her balance faltering, and Azzi forgets about the pain screaming through her knee. She moves toward the older girl, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides. her hands find Paige’s shoulders, holding her up before she can fall.

“Hey, you okay? What’s wrong?” Azzi voice is urgent now, her grip tightening as she peers at Paige’s face.

Up close, even through the pouring rain, she can see how pale Paige is—too pale. The sight sends a bolt of fear straight through Azzi. Paige’s breath is coming in short, shallow gasps, and she shakes her head, like she’s trying to form words but can’t quite manage it.

“Um, fuck,” Paige stammers. The words sound shaky and thin coming from her lips. “He, uh—”

“Paige, what?” Azzi interrupts, her hands moving to steady her further, to ground her, but the panic is creeping into her voice now.

Paige doesn’t answer right away, just sways a little more, trembling. And then Azzi’s eyes drop—she can’t help it—and that’s when she sees it.

One of Paige’s hands is clamped against her stomach, pressed tightly to her body like she’s trying to hold something in. Something red.

“Paige,” Azzi says again, quieter now, almost a whisper.

Slowly, carefully, she reaches down and pulls Paige’s hand away. What she sees makes her stomach twist violently.

Blood. So much blood. It’s everywhere, seeping through Paige’s suit and mixing with the rain until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Azzi feels her knees weaken, the world tilting dangerously, but she forces herself to stay upright.

Her hands are shaking as she presses them against Paige’s wound, trying to stem the flow, but it’s no use. The blood keeps coming, warm and slick and terrifyingly real.

“I—” Azzi starts, stammering, as tears begin to well in her eyes. “What—how’d this happen?”

Paige leans against her heavily, her weight almost too much got Azzi’s weakened body to bear. But she doesn’t let go.

Paige’s breath is coming even quicker now, hitching painfully with every exhale. “He… he got me,” she says finally, her words halting and uneven. “With my own sword. Before I—” Her voice cuts off, her head drooping as another shudder racks her body.

And then Paige’s knees buckle. Azzi feels her heart seize as Paige slips through her grasp, the weight of her limp body pulling them both downward. Azzi swears under her breath, her bad knee flaring in protest as she sinks to the ground. She’s careful—so fucking careful—not to let Paige fall too hard, easing her down until she’s lying on the wet sand. The storm thrashes around them, the rain relentless, cold water dripping off Azzi’s face as she hovers over Paige.

Paige’s face is twisted in pain, her brows furrowed and lips trembling as shallow, ragged breaths continue to leave her chest. Her pale complexion looks almost translucent in the dim light, and it’s terrifying—like she’s already slipping away. Azzi’s hands shake as they press down on Paige’s stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. But it just keeps coming, hot and thick and endless.

“Fuck,” Azzi mutters, the word slipping out as her panic mounts. Her hands are slick, her fingers stained red, and she can’t seem to get a good grip. She presses harder, but it’s like trying to hold back a flood with a dam made of sand.

Paige’s breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound, and then she starts coughing—deep, wet coughs that shake her entire body. Azzi freezes, her heart plummeting, and watched helplessly as Paige lifts a trembling hand to her mouth. When the coughing subsided, Paige lowers her hand slowly, almost as if she doesn’t want to see what she already knows is there.

Blood.

It streaks across her fingers, dark and unmistakable. For a moment, Azzi watches as Paige just stares at it, her chest heaving. And then her blue eyes widen, filling with big tears, her voice cracking as she stammers, “Shit. I’m dying. Shit, Az—I—I’m dying.”

“No.” Azzi shakes her head hard, too hard, the motion jerky and frantic. “No, you’re not. You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

But even as the words leave her mouth, they sound hollow, fake. She can feel the tears burning at the edges of her own eyes, hot and blurring her vision, because she knows. God, she knows coughing up blood isn’t just bad—it’s the worst. It’s internal, it’s critical, and it’s so far beyond anything Azzi can fix.

The rain pounds against them, soaking them both to the bone, but Azzi leans closer, her body hovering over Paige’s, shielding her as much as she can from the downpour. She can’t stop the storm, can’t stop the bleeding, can’t stop any of it, but she has to do something. She has to try.

“Paige, you’re okay,” she says as firmly as she can. “Just—just keep breathing, alright? Don’t stop breathing.”

Paige’s eyes find hers, wide and glassy and so heartbreakingly blue, and Azzi feels like she’s looking into a mirror of her own fear. Paige tries to speak, but her voice comes out thin and reedy, barely audible over the cracking storm. “Azzi…” She swallows hard, wincing as the motion seems to cause her more pain. “Tell them.”

Azzi friend, her hands still pressing against the wound, through her fingers are starting to cramp from the effort. “Tell who what?”

“My family,” Paige whispers. Tears spill over her cheeks, mixing with the rain as she stares up at Azzi with a kind of desperate determination. “Drew, uh, Ryan, Lauren—my parents. Tell them I love them. And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Paige, stop,” Azzi pleads, her own voice breaking now. A sob lodges itself in her throat, thick and suffocating, but she shoves it down, shaking her head fiercely. “You don’t need to say that. You’re not—don’t talk like that.”

Paige shakes her head weakly as another tear slips down her cheek. “I need you to,” she insists, her words rushed and uneven, like she’s running out of time. “Please. Promise me.”

Azzi can’t take it. She can’t take the way Paige’s voice wavers, the way her body shakes under her hands, the way she’s looking at her like she knows this is it. Like she knows she’s not making it out of this. Azzi wants to scream, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, to tell her to stop giving up.

But she doesn’t.

“Paige, stop,” Azzi says again, softer now, choked with tears. “You’re gonna make it. You hear me? You’re gonna win this, and you’re gonna go home and tell them yourself.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just stares at her with those tear-filled eyes, like she wants to believe her but can’t. Azzi swallows hard, her throat aching with the effort of keeping herself somewhat together for Paige.

“Can you kiss me?” Paige whispers softly. Her lips are near blue at this point, still lightly streaked with her own blood, her words weak and shaky, but her gaze is steady, locked onto Azzi’s face. “Please?”

Azzi stills, her breath catching. The world feels suspended, like time itself has stopped to old this moment between them. Paige’s worde echo, and Azzi’s chest tightens with the sharp ache of knowing why she’s asking. Paige thinks this is the end. Paige knows it’s the end.

Azzi stares at her for a long second, the rain pounding against her back, soaking her to the bone. Her hands are still pressing down on Paige’s wound, futilely trying to stop the blood that keeps slipping through her fingers, but her eyes are locked on Paige’s face.

And then she leans down carefully, her heart breaking with every inch that closes the distance between them. When her lips finally meet Paige’s, the rain, the pain, the fear—it all falls away.

Paige kisses her like it’s the only thing keeping her alive, like she’s pouring every last shred of strength into this one act. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against Azzi’s with a desperation that makes the younger girl’s heart shatter. Azzi tastes the rain, salty tears, and the faint metallic tang of blood. Paige’s hand slides up the back of Azzi’s neck, her fingers trembling a little as they tangle in Azzi’s wet hair, holding her close like she doesn’t ever want to let go.

Azzi kisses her back just as desperately, her own tears streaming down her face and mixing with the rain. She presses closer, her hands forgetting the blood and the wound for a moment as they cradle Paige’s face instead, her thumbs brushing over her cold, rain-slicked cheeks. She doesn’t care about the Hunger Games, the Capitol, the fact that the whole country is probably watching this—there’s only Paige, only this kiss, only the cruel reality that this will be their last.

When Azzi finally pulls away, it’s because Paige’s body starts shuddering harder, her breath hitching with sharper, uneven gasps. Azzi’s eyes snap open, and she sees Paige struggling to breathe, her chest rising and falling in shorter, more frantic bursts.

“Paige?” Azzi whispers anxiously. She cups Paige’s face, tilting it up toward her, her thumb brushing lightly over one of Paige’s closed eyelids. “P, keep your eyes open. Please, look at me.”

Paige does as she asks. Her eyes flutter open, just barely, her lashes damp with rain and tears. She gives Azzi the faintest smile, her hand still resting weakly on the back of her neck. “‘M still here,” she murmurs.

Azzi exhales shakily, her vision still swimming. She leans back down, pressing her forehead against Paige’s, listening to her short, shallow breaths that make her stomach twist. Then, between gasps, Paige whispers, “If we both could’ve won… I woulda made them let us play ball together.”

Azzi’s throat tightens at the words, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. They both had that stupid, unrealistic dream of playing basketball in the Capitol, with the pros, of being known for something other than violence and survival.

“Yeah?” Azzi chokes out, brushing a strand of wet hair from Paige’s face.

Paige nods weakly, her lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Yeah,” she whispers. “We’d be, like, stars. Everyone would know us as basketball players instead of… kids in the Hunger Games.”

Azzi bites her lip, hoping that pain might ease some of this pain. “I’d like that,” she says softly, the words breaking.

Paige’s face scrunches up in pain for a moment, and Azzi watched helplessly as she forces herself to speak again. “Me too,” Paige breathes, voice much quieter now.

Paige’s hand trembles as it clutches Azzi’s neck tighter, like she’s trying to hold on to whatever strength she has left. “I would’ve taken you on a real date,” she says in between quicker gasps. “We’d… we’d have a great life together, Az. You’d meet my siblings. I’d meet Jon and Hose. We’d—” Her words cut off as her breath hitches violently, and her eyes fall shut against the pain.

“Hey, shhh,” Azzi says as soothingly as possible, though at this point, her tears streaming are unchecked and uncontrollable.

But Paige’s eyes are still closed, her head lolling slightly to the side now. Azzi tightens her grip on her a little, cradling her face more, her thumb brushing against Paige’s cheek. “P,” Azzi pleads. “Hey, come on. Don’t do this. Don’t—don’t go.”

It takes a second but then Paige’s eyes flutter open once more. Azzi lets out a choked sound that’s half relief, half anguish. Those blue eyes, usually so bright and full of life, are dull now, unfocused, like Paige is looking at something far beyond Azzi.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first—just the faintest sound, like a sigh carried off by the rain. Then, in the weakest voice Azzi has ever heard, Paige murmurs, “‘M tired, Az.”

Azzi starts to shake her head frantically, her grip tightening even more as though sheer willpower might keep Paige here. “No. No, you don’t get to be tired, okay? I can’t—I’m not ready.” And she knows how selfish she sounds, because she’s not dying, Paige is—but it’s still true. Even though she had this whole time to prepare for it, she’s not ready to let Paige go.

Paige blinks slowly, her expression softening as her gaze drifts toward Azzi. “You’re the winner,” she breathes. “You… you get to home.”

“I don’t care about winning!” Azzi snaps, her voice breaking as a sob rips through her chest. “What’s the point if you’re not there. It doesn’t mean anything anymore. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Paige’s lips twitch into a faint smile, one so small and fleeting that it only makes Azzi cry harder. Paige’s hand falls from Azzi’s neck, half-limp as it brushes against Azzi’s wrist. It doesn’t hardly even feel like a touch—it’s too light for that, too fleeting—but it’s enough to make Azzi stop breathing for a second, her entire body frozen as she clutches Paige’s hand in hers.

Paige’s fingers twitch weakly against Azzi’s. “You’ll be okay,” she whispers, her words slurring now, her voice slipping further and further away.

“I won’t,” Azzi whispers back, sounding raw and desperate. She shakes her head. “I won’t be okay without you.”

Paige doesn’t respond. Her hand goes limp in Azzi’s grip, and her head tilts further to the side, her eyes falling closed again, lids covering Azzi’s favorite shade of blue.

“No. No, no, no, no,” Azzi stammers, her voice rising in pitch as she shakes Paige gently, then harder, her heart pounding in her chest. “Paige. Paige, open your eyes. Please. Just—just look at me—”

She’s crying so hard now she can barely see, her tears mingling with the never-ending rain as she grips Paige’s body, her voice breaking over and over again. “Don’t do this to me, Paige,” Azzi sobs, her forehead pressing against the older girl’s. “You don’t get to do this. C’mon, please…”

The rain continues to fall, relentless and uncaring, as Paige grows colder in Azzi’s arms. For a moment, Azzi refuses to believe it—refuses to accept it—but then she hears it.

Boom.

The cannon.

The sound is defeaning, sharp and final, cutting through Azzi like she’s being stabbed. It’s over. It’s all over.

Azzi’s body collapses over Paige’s, her sobs muffled against the stillness of her chest as someone on an overhead speaker starts talking, congratulating her for being the victor of the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games.

But she doesn’t care that she’s won. She doesn’t care about the Capitol or the crowd cheering somewhere far away. In this moment, all she cares about is the girl in her arms—the girl she couldn’t save.

And, for the first time in Azzi Fudd’s life, victory feels like the worst thing in the world.

[daisyvisions]

[11:38PM] - Close to You (k.m)

Warnings: Smut (18+, minors DNI), boyfriend Kevin, thigh fucking, accidental p in v and eventually unprotected sex (rough sex), hair pulling, pet names (baby, sweetheart). Word count: 0.7K

A/N: Exercising the writing muscles with this one! Short but a part 2 to this fic and for the anons who requested for a part 2 many times a while back. Sorry for the wait, hope you still enjoy this! My very late birthday gift to Kevin! Tagging @deoboyznet @winterchimez @snowflakewhispers @snowflakewhispers

Thinking about boyfriend!Kevin, who’s been nothing but a sweetheart to you from the beginning of your relationship and the most selfless man you had ever met. You were so blessed to have him in your life.

Despite all his loving gestures and praises, there would still be that little voice in your head convincing you he was just being nice and that soon enough this honeymoon-like stage would eventually wear off.

But Kevin would prove time and time again how strong his love for you was, especially ever since that night you became intimate with him.

You could never get enough of each other whenever you were left alone. And even when things started to get incredibly hot, Kevin still kept his word and never pushed you to do anything you didn’t want to do (even when you could clearly see how worked up he’d get).

God bless his beautiful soul.

Eventually, the horny bug had gotten to you, and you couldn’t take it anymore. You wanted him closer than ever before. You were ready to give yourself to him, body and soul.

“You’re doing so well for me baby, that’s it.” Kevin hisses in your ear as he continues to fuck himself between your thighs, the tip of his manhood nudging at your sensitive bud deliciously.

You could feel both his hesitation and hunger whenever the tip would slightly prod at your entrance, begging to go inside just for a moment.

Suddenly, as Kevin continued to thrust himself harshly between your thighs, he pulled back a little too much. When he thrusted forward once more, the tip of his member got caught at your entrance, accidentally pushing his entire length inside you in one swift motion.

You moaned so loud, not because of the pain but because of how well he stretched you out. The way your walls enveloped him easily, like he was meant to be there. And it felt so good.

While you were nearly fucked out by this, Kevin froze completely still. While yes it felt so amazing to finally be inside you, he was internally freaking out, doing something he knows he’s not allowed to do yet without your full consent.

“Oh shit baby- I’m so sorry-” Kevin stuttered. As he tried to pull out you grabbed his hips and pulled him aggressively, making him go deeper inside you and hitting that spot you couldn't reach on your own.

“Don’t stop, please!” You whined, your hips thrusting to get him to move inside.

And it was like a switch had turned on within Kevin, because he instantly locked you in place and started fucking you like there’s no tomorrow. Deep hard thrusts going in and out of your heat as his arms wrapped around you, making you absolutely delirious.

“Fuck you feel so amazing baby, so tight…” He mumbles against your lips as he kisses you, continuing to pound himself into you. He slightly grabs a fistful of your hair, pulling it towards him as you moan loudly.

“Oh so you do like it rough, don’t you?” He chuckles as you nod your head, smiling back at him as drool starts to spill from the corner of your mouth.

Who would’ve thought his sweet angel would be a nasty little thing? He thought to himself. The idea of you like this, completely giving yourself to him, the way you look at him like he gave you the stars makes his cock throb inside you? It was enough to make him pussy drunk.

Eventually, you reach your highs together, Kevin making sure he cleans you up and gets you everything you need before lying back down to cuddle. You rest your head on his chest, his breathing slowly lulling you to sleep.

“Kevin?” You look up at him, eyelids heavy as you feel yourself slowly closing.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “You’re so good to me, how did I get so lucky?”

“I could ask myself the same thing,” Kevin sighs. “I’d do anything for you, you know that, right?”

“Mhm.” You yawn as you snuggle up to him. “I love you.”

Kevin smiles back at you, kissing your head slowly as he brings you closer to him.

“I love you too, sweetheart.”

[akayuki56]

Life Eternal, Price Infernal

Hey guys, since I've started my very first fanfic on ao3, I thought I could post the first chapter here too. If you prefer to read it on ao3, here's the link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60717190/chapters/155053903

For the first chapter, here are the trigger warnings: Dracopia, mention of blood, blood drinking, forced drinking of blood, mention of starving, violence.

Summary:

What should've been a relaxed night out at the club with the ghouls and some Siblings of Sin, ends for Copia with begrudgingly having to take care of a newborn vampire. What he doesn't know is, that this was only the beginning of the disaster he has gotten himself into.

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Pain. It’s relentless, consuming every fiber of my being. I shiver violently, curled up behind a row of garbage bins where I’ve spent the day. Over the past few days, sunlight hasn’t just hurt my eyes—it feels like it’s burning my skin. Maybe it’s a fever, I told myself. It wouldn’t be surprising, not with autumn's chilly winds and the lack of shelter living on the streets. The sinking temperatures offer no mercy.

During the day, I sought refuge in this alley, hiding behind the bins, buried in shadows. It’s the only place I could attempt to sleep, though the pain wracking my body makes any real rest impossible. My muscles convulse without warning, as if I’m being torn apart from the inside out.

Now, though, I regret my choice of hiding spot. The alley I picked is right next to a fancy club, and guests keep stepping outside to smoke and chatter, their laughter drifting into the night. I stay motionless, willing myself to disappear into the filth, not making a sound.

But staying quiet grows harder as another wave of cramps seizes me, folding me in half. My stomach twists, hollow and unforgiving. Hunger is something I’m used to—I've lived with it for years—but this is different. This hunger feels carnal, like an abyss pulling me deeper. Even my gums ache, throbbing with a sharp, unrelenting pain.

I’m starving.

A sudden sting cuts through my lip, and I gasp. Shit. In my attempt to stay silent, I must’ve bitten down too hard. Warm blood trickles down my chin, and I wipe it away with trembling fingers, staring at the crimson streak smeared across my hand. My stomach convulses again, harder this time.

Laughter and music drift through the alley, mingling with the carefree voices of women. I shrink further into the shadows, pressing myself against the cold, grimy wall as if I could vanish entirely.

From my hiding spot, I see them. Their outfits catch my attention immediately—nuns, or at least dressed as nuns. But these aren’t ordinary habits; they’re… revealing, almost mockingly so. Slutty habits, I think to myself, confused.

I don’t have time to wonder what kind of club this is when something happens. One of the women trips, her high heels betraying her balance, and she crashes onto the concrete with a sharp cry of pain. She stares down at her hands, scraped and bleeding from the fall.

And then it hits me.

A scent—sweet, intoxicating, alive—fills the air, overwhelming every thought in my mind. It consumes me completely, obliterating reason and control.

I don’t even realize I’ve moved until I’m on her, straddling her body, gripping her wrist in an ironclad hold. Her bloody palm is inches from my face, and the scent is maddening, my stomach screaming for it.

A sharp pain shoots through my gums again, and I feel something foreign—something wrong. My lips part instinctively, and I lean closer.

Then, suddenly, I’m wrenched backward.

A violent force slams me against the alley wall, knocking the breath out of me. Before I can comprehend what’s happening, I’m pinned, staring into a pair of mismatched eyes—one pale blue, the other a burning amber—filled with fury.

The man assessing me is unnervingly calm yet deadly. His gaze flicks over me, taking in every detail like a predator inspecting its prey.

“Hunting in my territory, topolino? Bold choice,” he growls, his voice smooth but razor-sharp. He leans closer, his nostrils flaring as he sniffs me. What the actual hell?

“I don’t know you,” he continues, his tone low and dangerous. “You smell… new. And you look like you’re starving. Who turned you?”

His words barely register. My head is still swimming from the scent, the hunger, the chaos. I stare at him, confused and dazed, unable to answer.

I don’t like how he’s holding me—his gloved hand wrapped around my throat. He isn’t cutting off my air, but his grip is firm, a silent promise that I won’t escape. The smooth leather of his gloves is icy against my skin, sending shivers down my spine.

Instinctively, I grab his wrist, trying to pry his hand away, but he doesn’t budge—not even an inch. Frustrated, I let out a low, feral hiss, a sound that surprises even me. It’s inhuman, animalistic.

And then I see it.

My fingers, clawing at his forearm, aren’t just fingers anymore. Razor-sharp claws have sprouted from my nail beds, slicing through his expensive shirt as if it were paper. Deep gashes appear on his skin, blood welling up and soaking into the shredded fabric.

I freeze, horrified, staring at the crimson dripping from his arm.

He seems just as surprised. His mismatched eyes flick between my face, his forearm, and the claws I don’t even recognize as mine.

The air between us crackles with tension, heavy and suffocating. My heart races in terror as I realize I’ve crossed a line.

"No helpless mouse, then? A feral kitten with claws instead?"

Sarcasm drips from his words, his tone mocking. He doesn’t seem remotely concerned that I just tore into his forearm. I glance at the wounds, only to watch in horrified fascination as they begin to close. The ragged edges knit together with eerie precision until only faint red lines remain.

“What the fuck?!” I choke out, panic flooding my system. My instincts scream to fight, to run, but my body betrays me, frozen in fear.

He sighs, clearly bored with my feeble struggles. Without warning, he releases me. I crumple to the ground, my legs too weak to hold me upright.

He stares down at me, his expression shifting into something contemplative, almost thoughtful—until it twists into a sneer. His upper lip curls back, revealing sharp, glinting… fangs.

I shriek, scrambling backward into the garbage. Rationally, I know it’s pointless—nothing will save me now.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling a frustrated sigh. “Non ho tempo per queste stronzate,” he mutters in a language I don’t understand.

Then, with swift determination, he grabs my wrist and hauls me to my feet.

“You’re coming with me,” he says flatly, dragging me toward a door leading into the club.

“No! Fuck you, let me go! Help!” I scream, but no one reacts. The people around us—guests, staff, all of them—pretend not to notice.

He barks an order to a pair of men in silver masks, instructing them to tend to the injured woman I had attacked. Then, without a second glance, he strides into the club, dragging me along like an unwilling passenger on a one-way trip to hell.

The thundering music slams into me as soon as we enter, the bass pounding in my skull. Flickering lights blind me, disorienting me further. And the scents—oh god, the scents.

Underneath the chaos, I hear something distinct and irresistible: the rhythmic, erratic thumping of hundreds of heartbeats. Alive. Pulsing. Calling to me.

The ache in my gums intensifies, sharp and searing, and my stomach twists painfully, making my vision blur. I stumble, nearly collapsing, but the man catches me with a growl of irritation.

Before I can protest, he lifts me effortlessly over his shoulder.

“No! Put me down!” I shout, pounding weakly against his back, but he doesn’t even flinch.

What unsettles me most is the crowd’s reaction—or lack thereof. No one steps in. No one even looks at me. Instead, they part for him like a sea before a storm. Some nod respectfully, others avert their eyes entirely.

I realize, with growing dread, that this man is someone they fear.

When the music and lights finally fade, I notice the quiet. A door slams shut behind us, and the next thing I know, I’m unceremoniously dumped onto a plush couch.

I sit there, disoriented and dizzy, taking a moment to steady myself.

The room is lavish, every detail screaming wealth and excess. A liquor cabinet stocked with expensive bottles gleams in one corner. There’s a massive television mounted on the wall, a sleek table with matching chairs, and a couch surrounded by armchairs that look far too pristine for someone in my ragged state. I feel wildly out of place, like a stain on something immaculate.

When the spinning in my head subsides, I lift my gaze to the man who brought me here. He stands a few feet away, watching me with unsettling intensity, like a scientist observing a specimen under a microscope.

“Who the fuck are you? Some kind of pervert who picks up girls off the street for his sick games?” I snap, my voice trembling but defiant. It’s all I have left—fear masked by anger, the same defense that’s kept me alive this long.

He arches a brow, the corners of his mouth twitching with amusement. The movement draws my attention to his impeccably trimmed mustache and sideburns, giving him an unsettlingly handsome yet old-fashioned appearance.

“I can assure you,” he says with a faint sneer, “I have neither intention nor… craving where you’re concerned.”

His eyes rake over me with open disdain, lingering on my torn clothes and grimy appearance.

The insult is so blatant that my jaw drops. My face flushes with a mix of humiliation and rage, my stomach twisting for reasons that have nothing to do with hunger.

For a moment, the pain in my body is forgotten as I push myself upright, trembling with fury.

“Who the hell do you think you are, you arrogant piece of—”

A low, guttural growl cuts me off. The sound reverberates through the room, primal and menacing, and I freeze mid-sentence.

Impatience flashes across his face, and his lip curls again, revealing those deadly fangs.

The room feels colder, heavier, as if the air itself is holding its breath.

And I realize, for the first time, that whatever this man is… he’s far more dangerous than I imagined.

I gulp hard, my body moving on pure instinct as I plant myself firmly back onto the soft cushion of the couch.

“Good choice,” he snarls.

Usually, a comment like that would have me snapping back with some retort about his over-the-top alpha male antics. But something about him warns me that challenging him right now wouldn’t be smart. Living on the streets sharpens survival instincts, and mine are screaming at me to stay quiet, to play along if I want to get out of this alive.

“Let’s try this again: who turned you, and where are they?” he asks, his tone hanging by the thinnest thread of patience.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about!” I shoot back honestly, though there’s a defensive edge to my voice that borders dangerously on disrespect.

He inhales deeply, like a snake tasting the air. For the first time, confusion flickers in his mismatched eyes.

“Are those contact lenses? Or are you blind?” I blurt out, staring at his left eye, which gleams a stark, unnatural white. It doesn’t look like he’s blind, so it must be some fancy, high-tech lens—or so I assume.

He ignores my question, muttering something under his breath.

“Stai dicendo la verità... non ha senso.”

“Is that Italian? You know, it’s not very polite to speak in a language no one else can understand,” I snap, fleeing into sarcasm to mask my anxiety, my fingers trembling in my lap.

“Open your mouth,” he commands, his tone brooking no argument.

“What the—no! If you think I’m about to blow your tiny—”

Before I can finish, he seizes his chance. One hand clamps around my chin while the fingers of the other pry my upper lip up. His leather gloves taste bitter on my gums as he presses against them with alarming precision.

Pain detonates in my jaw, sharp and relentless, radiating through my head. I cry out, jerking my head away. To my surprise, he lets go immediately.

A sharp sting slices through my bottom lip. I wipe my chin and freeze when my fingers come away streaked with blood. Tentatively, I touch my mouth, wincing as something sharp and foreign pokes against my fingertips.

“You’re not just new—you’re new,” he says, a mixture of disbelief and disapproval lacing his words. “You shouldn’t even be outside alone. This is irresponsible.”

His voice fades into the background as I grapple with what’s happening. My terror is all-consuming, my brain stuck in survival mode. There’s only one thought pounding through my head: run.

And my body obeys.

One second I’m on the couch; the next, I’m sprinting for the door. Adrenaline floods my veins, pushing me forward even as exhaustion claws at my limbs. Somehow, I make it.

But when I grab the handle, reality hits. Locked.

A frustrated, inhuman snarl escapes my throat—something I don’t even recognize as my own. The sound sends a shiver down my spine.

“You didn’t really think it would be that easy, did you, topolino?” His voice is behind me now, dripping with exasperation. “That I’d let you just walk out?”

I whirl around, my vision blurring with rage and desperation. My mind blanks. Instinct takes over.

Before I know what I’m doing, I lunge at him.

The suddenness of my attack actually seems to catch him off guard. He grunts as I collide with him, but he sidesteps my wild swings effortlessly.

I’m a feral mess—a whirlwind of snapping fangs and clawing hands.

“Alright, kitten has claws,” he taunts, his voice laced with amusement. “But you don’t know how to use them. Pathetic.”

Despite his mocking tone, there’s something alight in his eyes—something alive, intrigued. He lets me flail for a while, as if indulging me in some kind of test.

But my energy burns out fast. My limbs tremble violently, the last dregs of my strength leaving me.

Before I collapse, he catches me. With an ease that makes my humiliation sting even more, he scoops me up and carries me back to the couch, laying me down gently.

“When was the last time you fed?” His voice sounds distant, as though it’s coming from underwater.

My vision swims, half-lidded eyes struggling to focus on his face. Harsh light spills across the room, reducing him to a dark silhouette. His words blur together, and I can’t understand him anymore.

Something warm presses against my lips, wet and sticky. I try to turn my head away, but his hand keeps me in place, firm but not cruel.

“Drink,” he commands, and the pressure increases until I reluctantly part my lips.

Warm liquid floods my mouth. It’s thick, rich, and impossibly potent—a flavor unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.

My body reacts immediately. Hunger takes over, primal and uncontrollable. My hands shoot up, grabbing the source and pulling it closer. My fangs sink in, piercing flesh, and I hear a hiss from somewhere far away. I don’t care. All I know is I need more.

I drink greedily, tearing at whatever I’m feeding from, the hunger driving me into a frenzy.

The pain in my body ebbs away with each gulp. Strength surges through me, my cells buzzing with renewed energy. It’s like drinking liquid life itself, every fiber of my being waking up and regenerating.

I don’t know how long I drink. Time ceases to exist. All that matters is the hunger—the feeding.

And for the first time, I feel alive.

At some point, he curses and pulls away. I mewl in protest, reaching out instinctively, my body screaming for more, needing more.

“You’ve had more than enough,” he growls, his voice firm but distant, as though he’s speaking through thick fog. “My blood is far too potent for a newborn fledgling like you.”

His words trickle into my brain slowly, like honey dripping through cracks.

“More…” I whine, my voice a pitiful, intoxicated plea. I feel alive, electrified, like I’ve been reborn in fire and lightning. Whatever he gave me, whatever it is—

My blood is far too potent for you.

My blood.

Blood.

The realization slams into me like a freight train, and my eyes snap open just in time to see him rolling his sleeve back down, concealing the mangled mess of his wrist. The wounds are healing, but not as quickly as before. Not like they did in the alley.

My gaze drops to myself, and the scream tears from my throat before I even realize it’s happening.

Red.

So much red.

It’s everywhere—soaking into my already filthy clothes, staining my skin, pooling beneath me like a grotesque halo.

The sharp crack of leather meeting skin echoes through the room. The sting on my cheek registers a second later, silencing my screams in an instant.

“Cazzo, stop that nonsense!” he hisses, his mismatched eyes locking onto mine with a force that freezes me in place. My mouth snaps shut on its own, the command in his voice overriding my panic.

His jaw tightens, but the flicker of rage in his expression dims slightly. “Bene. Now listen very closely,” he says, each word deliberate and sharp. “I don’t have time for this stronzate right now. I need to make some… arrangements.”

He leans closer, his gloved hand brushing my cheek, a gesture that’s far from comforting. “You will stay here. Stay put, like a good little gattino. Capisco?”

The question isn’t really a question. He doesn’t wait for a response. Instead, he pats my cheek lightly, almost mockingly, before turning on his heel and striding out of the room.

The heavy door clicks shut behind him, leaving me alone with more questions than I had before—and no answers in sight.

[iamgodsoopsie]

Astarion Headcanons (that you probably WILL like) Pt. 1:

More Astarion headcanons that are mostly me projecting onto a fictional character to help me process my own trauma but this time they're HAPPIER!

BG3 does an excellent job at depicting SA trauma and the beginning of the healing process/journey. Many of the headcanons I've seen floating around (intentionally or unintentionally) gloss over the uglier side of healing from (prolonged) trauma. I'm not judging anyone for magically healing him, he's fictional after all, but I'd like to make some more ...realistic... headcanons.

Disclaimer: Everyone's healing process looks different, but they tend share commonalities. These headcanons are based on my own experiences. Not everyone who is healing from their trauma will experience what I have or have experienced it like I have.

[Please don't message me with explicit details about your trauma. I am at the point in my healing journey where I can share my experiences, and commiserate with other's similar experiences, but I am unable to support others in a more personal manner at this time. I wish you the best of luck in your healing process/ journey.]

Spoiler Warning!

Mental illness, SA, & DV Trigger Warnings

These headcanons are based on an Astarion who is still a spawn and romantically involved with a Tav who honestly loves him and isn't abusive or manipulative. Also Cazador is dead and Astarion got to stab him. They also assume that he himself does not turn into Cazador 2.0 or Wish.com Cazador.

He didn't realize how much tension he was carrying until he started healing his trauma.

-> He was inflicted with so much pain on the daily that the tension caused by chronic stress didn't register.

->-> One day he realizes that being tense is no longer his default. He is relaxed in a way he didn't know was possible.

->->-> He feels free. Well and truly free.

He still has panic attacks and flashbacks, but they're lessening in frequency and intensity.

-> Finally being in tune with his body, he is now able to feel when he is getting to a not so great headspace.

->-> He is able to stop the panic attacks/ episodes before they even begin.

->->-> He is very proud of this. As he should be!

↑ He feels actual self-pride and has good self-esteem. What was once a haughty façade is now a proud reality.

-> He's still an arrogant little shit, but now he is one (almost) purely for trolling lmao. He's a high elf after all, snobbery is in their nature.

Restful sleep/ trance!

-> The first time he sleeps/trances through the night day without nightmares or horrific memories plaguing him is a big day for him.

He likes being "alive". Even though he can't enjoy life in the sun (for now). Even with his ever present hunger. For the first time in a long time the good outweighs the bad.

He has hope again. And it almost feels better than freedom, almost.

[echo-of-damnation]

Collide Like Two Stars p.2

Talos finds himself alone in a room with a very dominating Drukhari woman. aka I just want to hurt the poor boy.

Tags: hella smut, bondage, blood, pain play, electro play, noncon, sadism, emotional manipulation.

Do not even attempt if really freaky and kinky shit is not your jam. Its the Drukhari and a Night Lord so use your imagination and proceed with caution. MDNI.

Word Count: 1489

Part 1 - Part 2

She began tapping all over his chest with the tip of the rod, coming to a stop on his left nipple and pushed that dreadful button again. This time it felt like his whole left pec was on fire, sending tendrils of pain to his fingertips and toes. He bit down on the rubber mouth guard but this time unable to keep the scream from ripping out of his throat. His twin hearts fluttered from the electrical stimulation, any longer and he was sure they would stop all together.

After what felt like ages, the drukhari finally stopped her assault on his nipple. Talos let out an involuntary groan, drool dripping from his mouth. He could barely see through the tears that welled in his eyes. He could feel her hand come up and grope the abused muscle. Her eyes shone with a wild hunger he had never seen before, nostrils flaring as she breathed. Her gaze sent blood rushing back down to his cock, causing a small twitch.

“Why, you are just so beautiful aren’t you. You took that so well,” she purred, moving the rod away and down to his right hip bone. 

His eyes widened as he anticipated the next assault but all she did was laugh at his obvious panic.

“Silly little mon’keigh. Don’t look so scared,” the woman said “I wont hurt you each time.”

Talos visibly relaxed a fraction, no longer bracing his body when another wave of electricity slammed into his body. The drukhari woman shrieked in laughter, letting the attack last longer than the last two times. Talos felt as though his eyes would pop out of his sockets and his jaw break against the guard until the wave stopped. Once again left limply hanging by his wrists, shoulders beginning to burn from the pull of his massive body.

“Truly wonderful! I could have never asked for a better gift!” she said as she brought the rob to poke at his half hard cock.

True fear filled Talos at the thought of this horrible xenos woman frying his cock off. Watching her rub the stick against it, the cold metal of it sending a pleasant shiver through him.

“I know I’m sorry I lied that last time, but you can have my word here. I wont be damaging your manhood. I have better plans for that later,” she said as she replaced the wicked tool with her other slender hand. Feeling girth of if underneath the thin cloth piece. Closing her fist around it, she could barely touch her fingers, slowly squeezing while moving her hand painfully slow. Talos letting out a desperate moan around the guard still in his mouth, drool dripping freely now.

“Never in all my years have I seen a cock so big before. The ladies you steal away must feel so lucky to be ripped apart by this,” continuing her teasing, pulling her eyes away to stare into Talos’.

He tried so hard to steady his breathing, bring his heart beats back down but it was no use. Adrenaline, fear, and arousal were freely flowing through his bloodstream now. His cool and calm demeanor long gone, he was no longer in control of his own body.

The drukhari woman twisted her wrist one more time before pulling away, pulling out a desperate whine from Talos at the same time. 

“Now that I know you can handle the kind of fun we will have, lets really get started,” she mused as she went to put the rob back onto the table. 

Bending forward to pick something up from the lower shelf, Talos could always see all of her. She was very clearly wet, slick dripping down her inner thighs. The thong she wore left very little to the imagination, her asshole clearly on display. Her pussy lips pushing out of either side of the thin material made to “cover” her. She rocked from foot to foot while she searched for something, a low moan from the gentle stimulation to her clit floating from her and straight to Talos’ already hard cock. The smell of her arousal filling his lungs. Finally finding what she was looking for, she smoothly rose back up and walked back to and around to the rear of Talos. Running a hand up the back of his neck, dragging her nails across his short hair and into his scalp. A rumbling moan escaping his chest. Dragging her hand back down and continuing down his back till she came to his ass. She groped the tight muscle, slowly pulling one of the cheeks away from its partner, enjoying the sight of the small bit of fat that still sat there squish between her fingers. 

Satisfied with her fill of watching she stepped closer, running her hand to the front of him, slipping it under the cloth. Talos groaned at the sensations, feeling her breasts pressed against his back while she softly gilded her hand up and down his length. Reaching the tip to gather the pre cum that had begun to pathectically dribble out. Talos could feel her hot breath against his neck as she licked a stipe up to his ear.

“You taste so good, my little toy. Do you enjoy having your power stripped from you?” she all but moaned out. “Can you keep being a good boy for me, please?”

Talos moaned, being called a ‘good boy’ going straight to his dick. The woman let out a soft laugh as she felt him twitch in her hand. Much to Talos’ dismay she pulled her hand away, rubbing the excess pre cum across his lower belly. She went back to gently spreading his ass cheeks apart with one hand while her other covered his hole in something cold and slimy. Talos tried to get away from it all but was unable. The drukhari digging her nails into the soft flesh of his ass to keep him in place.

“Now don’t be ungrateful. I'm doing this to make this enjoyable for you too,” she chastised.

Once she felt that he was liberally coated she pressed a sharp finger against his awaiting hole.

“Now be a good boy and breathe in for me, and now out,” and as he did as he was told she pushed the finger inside him.

Talos began to panic again, he had never had anything that close to his as let alone inside before. The pain of the stretch went deep into his core.Trying more desperately to get away, he started shaking his head around, flexing his legs to try and get them to move even an inch.

“Shhh my sweet boy, you are doing so well. I just need to open you up so the next part will be easier,” she cooed into his ear.

Once her finger was all the way in she slowly started to work it in and out, feeling the delicious pull of his muscles as she worked him open. Cooing praises into his ear as she pumped him, adding in a second finger and then a third. Talos groaned at the feeling of being stuffed full of her fingers. He could hear the obscene wet sounds of her fingers fucking into him. With the third one inside of him, the tight ache in his lower core started to unwind. She fucked him faster now, taking her free hand from his ass to back to play with his cock, pumping him intime with her thrusts. She pulled moans from him that he never knew he could produce. Desperate for his release he began to buck his hips as much as he could but as he was about to topple over the edge, all sensations stopped. The xenos woman took her hands off his aching cock and ripped her fingers out of his ass. 

Walking back to face him she brought the hand that she was jerking him off with up to his face and began to smear the cum he was leaking across his face. Making sure to shove her fingers in his mouth between his cheeks and teeth. Once she felt she had cleaned them off sufficiently, she ripped the mouth guard out of his mouth. Talos let out a small moan at the loss of tension his jaw was in, letting his mouth hang open as he panted. Finally getting a proper amount of air into his lungs.

“You did so well for me, pet. But I can’t let you release yourself just yet. Don't you mon’keighs know the female must always climax first?” she said in an admonishing tone. “Now be a good boy and get this wet. Its for your own good so if you don't want to feel any pain, make sure you do a good job,” and with that she held up a large glass plug up to his mouth. He eyed her suspiciously, not understanding her meaning.

[real-godzekiel]

monster 4

i love m4 thank you

(The use of he/him for Monster 4 may be temporary. I have no idea what pronouns this silly would use. Honestly, anything but it/its would probably do. ) So I got the DLC TEX folder. The png files for Monster 4's death screen. Got nothing more than what I got when I first saw it and looked thoroughly through every frame. The reason why I'm mentioning this at the beginning of Monster 4's headcanon post will be explained at the bottom of the post after an edit. But here's what I have for him:

Dude's kind of miserable. He was doing alright in the tranquility of... well, nothingness before the Protagonist awaken his mind and his stomach muscles with the sound of rattling keys. His chase sequence is equivalent of a stabbed man running for an ambulance. Bad comparison when it happens in a cursed hospital in a cursed mansion, but you get the picture. Every second he's conscious, he suffers from an unquenchable hunger (LiV reference???). Every second when the hunger is slightly more manageable, he suffers from a number of conflicting emotions: guilt, fear of feeling worse again, fear of remembering shit he does not want to remember, fear of forgetting who he is, fear of the hospital environment and fear of what's outside the hospital. But right now, he's doing surprisingly well cleaning after the other hospital inhabitants.

Canonically a gamer:

I would imagine he's immune to horror games but does not have a preference towards them. He plays Slime Rancher and Amnesia with the same amount of casual enthusiasm. This fucker is so dedicated and curious that he'll spend hours exploring useless corners so he experiences everything the game has to offer. Gets mad at letsplayers when they miss secret endings/easter eggs or misinterpret lore.

Extreme pain tolerance in every part of his body except for the digestive system and brain. Either everything else seems like papercuts by comparison or that in some way he's half-dead. He's still stuck in the mindset that he is fully alive and human, albeit mutilated. It's not that he isn't aware of what vaguely happened to him, but that he reacts to the other horrific shit that goes on in the mansion like he doesn't eat people and that death is something that can still happen to him.

Eats everything that's SOFT enough. That is to say, he will not eat glass shards. Nor hard rocks. Nor tables. Nor an entire killer whale without taking time to cut it into pieces. Nor any type of weapon for that matter. Favorite food is raw red meat (beef, pork and lamb) and grilled potatoes and yam. Drinks (what he believes is) water like a healthy person.

"Rex" began when Bekka pointed out the similarities between his roar and that of a T Rex's. He's fine with this. Dinosaurs are kind of cool.

He's currently learning to knit. Wearing the same oversized patient gown is not super convenient. (Specimen 6: "Where the fuck did my needle go")

So. Regarding a more concrete backstory: I have no clue. The entire issue originates from his death screen. Most enemies have a small amount of intelligible information for my brain to form a character background out of. But God, Kira needs to tell me what details in M4's death screen is serious or simple easter eggs or making fun of this type of communicating lore to the community. This fella's death screen has no need to look like it came straight out of an ARG. Why is there a QR code that takes me to a quote site. What does this mean? Why are there so many text that I can barely decipher. All this made me feel like I'm missing something when constructing how this guy came into being in my head. Probably around the lines of being a hospital patient, getting influenced by Monster 5, eating his family then attempting to off himself and failing (somewhat). That's the general consensus in the SJSM community, but just from that death screen I still feel that's not enough. A dark/hj part of me is telling me Monster 4 might be like Specimen 9, something based on a real event or some bullshit just because his death screen is so packed with things that suggest secrets but are impossible to solve, at least for me. I don't even know. Here's some screenshots I want to talk about:

What is that B&W background?? A flower??? A brain????

This is interesting because it's similar to Nurse Tanaka's note. Might just be a reference to Monster 5's influence, which affects nearly every Karamari Hospitel character, so I don't know if this is anything important.

What interested me most is the family photo. The contrast and distortions are too high for me to find out the source for the original image of this photo, but it looks quite real. Could be a random stock image or something else. I honestly don't know. If you happen to find the original image and the context behind it, please send it to me. Thanks. This post is getting too long and I spent my whole afternoon on it.

[justporo]

Hello Poro!! I've recently stambled upon your lovely blog and now I can't stop thinking about you works So much it really sent my work schedule to shit :) Anyways, many many thanks that you don't keep your wonderful fic all to yourself and let us bask in them as well!! Your fics feel like the most delicious late-night desserts If I may ask, are you still keen on continuing Stars that collide someday? Not begging for an exact date, I saw you considered it as a side project, just curious if you still want to work on it :) Have the nicest day <33

My sweet dear, Anon!!! Aaaah, oh my god, thank you so so much! I can definitely tell you that, uh, writing all this stuff has impacted me too, lol. My sleep schedule is currently in shambles - so please don't get into trouble, please!

And of course I share my writing - I mean ofc this is also for myself but I gotta be honest, I probably wouldn't have pushed myself this far if I wouldn't have experienced all this amazing support!! <3 So thank you soooo much for taking time out of your day to write me a message! Stuff like this literally ALWAYS makes my day!

And oh, my dear sweet Anon, you picked the perfect day to ask! Because I have started writing another chapter just today - what a coincidence, eh? I don't have much yet because I was so busy with chores. But I can tell you the title will be "Gravitational force" and how about a lil sneak peek from the chapter beginning, eh? (I can't promise when it will be ready, but soon-ish)

And the thoughts in your head and the feelings in your chest that had been brought back with it, set ablaze anew. You knew they were dangerous, that at the end there could only be mutually assured destruction. But your mind kept wandering and spiralling around ruby red eyes, sweet promises of forever, loving touches over every last inch of your body. More than once in the last weeks had you risen in the middle night when you had dreamt and remembered some painful and yet incredibly precious memories. What stayed was always yearning: in your heart, to be known like this again. To feel and experience the depth of it again. And not least the feeling of ghostly touches all over your skin that was coated with a sheen of sweat already whenever you were ripped from your dreams. Left with old hungers unsated, wickedly reminded of how it had been to be held by him. You remembered all these nights spent embraced by Astarion painfully clearly again. The one you thought you’d share your eternity with. But as it had turned out, this eternity had found a rather timely end. And it had somehow gone on without him. Even though it had meant you’d had to effectively cut off a part of yourself to keep on going. And yet here you were again. Your heart aching for that lost part. And your body pulsing and craving for the touch it had once known.

[myahawkins]

~~ The Best Birthday Ever ~~

How it all started... one day after work I was more than exhausted, which teaching from 6am to 7pm will do to yah! I came home... collapsed on my couch and buried my face into my pillows as I felt my body start go give out.

Then I heard the buzz of my phone... dreading to look at it, knowing it could be work requesting me to work overtime yet again tomorrow... I begrudgingly picked it up and checked what it could be, fearing that horrible outcome.

I had observed it being a message indeed, so as per usual my heart dropped and fear filled my body again, as I dread the feeling of someone trying to get in contact with me, especially after such a shit and drooling day.

But then I seen it was from you... and all that faded away... I rapidly tapped away to open the message, impatiently rubbing my feet together as I lay on the couch, hoping it was a classic/simple inquiry you usually leave that is "woke?"

But to my surprise is was instead a "Happy getting the fuck off work! ... Hopefully?" Message instead. I laughed... and asked what you were doing, and we talked and talked... until once again my charms won you over, and Boom! You were here with me.

Hearing how exhausted I was over the phone, made you decide to not only show up to comfort me, but to also make me a lovely dinner of, pulled pork sliders, baked beans with bacon, and steamed broccoli. Which was so amazing! Especially the pork.

All because yes... as you'd mock me for... if you hadn’t come and made me dinner, I would have totally have just eaten a microwaved pasta bowl, and some stringed cheese with a small glass of tea to wash it down with... *cough* aka girl dinner.

So YES!!!... thank you for that again... I swear the only nights I don't fall asleep with a migraine, hunger pains or some sort of body aches are solely when you’re around, nurturing me like I'm some kind of sickly little princess from a forbidden love novel lol.

Anyways, as I rested in your arms, as you rubbed my back and your fingers through my hair. You had asked if I was going to take off work for my birthday... I thought over it... and realized I hadn't even scheduled my days of for that yet.

Said no I hadn't put much thought into yet, but definitely could... thinking you'd wanna plan something... and then you sprung on me the idea of taking a week off!... I at first said no way, and that'd be impossible, I couldn't go that long.

But then I thought, I surely had enough vacation days saved... hell... I could take a month off, if there wasn't a two week limit per month lol. I thought more and more on it, and as we talked and got to the point of me taking that two weeks off.

I had completely skipped over the large elephant in the room of... Why?... was I going to need to take two weeks off lol. And when I sprung up and asked why the hell I was planning on giving that much time off even a thought.

You handed me... two plane tickets... to Canada. You gave me those eyes... right above your shit eating grin... and proceeded to tell me... how you've planned to knock off one of my traveling bucket lists of visiting the great white north.

I... fucking... lost it. Jumping up and down in the living room, while gripping the tickets like my life depended on it. I was... shocked and STUNNED!! You went over all the things we'd do, like go hiking and do some light camping and rock climbing.

To staying in a private stocked cabin and go to a ski-resort... all of it... it was all fucking perfect, and what I've been fantasizing about for the last half decade, wishing on snow flakes, dreaming on Auroras... it was going to happen. Finally.

Time past and past... and boy did I think about it every day for about a month until we left near the beginning of this month, where we got on a few flights... and fucking made it... and holy shit, was it everything I ever imagined it to be.

From the mountain ranges, to the large snowy northern forests, filled with trails beyond my wildest dreams... my exploring heart was running wild and my mind was getting set to ease... a lovely book, and some warm tea... I wish I could stay forever.

And I wouldn't... couldn't... do it ever again with anyone else but you. From watching you head strong leading us into one thing after the other, keeping all the work and stress off me, letting me relax and live my dream.

It was perfect... I loved camping in the grounds, laughing and sharing stories with the others, while snuggling tight in a chair with you. Hearing your laughter, seeing you smile while your cheeks were all red... makes me smile just remembering.

I loved getting in the canoe, and paddling... to the best of my ability (don't make fun of me there meat arms) staying together in the tent alone together, to grilling and making smores, skipping rocks and making that snowman with a set of balls.

To hiking, to seeing the deer that was getting eaten by the bear... to that FUCKING MOOSE!!! To us even rock climbing, and you setting up that cliffside rock hammock!... reading and talking in it... to... other things in the hammock ;)... it was so amazing.

And something I just can't thank you enough for setting up and taking care of for me... there just isn't enough love in this world to repay all that... and I can't tell you how bad I cried once we got home earlier today.

I sat in the bathroom and just... was overwhelmed to the max! IN A GOOD WAY!!!... I never thought that little dream of mine would come true any time soon... and definitely... never imagined I'd be with someone doing so.

Especially with someone so special, so loving, so amazing... someone I'd care for more than this silly little cruel world I find myself in... so many years... so many long nights... I was alone, and felt empty... so, so much pain.

All gone when you're in the room... or even when you're not and just talking to me over the phone... there is no one in my life that has ever made me feel the way you do... and I know based on our conversations... that you feel the same.

Which is just icing on the cake for me. Even though, you're still exploring and figuring things out... I have the greatest hope and love that you'll see me as your one and only one day. Next I'll be taking you on a trip!... so better be ready! ;)

I hope soon we can resolve all this Alzon business, and deal with all our loose ends... and you can get back to sleeping without all those dreaded night terrors... I hope and truly hold in my heart, a future of peace and calming resolve.

Which I know!... I can't even believe I'd be saying that... but we've both come so far haven't we? Never ever would I have thought you or I would be on this path of life... partially because I honestly thought... we'd both be dead by now lol.

You, shot, stabbed, lit on fire or whatever trouble you'd find yourself in, laying dead in a dark alleyway somewhere... me dead in a bathtub, wrist slit, or abusing alcohol and pills to overdose telling no one because I'd think "who'd care anyways?"

This is a strange outcome... and one that feels so good it even worries me... that it'd all go away somehow... that it's all a dream and I'll wake up in my college dorm again... to the terror of just living... you make my world glow.

You make it all worth it, and motivate me to keep pushing forward, despite all the hardships and loses... the pain and the struggling... your love is my medicine and I need nothing else... so once more... and seriously... I love you Devil... so fucking much.

@soir-rouges-esprit

[volleychumps]

« Progressive Rivalry

Omg I love your blog 🥺 could I get a scenario or one shot with iwaizumi or Sakusa (or honestly any character you’d like!) where u run into each other at every tournament and it started out as a bitter rivalry but then they got rly worried bc u got hurt and they’re like “why do I care!?” Does that make sense? Ahaha 😅

~ just why do you keep running into the guy you hate most, especially when he equally hates your guts as well?

format: One-Shot 

genre: fluff

- includes: Iwaizumi Hajime

Warning(s): swearing, slight mention of blood, enemies to lovers trope 

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

“Oh look, my best friend’s here.” 

“Fuck off.” 

A sarcastic grin tickles your lips as you place a hand over your chest, pouting mock-affectionately as the dark haired spiker wipes at his sweaty neck with a damp towel. You adjust the gym bag on your arm as the rest of your team begins to warm up, already used to this turn of events. 

“Aw, Iwa! You always manage to warm my cold, dead heart. If you have a crush on me, just say so. Are you some kind of stalker?” 

“Hah? A stalker? You wish.”  Iwaizumi stands as the red-headed one and popular brunette behind him stifle their amused laughter into their fists. “Who would like looking at your ugly mug all day?” 

The spiker’s failed attempt to intimidate you with his height had your smile widening in challenge, the insult not hurting a bit.  In fact, you lean a little closer, fake sniffing as if he had genuinely hurt your feelings. 

“Yep. I definitely want this temperamental six year old in the body of a seventeen year old to show an ounce of interest in me. How’d you know?” 

“How can I not show interest in things that perturb me?” 

“So you are interested.” You wink. “Don’t hurt your pretty little head over using words that are too complicated for your brain.” You lean around him to shoot a sweet smile to his teammates, ignoring the flash of irritation across Iwa’s face. 

“Issei, Oikawa, Hiro!” You flash a thumbs up, your pretty smile almost blinding. “You guys were cool.” 

“Y/N-chan~ you’re such an angel!” 

“Angel my ass.” 

“Oh. You’re still here.” Your voice falls dejected as Iwaizumi gains an irk mark on his forehead. Glancing back at your team, you smile and wave at the other three. “Gotta go warm up, cheer for me!” 

“Good luck!” Matsukawa calls after you, merely grinning when Iwaizumi shoots him an irritated stare. 

“Not gonna wish the love of your life a good game?” Hanamaki questions, already beginning to walk off while smirking into his water bottle as his dark-haired friend merely scoffs. The teasing from his trio of “friends”  wasn’t anything new. 

“I don’t think that thing is capable of loving.”

“Yeah yeah, you love her, we get it.” 

Iwaizumi groaned inwardly, sitting down tiredly on the bleachers to rest up as your team littered your side of the net. His jaw clenched when you offered him a lazy wave, kneeling slightly in your position as a libero. 

There were many things Iwaizumi had could say about your character or even the irritating smile on your lips at his blatant annoyance, but he couldn’t deny how well your team mixed. Oikawa whistled lowly as Hanamaki absently mentions to Matsukawa about how the other team hardly stood a chance. 

Iwaizumi blinks, feeling a pit of annoyance in his gut as the boys in the stands whistled at every save you made, the pit deepening even further at the smile you cast in their direction. 

“You’ll get frown marks Iwa-Chan!” 

“Shut the hell-” 

“Oh shit! Y/N!” 

Iwaizumi’s head whips back in the direction of your match at the sound of Hanamaki’s exclamation just in time for the collision. 

And then his breath caught in his breath so abruptly he almost choked. 

You clutched your ankle, teeth biting so deep into your lip so hard Iwa swore he could see a bead of blood as you withheld an obvious wail of pain. Your teammate knelt by your side with a hand clamped over her mouth in shock, Iwa being able to make out from your teammates’ panic that someone had accidentally shoved you so hard to the side you swore you heard your ankle snap in an attempt to stabilize yourself. 

“Y/N-chan!” 

“Is she okay?” 

But Iwa wasn’t listening, all distaste for you seeming to drown out of his system as he wondered, 

wondered why the hell he cared so much about the girl who tried her hardest to get under his skin. Your witty retorts, your wide grin, the softness of your irises, and the pang in his chest every time you jokingly bumped your shoulder against his in passing- 

that same girl who’s cheeks were now shining with spilled tears causing him to rise to his feet. 

“Oi Iwaizumi, where are you going?” 

He didn’t spare a glance to your teammates as they silently made way for the wide-shouldered spiker, dark eyes assessing the damage as he bent down, swooping you up into his arms as if you hadn’t weighed a thing. He ignored the stares and wolf whistles from his team as he hurried out of the gym and in the direction of the infirmary towards the specialists who were trained for these events, heart tugging at the sound of your whimpers. 

“I’ve had dreams about this.” You mumble, eyes clenched shut as tears built up on your closed eyelids, arms wrapping around his neck tighter as you buried your face in his neck. “Please be hot, that’s all I’m asking for.”

“You’re still joking at a time like this?” Iwa’s voice cracks at the proximity, wondering why on earth his chest was pounding in his ears as your eyes shot open. Immediately, you begin to squirm, your face heating up as Iwaizumi continues his hurried stride, barely sparing you a glance. 

“You’re taking me?” 

“No.”

“Don’t be sarcastic with me!” 

Iwaizumi leans his head in the opposite direction, away from the volume of your voice, but he couldn’t stop the slight tilt of amusement on the right side of his lips as you seemed distracted by the obvious pain in your ankle. Mission successful. 

He ignores your protests to set you down, frowning at your claims to wanting anyone else to have taken you. Even the brunette one.

“See, now that’s just plain insulting.” Iwa’s eyes narrow at you as he finally sets you down on one of the cots, about to walk off to find the doctor before a hand weakly tugs at the bottom of his jersey. 

“....I think they’ll come soon. Can you...just stay? Just until they come?” 

Iwaizumi blinked. Then blinked again. 

Iwaizumi clears his throat, recovering from his shock before pulling up a stool and grabbing a nearby first aid kit. He tilted your chin up with his fingers, his gentle touch causing your cheeks to flare up as your eyes took on a vulnerable edge. 

“Why do you hate me so much?” It was genuine curiosity, anything to alleviate the strange heaviness in his chest when he acknowledged that fact that you despised him so.

Your eyes widen at the sudden attack, wincing a little as the cotton pad dabs at your lips, soaked in alcohol. “Why do you?” 

“I don’t hate you.”

“Oh-” 

“I just think you’re annoying as hell.” 

“Well I think that not a single thought goes on behind those pretty eyes.” 

“So you think my eyes are pretty?” 

The silence is heavy as you shake your head no quickly, causing Iwa to click his tongue and scold you to stay still as he keeps his eyes trained on your-

oh god he’s looking at your lips. 

“Yes.” You’re almost whispering, shyly avoiding his widened gaze as you lean away from him.

He stumbles over his words at your direct response, unprepared for the way in which you lean a little further back, eyes nervous and not at all the sarcastic gleam he knows as he swallows back the lump in his throat. 

“Well,” and then his hand is cupping the side of your face as he tugs you closer, confusion swirling in his head as his heart surges him forward, practically mumbling against your lips in a daze before he could stop himself. 

“I think you’re prettier.” 

He wanted to smirk at how he could practically see smoke puff out of your head. 

“Even if you hate me?” 

“I’m honestly not sure I ever did.” 

The distance is closed by you, a hand coming up to run your fingers through his dark locks as his thumb strokes your cheek, lips moving feverishly together as you attempt to pull back-

If he let you go, would you go back to hating one another? 

only for him to kiss you back even harder as if he was satiating some sort of hunger, a smile growing on your lips before a shot of pain shoots through your leg, bringing you back to reality as you whine against his lips. Iwaizumi gasps, ignoring your giggles and assuring words that you’re fine, carefully laying you down on your back while elevating your ankle. 

“Y/N.” 

“First name basis? Look at us skipping all the necessary steps.” you tug your hair out of it’s knot, attempting to redo it with a hair tie between your lips as the pain in your ankle falls to a dull throb. 

“What did....are we...?”

“Does the Iwaizumi Hajime want to know if we’re a thing or not?” Your smile has his cheeks flushing, stare becoming irritated. 

“Oi. Nevermi-” 

“Yes, idiot. Now run along and fetch my things, will you?” 

He rolls his eyes at your playful wink, ensuring your injured ankle was positioned properly before beginning to exit the infirmary-

“And Iwa?”

“What is it, doll?” 

Your chest leaps at the nickname, Iwaizumi beginning to smirk at the change in expression on your face before you clear your throat. 

“Thank you.” 

It was one of the most sincere things you had ever said to him. 

Your unexpected boyfriend kissed you on the lips a second time after a few strides, any confusion within him seeming nonexistent as he tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. The way you gazed up at him had his chest doing somersaults, wondering if you were both just denying the attraction you felt towards one another before fate took its turn. 

“Nah, I should be thanking you.” 

“For what?” 

“Hurting your ankle-” 

“Get out.” 

Iwa’s feeling like an idiot with the lilt to his lips when the door slides shut and something hits the door where his head would have been, the slight smile fading back to his usual scowl at the sight before him. 

His three friends had identical grins on their faces, Matsukawa holding a #1 fan balloon and Hanamaki decked out in merch from your school. He narrows his eyes at the bouquet of flowers tucked behind Oikawa’s back. All obviously from the themed store of the tournament. 

Guess he didn’t need to worry about whether or not you would enjoy his idiotic friends’ company. 

“So you're whipped. Didn’t see that one coming.” 

“Whatever.”

“Iwa, where are you going?” 

“...to go get her things.” 

“You so love her.” 

“Shut the hell up and don’t enter her room until I get back.”

It was only when the dark-haired spiker turned the corner, looking behind and in front of him before his back hits a nearby wall as he attempts to calm his heartbeat, swearing he had never felt such a wild surge of energy through his veins as his lips tingled with the taste of you. He sighs, touching the hair tie that he stole from you when he kissed you a second time from within his pocket, wondering just when his hatred melted into the exact opposite. 

He was so whipped.

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

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Hi all! How are you lovelies doing? I’m going to be on here more often, thank you for 9k and your patience with me has helped me so much! This was one of my requests that I wanted to use to slide back into the swing of things, so I hope you enjoyed! <3

[h0neypjm]

Confident 02 | jjk

↳ Summary: After giving Jungkook the best suck of his life he’s left wondering if what you said was true. Was it really your first time? ‘Cause Jungkook thinks you might’ve lied.

↳ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

↳ Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, college au, fuckboy! jk, our fav cheeky virgin reader!

↳ Rating: 18+

↳ Word count: 8.8k

↳ Warnings: swearing, mentions of past toxic relationship, mentions of being pressured into sex, mentions of body image, mentions of stds, Jungkook being very confused, no smut in this part

↳ a/n: here it is !!! thank you for all the love for the first part, i hope you enjoy this part ! please feel free to leave any feedback <3 

↳ Series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

Previously...

“She said it's her first time.” He pauses, looking up at his friends' concerned faces. “I think she might’ve lied.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Jungkook groans, cradling his head before banging it on the table. The utensils on the table rattle and clang, bringing unwanted attention to his mini breakdown. Taehyung is quick to place his hand under Jungkook's forehead just as he goes in for another blow. “Ok, Jungkook- Jungkook!” Jimin giggles beside him. “Fucking stop, people are staring.”

Jungkook pauses and subtly peeks out of his long bangs, checking to see that Taehyung’s words were indeed true. He breathes out and sits up in his chair, fixing his shirt to play off that he wasn’t just having a mental meltdown.

Jimin rolls his eyes, “soooo are you gonna talk now, cause’ I have a horrible headache and you’re really not helping.”

Jungkook nods opening his mouth to speak. “Alright so uh, I met a girl last night and-”

“I thought you went home?” Taehyung shoves Jimin’s shoulder and Jungkook glares, “yeah, well that clearly didn’t happen.” He rubs his temples, “could you do me a favour and let me speak first, and then you can ask the questions. Ok?”

The two boys nod, settling into their seats as Jungkook delves back into his story.

“Alright so anyways, I saw this girl and like, I haven’t ever seen her before? She was literally perfect”. He exhales looking at nothing at particular as he continues. “Gorgeous face, prettiest lips and oh! speaking of her lips, God the way she sucked-”

Despite what Jungkook said earlier, Taehyung feels the need to intervene. “Ok as much as I love a good suck myself, I need you to stop here, we don’t need the graphics.” Jimin nods in agreement even though it’s clear he’s not paying an ounce of attention. Jungkook smirks at the memory, but it soon drops as he remembers one tiny detail. He places his hands on the table, total seriousness etched onto his face. “But here’s the kicker, she said it was her first time.”

Confusion. 

“So did you or did you not take her virginity?”Jungkook crosses his arms. “No, after that she just up and left.” “Wait, fuck”, Jungkook suddenly realises, “I didn’t even make her cum”, he groans and Taehyung bursts into laughter. This finally garners Jimin’s attention, his dazed eyes squinting. “Who’s the girl?” Jungkook sighs, “if you were listening before you would’ve heard me say that I don’t know her.” Jimin leans forward,“well can you at least describe her? I pretty much know everyone who attended the party”

Jungkook doesn’t have to think that hard. “She was wearing this plaid skirt and like a white top-” Jimin’s eyes widen, “Holy shit, Y/N?! Man, Jin’s gonna kill you.” This makes Jungkook pause, thoughts running back to the text he had received from Jin. “Wait, they’re not a thing are they?” Jimin chokes, “God no, they’ve been family friends since like forever, Jin’s practically her protective older brother.”

That explained his text earlier. Jungkook furrows his brows, more questions beginning to arise and spill out of his mouth. “How come I’ve never met her and if she’s a virgin, then how- how did-”, Taehyung cuts in, “dude she’s done other things before.” More confusion. “And how would you know that?” Taehyung smirks, shrugging as he gets up out of his chair. “I'm gonna get a drink, Jimin, you want anything?” God, his head is spinning. “Sure, you know my usual.”

It was the way Taehyung spoke too casually, like your lifestyle choices were common knowledge. How the fuck hasn’t he met you, yet his friends seem to be well acquainted with your existence? “What the fuck was that look?” He focuses on Taehyung from where he orders his drinks. “Did you see it Jimin? Kinda sus.”

Jimin remains nonchalant, blowing a strand of hair out of his sight before answering one of Jungkook’s urgent queries. “Jin never introduced you to her because well…” He looks Jungkook up and down with an unimpressed look. “You would get your grimy hands on her immediately. And Then after that, It’s like she never existed ” Jungkook opens his mouth, rebuttal on the tip of his tongue. “Don’t argue with me boy, the second you met her, you already wanted her on your dick, did you not?”

Jungkook is shocked to say the least, jaw hanging open as Taehyung makes his way back to the table, drinks in hand. “Oh God, what did you tell him?” Jungkook slams his fist on the table, yet again grabbing the attention of people around them. “That is not true! I have standards, and what about you two. You guys are just as bad.” He points accusingly at the bruises peeking out of Taehyung’s loose shirt, “Look at Tae! Those hickies are probably a combination of the three girls he fucked last week!”

Jimin doesn’t want to get kicked out of the cafe, so he attempts to calm down a soon to be raging Jungkook. “Look, to put it nicely, you’re a heartbreaker, you lead girls on whereas Tae and I actually tell people we’re not interested in anything more than a hookup.”

Jungkook seems to understand where he’s coming from. He can admit, he does have quite the reputation if the amount of times he’s been slapped in the face says anything. But now, with this newfound information, he can also admit that you’ve certainly intrigued him, that was for sure.

Jungkook wants to see you again.

Not for a rump in the sheets, but rather a friendly conversation. 

It was just his luck that he had heard through the grapevine that you had been invited to one of Jin’s small pool party get togethers. If Jungkook was being honest, he’s quite excited to be within your vicinity again but he knows he needs to keep his cool. Especially after the series of death threats and slaps on the neck from Jin. He shudders at the memory.

And so, Jungkook prepares himself more than he usually does. He wants to do it right this time. No flirty teasing, just friendly innocent conversation. He makes sure to carefully pick out the right swim shorts that display the thickness of his thighs. Not for any sexual gain, more so to show off the hours spent at the gym in hopes that maybe he can get you to become more interested in him as he is to you. He sounds desperate, and he’s sure you’re not that materialistic, but he has this nagging want to impress you somehow. He huffs and does a few pushups, for extra measure of course.

He’s not sure as to why his brain decided to make him act this way. You’re more or less a stranger to him. However, when Jungkook begins his short journey to Jin’s house he really lets himself think, which usually isn't a good idea. 

Jungkook doesn’t know you, but you’ve definitely left an imprint in his mind which makes you all the more fascinating. It’s news to him that you seem to be very close to his small circle of friends which is probably thanks to your deeply rooted friendship with Jin. That new piece of information had been bugging him since the day he met up with Taehyung and Jimin. Surely his reputation couldn’t be the only reason why you’ve never met him. Right?

Parking his car in Jin’s enormous driveway, he makes his way up to the grand front door. Sometimes he wishes he could live a life like Jin. He grew up being fed with a silver spoon his whole life. Having everything paid for instead of rolling in the miseries of college student debt.

Once Jungkook makes his way into the large house, he sets down the drinks he had brought onto the kitchen counter and watches his best friends goof around and enjoy the summer sun with a warm grin. He chuckles quietly when Jin pushes Jimin and his perfectly styled hair into the pool. Jimin screams a slur of curses while Jin quickly runs beside a sleeping Yoongi for protection.

Slipping out of his loose oversized shirt, Jungkook scans the entirety of Jin’s backyard, looking for the face that has been haunting him since that fateful night. She’s not here. He reexamines the pool seeing nothing but the chaotic mess of his favourite people, and he sighs. Just as he prepares to step out into the blazing sun, the sound of his stomach growling stops him in his tracks. 

Thinking about you made him nervous. So nervous that his stomach couldn’t bear the thought of breakfast. However, after the realisation that you hadn’t arrived just yet, makes him do a full one eighty, long strides taking him to Jin’s expensive fridge.

His head is already deep into the fridge when he hears the sound of the sliding door opening, revealing a dripping Jin with a small scowl on his face. It seems Jimin finally got his revenge. “I’m starving you got any leftovers?” Jungkook queries, his head popping out from the cool air of the fridge.

Jin grabs a fresh towel and whacks it against Jungkook’s naked back. “What’s the point of even asking when you’re already going through my damn fridge!” Jungkook flashes Jin an innocent grin and glows when he discovers a small bowl of Chinese takeout. 

It very quickly dawns on Jungkook that in order to enjoy a nice warm meal, he would need to heat it up. His stomach all but roars, not used to the lack of food in its system and Jungkook wants to cry. He wants to cry and it's not from the angry hunger pains, but rather something extremely laughable. He has to use a fucking microwave. 

You’re running late, there’s sweat running down your brow and you feel like your arms will fall off any second. The weight of snacks and alcohol you had brought making you stagger as you finally enter Jin’s enormous home.

The one and only thing that’s on your mind is the refreshing feeling of slipping into Jin’s pool while sipping on an iced beverage. This motivates you enough to put all the strength left in your exhausted being to speedily walk into the kitchen and throw everything onto the counter. 

“AHH FUCK!” You flinch at the sudden scream, hugging your body protectively. Jungkook slowly pops out from behind the other side of the counter, his doe eyes big and wide. “You fucking scared me Jesus!” He exclaims, running a hand through sweaty bangs.

The air had escaped your lungs long before you could utter your next sentence as the sight before you has you freezing. There he was, Jeon Jungkook in all his glory. Tanned skin and taut muscle sculpted by the Gods. You didn’t mean to stare, but how could you not! Your eyes had a mind of their own. He’s glorious, every single part of him, and you’re not even afraid to admit it. Your eyes are quick to eat him up, tracing the art staining the whole of his right arm and you wonder what every swirl of ink means to him.

Jungkook coughs awkwardly, going in to scratch at his neck. You imagined he would tease you about your obvious ogling, but it never came. Strange. “Why were you hiding?” You ask, dropping your gaze from his body in order to arrange the snacks into neat piles, using it as an excuse to slowly step closer to him. “Oh! Uh-”, he scratches his head, looking down at his feet before jumping five feet into the air, a startled gasp leaving his lips when the timer of the microwave goes off. 

You burst into laughter and Jungkook flushes in embarrassment. Jin had told you about Jungkook’s embarrassing fear of microwaves but you never thought you would see it first hand. You hold in the laughs that tickle your throat and try to settle him down by lightly touching his shoulder. He flinches at your touch.

“Are you okay?” You’re really close to him now. Your chest is practically pressed up against his and Jungkook gulps. How was it possible that you could look even more stunning than the last time he saw you? Your cheeks are glowing from the soft golden rays of the afternoon sun and the way you look up at him, your soft smile curling makes his head spin.

“Yeah, I’m good”, he breaks eye contact in embarrassment. “Sorry, just uh, microwaves are scary you know?” You giggle up at him. Is this really Jungkook? The Jungkook you’ve seen flaunting a new girl every week just to abruptly break her heart when he can’t promise anything more than sex? 

You’re not complaining, he’s quite adorable like this.

You’re not too sure why his personality has the sudden switch up. It could possibly be the fact that he’s with his closest friends and doesn’t feel the need to put up his playboy persona. Although, the way he blushes when he looks at you plays a different story. Do you make him nervous? Surely not, if the memories of that heated night are anything to go by.

“So uh, are you gonna head into the pool?” His empty stomach is long forgotten as he gestures to the large backyard, you nod up at him excitedly. It’s then Jin decides to bust back into the kitchen, a stern gaze set on his face. “Y/N, can I speak with you for a minute?” Jungkook cautiously takes a step away from you, your bodies no longer close to each other and you notice this with a small frown.

“Yeah, sure”, you relent walking over to Jin who places a protective arm around your shoulders. Unknowingly to you, Jin traps Jungkook down with a hard stare and signals Jungkook to go outside, to which he accepts with a nod.

“I know what you’re gonna say, and no I do not see him like that”, you cross your arms defensively. Jin sighs, “I just don’t wanna see you get hurt again.” He places his hands on your shoulders, full lecture mode on. “Let’s face it, you’re a hopeless romantic, I can’t trust that you won’t do something stupid, but you and Jungkook… You’re both important friends of mine and-” 

You’ve heard his overprotective brotherly speech plenty of times, “I know, and I’m so thankful that you’re looking out for me. I just don’t see the harm in befriending him, you’ve never let me speak to him before.” Jin releases his hold on your shoulders to fix the mess of his wet hair, “and there's a reason for that.”

Why was he so damn hard-headed. Jin loves Jungkook like he loves his family. It just didn't make any sense to you that Jin could approve of their friendship but when it comes to you, he completely shields you away from any interactions with the so called playboy. 

“When are you going to stop protecting me from boys?” Jin senses your frustration immediately. “I may be younger than you, but I’m also an adult just like you. An adult that can make her own choices.” You exhale slowly, “You’ve let me befriend your whole group and they’ve been nothing but wonderful to me, I don’t see the wrong in getting to know Jungkook.” 

Jin lets his guard down. You do have a point, maybe he was being a little too overprotective. He gives you a soft smile, you look away. 

“You’re right, I am in no position to dictate your decisions and who you choose to hang around with, it was wrong of me to treat you like that. Jin looks out into the pool, watching Jungkook tackle Taehyung. “I’m sorry I was a bit too harsh, Jungkook’s a good kid, he just got into the wrong crowd at first. Although, you gotta promise to tell me if he hurts you, cause he knows I’ll beat his ass.” 

You laugh accepting his apology, “are you sure about that? He’s a literal muscle pig.” You both begin to make your way outside and Jin shoves you slightly, “hey! You know I’m right.” Jin shakes his head and brings you into a comforting hug. “Yeah, yeah whatever.” He rolls his eyes, you beam up at him and together you walk out into the warm sunlight.

It hadn’t even been a second since you stepped outside, and already Yoongi’s long term girlfriend, Jieun is squealing your way. “Y/N! I’m so happy you're finally here, the amount of testosterone out here was starting to make me feel faint.” You giggle at her exasperated tone, pulling her into a tight hug. 

Nonchalantly you peel off your flowy sundress, it’s stickiness from your sweat making you cringe. “I missed you last week, why didn’t you come to class?” Jiuen pouts, “I'm sorry bub, I somehow caught a cold, but I trust you have some notes for me.” 

The way Jieun flutters her lashes at you innocently forces a roll from your eyes. Slathering sunscreen onto your arms, you reprimand her, “I swear you’re only using me for my notes, you literally never listen in class! Can you get my back please?”

She hums while you turn around, her small hands kneading sunscreen from your shoulder bones to the small dip in your back. Jieun continues to blabber on about the joys of life, not even checking if you’re listening to a single word she says. Instead your eyes are zeroed in on a certain someone.

Your staring is blatantly obvious but you don’t care. It’s only when Taehyung spots your burning gaze with a small smirk does he signal Jungkook to turn around to meet your flirty grin.  

Holy shit

The sun does a real great job of highlighting the gorgeous curves of your body adorned in quite possibly the smallest baby blue bikini he’s seen on a woman. Your breasts practically spill out of the tiny triangle cups and the pretty colour compliments your skin beautifully. 

Whilst Jungkook can admit you have one of the hottest bodies he’s seen in a while, his eyes surprisingly don't linger on your delicious curves for too long. Instead, he finds himself utterly enamoured by the way your eyes crinkle slightly when you smile prettily at him, your cheeks glowing with it. 

It suddenly dawns on him that you are the first girl that has truly enchanted him, and no, your ridiculously gorgeous body had little to do with it. 

Jungkook does not mind this change one bit. 

So, instead of staring at you like a gaping goldfish, he matches your flirtatious body language with a boyish grin and a small wave. His previous nerves dissipating only to be replaced by confidence and polished charm. He doesn’t want to scare you off with his sudden look of epiphany just yet, but the new unfamiliar feeling you give him is surely doing exactly that.

“My, my, Yoongi wasn’t lying.” Jieun stifles a giggle when she notices how Jungkook’s attention has steered towards you and only you. You’re quick to turn around, brows furrowed. “What are you on about?” 

“Oh you know… You and Jungkook”

You grimace, tired of the repeated topic of conversation. “Just because I sucked his dick once does not mean we're a thing” 

“Oh really? He’s asked me an awful lot of questions about you I was beginning to think otherwise”

“Wait, really?”

Jieun has the widest cheshire grin plastered on her face, it's starting to look quite unsettling.

“Really.”

You’re thoroughly shocked to say the least. You thought your fast, fleeting blowjob, sort of, was nothing special. A usual escapade to get his daily fill. Ordinary. Unmemorable.

However, it seems to be quite the opposite.

Jieun grabs your hand and swings it back and forth, exactly like a mother would do, although she’s merely two years older than you. “I know Jin’s been up your ass about Jungkook and frankly I don’t blame him he’s still a little shit from time to time but, he’s actually quite fun to be around and honestly I think his playboy tendencies seemed to dial down a bit since he met us.” The two of you giggle quietly amongst each other, quick feet making your way closer to the pool to avoid the scorching pavement.

Your toes are the first to dip into the pool and you practically moan at the cold water melting away the blistering haze that sticks onto your skin. The water is icy at your waist and you love it. “So my advice would be not to worry about him, instead it's his little army of plastic bimbos that you should watch out for.” 

“Ahh, internalised misogyny. We love to see it.” 

Jieun acknowledges you with a hum as the two of you float around the calming abyss. She then swims closer to you, nodding her head into the direction of a lonely Jungkook, who lazily stares at your alluring form. “I think your loverboy over there wants to talk to you.”

Jieun swims away before you can protest, leaving you to face the handsome man before you. His eyes are round and docile, yet his stare is tantalising, it pulls you in as if he’s slowly reeling you in with a rope. 

The water delicately ripples around your body when you approach him and you internally sigh in awe at the striking features of his stunning face. You want to use this opportunity to finally get to know him, and perhaps form a new friendship. 

You take note of the lack of Jin’s hawk-like eyes or for better the lack of any eyes on the two of you. You’re alone, huddled into one of the far corners of the pool, your conversation private, just for two pairs of ears. 

You open your mouth to speak, “So-”

“I-”

An uncomfortable silence stills the air and you both halt your words to giggle quietly amongst yourselves. God, this is awkward. 

“You go first”, You offer, tucking a wet strand of hair behind your ear. Jungkook follows the subtle movement of your fingers before taking a deep breath. 

“I feel like we should discuss the elephant in the room”

You're stunned. “Huh?”

“You know… That Friday night?”

Of course you knew what he was referring too, yet you wondered why as you honestly didn’t think that night had much impact on the man. 

With a raised brow you ask, “What about it?”

“I’ve just had a lot of... thoughts”

You scratch your head feeling puzzled. You’re sure Jungkook has had better blowjobs in his lifetime. Hell, Jungkook did most of the work that night. “Do you usually discuss the past hookups you have, or am I just lucky today?”

You’re teasing him, nevertheless Jungkook tilts his head back towards the sky. All he wants is clarification, only this conversation is heading down an awkward path, so he decides to spit out what’s been bothering him for the past few days.

“Okay listen, I know this is odd to say, but ever since that night, It’s like I can’t get you out of my head.”

Your ego inflates at his statement and you smirk. You knew you could suck dick well, but according to Jungkook you seem to have quite the talent.

You smile proudly, “damn, look at me go, I can’t believe I have the campus playboy wrapped around my finger.”

Jungkook scoffs, both in annoyance and embarrassment because shit, he could have worded that differently, now he sounds like the clingy girls he fucks.

“Yeah, yeah let’s not pretend like I was the only one enjoying myself here. Weren’t you the one practically begging to be touched?” 

You’re amused. “Weren’t you the one who couldn’t make me cum. Yet came from their own handjob?”

Jungkook tongues his cheek and looks away. The way you speak so casually intimidates him. No girl has ever spoken to him this way, in fact, Jungkook’s the one who usually likes to tease. He can slowly feel the creeping heat alighting his cheeks and God does he hope you don’t notice.

You patiently wait for Jungkook’s reply, a sly grin adorned on your pretty face. However, Jungkook doesn’t say anything, rather he frowns and immaturely splashes water at your face. 

“Jungkook!” You sputter, wiping at your face to rid of the chlorine in your eyes. “What the fuck was that for?”

He shrugs, “sorry my hand must’ve slipped”

You don’t take that for an answer, your petty nature crawling out as you splash him back harder than he had done. “Hand slipped, my ass.”

You cross your arms smugly, a small laugh blossoming out of your mouth when Jungkook cutely rubs at his eyes. 

It’s after a minute when you realise Jungkook hasn’t stopped furiously rubbing his eyes. The circular motions of his hand move so intensely that it begins to look painful and irritating. “Fuck, it stings”, he exclaims in agony.

Shit, you inwardly curse, gently touching his wrist, concern lacing your features because you didn’t think getting chlorinated water in one's eye would sting that much. You analyse his facial expressions closely and you wince at the redness surrounding his eyes from his harsh rubbing. 

On the contrary, Jungkook knows exactly what he’s doing. He’s competitive and won’t back down from a fight, even if it’s just fun banter, so he continues his little scheme just for the fun of it and hides his small grin under his large hands.

You’re now slightly panicked, “fuck, Jungkook I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to hit the water that hard I-”

Jungkook cracks.

Ever so slowly, he peeps his eyes out at you and watches with a mischievous smirk as your face morphs from alarmed to annoyed in less than a millisecond.

You tighten your grip on his wrist and attempt to slap his hard chest with your free hand, however Jungkook’s reflexes are fast and he grasps your hand tightly, a teasing glint in his eye. 

“You little shit-”

All of a sudden a loud holler is heard from the front door, rousing a relaxed Jin out of his chair as he sprints while simultaneously yelling at the ruckus being made. It’s then a stampede of both familiar and unfamiliar faces come crashing in. Some jump straight into the pool to cool off from the blazing sun while others rush to the table of assorted alcohol, desperate to get an ounce of it in their system.

Word seemed to go around about Jin’s supposed small get-together unbelievably fast, causing the once tranquil Kim Seokjin into a raging volcano. 

You’re pressed right up against Jungkook’s solid chest and he surprisingly pays you no mind, even though your perky tits are deliciously pushed up perfectly against his body. Jungkook’s eyes are not settled on them, rather he pays close attention to the amount of people dangerously plunging into the pool at a fast rate.

Jungkook protectively hugs your shoulders to shield you from the rowdy party goers who definitely do not understand the definition of personal space. Your heart swells when he then delicately places your head in the crook of his neck and wraps an arm around your fairly exposed body, essentially guarding you from frantic wet limbs and ignorant individuals.

You feel comfortable and safe, so comfortable that you wouldn’t mind staying like this for a while if it weren’t for the throng of college students delving into the cooling water. 

Jin’s house begins to fill with unexpected guests very quickly and you wonder how Jin is handling the situation. You suppose not very well when you see him whipping people with towels, red ears making an appearance and his booming voice following him.

Jungkook wants to get out and he’s sure you feel the same way which is why he smoothly slots his hand into your own, long fingers wrapping around your hand to carefully pull you through the growing crowd of people in the pool.

Whilst pushing past a variety of college students you are met with many stares, even worse, numerous envious eyes and whispers of possible gossip. You try your best to avoid their gazes, the hard stares reminding you of the last time Jungkook held your hand to push through groups of people. 

Water drips down the curves of your body and lands in little pools around you when you step out of the pool. At this point you’ve garnered even more turning heads that examine every inch of your skin closely. Their stares itch your skin and you feel akin to an animal kept in a zoo enclosure, curious eyes breaking down your confidence, you want to hide. 

You usually like to pride yourself on your confidence because you know you’re hot and you know your worth. It had taken many failed relationships to build up your self love and nourish the scars and memories of questioning if you’re good enough. 

You fight on and squeeze Jungkook’s hand, mostly for some sort of reassurance. It shocks you when he astonishingly squeezes back and softly rubs his thumb over the back of your hand. It’s almost as if he knows how you’re feeling. 

You glance up at him shyly. Jungkook keeps his eyes straight ahead. He smiles a different kind of smile than the one he had directed to you a few hours ago. His lips are in a permanent smug smirk. His usual playboy smile. He flashes it at everyone as if he’s asking for their approval and even goes in to high-five a few people who are unrecognisable to you. You soon realise that this is what Jungkook thrives on. People, validation and his notorious reputation he’s created for himself.

Jungkook lights up at the presence of crowds, flirty smiles and people calling his name, whereas you want to crawl into your skin and run away because from the perspective of outsiders it looks like you’re just another one of Jungkook’s flings that will soon be forgotten by next week.

Well, you hope you won’t turn out to be one of them.

At last you find yourself away from the heart of the party, your dress in hand but your body still wet nonetheless. Jungkook is in the same state as yourself, droplets of water dribbling from his dark hair and onto the timber flooring. He leans into your ear, “I’ll go get us some towels, stay here.”

He’s gone before you can reply, making small conversation when he passes by various people, his boisterous laugh echoing down the halls. 

You’re alone now, and defenceless at that. There’s not many people you know here, besides the few odd people you share a class with and some sleazy frat boys that hold a similar reputation to Jungkook. You want to find Jieun so you can hug her or maybe ask her if she can take you home, but she is nowhere to be found.

Fuck, You remember leaving your bag on the kitchen table, unsupervised with many personal belongings stowed away inside. Using your dress to cover the most of your exposed skin like a blanket, you stride over to the kitchen and sigh in relief when you find your bag untouched and in perfect condition.

Snatching up your bag, you grab your phone and immediately text Jieun to find out where the fuck she’s hiding, but there’s a part of you that knows she’s probably fucking Yoongi somewhere. Traitor.

Jungkook finds you to be in a completely different part of the house than where he asked you, one towel wrapped around his neck and the other draped over his arm. You haven’t noticed him yet, your frantic fingers texting a treacherous Jieun, “princess, didn’t I tell you to stay put?”

You’re startled. Switching your phone off you stick your arm out, waiting for Jungkook to pass you the towel but he doesn't. Jungkook gently pushes your shoulders so that you turn away from him and carefully wraps the towel around your body like a cape. You hold the edges of the fabric to help him hug the towel around yourself, keeping it tighter to your body.

Your voice is quiet, “thank you.”

Jungkook leans down to meet your face, “What was that?”

Even though Jungkook had been in the pool longer than you, his cologne still sticks to his skin and you kind of want to breathe more of it in, but that would be weird.

“Oh, I said thank you.”

You’re close to him again, although this time he towers over you with a look almost identical to a predator meeting its prey.

Jungkook’s eyes flirt around your face and descend. He shamelessly drinks up the swell of your breasts and whatever skin is visible amidst the fluffy towel around you. It’s strange. You had noticed Jungkook doing the exact same thing when you were alone with him. The difference though was that his looks were cursory as if he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. Now, It's like a new persona had taken over him and he was ready to pounce at any sign of a green light. 

He’s stuck in a trance, fuckboy tinted glasses fogging his vision.

You force out a giggle and playfully shove his shoulder, “my eyes are up here, you know.” 

His reply comes lighting fast, he’s definitely been in this position before. “I know, just admiring them.”

Jungkook wants to hit himself the second his reply spewed out of his mouth. He desperately wants to reassure your unimpressed (though also very cute) face, because goddammit he wanted to be respectful. Jungkook knows he has a tendency to slip into a new personality when the right amount of people hyped him. Call it being two faced, he knows it's one of his fatal flaws. 

“I'm sorry.” 

He says it genuinely. 

Jungkook only just got to properly meet you, he doesn’t want to give you the wrong impression! He can admit, your first ever official meeting (moreso hookup) wasn’t ideal, yet the way Jin dragged him through the mud undoubtedly made him understand that you weren’t the type of woman that should ever undergo the treatment he puts his hookups through. Scratch that, any woman shouldn’t be treated the way Jungkook treats them.

You're now fully covered under the towel, not a sliver of skin on display. You don’t know if his apology was genuine. “It’s ok I guess, I expected nothing less from you anyways.”

“Right.” He’s messed up.

You clear your throat, “I’m gonna go get changed, maybe look for Jieun unless-”

Jungkook finishes your sentence, “-she’s fucking Yoongi.”

You exhale, “yeah.”

“Jeon Jungkook!”

The voice makes you halt at its familiar tone. Jungkook doesn’t notice your growing panic as he too freezes in his spot. 

No, it can’t be.

The world plays in slow motion when he walks into your line of vision. His assertive stride, smug smile and sharp eyes.

Jeong Suho.

His name explodes inside of you like a blistering fire yet your heart feels ice cold. He is the very man you have spent weeks trying to avoid and even more trying to get out of your head.

The world plays at a normal speed when he approaches Jungkook. Their facial expressions are the same, the way they greet each other is the same. They’re practically the same breed of fuckboy, born from the same mother.

“Been awhile since I’ve seen you around.”

Jeong Suho was a person that Jungkook didn’t really mind, In fact there was a point in Jungkook’s life where he would’ve considered Suho to be one of his closest friends. They were two peas in a pod freshmen year of college. Never giving a fuck about their education and always present for any opportunity to get completely wasted with as many girls they could possibly seduce. Nowadays, Jungkook would rather keep his distance from him.

On the contrary, you were one of the many girls that had fallen deeply for Suho’s alluring charm. You fell so hard, you thought that maybe just maybe there was a possibility that you could secure a future with him. Obviously that was not the case.

You thank your lucky stars that Jungkook was there to distract Suho while you make your haste escape. All you need to do now is somehow locate an unoccupied bathroom, preferably without having to walk in on someone getting it on, and then you could get the hell out of there.

You must admit, you look quite ridiculous right now. Navy blue towel wrapped tightly around your body, your small head peeking through. You could probably pass as some form of E.T cosplay right now. You don’t care if you look rude, pushing and shoving whoever stands in your way. You only have one goal and you’re so so close to succeeding-

“Wait, Y/N! Is that you?”

Fuck.

Do you run? Maybe duck behind some poor innocent student looking for a good time? You huff, you're already sticking out like a sore thumb, there’s no use in trying to hide when the enemy has already spotted you. Even worse Jungkook motions you over with a wide gleaming smile. If only he knew how much you’re dreading this interaction.

Grudgingly, you walk over, looking like an irritated gremlin with your towel still firmly secured around you. Jungkook makes matters worse by pushing the towel off your head, releasing your scruffy ball of hair. You grimace. 

“I didn’t know you knew Y/N?”

Suho sends a smirk your way. You however, glower.

“Yeah we go way back, don’t we baby?”

You force a tight lipped smile, howbeit you look as if you have a mild case of constipation. 

“Sure.” It comes out rough through gritted teeth.

Suho notes your frustration, a sly grin carving onto his punchable face. He turns towards Jungkook, seemingly blocking you from their conversation, yet you know Suho wants you to hear what he has to say.

“You know it’s a shame. Y/N’s gorgeous, ten outta ten body, knows how to put it to good use, however she never let me fuck her. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

Jungkook stays silent for a minute, eyeing your shaking fists and angry eyebrows. Jungkook may be dumb, but he sure knows how to read a room, thus leading him to the conclusion that your relationship with Suho isn’t something you’re very fond of and that he should probably get you out of here.

“Uhhh no, that’s not weird at all actually. What I think is weird is the fact that you think you have this sick claim on every girl you’ve defiled and even worse, you’ve always had this strange need to chase after every virgin you see like some perverted cherry picker. Yeah, that’s weird.”

Suho laughs right in his face, spit grossly tickling his skin. “That’s rich coming from you Jeon, weren't you quite the cherry picker in your freshman days, no?”

Jungkook doesn’t know what he expected from this conversation. It definitely wasn’t this.

It's obvious that Jungkook isn’t a saint, he really fucking far from it. Although, one thing's for sure, it’s his absolute hatred for the way his brain was wired in his freshman year of college. Yes, Jungkook still remains as one of the standing campus fuckboys but he’s gained a few more brain cells since then. 

Jungkook opens his mouth to retort, only to be met with Suho’s back as he turns his attention towards you.

“Y/N, darling if I were you i’d make a run for it, ya know keep your chastity intact or whatever.” His smile is saccharine sweet, though his words are sickly sour.

The months of pent up anger stored within your being bubbles and overflows like a bad science experiment. You’ve quickly decided that now’s that time to expose the shitty excuse of a man, and quite frankly you don’t care that you have an audience. Actually, an audience would make this all the better.

Your finger is strong, pointing accusingly at his broad chest. “You know what you stupid motherfucker? Don’t waltz in here with that dumb smile of yours when you know you have some disgusting cheesy infection growing down there.”

Suho’s eyes widen slightly. It was no secret he was a walking STD, just about infecting every girl that was naive enough to sit on his dick. 

Everyone at the party has definitely stopped to listen to what you have to say. You even spot Jin from the corner of your eye sending you a proud smile. “And while we're on the topic of cheese, Learn how to wash your fucking dick!”

You don’t let him have a moment to speak, grabbing Jungkook’s hand and pulling him out of the house.

A few people applaud, some girls praise you on your way out. You give them no mind, you’ve had enough for tonight.   

Jungkook starts his car, no questions asked. It’s obvious to him that there’s bad blood between you and Suho. What you don’t know is that Jungkook can also relate. 

Technically there was no bad blood between them, moreso the hurtful memories and manipulation Suho put him through. To put it simply, Suho was probably the worst influence Jungkook could ever have as a vunerable freshman. 

The crunch of gravel and soft melodies that spill out of Jungkook’s radio converse with eachother and fill the defeaning silence that sits between you and Jungkook. 

Jungkook doesn’t even know where he’s going, he just drives. 

Every so often he checks up on you from the corner of his eye. Your knees stick tightly together and point away from him. Your fingers curl and uncurl, leaving cresent moons in your skin. And to finish it off, your face remains still, hostility completely washing over your features. If Jungkook didn’t know any better he would think you’d jump out of his car and make a run for it at the chance of him stopping the car.

It’s seven sniffles later when Jungkook decides he knows where he should take you.

The night sky is clear and the stars burn brightly to accompany the full round moon. It’s the perfect setting for release and maybe a screaming session if you’re up for it.

Jungkook makes a stop behind a forest of tall trees and a dirt path. You sit up immediately. 

“Where are we?” Your eyes are rimmed with tears, “I want to go home.”

Jungkook shuts the engine off, “you never told me where you live.”

“Well you never asked!”

Maybe you shouldn’t have yelled because from the looks of it, Jungkook just wants to help you out and clearly you’re not being the friendliest right now. 

You curl back into yourself, “sorry”, another sniffle.

Jungkook brings your fists into his hands and warmly opens them up. You refuse to look at him, it doesn’t deter Jungkook one bit.

Tenderly he brings a finger under your chin, gradually bringing your eyes up to his. Jungkook takes his time with you, careful to not set you off until you’re face to face with his warm eyes. 

“I brought you here because it’s apparent we both need let out some pent up steam.” He drags his fingers delicately across the curve of your chin and back into his lap. His touch is fleeting, you miss it already. “I just thought you may want to vent or just shout out into the void, it’s up to you.” You nod, fully trusting Jungkook’s intentions. “And at any time you feel like going home just say the word and I’ll take you there, okay?” 

Your heart swells in adoration at his caring nature, though you can’t help but wonder how he can have such a sudden change in personality depending on where he is and who he’s with. It’s unnerving. 

Jungkook clicks his seatbelt off and heads out the car, “put your dress back on princess, I’ll be out here waiting for you.” You mutter your confirmation and do as he asks.

The cool summer air kisses your skin and runs through your hair as you step out of the car. Jungkook is already by your side dressed in an oversize hoodie with another in his hand as well as a fuzzy blanket. 

Jungkook steps closer to you, holding the hem of his hoodie to slip over your body. Without a second thought you raise your hands causing Jungkook to chuckle at how cute you look dwarfed in his clothes.

The same cologne you smelled on his skin earlier lingers on every fibre of fabric around you. His scent is everywhere, swirling around your head, instantly calming down your anxieties. You smile at him, “Lead the way Jungkook.”

Jungkook leads you up a small hill and you notice the trees opening up to display a lush field of grass. However, the sight before you leaves you in absolute wonder. You stand completely still and take it all in. 

The night sky is dark but the city below illuminates is beautifully. Your gaze bounces over all the buildings, skyscrapers and their dazzling bright lights. It’s peaceful up here, you decide as you take a glimpse of the hundreds of tall structures looking so tiny, so ant-like.

Jungkook is settled behind you, his legs comfortably folded underneath himself. He remembers what it was like the first time he saw the view, which is why he doesn’t blame your stunned silence and glazed eyes. 

“How did you find this place?”

You find your way towards Jungkook and plant yourself right beside him. “I don’t know, I was just driving aimlessly one night and found it, It’s nice right.”

You hum, “it’s beautiful.”

Jungkook murmurs in agreement as you lie down on the woolly blanket beneath you. The stars twinkle and glimmer amongst the deep blue sky, creating a serene experience. You shut your eyes.

“I hate him.”

Jungkook looks down at you, you don’t see him though. “Suho?”

“Yeah”, you exhale deeply, “I can’t believe I had to see him again.”

Although Jungkook knows you can’t see him, he swivels his body around to face you properly. “Did you guys date or something?”

You scoff, “pffft you know Suho doesn’t date anyone.” You open your eyes, meeting a pair of round docile ones. You continue, “Suho was the first guy who every gave me an ounce of attention. Before him guys never looked my way. Jungkook remains silent, letting you pour out what’s on your mind.

“Suho had me fooled, I thought I was special to him, thought he saw something in me that was different from the others. Turns out that was his game after all”

You speak so animatedly, your hands wave around in the air, your eyebrows scrunch when the memories come back to you. “It’s stupid really, how I used to gush to him about finding the one person in the universe that was created just for me. I guess he used this as my weak point.” 

Inhale, exhale. 

“He made me believe he was that special person for me, used it as an excuse to pressure me into sex.” A tear rolls down the side of your face, falling perfectly in a straight line. “I almost gave in, but something just felt so wrong. Every time I said no he would call me terrible names, tell me that no one would want me if I never gave them what they wanted. And I believed him.”

Another tear escapes your wet orbs, Jungkook is there to wipe it this time.

“I broke it off after I found out he fucked my roommate and gave her some disease.” You chuckle, “I guess I’m lucky I never let him fuck me huh?” 

Jungkook’s heart breaks at your saddened eyes and the way Suho treated you, he sweeps a stray hair out of you face. “I think you dodged a bullet there princess, what he did to you was pure evil, no one, and especially you don’t deserve that”

You sit up, wiping remaining tears and thanking him as you go, “It’s your turn now.” You pat his thigh, “tell me why Suho got you so riled up tonight.”

Jungkook shuffles in his spot, “It’s actually kind of similar to you.”

You gasp sarcastically, “no way he pressured you into sex too?”

He laughs, eyes squeezing shut, “No, no, nothing like that.”

You lean closer to Jungkook, giving him the same attention he had given you. “My father left when my mother found out she was pregnant with me, so growing up I had no male figure present in my life. My mother stopped at nothing to give me that to the point that almost every week I’d wake up and see a new man drinking out of my favourite mug. I didn’t mind it because I was only a child and some part of me always hoped they would stay, but they never did.”

“My mom was a hopeless romantic. She held so much sentimental and idealistic views on love that it stuck to me. She always told me that there was someone special out there just for me.” You smile at the similar belief, Jungkook sighs. 

“Cut to college, Suho was the first friend I made. I had no experience with girls whatsoever, and I still held on to my mother’s faith. Whenever I talked to Suho about it he would always shut me down or make fun of me.”

“He told me that all my feelings are bullshit, and that I only felt that way because I’ve never hooked up with anyone before. Next thing I knew we were going to parties every week getting absolutely shitfaced and fucking every girl I laid eyes on.”

You nod, listening intently. “And tonight, he hit a nerve. What he said made me realise that I’m just as bad as him. He moulded me into this person and now I have a reputation.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop, “he broke my concept of love before I even got to experience it.”

You never knew Jungkook was in a place like this. You always thought he was like Suho, built to break hearts and show no emotion when it came to love. Jungkook was nothing like that. His heart was truly big, desperately longing for someone.

Placing your hand on top of his own you comfort him as best as you can, “oh, Jungkook, trust me when I tell you this, the love in your heart is not broken. Think about it, most people you’ve met have been through college right?” He nods, “there are so many other people out there that you’ve never met, soon you’ll be able to find that someone and learn how to love. I know you present yourself as this emotionless playboy, but once you let that part of you go it’ll feel so freeing.”

Jungkook stares deeply into your eyes, he’s so thankful that he decided to bring you here, he can’t contain his happiness. 

“Can I like, hug you?” Jungkook asks shyly. You smile, and it’s so big and bright Jungkook might as well be staring at the sun. Before he knows it, you’re tackling him into the most wholesome hug he’s ever had. You’re warm and you smell like vanilla, It feels like home.

“Get up”, he says abruptly, extending his arm to pull up your confused self.

“What-”, Jungkook cuts you off, “have you ever just let yourself scream?”

Jungkook has intertwined your hands together, and your heart pounds at the realisation of how well they fit together. “Well, no but I assume that’s what we’re about to do right now.”

He pulls you closer to the edge of the small hill, the view of the city sparkles right in front of you. “On the count of three, one- two- three!”

You scream, you let it all out and God does it feel refreshing.

The two of you sound utterly insane, but none you give a single fuck. You scream until your lungs burn and your throat itches you to stop.

The volume of both of your voices ring out into the night sky only for the moon, stars and yourselves. The night is still young but Jungkook wouldn’t have it any other way.

With you he lets go of everything, all the past mistakes, all the hurt because at this moment he feels like he could fly, soar into the clouds. 

He feels infinite.

Taglist <3 

@zibermuda @uskookie @jeonscandies @melaninkpops @apollukee @hollowtree10 @liliskies @madygswich @pjmochii @eggbutnotyolk @gyukult @yukiehyukie @purplepearl07 (couldn’t tag) @tae165 @youurkryptonite @94ser0da @french-myfries @zippytheshark37 (couldn’t tag) @we8joon @tearvantae​ @emrysts @inspinkyring​​

[imkylotrash]

Whatever It Takes

Pairing: Finnick Odair x reader

Request: They’re getting ready to go into the Quarter Quell, and essentially have a super sweet conversation where they confess their love, and are like “damn the revolution I’ll protect you”. Anonymous

A/N It’s been a long time since I read the books so if I accidentally used the wrong word for something please let me know and I’ll correct it 💛

Tagging: @bitchwhytho​ @music-of-melody​

You called it before they even announce it. You knew all the victors would get involved in the Quarter Quell because how else would he get Katniss to be in the arena without letting the public know that it’s purely to kill her? When you hear Finnick’s name get called out, there’s no choice. But was there ever one to begin with?  

“I volunteer as tribute,” you say raising your hand to let them know that you’ll be going into the Quarter Quell and not that poor girl they’ve got on stage. You don’t look at Finnick because you know his face will just mirror back the pain you feel. No matter what the revolution has planned, you highly doubt that both of you gets out alive. The focus will be on Katniss because she’s the one that’s been fuelling the fire while the rest of you can die a martyr and inspire the people then Katniss’ death would squash the tiny flame. It’s not fair but she made everything possible when she took out those berries. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Finnick tells you once you’re on the train travelling to the Capitol. 

“There was no way I was going to let you go alone.” Not to mention that innocent girl who got drafted. You’d have been a proper piece of shit had you not volunteered. 

“But you could’ve survived. Don’t you understand that’s all I care about?” 

“Careful, Finnick. Someone might hear your declaration of love and think it means something else.” It’s a warning that the walls have ears and not necessarily just the Capitol’s ears. Although you both want to think only the best of the lovely Coin, you can’t help but feel like it’s too good to be true. And you have no doubt that she’s got as many spies all around as President Snow. 

“I just want you to live,” he says hearing your warning loud and clear. Katniss and to some extent Peeta are untouchable, you are not. He takes your hand without another word. The rest of the train ride you remain quiet, too worried about saying the wrong thing and jeopardising this whole thing. Haymitch is counting on to keep Katniss alive until the rescue mission and your lives can’t matter more than the entire of Panem. Even if you want to say screw that sometimes.

“God, you’ve gotten old,” you smile spotting Haymitch next to the star-crossed lovers. He scoffs but can’t help but laugh. You’ve known each other for quite some time now and learned a long time ago that humour is how you all get through this with at least some level of sanity.

“I see your kindness have only grown over the years,” he mocks before giving you a massive hug. Being a victor and having to mentor the kids every year creates a certain bond between you all but Haymitch has always been one of your favourites. It’s the reason you know you can trust him to do you a favour. 

“We should talk once all the celebrations die down. Catch up on old times,” you smile giving his shoulder a friendly squeeze. He agrees suggesting the rooftop for a gorgeous view. When Finnick sneaks his arm around you, there’s a slight pang of guilt but you force it to the back of your mind. He’s going to survive the Quarter Quell if you can do anything about it. 

“What did you talk about?” he asks quietly and you keep a smile on your face not even looking at him. 

“Just good old days,” you utter hoping Finnick will understand not to ask more questions right now. There are too many people around you to speak freely and, in a minute, you’ll have to get on that carriage and pretend you’re proud to be fighting once again. 

“Katniss, Peeta!” you call out catching their attention just as they’re about to get on their carriage, “nice costumes.” You’re trying to be nice and establish some sort of positive relation between you but all it does is make Katniss stare at you like you’re personally responsible for putting her in the Quarter Quell. 

“I already tried. Tough nut,” Finnick tells you. It makes sense why the revolution needs a face but why they would ever choose someone like Katniss is beyond you. She’s not kind or caring expect when it comes to the people she loves. The future of Panem seems oddly low on her list of priorities but then again when has war ever made sense? And you certainly can’t say you’re morally better than her. 

“Is holding hands a cliché?” You look over to Finnick who’s doing his very best to put on a brave face.

“I think it’s perfect.” You intertwine your fingers with his not letting go until the carriage has driven through those gates at the end where the public can’t see you anymore. And even then, it’s just to get some blood flow back. 

“I just want some sleep,” Finnick says itching to get the costume off and you’re thinking the same thing. You ride up in the elevator with Katniss, Peeta and Joanna which makes for an interesting end to the day. 

“Never a dull moment,” you say before exiting the elevator with Finnick. Joanna laughs loudly while both Katniss and Peeta looks slightly mortified. If she’s trying to win over Katniss, Joanna is doing a poor job. 

“Let’s take a shower,” Finnick suggests now that you’re finally alone and you’re all too happy to comply. In the shower you can finally speak freely with the sound of water drowning out the sound of your voices. 

“I know it’s horrible to say but the revolution doesn’t matter to me if I don’t have you next to me when it’s done.” He slowly lets his hands slide down your arms until they reach your hands. 

“I know,” you whisper feeling the exact same way. The guilt returns tenfold this time but you keep quiet knowing that when he’s sleeping tonight, you’ll be bargaining for his life. 

“I say damn the revolution. I swore to protect to you a long time ago and I’m not breaking that promise now.” He kisses you with a fire that tells you just how badly he wants to keep you safe. Desperation takes over your body as you kiss him back. You wish you could leave now and hide somewhere far away from everything. If it were up to you, you would’ve fled the moment you heard about the Quarter Quell. But it’s difficult leaving behind so many decent people who needs your help and the few moments of hesitation had been enough for the peacekeepers to show up and make sure you didn’t take off. Snow always knew you were a runner. 

“And I say you’re sounding crazy. We can’t change the plan now. There’s nowhere to run.” As much as you’d love to run away and hide with him, you know it’s too late for that now. You wouldn’t make it out of the building. 

“I don’t care if I sound crazy. We can protect each other in the arena, make sure we never part. And when they come get us, we make sure they grab both of us.” It’s cruel really to give hope to him because you know it won’t work but you wish it could be so easy. 

“And then when we’re out, we hide. No more war, no more revolution. Just you and me and a small cottage near the water.” Hope may be cruel but it’s a strong motivator to survive and if anything you need Finnick to survive. You hide your face in the crook of his neck allowing yourself to feel a pang of sadness at the prospect of the future you’ve lost. Your lives ended the day you got drawn for the Hunger Games. 

“And you can finally have enough quiet to paint,” he adds and you don’t have to see his face to see the affection in his eyes. 

“It would be perfect,” you say closing your eyes to picture the cottage and the life you could’ve had with Finnick. The water hides the tears that fall from your eyes and it’s a good thing because you’re not sure you would be able to hold your secret from spilling out if Finnick noticed. 

“I promise I will make it happen. I promise we’ll be alive to spend the rest of our lives together. Whatever it takes,” he says. Instead of answering him, you kiss him again. When the water turns cold, you get out and dry off. You both know that your safety is gone now and they can hear whatever you say so you keep quiet letting your eyes do the talking. You cuddle up in bed where you wait for him to drift off before you head to the roof where Haymitch is waiting. The wind is loud tonight working as a noise diffuser. 

“I want you to save him.” It doesn’t surprise Haymitch but you both know he can’t make any promises. 

“I know Katniss is the main goal and that’s she’s probably made some demand for Peeta. But if there comes a choice between saving Finnick or the rest, you save him. Do you understand?” It’s the least he can do for you after everything you’ve sacrificed for President Coin and the revolution. You could’ve had a life if things had gone differently. 

“And that includes me, Haymitch. Once you’ve gotten Katniss and Peeta out, Finnick is your priority,” you add knowing that if Haymitch could choose, he’d pick you. 

“Finnick will make more sense for the revolution. I won’t be an asset the way he can be.” He knows you’re right. Of course he does but it doesn’t mean he has to like it. 

“I know,” he grumbles. You both know there’s a good chance you won’t make it out of that arena but then again none of you have been safe ever since you became victors. Snow made sure of that. 

“Promise me. I need to hear you say it.” You’re not satisfied until you hear him say those words that will give Finnick a chance to make it. As much as you’d love to believe his plan of getting out of the arena together, you can’t afford to entertain the idea. Even if Finnick isn’t ready to admit it, you both know it’s a fairy tale ending you won’t get. 

“I always thought he was just your way of getting through it, you know. That he offered some sort of relieve.” Maybe at first Finnick was your escape from reality but not now. He’s your world and everything else. 

“He has my heart, Haymitch.” You hug him tightly hoping he knows how much his friendship has meant to you over the years of being a mentor.

“Take care,” he says before you spin around hurrying back. Finnick doesn’t wake up until you crawl back to bed but a quick excuse about the bathroom satisfies his curiosity. 

“I love you,” you whisper looking over at the man who’s given you so much more than you’ll ever be able to explain. 

“I love you more.” 

[rocorambles]

Talk the Talk, Walk the Walk

Pairing: Atsumu x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Overstimulation, Degradation, Dirty Talk

Summary: Atsumu proves that he knows exactly how to make you feel good

A/N: This is for the Bully Girls Club’s Summer Euphoria Collab. Masterlist to come~ Can’t wait to see how everyone in the server spices up my summer!

Your eyes appreciatively rake over sinewy muscles and tousled blonde hair as the setter in front of you easily tosses the ball on the beach volleyball court in plain view from the towel you’re situated on. But you scoff, blatantly rolling your eyes and making a point to look away when he senses your gaze and cockily smirks, sending a wink your way.

He’s eye candy for sure, but the arrogance leaves much to be desired.

But unlike you, Atsumu has always been attracted to a little bit of spice and his eyes light up in amusement when you sneer at him, already making note of where you’re seated so he can fast track towards you once this set is done.

The sun feels good on your face and you happily close your eyes, soaking in the rays...until you can’t anymore. You open your eyes, scowling as you look to see what or who’s interrupting your moment, only to be briefly shocked by a familiar face that’s irritatingly only more attractive close-up.

“I’m Miya Atsumu. Thought you might want to know the name of the person you were eyeing like a piece of meat.”

You don’t even get to retort before he’s plopping down beside you, far too comfortable, far too close, far too warm...Quickly shaking your head clear of traitorous thoughts, you finally find words again, indifferently dismissing him with a cool shrug of your shoulders.

“You’re nice to look at, but I’m not interested in boys who only care about making themselves feel good.”

You’re expecting the irritated flash at your snarky enunciation of that mocking word and now you’re just waiting for him to either leave or snarl at you with predictable alpha male howlings of exactly how good he’d make you feel.

But what you aren’t expecting is the way his body relaxes from its brief annoyed tension and the way he looks at you with half-lidded eyes and a playful grin.

“Tell me what makes you feel good then.”

You hate how easily your face heats up at the drawl in his voice, the way you fumble for words under his inquisitive stare. But the flicker of triumph you see in his eyes has you squaring up, too stubborn to back down from a challenge.

You meet him face to face, staring into his eyes as you lean in so closely that the tip of your noses gently brush, your breaths fanning against each other.

“It would be pretty boring if I had to spell it out for you, don’t you think, At-su-mu? Why don’t you find out for yourself?”

It’s your turn to gloat at the way his eyes widen when you plant a coquettish kiss on his lips, quickly parting and standing up before he can return it, shaking the sand off yourself and your belongings as you begin to pack up. But you giggle when he scrambles to his feet, shouting out a goodbye to the group he came with before matching your strides, grabbing your tote bag from you much to your pleasant surprise.

“Such a gentleman.”

“Can’t let you tire yourself out before I even do anything, can I?”

Atsumu’s tone is lighthearted, but there’s a hunger in his eyes that makes you shudder in anticipation and you sink into his touch as he wraps an arm around your waist. Calloused fingertips lazily circle your bare skin as he slips his digits under the hem of your shirt and you’re lulled by the soothing touch, only to gasp when his hand suddenly slips down, firmly squeezing one ass cheek in the palm of his hands.

“Rise and shine, babe. We’re here.”

And sure enough, you’re staring at an unassuming door, just one of many in the love hotel the two of you have impulsively chosen.

It had been all fun and games until this point, just harmless teasing and flirting, but as the handle turns and you step into the room, bed first and foremost in your vision, reality sinks in and you can feel your bravado shaking.

“We don’t have to do this, you know.”

Surprised, you spin your head in the man’s direction, caught off-guard by the consideration in his voice, racing heart calming a bit at the sincerity you see in his eyes. And suddenly it doesn’t seem so daunting anymore when you see the way Atsumu sheepishly rubs the back of his head, waiting for you to decide what happens next.

You’re quick to grab his hand, new found courage giving you the boost you need to pull him onto the plush surface with you, squealing when the two of you land in a tangled heap, Atsumu’s toned torso pinning yours to the bed.

There’s a sense of security, of rightness in the way his body molds to yours, and you eagerly wrap your arms around the back of his neck, pulling him in as he surges down to press his lips against yours, tongues immediately slipping past their pillowy boundaries to taste and tangle. You whimper as he continues his exploration, his conquest of you, leaving a wet trail in his wake as his tongue and mouth taste every expanse of your bare skin.

Clothes are shed and your nails dig into shoulders as he decorates your neck, collarbones, and the valley of your breasts, teeth sinking in deeper than they should at times. Yet you don’t care, not when the pain melds so deliciously with the pleasure, and you shamelessly rub and writhe against him as lips suck pert nipples, tongue flicking back and forth across the sensitive tips.

“Feeling good yet? Look at you, humping me like a bitch in heat and dripping down here.”

You can’t refute his words, not when you’re too busy whimpering, head thrown back, mouth open in an obscene o-shape as two fingers push your slick folds apart, sinking knuckles deep inside of you with minimal resistance.

All you know is euphoria, heat, the lewd sound of Atsumu’s fingers thrusting in and out of you rapidly, curling just right in a way that has you feeling every drag of his digits against your drenched walls. And then you’re falling apart when a thumb circles and rolls your clit, body trying to convulse but unable to, trapped the way it is under the athlete’s frame.

“Too much. Too much!”

You whimper and weakly grasp at Atsumu’s forearm with trembling hands, body twitching and spasming as overstimulation begins to wrack through you. But he doesn’t stop, cruelly only increasing his pace, a sadistic grin slicing his handsome features as you scream and sob, eyes rolling to the back of your head and drool trickling from the corner of your lips.

“But I proved that I can make you feel good. Don’t you think you owe me?”

An animalistic sound is torn from you as Atsumu swiftly replaces his fingers with his cock, stretching you far wider, sinking in much deeper than his fingers had, assaulting your already oversensitized cunt.

You don’t know how long you can take this, how much more you can take. Even breathing seems borderline impossible and you’re grasping and clawing at anything within reach, bedsheets, skin, leaving long red lines on sunkissed muscles.

Atsumu hisses, the pain of your nails slicing flesh only encouraging him to piston his hips even faster, even more viciously. And he watches as closely as he can between pleasured groans as your tight walls clamp around him, watching as you shatter to pieces underneath him, not even a hint of the mouthy brat he had met earlier left in you.

Pride and arousal lance through him at the fact that he’s the one who’s so completely ruined you, who’ll continue fucking you into a mindless mess all night. It’s so tempting to tease you more, to really draw this out despite how his own balls are tight and aching for release, to test the limit of his own physical boundaries, see just how long he can methodically rut in and out of you, watch you pass out split apart on his cock.

But he has all night long to take you apart over and over again and he gives in to the roar of his blood, the need to mark you inside and out, relentlessly sinking in and out of you, pace beginning to stutter, tempo becoming erratic. And finally he’s joining you over the edge, thick white spurts splattering your insides and adding to the mess between your legs.

There’s only the sounds of his pants and your soft sigh of relief and contentment as you finally get to rest, body sinking into the sweat soaked sheets underneath you, listless and tingling with the echoes of mind-numbing pleasure. But despite your utter exhaustion, your lips still quirk upwards in a lazy grin as Atsumu leans down, gently pressing his lips against yours in an affectionate kiss before collapsing to the side of you and curling against your prone figure.

“Get some rest while you can. The night’s still young and I fully intend on getting the most use out of the room I paid for.”

You snort, hand haphazardly swatting in Atsumu’s general direction, eyelids already drooping and submitting to the bone deep tiredness enveloping you, not needing to stay open when you can clearly imagine the shit-eating grin spread across the man’s face right now. But despite the internal roll of your eyes, you melt into the soothing warmth alongside your body, already looking forward to the next few rounds you’ll spend with the man beside you.

[etherealeeknow]

vocal lesson

• rated m for mature, slight angst

• pairing: vocal coach!seungmin x fem!reader

• wc: 2.3k (confession: writing long fics isn’t my forte)

• tw: underlying toxic relationship, masturbation (m), grinding, groping, unprotected vaginal sex, explicit language, creampie- i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: i have a love hate relationship with this fic. i have a few goals i’d like to achieve from this fic and whether or not i’ll succeed is based on your feedbacks 🥺 so please don’t hesitate to drop them! also, enjoy!

• tag list: @es-kay-zee @formidxble @bobateastay @vogueinnie @sailorhyunjinz // leave a comment, dm, or an ask to be tagged! thank you ♡

—

seungmin despises the way his heart dropped when he sees your name flashing on his phone screen instead of you flashing upon his eyes. by this time, he’s fully aware that a chatty girl like you isn’t the type to text. in fact, you only do it on one occasion, which is when you’d like to cancel the class. just like what he has expected, the text says you won’t be able to make it that day and that you’re sorry; but he knows you’re not sorry. he knows you’re doing this on purpose—to torture him—and it’s working perfectly.

honestly, the suffocating pain in his chest isn’t because he has been losing sleep, tossing and turning in his king size bed for hours over the thought of you being all dolled up in the baby blue dress he has gifted you; neither is it because he missed his favorite orchestra playback this morning just so he could find the most perfect white shirt out of his collection of other white shirts just so he can appear pleasant for you, but because you’ve been cancelling the lesson for three times in a row. if your mother ever finds out about this, she would definitely fire him. to prevent that from happening, seungmin has been silencing your maids with credits, but he knows too well they’d soon go for more if you keep this up. 

fiddling with the handkerchief that you had purposely left for him a few weeks back, seungmin gloomily shoves it into his pocket before dragging himself to the grand piano to warm his throat up. the first few notes started off slow and stable according to the piano keys, but with constant fear running on his mind, his fingers slipped and pressed the wrong one. the awry sound makes him cringe and shuts his eyes in annoyance. he hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because he adores you more than anything, even when your cracked voice sometimes haunts him at night. see, seungmin’s giving his all to you,

but why are you doing this to me? where are you? i miss you.

“heh, pathetic,” he mutters to himself as he slowly lies down onto the piano bench, facing the chandelier which lights would usually illuminate you when sitting on the same bench while waiting for him to get to the music room, running your delicate fingers along the black and white wood. your side profile’s exactly like a goddess—breathtaking.

sighing over the imagery of you, he begins unbuckling his belt; eyes closing momentarily when he slips a hand into his unbuttoned pants and starts palming his clothed member. three weeks. it’s been three weeks since he last got off, since he last felt your touch, and he’s been trying his best to hold back because he believes you’ll eventually come around. he believes you won’t leave him just like that, yet you aren’t here again today, and he’s dying to release his pent-out frustration.

a heavy sigh escapes his lips when he takes out his dick, the tip leaking from precum and it makes him let out another sigh when he begins pumping it; another one follows, then another one, and it carries on as seungmin’s hand goes faster by each second. even in the peak of his pleasure, all he can think of is you. oh, how heavenly it would’ve been to have both your soft hand and pretty lips around him instead. his free hand is quick to slip into his pocket, snatching your handkerchief. despite only briefly smothering himself with it, your lingering scent alone is enough to make his head spin. with the sateen now wrapping around his throbbing cock, it feels as if you’re there, skin to skin with him.

“fuck!” he hisses, but eyes widening right away over his own volume as he quickly raises his head to check on the slightly opened door.

he’s so close and pausing in the middle just to lock the damned door would ruin everything. should he just bet on his luck today? it’s not like any of his well trained maids would rudely barge into his music room, right? but who knows?

screw it.

his back automatically arches when he feels the increasing tension in his pelvis, and it pushes him to fasten his hand move—pumping his dick rapidly to release. with eyes rolling to the back of his head, seungmin begins chanting your name desperately and that’s your last straw. the moment seungmin ejaculates is the moment you slam the door open and run towards him. the poor guy who’s barely riding out his high jumps on the bench as he sits up.

“y/n—”

“shut up,” you cut him off and crash both of your lips and body together, causing him to fall back down onto the bench, and creating a somewhat deafening screech on the floor, but it’s nothing compared to his loud moan in between the kiss.

the feeling of you straddling his lap instantly makes him hard again; the feeling of his warm hands running wild all over you and the stickiness on your inner thigh coming from your ruined handkerchief has you wetting your already damped panties—the effect of rubbing yourself when peeping on his little show. as the kiss deepens, so does your hunger for each other. of course, there’s no way you’ve gotten over what he did, and he’s surely still upset for being ghosted too, but for now, lust is winning. one squeeze on your thigh is all it needs for you to throw your baby blue dress across the room.

“you’re always so hot when you do that,” says the now naked seungmin who gets back onto the same position, looking at you with his half lidded eyes as his arms stretch out to fondle your breasts, his favorite part.

“the only time you’d compliment me is when we have sex,” you scoff before going back down on him, slowly yet easily pushing his cock inside of you, and both of you grunt in unison.

“y/n, ah— shit! i told you it’s because i know you can do better.”

snorting, you call him a liar before grinding mindlessly, movement starting off slow just like how your breathy moans starting off low. as much as seungmin enjoys being taken care of, patience doesn’t exist in his dictionary today. his hands leave your chest for your hips, guiding you to slip in and out of him at a faster pace. but that’s still not enough—he needs more. in a blink of an eye, you go from being on top of him to under him. seungmin bangs you down loudly on the grand piano, your buttcheeks and hands hitting the keys and filling the entire room with jumbled notes while you yourself are filled by him to the fullest, right at your g-spot.

“seung— fuck!” 

“louder,” he commands while thrusting into you, hips moving in a rhythm, and strong hands bringing your legs up to rest on his shoulders before holding onto your ass, supporting you from slipping down—multitasking is indeed his second best talent besides singing.

“what’s the p— point?” you breathe out, trying your best to sound coherent while maintaining eye contact, “so you’ll compliment karina instead again? pat her on the head and caress her cheek again?”

“you know i only did that to motivate you.”

“bullshit.”

if seungmin has to name anything you can do best, it’ll definitely be your ability to drive him crazy—disobeying him. again, he believes he has been going all in, keeping up with your lack of talent and bullshit for the past half a year; the way you’d fight, then fuck him, and fight again only to fuck him again, and the cycle continues. whenever he tries to talk things out, be it about your vocal lesson or your tangled relationship, you wouldn’t give a damn. today, that has to change.

“and i’m the one to blame? karina always listens to me,” he replies, slowing his thrust as he can feel your walls clenching around him even more and more.

“faste—“

“i said louder, y/n. tear your mouth wide open,” he grunts, thrusting into you so strongly that you jump and land back on the piano, creating such messy harmonies.

“seungmin, faster!” you yelp, voice raspy yet a little louder this time with your hands finding their way on his shoulders, and it makes him sneer as he leans in to kiss you, biting your lower lip before he lets go, and stop dead on track.

“hoarse voice, dry lips. don’t i always tell you to stay hydrated?”

you find it unfair. seungmin’s energy doesn’t make sense. the fact that he still has the power to put up with fucking while carrying you even after his solo session is unfair. and the way he has the audacity to give you a vocal lesson in the middle of everything, then stopping just because you aren’t complying is way too cruel, but perhaps, this is what you deserve.

“i’ll never cancel our lessons again. i’ll— i’m sorry. i will really listen to you,” you beg desperately, almost sobbing as you grind on him, refusing to let the tingling sensation on your core die down.

seungmin shakes his head. he knows you too well. normally, seeing you surrender like this softens him and makes him think that perhaps, he’s being way too demanding, or maybe, he should be even more understanding.

“that’s not what i asked for, love.” is what he says before resuming, putting all the remaining pressure he has left to snap his dick deeper into you.

that’s when his name falls out of your lips ever so gracefully, followed by endless ah’s, jaw hanging open. this is the loudest and clearest you’ve ever been—no holding back, no hitching breaths, no cracking—pure perfection. 

seungmin doesn’t even need to ask for more because you’re already repeating it on your own.

“fuck yes. just like that. such a good girl,” he grunts right beside your ear, picking up his pace.

it only takes a few moments till you feel the familiar knot in your abdomen coming back along with him twitching inside of you, and this time, you make sure to hold onto him so tight, afraid he’d pull the same stunt again.

“shit— please let me cum. please cum with me, come inside me, please, please, please,” you blabber, voice turns husky once more, but seungmin couldn’t care less, there’s always another chance for another vocal lesson. right now, all he wants is to,

“cum.”

the two of you reach together. name chanting, legs shaking, fingers digging, and body fluids mixing into each other—drenching not only your lower bodies, but also the extravagant bösendorfer piano seungmin shipped all the way from austria. but that’s another thing to worry about. right now, he can barely keep his eyes open while you can barely feel your stiff spread legs across his shoulders. once he’s made sure you’re over your high, seungmin gently pulls out and lets you down. he sits himself first on the bench before pulling you by the waist to seat you on his lap, and the two of you let silence take over for a little while.

“i know you’ve been bribing my maids,” you start off, “they have a big pay, but it’s impossible for their designer bags to double up in just a week, you know,” you continue while pushing his damp hair aside, revealing the remaining half of his sweaty forehead.

“they were gonna snitch on you to your mom,” he replies, pausing in the middle to mirror your action, pushing strands of hair to the back of your ear before averting his gaze back on your eyes.

even with your smudged eye makeup and cracked lipstick, you’re still as shining, dilating his pupil.

“and?”

“and she’s gonna fire me.”

“isn’t that what i should worry about? you’re a world winning award soprano. there are hundreds of talented people waiting in line to be your students. money isn’t the problem. plus, i know you hate my voice. i also never listen to you, never call you sir, and am ninety nine percent horny throughout our lessons. in short, i’m a bratty and disrespectful pain in the ass.”

your punchline makes him snort and he can’t help but to pull you into a hug, closing the already small space in between so he can indulge in your body heat and feel your chest beating calmly alongside his.

but what happened to changing things? don’t you wanna be in charge? you can’t just let her have everything she wants. 

despite hearing the faint voices in his head, mocking him for having the weakest heart for you, seungmin doesn’t care. for all he knows, he was a train wreck earlier this day; he surely didn’t expect he would go from reminiscing the memory of you under the chandelier to it actually coming true. 

“this is real, you’re here.”

“it is. i am.”

“and you’re gonna—“ pausing, he breaks the hug to cup your cheeks, “you have to stay.”

“what for? for you? for the vocal lessons? for… what?” you question, unconsciously tilting your head as you place a hand over his, slightly squeezing it, hoping he wouldn’t let go.

silence.

“i might be a bitch, but i’m not dumb. it isn’t about money and it isn’t about sex either. so what is it, seungmin?” you ask, eyes searching for an answer before adding, “i bring no good to you.”

you’re right. his best friends have said the same thing. they can’t seem to wrap their heads around how a collected person like him can break so easily over a random, spoiled, daddy’s little princess. it doesn’t make sense, he knows—i know. he’s been trying to figure it out, only to meet the same dead end.

“i’m a mistake.”

yes—yes you are, and seungmin hates it, mistakes, he hates it to the fullest, yet he has managed to keep up with it all this time just because,

“you’re the only mistake in my life that i can take, y/n.”

—

gen’s masterlist

[imaginethathaikyuu]

kinktober - day three

kuroo tetsurou - aphrodisiacs 

kinktober faq  kinktober prompt list  

NSFW warning featuring: the accidental consumption of an aphrodisiac, kuroo with an undying need for U, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, unprotected sex, begging other tags: scientist! kuroo!, me not knowing shit about science or working in a science lab or aphrodisiacs, me not knowing shit about anything, this isn’t realistic at all just look over it, can aphrodisiacs be inhaled? who knows, established relationship, cursing  gender neutral reader

word count: 2050

-

Kuroo made a mistake. 

He was careful, like he always is. He strictly follows the rules of his workspace because he knows it’s otherwise unsafe; working in a science lab can be dangerous. 

He was only preparing a sample, something he’s done dozens of times. They had just started a new project on chemical aphrodisiac studies, something he wasn’t excited about, but it didn’t matter to him - he was just doing his job, even if he does think this experiment will be a bust. And maybe he shouldn’t have been holding the bottle this aphrodisiac was stored in and just left it to sit on the counter to avoid a mishap - then again, maybe it shouldn’t have been stored in a glass bottle in the first place.

So, really, it’s not his fault.

The phone across the room rang out of nowhere, and for some reason, it terrified him. He was jump scared by a telephone ringing, and the glass slipped out of his hand and onto the pristine counter top, shattering across the surface which was immediately covered in the crimson liquid. 

The first thing Kuroo noticed was how sweet the substance smelled. He remembers one of his lab partners telling him, at the beginning of this study, about the claims of this fluid; apparently the pheromones inside are strong enough to send anyone into a sexual hunger like no other. Just one smell is enough to do the trick. That was the point of this study, to determine if it was true and if so, how true, but Kuroo wasn’t supposed to be the test subject. 

It didn’t really matter, though. He laughed it off. 

Aphrodisiac studies are all bullshit, anyway, and have always been a waste of time and money. 

He left the room to tell his coworkers of the accident and to ensure the proper way to clean up his mess. But he didn’t think he’d be sent home immediately. 

The wide eyes of his peers made him laugh - it’s not like he started a fire or ingested a poisonous substance. He only got one good whiff of the stuff, so he really didn’t think it was a big deal. But, to them, it was a huge deal, so he made his way home knowing that nothing would happen. 

Aphrodisiacs are bullshit. 

On his drive home, he decided he’d give you a call and tell you all about it - he needed someone to laugh at this situation with him. 

Sure enough, you did. “Of course you’re the one who inhales the powerful aphrodisiac before the experiment even gets started.” 

“Yeah, yeah, I can be clumsy, I get it. Just be ready for me to be ferociously horny when I get home, babe.” 

“Oh, I’ll be ready,” you laughed. “I’ll be here in my bathrobe with a face mask on - you won’t be able to resist me.” 

“Come on, you already know I think you’re sexy at all times of the day. Even first thing in the morning - hold on, it’s three pm and you’re already getting ready for bed?” 

“It’s already been a long day!” you argued. “We can have a spa day when you get home.” 

“That sounds nice - I’m down.” 

The conversation took his mind off of his earlier mistake, and when he got home, he had completely forgotten about it. He had his spa day, the two of you had dinner, you fell asleep on his shoulder while watching a movie on the couch - it was a typical day, save for his early arrival home. 

Nothing had changed, and Tetsurou noticed no side effects. 

Until he woke up in the middle of the night. 

There was this pressure in his head, a throbbing that wouldn’t go away. His heart was pounding and it was all he could hear. His arms felt tense, his entire body felt stiff, he was drenched in sweat. 

And he was holding onto you tight - he must have pulled you against him in his sleep and locked his arms around you. He’s definitely never been one to cling to you while he sleeps, so it felt a little too close for comfort.

Then, suddenly, he felt like he had run into a brick wall. His blood was rushing, he felt dizzy for seemingly no reason, and that’s when it all started. 

“Shit,” he cursed, pulling away from you and rolling onto his back. He didn’t feel good, and not touching you made him feel weak. “Oh, fuck.” 

That’s when he remembered what happened today at work. 

But there was no way that was the reason for this - aphrodisiacs are bullshit - this couldn’t be caused by inhaling that fake love drug. 

He needed to calm down, to get out of his head. It was all a placebo effect, and if he can just calm down, he can go back to sleep and he’ll wake up fine. 

“Tetsu?” 

The sound of your voice made him jump, and the look of your cute tired face made everything worse. 

“What’s wrong, baby?” 

“Nothing, nothing,” he replied, already feeling guilty at the sound of your worried tone. “It’s nothing, babe, go back to sleep.” 

You were already sitting up, though, and you had already turned the bedside lamp on. 

“Are you alright?” And your hand was on his cheek before he could see it coming, before he could tell you not to worry. “You’re burning.” 

“I feel like I am,” he said. Everything was hot and amplified and overwhelming, and the only thing that seemed to help was your touch - but at the same time, it was making it worse. “Fuck.” 

“I’m going to go get you some water,” you said, but before your feet could hit the floor Tetsurou was pulling you back into bed. 

“No, don’t - don’t leave.” It was like something was taking over him. He didn’t feel like himself, but he didn’t care. The thought of you going anywhere else was something he just couldn’t handle - even if it was in the next room, it was still too far away. “Come here.” 

He pulled you closer and closer until your lips were on his, and just one kiss made him feel like he needed to completely devour you. 

That was it. That’s what was wrong with him. He needed you - that was the problem. 

“I need you,” he moaned, rolling on top of you. “Let me have you.” 

“Tetsu, it’s the middle of the night.” 

“Please,” he begged, whining into your neck. He didn’t realize how hard he was until he started grinding against your hip, and what was usually pleasurable friction was now nothing but painful teasing. “Fuck, it hurts, kitten. Please, I need you - make it stop, make me feel better.” 

You’d never seen him like this. You’d never heard him whining or begging for you - you couldn’t deny how much it turned you on, even if it was the middle of the night. 

“Do you still think aphrodisiacs are bullshit?” you asked him with a laugh, but it was like he couldn’t even hear you. He didn’t reply, didn’t laugh, didn’t stop moving his hips. All he could do was beg for you, and it made it obvious that you were going to have to take the reigns. 

“Okay, Tetsurou,” you breathed, pushing him off of you so you could look at him. “Let’s get your shirt off, baby.” 

You pulled his shirt off as he tugged his underwear down, all while his begging continued. 

His entire body felt hot. You were sure he was running a fever and that this isn’t what he needed to be doing - he would probably benefit more from a cold shower - but you knew he wouldn’t listen to you if you told him that. 

“Tetsu, are you sure you don’t need some water?” 

“No,” he insisted. “I just need to fuck you. Need to be inside of you, need to cum in you - please, baby. You’re all I can think about - I just want you.” 

If he says you’re the only thing he needs, then what else can you do but give yourself to him? You’re the only one who can help him through this, so you have to give him what he needs. 

“Okay,” you replied, “fuck me, Tetsurou.” 

That’s all he needed to hear - he felt like he was waiting years to hear that consent, and now that he knew you wanted him too, he had no patience left. 

He pulled your underwear off and you’re sure you heard it ripping, but you didn’t even care. Neither did he. He couldn’t wait, if he waited even a second longer he would scream, but the moment he finally sunk into you he felt like doing just that. 

“Oh, holy fuck, that’s tight,” he moaned; he was completely lost in you. 

He was already close. He had been teetering the edge from the moment he woke up, he just didn’t realize it until there was something to push him over. It’s like he was just about to cum, after hours of being brought to the brink, but had no way of getting that release. 

His hips moved as if he had no way of controlling them. It was hard, fast, and rough, and you found yourself loving it. You were basking in his unharbored need for you, needing him just as much, wanting him to go even further. 

Tetsurou didn’t even last a minute, but it didn’t matter - he fucked you through it and didn’t stop. He hardly even felt it. Cumming didn’t take his pain or need for you away, it only amplified it. 

But for the first time that night, it actually felt like he was there. He could control his movements; he could open his eyes and see what he was doing; he could take a deep breath without feeling his head spin. 

His hips slowed down so he could wrap his arm underneath your leg, pulling your body into a new position that helped you feel as good as he did. 

“Fuck, kitten,” he cursed, watching as his cock dipped in and out of you. “You’re all I need - you’re so good, too good. Taking my cock so well, being so good for me. No one else can make me feel like this - only you.” 

“Tetsurou, fuck!”  

“That’s it,” he said with a wide smirk, “scream for me, kitten. I want everyone to know who’s fucking you so well - come on, do it, scream my name.” 

With how good he was making you feel it was impossible not to reward him with what he wanted, and you were so close to finishing that you didn’t care about any embarrassment moaning so loud would lead to. 

The louder you were, the faster he pounded into you. Little time passed before you were milking his cock for everything he had, cumming so hard on him that he had no control over his own orgasm. 

And it was everything he needed. He was seeing stars, floating through space, completely weightless, all because of you; you were everything he needed. He’d never felt so much relief. 

“Fuck,” he cursed, “holy shit.” 

You were catching your breath, while Kuroo felt like he was breathing for the first time in his life. Now, the only thing he needed was air in his lungs; he was exhausted and sensitive and, finally, back on earth. 

“Are you okay?” 

“I am now. Holy shit. Are you okay?” 

You laughed, “Yeah, babe,” but he looked over your body just to be sure. 

“What time even is it?” he asked. You shrugged. “I don’t know what came over me - I’ve never needed to fuck you that badly.” 

“I liked it,” you told him. “Your begging was hot. You should bring some of that chemical aphrodisiac bullshit home, babe.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” he scoffed as he was cleaning both of you up. “That is not the cause of this.” 

“You just can’t stand to be wrong, can you?” 

“I’m not wrong!” he insisted, but Kuroo knew he was lying through his teeth. 

Aphrodisiacs are, in fact, not bullshit, but he’d never admit it - not even for the sake of science. 

But, maybe, the two of you would have to do some more experimenting of your own. 

-

tune in tomorrow for kinktober day 4: in public