#“Leave the game better than you found it. And when it comes time for you to leave leave a legend.” - Kobe Bryant ♾️🐍🖤💛💜🤍🏀

[nikkento-writes]

Guess (Again)

Guess - Part 1

Summary: Following a raunchy night of panty-filled debauchery, you and Toji are back to despising one another. You would have thought that after seeing the most intimate parts of him and showing the most intimate parts of you, your less-than-ideal roommate would change his ways for the better. But of course, Toji is as irritating as ever, leaving his mess for you to clean, crossing boundaries, and disrupting your peace. You swear to yourself that you’ll never play this game with him again, but when you catch him in another compromising position, there’s no other choice than to give in.

Word Count: ~3.3k

cw: explicit language, explicit sexual content, smut - mutual masturbation, sex toys, panty kink, degradation kink, dirty talk

Author's Note: Not me realizing I have a degradation kink, but only with Toji lol. I finally had time to write this! It’s been heavy on my mind since I wrote Part 1. Thank you so much for supporting this pervy fic and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! The next part will be the last, maybe Toji will finally win the game. ;) Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

“Are you fucking serious?” you say out loud, open carton of eggs empty in front of you. Whatever hope you had of having a decent breakfast after a rough start to your morning is shattered, and you know exactly who to blame for this. 

Even after last night’s rendezvous, your roommate continues to be an asshole. He hogged the bathroom for nearly an hour this morning, doing fuck knows what in the shower. When he was finally done, the mirrors were all foggy from steam and the tile floor was covered in little puddles of water, always notorious for stepping out sopping wet without properly drying himself off. While you rushed to change in your bedroom, you heard him slamming cabinets and drawers in the kitchen, leaving another mess for your to clean up when you’re already running several minutes late to work. Protein powder littered all over the countertop, dirty pan on top of the stove, cracked eggshells in the sink. Why you thought Toji would change overnight, you have no idea. It was absolutely wishful thinking; you thought you finally found a way to get through to him, albeit a fucked up, perverted way, but still a way. Alas, you were wrong. Nothing, not even a private show or soaked panties, could change the prick known as Toji Fushiguro. 

It isn’t all for nothing though; even you can admit how sexy it was to see him undone, fucking his fist to you touching yourself. You can use this as masturbation material until the sparkle wears off, which will probably be sooner rather than later at this rate. 

On the way to the office, you manage to pick up a pastry to munch on in lieu of your stolen breakfast. You arrive to work late by half an hour, all thanks to Toji’s typical antics, though the day goes by as it does normally, with only brief glimpses of last night replaying in your memory.  Despite all that is wrong with Toji, one thing is for certain: he’s really fucking hot. A marble statue chiseled to the finest detail, beefy muscles and abs so defined, even prettier with his pearly white cum splattered across them. It’s a hard image to get out of your head, especially when it’s your deepest darkest fantasies come true. Still, there’s no way you’re letting yourself get caught up in this again. Absolutely no way.

You eat lunch with your coworker, who brings up something you forgot in the midst of all the madness happening at home. “You’re still free tomorrow night to see Ryuji play, right?”

Confused, you quickly swallow the food in your mouth to respond. “Wait, what?”

She rolls her eyes at you. “Don’t tell me you forgot! Ryuji! He’s my boyfriend’s brother’s friend who’s in a band. Remember you wanted me to set you up with him?”

It’s coming back to you now, and of course you remember her telling you about Ryuji. Shaved head, tattooed bassist, tall, lanky, and lean. Totally your type. You nod, smiling at her. “Yes, yes, I remember. Sorry, I’ve been out of it lately.”

“Is your roommate giving you trouble again?” she asks, gazing at you with concern.

You almost choke on your spit, stifling it with a sip of water. “Yes, you could definitely say that.”

“Well, Ryuji will make you forget about that asshole. He’s super sweet and fun. I told him we’d be at his show tomorrow, so please tell me you’re still in.”

“I am, I am,” you assure her, only half-meaning it. To be honest, you did forget about Ryuji after what happened with Toji. But now with the jackass back to being the roommate from hell, you’re thrilled to go out with a normal human being. 

The rest of the workday goes by without a hitch. When you return home, you have the place to yourself; it seems that Toji has left for the gym earlier than usual. You have no clue what he does during the day, if he even has a legitimate job or not. Somehow, he makes enough money to pay rent and that’s all that matters to you. Most nights, he’s at the gym for hours, which clearly shows in his impressive physique. Other than that, you barely know a thing about it, a stranger you’ve been living with for the past two months. A part of you likes it this way, though. The mystery, the intrigue. It’s exciting, unfamiliar territory that draws you.  A little dangerous.  

By the time he’s home, it’s almost midnight and you’re watching TV in the living room. You didn’t mean to wait for him or anything. It just so happens that you stayed up a little past your normal bedtime. Maybe you want to test him, to see if he acts any different in person after last night. Because how can he not? Was it not as thrilling for him as it was for you?

You don’t turn around when he shuts the door closed or when he removes his shoes. You keep your gaze directed at the TV, not paying attention to what’s playing while you listen to him meander around the kitchen, chugging a tall glass of water, opening and closing the fridge to steal whatever you made for dinner tonight (chicken curry). It’s only when you spot him in your peripheral that you turn to face him, watching him sit beside you on the couch, cold bowl of curry in hand. He picks at it with his fingers, stuffing big chunks of potato and meat into his face, chewing with his mouth open. And it should gross you out, it really should. Surely a woman of culture has higher standards than this, right?

Yet, you sit there, mesmerized by him, aroused at the way he runs his tongue across his teeth, that way he licks sauce off his thumb, loud and slurpy. 

He catches you staring at him. It’s the first time the two of you have encountered each other since watching the other masturbate. His eyes narrow into a cold stare. “What?” He says it with annoyance, like you’re the one bothering him, even though he’s eating the food you purposefully saved for tomorrow’s lunch. 

Anger boils inside you. Crossing your arms, you tell him, “I was saving that for my lunch tomorrow.”

He pops a hunk of carrot into his mouth, smirking. “Oops. Sorry.” His typical lazy, insincere apology. Then, he follows that with, “Could use more salt.”

Whatever arousal you felt just moments ago vanishes in an instant. How could you ever think this sorry excuse for a man could be anything more than your arch nemesis?! You stand up in a huff, unable to control the rage bubbling inside you. “Are you fucking serious right now?”

He looks at you, unfazed, almost amused. “Yeah. It’s a little bland.”

You turn the TV off, throwing the remote hard against the cushions on the couch. “You’re such a fucking asshole. Stop eating my fucking food and stop making me clean up your fucking mess!”

He’s grinning wildly now, clearly enjoying this. Slowly, he gets up, towering over you completely. “Whoa, relax. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” His eyes travel to between your legs, his lips twitching with delight. “Oh wait, too late for that.”

Your cheeks are hot, body trembling with anger. “Fuck you,” you say before marching straight into your room, slamming the door shut. 

You’re not proud of yourself for the way you behaved, throwing a tantrum like that. You’re also not proud of what you do before you sleep. Under the covers, you hold your vibrator at the max level your clit, coming to the fantasy of Toji bending you over that couch and fucking you silly, all while antagonizing you for your hissy fit. “Fucking brat,” you imagine him saying. “Need to tame you.” You climax thrice picturing the two of you in all kinds of positions, defiling the living room. 

You’re so fucked.

~~~

You successfully avoid Toji the following morning by waking up super early to leave for work. The next time you see him, it’s past dinnertime and you’re already changed to go to Ryuji’s show, dressed in a relaxed band tee, jean shorts, and combat boots. You’re hoping to avoid him completely after last night’s meltdown, but as luck would have it, he’s entering the apartment at the same time you’re leaving. He blocks the exit, scanning you up and down, lingering too long on your exposed legs. Instead of a normal greeting, he blurts out, “Where the fuck are you going?”

You narrow your eyes at him, matching his vulgarity. “Why the fuck do you care? Get out of my way.”

He doesn’t budge, crossing his arms over his broad chest. “Tell me where you’re going.”

You don’t respond, glaring at him silently. 

“I’ll move if you answer me.”

His proposition is so unfair that you can’t keep quiet. “You never fucking tell me anything, so why should I?”

He advances a step forward, trying to intimidate you. Voice low and threatening, he says, “Stop being a fucking brat. Tell me.”

You clench between your legs, disappointed at yourself for how this is affecting you. When he remains unyielding, you relent, desperate for an escape to prevent you from doing something stupid. Again. “I’m going to see someone. He’s in a band and he has a show tonight, so I’m going to watch him. Got a problem with that?”

It takes him several seconds, but eventually he responds. Well, kind of. He simply grunts, then steps aside to clear the way for you. Without taking another glance back at him, you leave, breathing in the cool night air to calm down.

This unfortunately has you fucked up the rest of the night. While you do your best to enjoy the show, which is actually very good, you can’t get Toji off your mind. Not even when Ryuji pulls you backstage into the small dressing room, sweat sticky on his neck all the way into the dip of his collarbones. He has a gorgeous smile, one that looks too alike to Toji’s, or maybe you’re just imagining it. You listen to him talk about how excited he was when he heard you were coming, how pretty you are especially in the crowd watching him. How badly he wants to get to know you better. You smile at him, half-listening, wondering if Toji could ever be this nice to you. When Ryuji leans in for a kiss, you kiss back him half-heartedly, wishing it was your roommate’s lips on you instead. His hand rests on your lap, itching to slide between your legs, but he doesn’t. Because he’s a gentleman, unlike Toji. If this were him, he’d already have his fingers twisted around your panties, knuckles grazing your pussy lips, swollen and pulsating with arousal. His breath hot on your ear, calling you filthy names. Whore, slut, nasty fucking bitch…

You’re on a train home within five minutes, barely thinking about Ryuji’s confused expression at your lame apology of, “I’m sorry, but I can’t do this.” It was barely an explanation, but it didn’t matter as you left him, Toji now the only man on your mind. 

~~~

Toji isn’t jealous. Toji never gets jealous. It’s a pathetic feeling to have, especially when he has everything he wants. Rock-hard muscles, money from betting on those goddamn horses, a huge dick. So what if you’re seeing some other guy, dressed like fucking groupie ready to pounce on any fucking asshole with a guitar and lip piercing? He has a pair of your panties and the memory of you stroking your pussy for him. What more could he want? He doesn’t need you to touch him, doesn’t need you to look at him with those greedy fucking eyes, doesn’t need to know what your fist or the inside of your pussy feels like around his cock…

Toji isn’t fucking jealous.

He keeps telling himself this throughout the night, while he’s angrily shaking his protein shake, scrubbing his skin hard in the shower, tossing and turning under the covers in an unsuccessful attempt to sleep it off. There’s no use; whatever’s eating at him isn’t going to stop. It’s going to continue gnawing away until he loses it. He has to do something about this. 

The door to your room is wide open. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s snuck in without permission. Your black lace panties are bunched up in his fist; he uses it to jerk off in the shower while simultaneously laundering them; although he’s a pervert, he’s at least hygienic. In his other hand is his silicone cock sleeve, lubed up and ready to go. He had to retire the fleshlight two nights ago, when he pummeled into it nonstop for over an hour, replaying the memory of you stroking your wet, glistening cunt. 

He plops down on your bed, shoving a the pillow to his nose, inhaling deeply. His cock twitches at your scent, sweet and satisfying. Quickly, he pulls his pants and drawers off, leaving him completely exposed from the waist down. He bites down on your underwear, keeping them locked in his mouth while he slides his cock through the sleeve, his swollen tip peeking out the other end. Eyes closed, head rolled back against the headboard, he strokes himself slowly, picturing you rubbing your cute little clit between two fingers, moaning his name. Who else can touch themselves in your bed, black lace panties that you gave him stuffed in his mouth? No one but him. Only him. 

When you walk in on him, you’re surprised but not upset. Surprised that whatever twisted fantasy you’ve had playing in your head the last fifteen minutes has come true. Seeing him already in your room, pumping his dick through that obscene toy, draws you in immediately. 

He doesn’t stop stroking when you walk towards him, only slows his pace. “You’re back,” he grunts out, panties falling from his mouth to his chest. 

You let out a small laugh. “I guess you did have a problem with me going out.”

“I don’t have any fucking problem,” he spits out through gritted teeth.

He’s fucking delusional, denying it all while he’s literally masturbating in your bed. Feeling bold, you ask, “Want to guess what panties I’m wearing tonight?”

He scoffs, though he seems intrigued. “What do I get if I win this time?”

You sit at the edge of the bed, your eyes fixated on his cock head leaking precum. “Same thing as last time.” 

“You’ll let me fuck you?”

You nod. “Yes.”

“Here on your bed?”

You lick your lips before responding. “Wherever you want.”

“Fuck,” he swears softly under his breath. 

This time it is an educated guess. He’s seen you wear these before, right before a date, peeking out of your tight jeans as you bend over to put on heels. Another time, they were underneath a short, skin-tight skirt he saw you slide off yourself after a night out, too tipsy to close your bedroom door while you undressed in front of the mirror. It’s not Toji’s fault for looking, he’s only a man after all. Halfway stripped, you even stopped for a split second just to meet his eyes in the reflection, then continued undressing, fully aware he was watching you. 

He knows what you’re willing to show to other men, which is what made him want to snatch these panties for himself in the first place. What made him tick thinking about you doing anything with anyone else. So he’s absolutely certain that you’re wearing your hot pink thongs tonight just to torment him. 

When he gives you his guess, it’s hard for you to contain your glee. Reveling in this moment, you pull your skirt down slowly, revealing that you’re not wearing any panties at all. 

His eyes go wide, pupils dilating. “You fucking slut,” he snarls, quickening the pace of his strokes. “You tricked me.”

You reach for your nightstand, retrieving your vibrator and bottle of lube. He continues to berate you as you prepare your toy. “Did you let him fuck you? Nasty fucking slut. I don’t want his sloppy seconds.”

Unfazed, you spread your legs across his lap, straddling him. “Doesn’t seem like you mind.” His cock barely fits in the sleeve, so swollen it looks like it’s about to split apart. 

He continues to fuck into it, fingers wrapped tightly around the silicone, sweat starting to bead off his forehead. “Did you actually fuck him?” There’s a hint of vulnerability there, something you’re not used to hearing from him. Like he doesn’t want to believe that you let another man touch you after the amazing night you had together. 

And it’s true; you couldn’t let Ryuji continue, despite how sweet and respectful he was. What you crave is this, a normally uncompromising and boorish beast degrading you while he yields to your every whim. Does he have to play your silly little games? No. But he does. He can’t help himself when you’re being so fucking naughty, provoking him like this. 

Deciding to ease his worry, you tell him the truth. “I didn’t.”

He relaxes, though tries not to show it. “Why not?”

You tease the tip of the vibrator to your aching clit. “You know why.”

He watches you rub the toy up and down your pussy, spreading your arousal all over yourself. “You were thinking about me.” It’s a confident statement, not a guess. 

You swallow hard, nodding. Your finger hovers over the button, sure that once you press it, you won’t be able to control yourself. Before you go any further, you say, “No touching.” You set the one rule for this new game you want to play with him. The type of game that makes you feel less guilty about all of this. If you don’t touch each other, just like two nights ago, then maybe it means you haven’t completely abandoned your standards. 

Toji doesn’t argue; for someone who’s proved how invasive and inappropriate they are, he’s surprising compliant to your demands.

You finally push the button, the buzz against your clit instantly causing you to clench around nothing. He smirks, the scar on his lip as alluring as ever. “I’m not one of your little boy toys you usually go out with.” 

You scoot a bit closer to him, enough that your knuckles brush against each other just the slightest. “Oh yeah?”

This spurs him on, his grip tightening on himself, voice lowered into a growl. “Yeah. I’m a real fucking man.” 

“Fuck,” you moan, pressing the tip closer, the pleasure radiating all the way down to your toes. Precum drips down the outside of his cock sleeve and you want to lick it off, but you can’t. You shouldn’t. Your pussy is unbelievably wet now and Toji stares at it, practically salivating for a taste. 

He groans, the sound of it deep and guttural in his throat like a wild animal. “You’re just a bitch in heat, running home to cream all over me.”

This has you going feral. You push the button twice to the maximum level and press it deep to your clit until you climax. He orgasms soon after you, the cum shooting out in spurts onto his six-pack. It’s so much that it drips down his side, seeping into your bedsheets. 

He settles down, catching his breath, though the dirty talk doesn’t stop. “Fuck, I want to lick your pussy and slurp up all that cum.” 

You’re tempted to let him, it’d be so easy to climb up and sit on his face, let him run his tongue all over you. But you have to maintain whatever tiny dignity you have left. So instead, you pump the vibrator tip in and out of your messy cunt and offer it to him. “Want a taste?”

Almost too eager, he leans forward and sticks his tongue out, licking off every bit of you he possibly can. You might be a “bitch in heat”, but here he is, following your every command like a loyal dog. 

Maybe you have more dignity than you thought. 

[coolemmasulivan2]

Next Year

Pairing: Mason Mount x Reader

Summary: In the first game of the session, Mason has no idea his niece and you are plotting a special surprise for him.

Word count: 1502

I don't believe in destiny But I might have to say Your melodies, they're changing me I'm yours forever and a day

It was the first game of the season, and Mason was buzzing, not just because football was finally back, but because he had someone special walking hand in hand with him onto the pitch. His niece Summer.

It was her first time being part of the pre-game ceremony, and you couldn't have asked for a better chance to share your own news than with Summer's help.

Your first pregnancy.

You'd found out two weeks ago. At first, you thought it was nothing until a friend suggested you take a test.

"I'm not!" You'd said, trying to convince yourself more than her.

"You share a bed with Mason Mount! And you want me to believe you two don't jump each other constantly?"

"We're always careful." You whispered, even as your stomach twisted. "It can't be."

"You literally gagged at the smell of coffee. You love coffee."

"Oh my god."

You knew Mason wanted to be a father. You'd talked about it plenty, and every time you watched him with his nieces, it only solidified in your heart: he was the one you wanted raising children with you. So when he mentioned that Summer would be his mascot for the Arsenal game, you knew you had to involve her.

"What do I say?" Summer had asked, bouncing onto the sofa.

You pulled her into your lap and whispered in her ear, making her giggle.

"What are you two plotting?" Mason's sister had asked, walking in.

"It's a secret." Summer announced proudly.

Her mum raised an eyebrow, but she was smiling. She knew how close you and Summer were, and if there was a secret involved, she trusted you with it.

Her mother laughed. "I thought we didn't have secrets."

"She's my little helper." You explained, kissing the top of Summer's head. "She's just helping her aunt with something, right pumpkin?" Summer nodded, giggling again as she leaned into you.

Mason's sister gave you a questioning look, but she trusted you, always had.

"We have to go if we want to be on time." Mason's mom said from somewhere in the house.

By the time you reached the stadium, though, your nerves had taken over. Summer skipped off with the staff, leaving you to sit with the rest of Mason's family in the stands.

Your stomach was a mess of butterflies. What if Summer forgot her line? What if Mason didn’t react how you imagined? What if--

"Are you okay?" His mum asked, noticing your pale face. "You look nervous."

You forced a smile. "It's the first game. I'm just… worried."

You gave her a smile. "It's the first game, I'm just worried."

"He's in good shape. Everything's going to be fine." She reassured softly. "He's ready."

Meanwhile, down in the tunnel, Mason crouched beside Summer.

"Are you ready, princess?"

"Yes." She grinned.

"Good. You're my lucky charm." He said and kissed the top of her head.

Then, seconds before walking out, Summer tugged on his shirt.

"Next year isn't going to be me." She said with a giggle.

Mason frowned. "Wh—" But before he could finish, the officials signaled them forward. The tunnel opened, and the roar of the crowd swallowed the moment. The session was going to start.

They walked out together, hand in hand. Mason smiled at her wide grin, proud to be showing her the pitch like this.

They lined up on the pitch, the noise of the crowd buzzing in Summer's ears. Her little mind spun with panic. That wasn't how you told her to say it. She tried to remember your exact words, squeezing her eyes shut for a second as if the memory might come rushing back. Nothing. Her head was completely blank.

Mason gave her hand a gentle squeeze, pulling her back to the moment. It was time to go.

But she couldn't let it go. She needed to tell him.

"You're going to have another princess to bring next year." She blurted, her voice tiny but determined.

Mason tilted his head, not understanding. "What are you talking about? You didn't like it?"

"I did, but it won't be me again."

He chuckled softly, brushing it off. "If your sister wants she can come next year, or in other games, but that doesn't mean you won't come again."

Summer frowned. She was a kid, but she knew her uncle wasn’t getting it.

"But next year won't be me or my sis."

Mason wanted to press her, but there was no time. The referee's whistle was already at his lips.

"Okay, okay, it won’t be you." He said quickly, crouching down to point toward the tunnel. "You have to go, princess. Mom will be waiting for you."

"She's going to be so little." Summer mumbled, then turned and darted off toward the tunnel.

Mason straightened, running a hand over the back of his neck. His niece's words rattled around in his head, making no sense at all. Instinctively, his eyes flicked up toward the stands.

You were already looking at him, your smile wide.

"I love you." He mouthed.

"I love you too." You mouthed back, and he could see the way your lips trembled just slightly when you said it.

He turned away, jogging to his position as if nothing had happened. For someone who might've just been told he was going to be a father, he looked far too calm. You'd seen enough of Mason's confused little expressions to know Summer must have scrambled the words you'd given her.

By the fourth minute of the match, Mason's sister appeared in the stands with Summer. The little girl immediately bolted for you and you pulled her into your lap.

"I got it wrong." She confessed in a rush, cheeks pink with frustration. "I forgot what I had to say."

From his position on the pitch, Mason could see you kiss the top of Summer's head, could see the reassuring smile you gave her.

And then Summer's words echoed in his head again. Next year isn't going to be me… You're going to have another princess… She's going to be so little.

He froze for a split second, the noise of the stadium muffled by the roar in his ears. His chest tightened, heat rushing all the way up to his throat.

...

...

...

It hit him all at once, the pieces clicking together like a puzzle.

He looked up at you again, heart hammering, and the smile on your face told him everything he needed to know.

Mason Mount had just realized he was going to be a father in the middle of a football match.

And somehow, he still had ninety minutes to play.

The final whistle blew. The weight of defeat hanging heavy over the pitch, but at the moment Mason couldn’t have cared less.

He didn't even think about the locker room. Didn't stop for post-match handshakes. His boots pounded against the turf as he sprinted toward the stands, weaving past staff, photographers, and confused security guards.

And then he saw you.

You were already standing, Summer perched on your hip, Mason's family around you. But his eyes didn't leave yours. Not once.

By the time he reached the barrier, people were calling his name, cameras flashing, but Mason didn’t care. He climbed up, closing the distance in a few quick strides, and stopped right in front of you.

Your heart was hammering. His face was flushed, hair damp with sweat, but his eyes, god, his eyes were brighter than you'd ever seen them.

"Tell me it's true." He said, breathless. "Please. Tell me she wasn't just making it up."

The world around you blurred. You swallowed hard, a shaky smile breaking across your lips. "It's true."

For a second, Mason froze. Then his whole face broke open in disbelief and joy, his grin so wide it nearly split him in two. He let out a laugh, half a sob, before cupping your face in his hands and kissing you, quick, desperate, uncaring of the cameras snapping every angle.

"I'm gonna be a dad!" He whispered against your lips, like he still couldn't believe it. "I'm really gonna be a dad."

Summer wriggled in your arms, giggling. "See? I told you!"

Mason pulled back just enough to kiss her forehead too, still grinning through damp eyes. He didn't care about the score anymore. The only thing that mattered was that next year, when he walked onto this pitch again, he wouldn't just be an uncle.

He'd be someone's dad.

"I guess you did." Mason said, laughing, his voice soft. "I'm really gonna be a dad."

"And next year," Summer added mischievously, "you'll have a little princess to bring to the game too!"

You chuckled, brushing a hand over Mason's damp hair. "Only time will tell, if it's a princess or a prince." You whispered, smiling.

Mason looked between you and Summer, eyes shining, and pulled you into another hug, letting the world fall away. This was the moment that mattered.

All that mattered.

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Springs of Living Water | Chapter I

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 9.268 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; VERY dark content; NSFW; Strong Language; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; a lot of overly complicated situationships; Sejanus is a loverboy and that is CANON, don’t come at me; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar/context mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | Life in District 12 never was easy. But after your old friend Lucy Gray comes back from the Hunger Games, bringing with her two strange Capitol boys in peacekeepers' uniforms, you might discover that there's more to fear in your district home than the horrors you were already accostumed to.

Likes, asks reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. This chapter is a little heavier than usual. Please read the highlighted warnings and proceed accordingly. PUT YOUR MENTAL HEALTH FIRST.

It’s always dark inside the wolf’s stomach.

Every night since Lucy Gray came back, you’ve been having the same dream, night after night: You’re in your sleeping clothes, watching over your flock. The dog’s rushing by your side, weaving in and out of the wayfaring sea of wooly backs and ringing bells, when, from far away, you see a wolf—white as the pure driven snow, and covered in blood— Its yellow eyes pierce into you, shimmering white and gold with something like humor, as if he'd found the easiest prey a predator could hope for, and was amused by that fact. 

Frightened, you pull the lambs in by your shepherd’s crook, and whistle to the dog, rounding up the sheep you can reach towards their corral. 

But the wolf’s already moving.

You look down to pick up a lamb that has stumbled, and when you look up again, the wolf’s gone.

The dog runs, barking, guiding, and the sheep scatter, their bells jangling loudly as they rush towards you, filtering into the corral like water through a dam.

You don’t feel any better.

You're standing up to your hips in grass, uselessly looking around for a predator that might as well be right in front of you, waiting to pounce.

A shiver runs down your spine.

You close the corral, and shout for the dog. 

No barks ring out as answer.

You climb on the fence, count the heads, call again. “Ori! Ori!” Nothing. Your heart races. “Ori! Heel, boy!”

Your command rings hollow into the darkness, empty and fearful. No answer is heard.

The silence that follows presses down on you like the weight of the world. 

You hop off the fence, landing hard, and stumble through the tall grass, ears pricked for any sound—steps, growling, a bark, anything. 

You tell yourself to leave him, that he’s a dog and he’ll find his way back. You tell yourself this isn’t the first time he’s run off and that it won’t be the last. You tell yourself that you love him, but that your family can't afford for you to die.

But you know the wolf is out there.

And not only do you know that, but you know that you could never stomach the thought of Ori, sweet Ori, that licks at your heels and sits at your feet, wagging his tail, dead, desecrated and dismembered by some soulless beast.

Your father might get another of him, but he couldn't get you another conscience, much less relieve you of your guilt.

So you step out into the grass, not brave, but worried, and get six steps from the corral before you look over your shoulder.

The sheep watch you with the placid blankness of a child that watches its father head into war, hoping, though not believing, that he'll give up on honor and turn back around— It’s not honor, though. You tell yourself. Ori's my dog. He's my responsibility. I can’t let him die, out here, alone, without even trying. He'd try for me.

You step further out, brushing through the reeds, letting them slap at your bare legs. 

They’re wet with dew, or blood, or both. Something dark stripes the cotton of your nightdress, metallic and pungent, soaking through the fabric like a sin. The whole night smells like it. Like danger. Like endings. 

Wrong. 

The sky above is heavy with clouds, bloated and grey, and the moon flickers behind them, milky and bruised like the blind eye of God.

“Ori,” You call out again, the word barely louder than breath. “Please.”

The grass is taller now—Up to your chest as you ease down the slope, parting through it with your stock—your field of vision growing dimmer as your lamp burns out in the distance, hanging from the pole by the corral, and the green beneath you just begins to brush your chin as the soil turns slicker and less trustworthy.

Something buzzes through you then: a weird feeling, a sixth sense. 

You're frozen on the sloped ground for a moment, heartbeat pounding in your ears. “Ori?”

The word echoes out, murky, as if it had been said underwater. But your eyes sharpen for a moment as you set your sights to your side.

A shape in the field.

Motion amidst the grass.

The wind howls.

The shape moves.

Ori bursts from the grass like a hummingbird, barreling toward you with his tail wagging. 

You fall to your knees, arms already outstretched, laughing even as you’re crying, your voice trembling with something close to hysteria.

But Ori isn’t alone.

He’s carrying something in his mouth. You think, a rabbit, or a squirrel. But he trots closer and you see the snout. The eyes. The little teeth.

It’s a wolf’s head.

A cub’s.

Your breath catches in your throat.

Ori drops it at your feet, proud, tongue lolling out of his mouth like he expects praise. 

But you can barely breathe, let alone move to pet him. You stare down at the severed head, at the fur and the blood and the eyes, laying cold against the grass that swallows you whole, unsure whether to keep frozen or to make a break for the safety back at top. 

The head looks up at you with its glassy black eyes empty of life, frozen in the terror of its last seconds. Its mouth is open, the little razor-sharp teeth still stained with the blood of the last meal its mother must have fed him. 

It’s tiny. Too tiny.

What are the odds that it was alone? That Ori found it circling, that he ripped its head off of its little body for no reason at all?

You look at your Ori. At his dark, loving eyes. His long soft fur, black and brown, perfectly dry. 

There's no blood on his mouth.

No blood on his fur.

He's clean as he's ever been, soul uncorrupted. This wasn’t a sacrifice. This was a find.

Your gut churns.

You reach down with trembling fingers, parting the little wolf's fur.

The bite mark on the neck is clean.

Too clean.

The bone cut straight, not even broken.

Everything stinks of copper. 

Of rot. 

Of something wrong, and half-alive. 

Something dangerous.

You don’t hear footsteps.

You feel them. Like thunder through the earth.

Ori’s ears perk up. His teeth peek out from under his lips in a growl, soaked in a sort of anger you've never seen in him. 

You stand and turn at the same time as the world falls silent.

A shadow rises at the edge of the field, parting through the tall grass like a battleship emerging from the foggy waves. It moves like a thought. Like grief. Silent, steady, huge.

Its fur is white, impossibly white, but its mouth drips red, and you realize then, despite all logic—the blood on its fur isn't the cub’s, or Ori's or any other thing's.

It's yours.

Your hand flies to your throat.

You feel it now. Wet. Warm. Pulsing. A bite mark. A sting. You hadn’t felt it before. You hadn’t seen it. But now it sears, agonising.

You fall to your knees.

Ori barks down at you—sharp, desperate. You try to push him, hands flapping aimlessly across the grass. “Run!” You beg. But he doesn’t move. “Ori, run! The sheep!”

You try to crawl away, try to put some distance between the beast and the dog —between the beast and you— but the pain around your neck overwhelms you, the blood on the grass consumes you, and your eyes are still caught on the wolf.

On its bright yellow eyes.

On its pristine white coat.

On the blood that drips from its mouth and down its chest, not like he's stained with the mark of a kill, but as if it's frothing from the mouth with disease, an illness neither of you can place.

The thing bares its teeth, but doesn’t growl. It holds your gaze for a moment, eyes shimmering white and gold once again.

When you see it huff, you almost think it's laughing.

But it doesn’t give you too long to ponder.

It lunges before you can think any more.

You don’t scream. Don’t try to run. There’s no time. Only the weight of it on your chest, the hot breath, the snapping of bone.

Teeth bracket your neck. Your chest. Your torso. Then—snap.

Silence again.

Your body floats.

Weightless.

But not free.

Because in the flick of an eye you’re falling down its throat, swallowed whole, but not unharmed.

The world around you pulses red and black. Dark. Lost. Repulsive. 

You’re in the belly of the beast now, surrounded by heat, slick walls closing in, pressing against the searing around your neck. 

You try to breathe and choke on blood. Your arms don’t move. You feel yourself slipping. Slipping deeper. Being digested.

You don’t know how long you’re there. 

Only that you're bleeding.

Getting weaker.

And that the end is near.

The dark closes in.

You're pulsing.

Soaked in your own blood, being corroded by stomach acid, your wounds reeking with the saliva of a beast that barely bothered to sink its teeth into you before pulling you in.

This can't be how it ends, God. You think to yourself. Let this thing choke on my bones and die. Let the weight of me bring it down to the point it can't run anymore. Let it be devoured as it has devoured me.

You feel the movement around you.

The wolf keeps walking.

Breathing.

Huffing.

And you're wasting away.

Until you wake up.

In your bed.

At daybreak.

The sun is barely visible through the window of your caravan, the slightest bit of light bleeding from beneath the hill it hides behind, but you stumble out of your bed so fast you nearly tumble into your grandmother’s.

Your breath is haggard.

Your skin is damp with sweat.

Your ears are ringing.

You sink your face into your hands and sit, exhausted, and yet so completely horrified that you can't bear to keep your eyes closed.

The feeling lingers against your arms—the warm, overbearing wetness of that wolf’s stomach lining, squeezing at you, trying to dissolve you down into a meal and nothing more. Trying to reduce your whole existence to the little that he needs from you: fats, fiber, nutrients. When all is said and done, you suppose that’s all you really are. 

The thought tears a shiver down your spine, quick and painful like an electric shock.

You jerk upright, standing again.

You need a bath. 

The acrid smell of bile, blood and drool still clings to the inside of your nostrils as you step out of the caravan, bringing the first blanket you can find to dry yourself with as you go about your way. The wind howls outside, low and warning, cold as you imagine heaven must be.

You take a deep breath, heart still racing.

Grass. 

Rain.

Mud.

Petrichor.

The air is as fresh as the rain that must’ve just fallen. You stare out at the horizon, at the tall grass your dreams had you being hunted through, at the sheep, still sleeping in the makeshift corral you locked them into last night, at all the other caravans standing guard around yours—your father’s, your uncles’, your cousins’, your grandfather’s— and for a second, it’s like you’re waiting for death.

The stillness consumes you, same way you think it must have consumed Lucy Gray, in those long days hiding inside air vents and underground rooms during the games. That frozen horror that comes from half-dreading, half-hoping that death comes at you quick.

You think about your brother and his air gun.

Think of the first time you saw him put down one of your flock: a black ewe you called Yawwie. Barely done weaning litter, she'd caught a fever, and started crying. Baaing. Screaming day and night. She was bothering the lambs, so your father sent Isaac down with the air gun to cull her, and you'd come along, still clinging to his tunic, too young to understand it's better not to see certain things.

He put the gun to crying Yawwie's temple, and told you not to look. 

You closed your eyes, and promptly opened them. The pellet was quicker than your eyes could flick. But you saw how the light went out of Yewwie's eyes. Heard how the baas’ died in her open mouth. And stared at the wound left there, gaping and bloody, at the center of her head—You could never look at a black sheep quite the same again. Maybe it was a given that you and Lucy Gray wouldn't last. But when you had watched the games to see her, you found yourself hoping someone would go out and do her the mercy your brother had done Yawwie that day, and put her out quick, before she could think of it.

Despite it all, when she won, you were relieved.

And when you realized that meant you'd have to see her again, all that relief went out the window.

She'd already been the living ghost of your friendship before she left. Now she was the living ghost of the girl she had been. Just as charming and twice as empty.

The airgun is sitting above the door, heavy and threatening even in stillness as you pick it up.

Maybe you could still do her the mercy. You think.

Blood on the ground. 

Empty eyes.

Heaven.

But you shake your head.

Or maybe you should take a plunge before you think anything even stupider. Your mind snaps.

You shake your head.

Breathe out.

Keep walking.

You're wading through the grass, the reeds clinging to your nightclothes, smearing it with dew that seeps through the fabric and through to you like sin—It's routine, you tell yourself. you do this everyday, have done since you were a child. But you can’t help but be unsettled.

It's too similar.

Too still.

You blink rapidly, as if it could clarify to you whether you've actually left the dream or not, and though you know instinctively that you have, you keep looking over your shoulder to see if you can spot a blur of white fur coming your way.

Your fingers are tight around the airgun. They remain like that until you're standing at the lake, ankle-deep in ice-cold water, and still hesitant to let it go.

Wolves can't wield guns. You tell yourself stupidly, as you peel the nightgown off of you and set it above the blanket. They can't laugh either, Another voice counters. but here you are.

Yes, here you are.

You barely feel the cold anymore.

The lake’s still as glass, your movement starting the only waves that move across its surface as you enter. 

Your breath comes out in clouds even though you’re only half-submerged, drifting to where your feet can’t touch the lakebank mud—You swim a little farther, sink a little deeper, and sit up on a big rock until the water's coming up to your chin. The loose ends of your hair brush the water's surface even as most of it is up in the same style you had on the previous day, but you don’t care. You want the cold to consume you, to pierce through your skin and settle into your bones, even if just for a moment, hoping it'll somehow erase the half-hearted warmth of sitting inside a wolf's stomach from your memory.

But the nightmare clings to you.

You can’t shake it off. You never do.

Your clothes sit folded on the shore, your blanket, wrapped around the gun, draped over a flat stone to catch what little sunlight there is. You could swim to them, if you wanted to. Wrap yourself up in wool, retreating into a cocoon to stretch back into the ‘comfort’ of childhood, and pretend you’re safe right there. But there’s no use in pretending when even your fantasies are tainted by fear.

Nothing here is pure.

Not your thoughts, not your dreams, least of all your reality.

Nothing has ever been pure since the peacekeepers rounded you up and tore you out of Eleven. 

This wolf you're dreading never really goes away, only changes coat: First it was those peacekeepers. Then it was the fear of being called into the games. Now it's Lucy Gray Baird, back from the dead in another coat of fur.

You should just accept you'll never have peace and be done with it—Resign yourself to your life of nightmares and paranoia, hoping neither one nor the other comes true. But your chest burns with the idea.

You've buried your head on the sand for as long as you can remember. And it's never helped you —worse, on more than one occasion, discretion was what got you bruised.

Somehow, you're always in the crosshairs of whatever disaster happens to befall the people around you.

Somehow, everything always crashes on you.

Your eyes shift towards the bank—From under the fabrics on the rock, you can see the faint outline of the airgun sitting there, unprotected, unwatched— Maybe something else could crash against you.

You look around for a moment, watching the hill you descended from, trying to spot any faces amidst what you can see of the caravans from over the tall, tall grass.

The only movement is born from the wind, falling from the hilltop and down towards you, light and forgiving, like a kiss. It feels like encouragement.

You think of Yawwie.

Of her screams, her pain, gone in a fraction of a second.

silent, almost bloodless.

Your mind wanders.

You think of the end. Of peace. Of no longer feeling guilty as you walk along your family, burdened with their worry for you. 

Of your younger brother inheriting your shoes, walking comfortably in your absence, the cost of your living subtracted from their finances.

Of your older brother finally going out to get married, having children, forgetting there was ever a sister to weigh him down.

Maybe it would be for the best.

You turn your body towards the shore, swimming slowly. The water laps at you with the ease of an embrace, as if its saying its goodbyes to you.

– Goodbye, – You murmur, the breath making small waves across the surface where it brushes the water.

Your toes scrape softly against the stone.

You're at peace, for once.

In the silence, your mind is empty.

Until a crack breaks through the silence. Sharp. Close.

A gunshot.

The sound echoes loud around your surroundings, seeping into your mind and bouncing off the walls of your skull.

Your heart drops.

Your body reacts before your mind does—muscles tensing, legs folding up instinctively. You rush back to your solid footing and sink lower, lips just above the surface, eyes scanning every leaf and tree bark on the bank. The mist hangs low, curling densely around the treeline beside your family's hill like it’s trying to hide something, but the sound gives it away.

Another gunshot rings out, and this one meets its target, the sound suddenly interrupted as the bullet meets something else.

Your eyes lock closed.

Nobody's dead. You pray to yourself. It's just some moron with a shotgun pretending to hunt. Nobody's dead. Nobody's dead. But your mind rushes. You think of Sammy, only ten years old. Of Isaac, not even married yet. Of your father. Your uncle. Your little cousins. God, please let them not have wandered into the woods again. Let them be safe and asleep and alive in their beds, as they should be.

A voice follows the second gunshot, muffled but clear in tone—irritated, frantic. A second one laughs in reply, louder, looser. Careless.

You can’t keep your eyes closed for long. Terrified, they peek open, scanning the extension of the water before you before drifting through the treeline once again.

Low and behold, there's movement.

You spot the hat first.

Dark blue, frayed at the edges, tugged low over blond curls that haven’t been brushed in days. Spruce. There’s a shotgun in his hands, and he’s pointing it skyward, grinning as a flock of startled birds scatter from the trees.

Your heartbeat slows.

It's just a moron with a shotgun. 

You breathe out slow and shaky, so relieved you feel your muscles loosen.

Then someone else steps into view.

Taller. Broader. Wearing the stiff blue-gray uniform of a Peacekeeper, but holding himself like the suit doesn’t quite fit. You catch the back of his dark buzzed hair and the sudden fearfulness in his eye as he turns suddenly.

You freeze up again.

The peacekeeper's hands reach for the barrel of Spruce's gun, brows furrowed more in worry than in anger. His first words are too low to catch across the water, but the terror on his face carries all the way to where you float.

You can’t hear every word, but you hear enough to know this isn’t a friendly hunt. Nothing about peacekeepers is friendly. Nothing about Spruce is friendly either.

He jerks the gun away, laughing, and the Peacekeeper glances back toward the slope that leads to your hill.

Your stomach knots.

They’re looking that way.

Spruce swings the shotgun behind his back like it’s a toy, the strap crossing lazily over his shoulder. He hums something off-key—something you don’t really hear, but recognize before it even comes out of his mouth. Billy Taupe's song. The one you made for him, long, long ago—and kicks a stone near the water, where it skips once before falling flat.

– Spruce, – The other one says, voice low and tight, terrified in that way dogs are just before attacking. �� You can’t just shoot into the trees like that! There’s people over the hill, they're gonna hear us!

He looks like a dog.

Dangerously harmless like one. All big eyes and panicked demeanor. Hair damp at the temples. Tension lining his back like he’s trying not to hunch under a weight he can’t name.

You'd almost pity him. 

But that uniform? That tells you all you need to know.

– The hillbillies? – Spruce laughs, shrugs, casually, like the mere suggestion is ridiculous. – They ain't gon’ do none. Birds were loud, either way. I like the quiet. Got one of them, too. – He grins, all teeth and pride. Lifting the little dead thing in his hand like some sort of prize. – Soon as we get back, I'll put it in the pot to cook. I'll tell you, you ain't never had a stew like the one the Covey make.

– Cook it? – The peacekeeper repeats, appalled. – We’re supposed to ration—

– Ration? – Spruce laughs, slicing the air with his hand like he can cut off the conversation. – What we’ve got barely goes down as it is. I'm sick of it. You want to eat chalk for the rest of your life, be my guest, Capitol boy. But that ain't gonna be me.

The peacekeeper's hands are clenched now, flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with them. – What if someone heard?

You hear it too—the crackle of his fear, delicate as ice underfoot. 

– No one heard. Ain’t no one out here but us. – Spruce glances over his shoulder, his voice dripping smugness. – Unless you think your little girl ghost is still watching us from the bushes.

Your heart jolts. 

They know you’re out here. Or they think you are.

The boy doesn’t respond right away. His jaw ticks. He looks down at the ground—at the mud on his boots, the grass Spruce stepped through—avoiding Spruce's gaze like a devil avoids the cross.

– She’s not a ghost, – He mutters, embarrassed.

Spruce whistles, mocking. – Oh, she’s something, alright.

– Spruce, – He warns. There’s real heat in his voice this time. – I mean it.

But Spruce just rolls his eyes, back already turned. – Fine, fine. Pretty lil’ sad girl from the trees is off-limits. – He pauses, smirking. – For now. Who knows, maybe she is around here. Maybe you're the one who's gonna have to put her in the pot.

The older man breaks out in a fit of laughter. Cruel. Crude. Reckless.

You can see the peacekeeper's jaw tick, but when he turns away to avoid Spruce's mocking, he looks over to the lake where you're at. And his eyes widen.

You sink further until the water reaches your chin, pulse beating in your throat. Your eyes dart to the blanket on the stone, the wool folded over the outline of the airgun. It’s not much. You’ve never fired it well enough to hit anything that wasn’t practically in front of you. But if they reach it before you—if they see it—it’s just one more reason to come sniffing around the caravans. And even when you had nothing to hide, it never led to anything but blood. 

The boy nudges at Spruce.

The image flashes behind your eyes— your mother's hand being torn from yours. Your father trying to reason. Your brother crying in your arms. The peacekeeper scoffs, raises the baton at you, and when your mother interferes— No. You can't even think of it.

It won't happen again. 

It can't happen again. 

You won't let it. You can't let it.

Spruce says something you can't hear, his voice drifting down over the lake, and your blood chills. He’s grinning at the bank. At your bank. The Peacekeeper doesn’t laugh. He keeps glancing over his shoulder, scanning the treeline, like he’s measuring distance. Measuring pursuit.

They step forward together.

Your blanket—your clothes—your gun—sitting there like bait.

A hundred thoughts rush at once, trampling each other: If they find your things, they’ll follow the trail back. If they follow the trail back, they’ll see someone. And Peacekeepers don’t need a reason to make a target out of one of yours. They just need an excuse.

You push out of the rock, swimming towards the shore. The sound freezes them both, their heads turning towards you again. Spruce blinks, then smirks. The Peacekeeper’s eyes widen, and he hides, pulling Spruce behind the treeline, but watching, fixated, gun in hand.

It could end here, you tell yourself. You could die protecting your family.

But what would stop them from killing all of you, after killing one?

You can't play this brashly. You can't falter—So you pretend not to notice them at first, staring at the ground when you come out of the water, reaching for your clothes before they can get much of a look at you.

Best case scenario, they scatter as soon as they see you. 

Worst case, you guide them away from the hill and they follow you for whatever reason.

Either way, your family remains safe and away from view.

The gun almost falls as you lift the blanket. But you turn your back to them, wrapping yourself in the fabric, holding it, hidden, in hand.

A branch cracks.

You look over your shoulder, but it's the peacekeeper's eyes you meet first—dark, accessing, unblinking. You brace for the flicker of cruelty you've come to expect from men like him, the kind that comes before the threats, before the swing, before the sickness and the rage.

But nothing comes.

He's frozen, a deer in headlights, but what you see in his eyes is not fear, not anxiousness. It's a quiet sort of breathlessness, as if he was trying to anticipate you, but got distracted halfway through. His gaze tracks over you—no, through you—slowing in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

It's not the way people usually stare at you—behind your back, with disdain, almost searing— his eyes catch like a fish on a hook, and for a flicker of a moment, you see him forget who he is.

He doesn't move. Doesn't breathe. Doesn't look away. Just watches you as if you're something he's not supposed to be seeing.

You breathe in.

Look away.

Look down.

Walk away.

A universal signifier—‘whatever it is that I saw, I didn't see it. I won't tell. Leave me alone.’—You stand up, clutching the airgun closer to you under the blanket, and step away slowly, with your head bowed. Your heart pounds against the metal, hands shaking.

You hear Spruce shifting. – C'mon, Capitol. She ain't saw non’. 

You breathe a little easier, but keep walking away from the hill.

– She did. She obviously did.

There's a rustle of movement, a struggle. You don't look behind you, but you can almost see what's going on— The peacekeeper's pulling forward, and Spruce is trying to tear him away. – No. – He insists. The boy stutters in his step. – She ain't saw non’. Let's go.

You keep your pace steady, eyes on the dirt, trying not to hear the scuffle behind you.

They’re speaking in low voices now, too low for you to make out, but their footsteps grind in the soil—hesitant, indecisive. You hate that you can picture them without looking: Spruce’s jittery glances, the peacekeeper’s fixed stare still caught somewhere between knowing and not knowing.

A twig snaps under your foot.

You flinch, more at the sound than the sensation, and bite down on the urge to break into a run. You can feel their attention on your back like the heat from a stove, the kind that burns even when you aren’t touching it.

But it's not from far away.

For some reason, they've gotten closer.

They should have just left. Your mind reels in a panic. Why aren't they leaving?!

Breathe.

Another few steps and you’re in the thicker brush, shadows swallowing you, branches tugging at the fabric of your blanket. Your breath is loud in your own ears. Too loud. You focus on the weight of the airgun against your ribs, the cold press of the barrel, the scratch of the blanket against your palms.

A voice calls behind you—low, deliberate, a warning—It freezes you mid-step.

– Capitol. – Spruce rasps. 

You close your eyes. The word drags down your spine like a blade, slow and sure. It’s not a command, not quite, but it has the shape of one.

The peacekeeper's standing right behind you.

You can hear him breathing. Hear the rustle of his sleeves against his sides as he presumably lifts the shotgun to your head.

You don’t turn. You don’t breathe. You tell yourself it’s just his brashness. He's young, obviously. He's probably scared. Doen't want to hang. You wouldn't either. But he should've just walked away.

Spruce hisses something sharp, quick, almost panicked.

Silence swells in the gap between them.

You take a step, tentative.

– Stop. – He orders. You freeze.

– What are you doin’ boy, let's go. She won't talk. 

– You don't know that. – Spruce scoffs, tries to pull him back, but you can hear him shrug his hands off. You can hear him stepping closer. Something prods at your back. Cold. Harsh. A barrel.– Turn around.

You breathe.

Your hands are shaking. Sweating around the grip of the airgun.

– I won't tell you twice. Turn around.

You turn slowly, still looking at the ground.

The peacekeeper's frozen, looking at you. His hands are on the trigger, but they shake. For a second it seems like the wind's been knocked out of him.

Spruce rushes forward, forcing his hand under your chin. You look up, jaw clenched, trying not to cry. 

– You're Billy Taupe's girl aren't you? – He breathes, harsh, impatient. – Sorry. Used to be. – He looks over his shoulder, at the peacekeeper. The barrel of the gun wedged beside his ear, still pointing straight at you. – We can settle this easy. – Hey breathes in deeper. – Billy Taupe!

The shout echoes around the woods like thunder.

The peacekeeper goes pale, faltering his aiming hand for a second: – What— Are you insane?! Stop screaming! You're gonna give us away!

Spruce scoffs. – To who? Those damn ars that live on the hill? What are they gonna do? Charge me for screaming? – You bristle, but bite your tongue, head still bowed. – Billy Taupe!

There's a whistle from beside you. 

Three notes you recognize all too well—Your song. His song. The one he's always singing—The mockingjays repeat it as he walks your way: soft, distant, airy. Everything that he is not. 

You catch the blue of the old shirt you'd sewn for him from the corner of your eye. The dark weathered boots that used to be your older brother's. The hat Lucy Gray had you making, without knowing she'd give it to him.

– What's going on? – He hums, eyes drifting through the barrel of the shotgun before they stop on you. You don’t look at him, but you know him enough that you can feel his eyes widening. His face warps into a grin. His hand rises to adjust the toothpick in his mouth. – Honey. – He laughs out the nickname, almost in disbelief. – Honey's giving you trouble, Spruce? – His eyes bore into you, leaves crunching underfoot as he circles you like a hound. – You didn't used to be like this, sweetheart. I thought you were a good girl.

You bite back the curse at the tip of your tongue and stare at the barrel.

Spruce looks over at the Peacekeeper, pushing the gun down. – I told you she weren't gonna do none. Ain't that right, Honey? We're friends of the business. You can keep a secret, right? – He pinches your cheek, laughing with his broken yellow teeth stained over with dark saliva like some sort of monster from a children's tale.

Billy Taupe pushes his hand away, but doesn't ease off. – He asked you a question, Honey. – His voice is gruff. His eyes are dark. He smiles like he's the one holding a gun to your head. – Damn, when did you get so disrespectful? Answer. You're not gonna say anything, are you? 

You're quiet for a moment, but it's not out of defiance, it's out of fear. You swallow thickly, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself— It just dawned on you that you're not wearing much, and that if you were to scream, nobody would hear you. – No.

– “No” What, Honey?

– No, I'm not gonna say anything. – You clarify.

He lays an arm over your shoulder, his hand sliding over around your neck. His thumb rests just over your windpipe, index pushing your chin towards him. – I ain't heard you. What'dya say?

– Billy Taupe. – The peacekeeper calls. His voice is low, his brows are furrowed, but he still has his hand on the trigger, as if he needs to be sure he could do something if you were to run away. – I think she got it.

– What? You like her, Capitol boy? – He laughs but the sound is hollow. More performative than amused. – I wouldn’t go for it if I were you. Don’t think you can handle it. 

His hand closes around your neck for a second, just enough for you to flinch. 

This time Billy Taupe laughs with his chest. – What'dya think, huh Honey-bee? – He makes you look towards the peacekeeper, then pulls your face towards his again. – He ain't your type, is he? Nah. You like you some pretty boys, don't you? – He dives into you as if he were gonna bite you, and you turn your head at the last second, his lips landing on the corner of your mouth. – Aww… what's wrong? You don't like me no more?

Your skin crawls where Billy’s mouth brushed, a damp mark that feels more like a bruise than a kiss. You want to wipe it away, but you don’t move. You can’t show him the gun. So you keep both arms frozen around you.

Spruce laughs behind him, sharp, careless, the kind of laugh that doesn't even pretend to hide the rot in his chest. – C’mon, Taupe. Quit playin’. You know these kinda girls ain't worth it. – He scoffs, looking at you, the disgust clear in his face. – She don't want you.

But Billy only squeezes tighter at your throat, pulling you close enough to smell the booze in him. – She always wants me. Don’t you, Honey-bee? Just don’t know how to say it.

You stare past him, past his grin, at the peacekeeper still hovering with the gun.

He’s still looking at you.

Not at Billy Taupe. Not at the way his hand drags down your collarbone like he owns every breath that passes there. Not even at the outline of the airgun he probably can see you clutching under the blanket. His eyes are fixed on your face, wide, intent, his lips parted like he’s caught in something he doesn’t understand.

You almost wish he’d sneer, or laugh, or spit like the rest of them. Anything you could place, anything you could brace against. Instead, you feel the heat of his stare like it’s prying you open.

Billy tugs your chin again, jerking your gaze back to him. – Tell him. Go on. Tell our friend, the Capitol boy, how you like your men.

You clench your jaw shut.

– Don’t get shy on me now, Honey. – His grip tightens just enough to make you swallow air too fast, coughing against his thumb. He chuckles, savoring it, pressing in closer.

The peacekeeper shifts—barely, but you catch it. His finger flexes against the trigger. The barrel moves, from pointing at you, to pointing beside you, before moving back. His shoulders stiffen like he’s torn in two.

Billy notices too. He leans back with a crooked grin, loosening his hold just to throw his arm heavy over your shoulders. – See that? He’s gone soft for you already, Honey. The poor little pet.

Spruce barks a laugh. – Can't trust these hillbillies. – He scoffs. – Don't know what witchcraft they're doing up there.

The peacekeeper doesn’t answer. He only stares harder, jaw clenched, like he’s swallowing glass.

You lower your eyes again, hiding in the blanket’s folds, heart hammering loud enough you’re certain they can hear it. 

You don’t know what’s worse—that Billy Taupe is drunk, angry and touching you, or that the peacekeeper won’t stop looking at you like you’re something he’s never seen before. 

Spruce pushes at the boy, and he stumbles forward, gun still in hand. – What’s wrong, Capitol?

Billy Taupe's looking at him, brows raised. – Go on ahead boy, cat's got your tongue?

Spruce pushes him again. – What’s wrong, kid?

– Nothing’s wrong! Stop it, man! 

The other two look at each other, Spruce laughs and Billy Taupe shakes his head, his arm tight around your shoulders. 

The air around you thickens.

– You lost something here, Capitol? Huh? Whatcha lookin at?

– Stop it, Billy Taupe.

– Stop what? – He hums, spiteful, jaw ticking despite the neutrality on his face. – Stop this? – He grabs you by the hair on your nape, pulls you into him so hard the gun almost falls from your hand. You crash against his chest, but you don't turn your head fast enough to avoid his lips.

Spruce breaks out in laughter.

It isn’t a kiss so much as it is a punishment, teeth scraping, breath sour with liquor. He presses harder the more you pull away, chasing your recoil, like he’s teaching you a lesson for daring to resist. 

Your hands are shaking around the gun, blanket slipping down your shoulders. If he feels the barrel pushing against his chest, he doesn't show it. But you pull it back either way.

You can’t breathe with the weight of him, with the crowd of them watching. Spruce hoots behind you, egging him on. Billy Taupe groans into your mouth, savoring your stillness like victory. You drag yourself back, pushing, fighting. – Stop it! – You cough out, pushing at him with your elbows, gripping the blanket tighter around yourself. – Stop! – He laughs against your face, against your neck, his hands digging into the fabric. 

You look to your side.

Spruce is standing there, eyes glazed over, lips open in an expectant smile.

Billy Taupe swipes his foot behind your ankles. You hit the ground hard, air punched out of your lungs in a ragged gasp. The blanket tangles around your arms, useless, a net instead of protection. Billy Taupe’s shadow looms over you, and before you can scramble, he’s already dropping his weight across your stomach, your ribs screaming beneath him.

The twigs and the stones and the dead leaves bite at you from under the fabric. Your skin splits somewhere, you feel the sting of fresh blood across your body, heart pulsing so quickly you can't even tell where.

You twist, choke, push at him with trembling hands. – Please— stop it—please!

He grins, his teeth yellow and sharp, you almost fear that he'd sink them into you.

– You like this, don’t you? Pretending to be a little saint. – The words stick to your skin, worse than the spit shining on his mouth. He pins your shoulders down, his elbows digging into your arms, hands forcing your face straight. – This could have been a lot nicer, Honey. This could have been much better if you weren't such a prude before, huh?

– Stop it! Stop it! Please! – You look away, try to move your head. But apart from the jeering behind him that grows sharper, meaner, Spruce’s laugh cutting through like a whip, the only thing you can sense are the toes of the peacekeeper's boot right next to your face.

Your memory flashes before you can stop it.

Your mother's screams. Your baby sister crying, discarded on the ground next to her, as the peacekeeper's circled her body.

It can't end like this, the same way that happened to her.

You can't.

You don't deserve this.

This isn't fair.

You kick your legs.

Try and shake your arms.

You look up. At Spruce. At the peacekeeper. But they're both standing there, quiet, careless, as you struggle.

– Stop! – You scream, the sound startling even yourself. Panicked. Distorted. Guttural. – Please—Billy Taupe—!

His hand falls against your mouth like a stone, and he presses until you can barely breathe. – Do it again. – He bids. – Scream again. See what I do to you.

You can’t move.

Your throat swells tight, like someone’s hands are already around it. The taste of his tongue is still there, sour and rotten, it makes you gag. 

His weight crushes into your lungs, ribs bowing. The gun is trapped between your hip and his leg, useless, unseen. Your finger stutters around the trigger. From where it's pointed, you could shoot at his thigh. He'd never walk again. That is, if he didn't die from blood loss. Without a bullet to keep his entire blood system from spilling out, he wouldn't last very long at all.

You don't pull it.

You don't know what Spruce and the boy will do to you if you do. What they'll do to your family.

– Stop moving, Honey. Just stop. It'll be easier for you.

You try. You try to freeze. You try to lock up. Stay still and this might end sooner. But you can't. You can't stop yourself from struggling, even as you try, it's like your body doesn't listen.

– STOP IT! – He screams.

You shake your head involuntarily.

Something crashes against your cheekbone. Harsh. Sharp. A boot.

– What—Spruce?! 

– That oughta keep her quiet. – He laughs. You can't see. Your face is swelling. There's blood in your eye now, your field of vision suddenly red.

– Get out of here, man! What is wrong with you?! Why did you kick her?!

– What? I was just helping you out. Ain't you gonna share? – The bastard laughs. Something cracks inside your head—like glass under too much strain. Your head is spinning. Your ear is ringing. – Get off, then.

– What?! No!

– If you ain't gonna do it boy, then I will!

– Fuck you!

They struggle on you. Spruce tries to push him off. Billy Taupe pushes back.

– Stop. – The peacekeeper finally says. – Stop it. Just—Just get off of her. Leave it.

Neither of them listen.

The noise, the breath, the stink of liquor and smoke—it all blends into one suffocating roar. Your heart isn’t beating anymore, it’s hammering, trying to break its way out.

You hear the shotgun drop to the ground beside you. And you feel the barrels chill nearly brushing your left before you open your still good eye. 

A blue-gray blur of pressed uniform and panic rushes across from you to pull the fight apart. – Stop it! – His words are an echo of yours. The panic in them the same, and yet so different.

The peacekeeper pulls Billy Taupe from over you so quickly your brain can barely process your sudden ability to breathe.

The sound of your breath is loud against your ears. A desperate grasp. A stuttered cough. The metallic taste in your mouth is underwhelming against the pain, you barely taste it as you turn in a sudden impulse, your face now laying against the shotgun as you try to compose yourself.

But you don't have the time to.

You're curled into yourself for a single second before a pair of hands tugs at you again. 

Your face is smashed against the soil. The palm heavy against the forming bruise. 

You make a sound you can barely comprehend—sharp, agonized, animalistic. The same sound you'd heard from the sheep before your brother put them out. Before the pellet went in and out of their skulls. Before they met their sudden end.

Let it be sudden, God.

Let this end before I know it.

– Spruce! – Someone shouts. Whether it's Billy Taupe or the other man, you can't tell. But the blanket is ripped off of you in one sudden tear, and you're left lying there, bare apart from your underclothes, until he rips those apart as well.

You feel the cold air against your chest before you can open your eye, and your hand clenches in shock.

You can't see.

You can't breathe.

But you can feel the gun in your hand and the knowledge that if you don't stop it, nobody is gonna stop it for you.

Your hands move before yourself: The grip of the airgun knocks so violently against the side of Spruce's head as you turn that your single ear still functioning grasps nothing but the soundless yelp of his voice stopping short inside his throat and the deaf bang of his body colliding on the soil beside you.

There's a muffled commotion to your other side.

You open your eyes, and you still see nothing but crimson blots and blurred surroundings, but your hands keep mashing the end of the metal against his skull, over, and over, and over in a blind rage.

Your hands are warm.

Shaking.

Bloodied.

His arms try to push at you. 

Weak.

Disoriented. 

Powerless.

All you'd been just a minute before.

But you don't stop.

You don't stop until you hear screaming. Until two pairs of arms have to use all their strength to tear you off of the mess of broken bone and mush under you. Until you fall back on someone's chest, still swinging, and hear Billy Taupe yelp as your hand strikes him across the face in your confusion.

– Stop. – You hear, in a hushed plea beneath you. – Stop. It's over. Stop. – The words brush against your ears in a breathless whisper. More agitated than fearful, almost soft. – It's okay. It's okay. Stop.

Your back meets the ground again, only this time not harshly.

You can feel someone hovering over you.

Hands on your shoulders. 

An arm around your back.

– It's okay now.

– It damn well fucking isn't! – It sounds like a roar more so than a sentence.

Your eyes part open.

The brightness overwhelms you for a moment. You hadn’t realized you were crying until you saw the watery blur swirling over your already ruined vision. But you can see Spruce stand, stumbling over his knock-knees with a face that's closer to a stomped strawberry than the smug, self-satisfied idiocy you usually see in his expression.

He spits red into the dirt, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and his voice cracks into a scream. – I told you! I told you you can’t mess around with these hillbilly bitches, Taupe! I fucking told you these WITCHES ain't worth a fucking DAMN!

Billy Taupe staggers forward, his eyes flicking between you and his friend in a panic, all that overconfident swagger he had just a second ago drained straight out of him. – Spruce— He calls, but the older man cuts him off:

– No! – He looks at you, pointing his finger like a trigger, beaten face distorted with rage – I know what you are, broad! I fucking know it! You and your— Your fucking people— They should've burned you all at the—

– Spruce!

– Shut up! – He coughs, stumbling on unsteady feet, but coming closer. You recoil on instinct, pressed closer against the peacekeeper's chest. – You fucking people— You and your sheep, and your—your fucking witchcraft! You're dogs! You're SCUM!

– Back off, Spruce! – The peacekeeper shouts, his arm tightening around you. – I mean it, man. Calm down! You're gonna get us—

– Shut up, Sejanus! – The vitriol oozes out of him, sliding down his mouth along the blood like rabies. Like Venom. – You don't know none—NOTHING—about these people! You don't know what these WHORES be getting up to behind their closed doors—their—their—their little caravans! You don't know it! She's got you in her spell, already! The fucking slut!

– What do you— You stutter, laughing despite yourself. You don't know where the impulse comes from. Don't know why you say it. – What do you do in your caravan, huh, Spruce?!

– Honey—!

– Jerk off. That's all you fucking do. – You scoff. – You can't get a job. You can't fix. You can't mine. You're a good-for-nothing fucking slob crying about people who put the work in to try and live in these places that you don't want us going in!

– They should've— They should've murdered the lot of you back in eleven! They should've rid us all of you fucking dogs when they had the fucking chance!

– For what? – The laughter bubbles out of you, hot and biting and cruel. More defying than you've ever been in your entire life. – To make more space so pieces of shit like you can get off on hassling girls and doing nothing all day?!

– SHUT UP!

– You SHUT UP! – You cry. Your hands are shaking. You can still feel the imprint of his hands on your skin. – Last time I checked, the Covey were being rounded up and torn out of their houses just like us! 

– WE AIN'T NOTHING LIKE YOU!

– You're exactly like us you moron, you just DON'T HAVE THE FUCKING BRAINS TO SEE IT! – You spit, growl, kicking at the dirt behind your feet. – LOOK AT ME! I'M BLEEDING RED AIN'T I?! YOU BEAT ME UP, AND I BLEED! I BEAT YOU UP AND YOU BLEED! WE'RE THE SAME FUCKING THING!

– WE'RE NOTHING LIKE YOU DIRTY FUCKING—

– YOU’RE THE ONE WHO'S FUCKING DIRTY YOU PIECE OF SHIT!

He lurches toward the shotgun lying in the dust.

Billy Taupe curses, scrambles after him. – Leave it, Spruce, just leave it—! Stop it!

But Spruce’s hands are already wrapping around the stock. His face is feral now, dripping blood and hate, his whole body trembling with rage. – You are a dirty fucking whore! YOU'RE A DOG!

The boy holding you snaps, pulling you back, his arm tightening across your back, trying to shield you with his body.

– I’m gonna kill you! – He barks, lower, warning, nearly pleased. – The peacekeeper's back at Eleven will be—

– Do it! 

Billy Taupe stutters forward, reaching for you. You push him away.

– Go ahead! You'll see what the peacekeepers'll do to you when they get the chance! The same fucking thing! Go ahead!

– Put it down, Spruce. 

– Put it down man, you don't know what you're doing!

Spruce doesn’t listen.

He shoulders the gun, teeth bared, and levels the barrel at you. – Say it again if you're bad, Honey.

You're staring at him. 

The barrel inches from your face.

– SHOOT ME! – You scream. – SHOOT ME IF YOU'RE HALF THE MAN YOU SAY YOU ARE!

– Say it again you fucking k—

– SHOOT ME!

The blast shatters the air.

Heat sears past your cheek, the powder burning your nostrils before you even realize what happened. 

The boy, the peacekeeper, —Sejanus— his body jerks against yours, warm blood spraying across your arm in a sudden hot mist. His gasp is ragged and wet, right in your ear, before he crumples to the dirt, clutching the hole torn through his shoulder.

Panic cleaves through your haze. You reach for him without thinking, hands slipping over blood that’s not your own.

This wasn’t how it should have gone down.

This isn't how it's supposed to go.

Spruce staggers back a step, already racking the gun again, still screaming nonsense through the froth of spit and gore. He points it at you. Cocks it. Triggers it.

But Billy Taupe lunges, grabbing the barrel, yanking it up. Another shot cracks—into the clouds this time.

The noise rips through the valley.

– What the fuck is wrong with you?! Are you insane?! – He looks back, blue eyes glazed over with panic as he holds the barrel of the shotgun. – Shit. Shit. Shit. You shot the fucking peacekeeper! We're dead! WE'RE GONNA HANG!

You're fucked.

Dead.

Gone.

This is worse than anything you could've done.

Billy Taupe paces back and forth, Spruce standing frozen on the ground, staring at the wound on this boy's shoulder.

– Go! – You push at him, taken over by an impulse you youself can't explain. – Get out of here! Go!

– Honey—

– Drop the gun and fucking leave, Billy Taupe! Go!

There's a sharp sound from over the hill. Loud. Rageful. So thunderous even Sejanus's eyes snap towards it.

Ori.

You try to stand, stumble. – Go!

Your name carries next, shouted, desperate. It's Isaac, your brother.

Billy Taupe’s face drains. He jerks at Spruce’s arm, tugging him back, stumbling over words—  We gotta go, we gotta go—

Spruce looks between you.

Between the bleeding boy and you. 

Some strange expression flashes through his face as your eyes meet. Shock. Relief. Understanding. You don’t know. But you shout again. – GO!

He listens this time.

Turns. Stumbles over his feet, but turns.

The two of them dash into the valley, Billy Taupe pulling, Spruce following best as he can, both of them looking over their shoulders as the barking and the voices grow closer, closer, until you can feel them coming down the hill.

– Isaac! – Your heart is beating out of your chest. With one eye, you see nothing but red. With the other, you don't see much different. – Isaac! – The peacekeeper's still wailing. Crying. Begging in half-mumbled prayers you can barely comprehend.

You see your brother in the distance, his face twisted in horror as he sees you, beaten, half-naked, bleeding.

You see Ori, quick as the wind, rushing towards you. 

And from the corner of your good eye as you turn—a blur of white. Gold eyes. The wolf— it stares at you for a moment. You don’t know how long it's been there. If it'd been hounding you. If it would have came closer, to feast on what was left of you, if things had gone down another way.

But it turns and walks back into the bushes, looking over one last time before disappearing.

Ori crashes against you. Warm and worried and loving. Whining as he noses at your side.

You swear you hear a huff, almost like a laugh from its side of the woods. Your eyes are still fixed where the wolf vanished into.

You don't know what it wanted.

If it wanted anything.

But one thing is clear enough—You won't come out of whatever situation you've just gotten yourself into unharmed.

[wormwoodartemisia]

Funny Farm Life (5)

Previous: 4)Episode 2a Next: 6) FFL-Masterlist

(Excerpts from a journey to happiness)

》 Simon and Johnny don't always share the same opinion.

5) An 'in-between' to Episode 2b

"Boys talk II"

(About 700 words)

"She's gone...!", Johnny almost shouts when he enters the kitchen the second time this morning. To his bewilderment, Simon is not surprised at all.

"Was t' be expected, I reckon. She's scrounged up the night here from us and realized that she can't get anythin' more out of it in daylight." Simon takes a sip of his tea before he goes on clearing the table. "Equipment in the cottage still complete?"

"Ye fuckin' kidding me? Ye think she runs aff wi' th' telly 'n' some silver spoons or something?"

Simon shrugs noncommittally. "Dunno what's on that woman's mind, Johnny. What she would do when things don't turn out the way she likes."

"Well, whatever that may be, it’s not about taking our stuff with her. She rather left something for us. The full amount for the night in the cottage."

Now Simon looks up briefly and catches Johnny's piercing gaze on him.

So she actually did pay the bill…

Something he really wouldn't have expected...

When she ran away from him earlier this morning, he was convinced she would now make a quick getaway because he had not only seen through her, but also made this unmistakenly clear. So her actually leaving a sufficient amount of money for her stay comes as a surprise.

However, he won't let one single unforeseen reaction of hers cloud his judgement. Therefore he keeps his face fully neutral. Johnny is too much of a bloodhound to let Simon risk a careless change in facial expression.

Within the same heartbeat, a list of possible consequences to her action unfolds before Simon's inner eye.

The best outcome would probably be Soap pouting for the rest of the day and grumbling about her not saying goodbye properly after a mind-blowing night in the sheets — but Soap is like a terrier as well, hunting and biting down - and right now it's his former lieutenant between his jaws.

They've known each other quite a while…

Johnny only needs one intense, enquiring look at him, probing.

"What hae ye done, Simon? What did ye tell her?"

"Told her that breakfast was included, Johnny. Or were you plannin' on sendin' her off without? Guess it worked then."

Soap stares at him in disbelief.

"Ye tellt her tae pack her things 'n' leave?" It's almost not a question.

At this, Simon can easily be honest: "No, I didn’t. I was just not pamperin' her the way you folks are doin'."

"What's yer problem wi' her?"

"She's lying, Johnny."

"Aye, right. Aboot what, exactly?"

"Why she's here."

"Aye, some fowk lik' tae keep private stuff tae themselves, ye ken? Or did ye hae some additional cosy chit-chat wi' her efter a'd left th' cottage?"

"As if I would have waited that long. You think I'd have kept sittin' by her door all night t' catch her alone the moment the two of you are finally done?"

Soap rubs his temples in annoyance. He doesn’t have the slightest idea what his friend is referring to now. He can’t understand the level of hostility Simon harbours towards you.

"Pure nae sure what a'm supposed tae think aboot this, 'n' ah can’t wait fur ye tae let me in oan a' th' secrets ye'v found oot, pal. But first", Soap snorts irritatedly and takes out his smartphone, "I need tae put some things right."

Simon tries again, with more force behind his statement: "She's manipulating you, all of you."

Ah ken, Soap thinks, but he can’t tell Simon. Instead, he looks at the beekeeper with a lugubrious smile.

"I guess ye'll simply hae tae trust me here."

Then Soap leaves to gather all the info he needs.

Simon stays behind, Johnny's facial expression and his words replaying in his mind. Now he feels even more worried than before. He's got a vague idea what might happen next and decides to be more attentive - only now he'll use a different strategy.

In the long run, he's better at this game than you…

Next: 6)

[yandere-romanticaa]

Seen the request, so I shall deliver. Could you pls write a drabble or hcs of a yandere sunday with an isekaied reader?

Good timing because I'm actually planning a non yan isekai fic for him, I wonder if you saw that post. Here it is in case you haven't.

Sincerest apologies if this isn't the best, this fic is 100% emotionally charged by my obsession with him and frankly with a little bit of a high for passing a tricky exam. This is a treat for myself.

EDIT: Please check out this wonderful comic that @danijaci made me based off this fic!! 😭🫶

Picking up the cup from the fine oak table, you gazed towards the eerie galaxy before you, hundreds upon thousands of stars giving you a constant reminder of just how far from home you truly were. Taking a sip from the little porcelain cup you could not help but to hum in delight, the soft notes of the tea soothing your nerves ever so lightly as you pretended to ignore the heavy gaze which lingered at the back of your head.

Even from this distance, it was easy to tell that Sunday was eager to approach you. Still, he kept his distance and made a silent offering in the form of the very tea you drank at the moment.

Anything is better than Himeko's coffee but you were never going privy her to that.

In a not so distant past, all of this was nothing but fiction. The Express, the story, the characters - it was all nothing more but fiction, something to pass the time as your days went on and on, the same monotony repeating each and every day.

It was hard to not think about your friends and family, what sane person would not? Lord knows how they must be feeling right now, worried sick out of their minds with indescribable sorrow. In their eyes you had merely vanished, not a single trace to be found. For all they knew you could have been left for dead in a ditch somewhere, beaten, bloodied and broken, never to see the light again or if they were even more inclined to be morbid, you had succumbed to a fate worse than death. Death at the very least grants you finality, that all is over regardless of what happened moments prior.

But that was simply not the case for you.

Here you were, lounging about in a comfortable chair as you pondered on your old life while enjoying tiny little luxuries, far away where none of your loved ones could reach you. However, life was funny sometimes because it had some fun games in store.

Sunday was very kind upon arrival. He made sure to always be there for you, always checking up on you, always there to keep you company. You were already smitten with him but now to actually witness him in the flesh was just... Indescribable. You got along like a house on fire, so much so that the crew liked to tease that you ought to just get a room. Sunday, ever the gentleman, would just brush their words aside and assure you to not take their playful little jabs to heart.

You wouldn't say anything, resorting to merely giving him a smile but not because of what he said but rather of what he did not - never once did he actually shut down those perverse accusations. Never, not even once did he deny them.

He became an emotional crutch, someone to whom you would come running to when things got tough and he would always welcome you with open arms. Sunday would hold you tenderly, his serene voice dripping with honey along with a tender drop of ecstasy, for his excitement with holding you would just show itself sometimes. His grip would be too tight at certain moments, never quite ready to let you leave. His hugs were warm and comforting, he always smelled so good too. He smelled like kindness and sweet wildflowers, always lulling you back to him no matter the time. In dark corners and perhaps even under the watchful eyes of the crew, Sunday would wrap his scarf around your head, securing the soft fabric in order to provide you with a sense of comfort.

It was humiliating just how much you would try to inhale his scent as much as possible. You wanted it etched deep inside your memory, you wished for it to linger on your very soul and for it to follow you everywhere you went, sticking to your being like tar. The fabric of the scarf would muffle your ears a little but someone was always chatting in the background. Be it March bickering with Dan Heng, Mr Yang scolding someone for doing something they were not supposed to, or just Conductor Pom Pom trying to give a speech, all of it was irrelevant.

You were ready to kill whoever would try to pry you away from sweet Sunday. That thought came often which had left you worried - just what kind of person had you become? Regardless, you kept your mouth shut and had no plans of sharing such violent sentiments with anyone, particularly not to the one you held so dear.

When it was time to part for the evening you would bid the crew farewell and wished them a good night. You always made sure to take a few extra seconds with Sunday, just to ease your aching soul. He would tell you to sleep well and would see you in the morning, ready to take on any endeavor that crossed your paths.

As everyone parted ways, Sunday would wander off somewhere dark and distant, somewhere no one could see nor hear him. He would fall to his knees and clutch his chest in agony, fat tears streaming down his face as he did everything he possibly could to steady his raging heart. In a rush he would reach for the scarf which clung around his neck, his grip tighter than iron as he would bring it close to his nose. Taking a large, deep breath, Sunday was greeted by your familiar scent which would promptly calm his poor heart.

He sometimes wondered if his heart would start bleeding from the pain due to the sheer intensity of his emotions.

This was wrong, everything about this was not right and it hurt. Sunday was obviously ill but he had no clue on how to fight this... This emotion, this white hot feeling of need whenever you stood by his side. He started to choke on the air around him and fell into an abrupt coughing fit but even then, he could bring himself to remove the scarf from the lower part of his face.

Sunday wept and sobbed, filthy snot coming out from his nose but he could not handle that now. He needed you, Oh Heavenly Aeons, how he needed you. However was he going to tell you how he felt? How, oh how was he going to express the sheer magnitude of his true thoughts? He would scare you off, he was sure of it.

Even with this pain, even with these clipped wings and bleeding heart, Sunday had never felt so alive, so harrowingly present in the moment whenever he was with you.

Perhaps, he was doing himself a kindness by just letting you be. Drink your tea, be at peace.

He can always just make you another cup if you so desired.

Without knowing, you both haunted each other in the most agonizing way known to mankind and neither was strong enough to face the reality of the situation.

[cigsaftsx]

TWICE THE FALL

nam-gyu x f!reader

Synopsis: The games came to an end when the majority vote went to X after the mingle game. Your time in the game had been a tricky one — teamed with Thanos and his crew. Despite you voting O, you soon came to realise that being home was better than there, with those people - your life on the line. You had no intention of seeing anyone from there again. Not till one night, you go out with your friends clubbing. Familiar faces set off a feeling you didn’t realise you had.

Warnings drug use, threats, mentions of blood & violence, SMUT!!!!!, f1ngering, dry humping, minors do not interact. +18!!!!!!!!

Adjusting to real life was harder than you anticipated. Though you had only spent at least 4 days in the game, you grew accustomed to it quickly. The concept of your life on the line had been normalised - especially in your group. Thanos, Namgyu — the rest, but they were the worst. Not that they ever tried anything harmful — not toward you, but witnessing them doing that to other people with batting an eye? It set you up in a constant paranoia. So after the mingle game, the vote won to leave. It was strange really. An excitement had grew in you at the idea of coming home - till you remembered there wasn’t much to come back to.

You’d been home now for at least a month.

In the quiet.

You were finding it hard to adjust to the idea of not being afraid all the time. Not having to life your life on the edge — not having to flinch like you did whenever Thanos would shout something absurd down your ear. You hadn’t even socialised. Hadn’t hardly left the house unless it was to work. You realised you’d actually felt more when you were in the game.

That was enough for you to try and kick your own ass back to reality.

You called a friend that same day at the consequence of an ear full from her. Invading questions about where you had been, why you hadn’t been in touch. You made up a lame excuse, knowing they wouldn’t believe you even if you tried. You didn’t want to risk loosing your friends on the outside. The risk of looking insane.

You were sure every one else you met in the game had decided to keep it quiet too.

She invited you to the club that night with the rest of the friend group. You took some convincing but in the end you could hardly resist the urge for a drink - to unwind. So you join them.

The club is bouncing. The vibrations of loud electronic and dance music thrumming into your ears like a drill. You didn’t mind it - in fact after a few drinks you found yourself truly relaxing into it. It reminded you of old times, your old self. Your friends stuck in a group — by the bar as they barked everyone’s drink order over the loud music.

“And then I told him to fuck off!” Your friend shouts over the music to you before you both crumble into a synced laugh - gripping each other. She had a lot to catch you up on - life, work, boy drama.

“Fuck!” You shout, wiping a laughed out tear from the corner of your eye. “I missed this, missed you guys.” You say, softly bouncing your body to the beating music. She grips your forearm, squeezing.

“And to think you weren’t gonna come tonight! Tonight’s a big fucking deal!” She replies, and you process her words - your smile still remaining though. Why was tonight such a big deal? You only stare at her expectingly. She stares back until she realises you don’t know what she’s talking about.

Her mount falls open, a shocked laugh barking it’s way out and into your face.

“Shit! Dannie didn’t tell you?”

You just laugh, shaking your head.

She presses her lips together as if she can’t wait any longer to tell you - her eyes lighting up.

“So you don’t know who’s coming here tonight?” She shouts - the suspense of her reply very slowly starting to agitate you. You’re impatient like that. “Everyone knows! Why’d you think it’s so fucking packed in here?” She shouts again, laughing at you now - signalling around the room to the hordes of dancing people. You did think it was busy for a Thursday night. You can’t help the growing twitch in your smile — irritated.

You take ahold of her hand and squeeze it softly, lowering your head a little closer to her so you don’t have to shout over the music.

“Spit it out.” You say, still amused but your annoyance evidential on the last word.

“Thanos!”

You freeze, your grin stuck in position on your face. She takes your unexcited response and thinks you’re unsure as to who that is. How wrong she is.

“The Thanos? The rapper?” She says, her words intending to re jog your memory.

Your heart leaps a little before it comes crashing down into the pit of your stomach. Suddenly feeling small despite the size of the room — like the walls are sinking in and swallowing you whole. Absolute dread. Your friends bats her eyes at you, confused by your silence.

“Y/n. Don’t tell me you don’t know him — he’s a celebrity.” Her tones faded a little, completely dumbfounded.

A hitch in your breath stalls your reply — blinking yourself back into the room, forcing yourself to smile more - not wanting to look weird. To make her question you.

“Oh!” Is all you can manage, your impending apprehension not allowing you to form a normal human response. You hadn’t even heard of Thanos before the games - though you put two and two together when he would burst out into a random rap to woo you. Your impression on him strictly based off what you saw in the games. Nothing good. Yes, he protected you — he stuck by that, but it didn’t matter much. You’d seen everyone else get the brunt of his and Namgyu’s insanity.

Your friend furrows her brows despite her wide smile. She goes to speak before her head flips left, drawn to the sudden crowding and loud excitement by the entrance of the club.

“Oh my god.” She says bluntly, her head turning to you before turning back to the crowd.

“It’s him!” She squeals loudly, catching your wrist in a vice like grip. “Come with me — if you don’t know him then at least you can get a picture of me and him for me!” You’re quick to protest but she’s quicker - yanking you toward the crowd with her.

As you get closer, so does your anxiety. Snapping down onto you with it’s jaws — a churning in your stomach so sickening that you swear you could throw it up. You want to yank your wrist away - run home and forget everything. Forget the games - Thanos. You came out to drink and forget yet here you are, your friend hurdling you both toward the nightmare you wanted to so badly forget.

She forces your bodies through the crowd until you come to an abrupt halt at the inner circle - jolting your body to a stop.

And there he is. Surrounded by a bodyguard or two, his arm lazyily slung around a girl that clings to his waist like an accessory. His expression smug at the people begging for photographs — pleading for his number, his autograph. He always loved the attention you remember. His hairs still the same you note - wearing an oversized purple graphic tee - jeans, some loose chains and that dammed fucking cross.

Still hanging from his neck like a palace jewel.

You almost choke on the breath you try to take. Unable to stabilise your unease which only worsens as you stare at him. You want to leave.

But the insecurity of disappointing your friend & your alarm towards him keeps your feet glued to the spot. Maybe if you stay still enough, he won’t spot you. That is until your friends lunges toward him - her hands clutching onto his arm. Now feeling more sick that you had originally.

You can’t hear what she’s saying to him over the obnoxious volume of music, you’re almost grateful for that. You shift your feet then slightly - regaining movement in them when you see he’s too occupied talking to your friend. You want to take the chance to disappear till you feel a set of eyes burning into you - but it isn’t Thanos’.

Your eyes simply slip to the right of Thanos and next to him stood Namgyu. His eyes pinned to you. You instantly feel like you’ve been caught red handed for a crime you didn’t commit - the intensity of his stare and the surprise of not expecting him causing your mouth to fall agape.

As if the situation couldn’t get any worse. It just did.

Despite Thanos’ obvious insanity - Namgyu was just as cold. The strong and silent type. You feared him more. He’s dressed in all black - long sleeves rolled up to his elbows which reveal his tattoos - a tiny chain looping his neck, a myriad of rings shared between his fingers. His hairs the same too - neatly tucked behind his ears.

It almost scares you how casual they look. Any average person wouldn’t assume their capabilities and you felt alone knowing their true selves. How easy it had been for them to take a life to save their own.

You’re unable to look away - like his eyes had their own gravitational pull. You just return his stare - like you’re pleading with him with your wide eyes to ever forget he saw you. A silent interaction. You should’ve known better than to expect him to actually do you a favour.

His stare stays on you as he leans up into Thanos’ ear, seeing him mutter something. At the same time, your friend shoves her phone into your hands.

“Is it cool if my friends takes a photo of us?” She beams at him, returning back to his side — Thanos’ eyes finally acknowledging you as soon as Namgyu pulls back.

“This your friend?” Thanos shouts over the music to your friend, bending his arm upward to point a lazy finger at you. A soft smirk cranks the corner of his lip upward.

You want the ground to swallow you up.

You want to disappear.

You simply clutch onto her phone tightly like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

Your friends expression fades seeing his attention go to you but she’s quick at working to reclaim it - taking his arm in her hold again.

“Yeah — she’s gonna snap a pic for me.” She says, before turning to you and posing. Thanos doesn’t even bother to pose — his sights still boring through your eyes and into your fucking soul. Namgyu’s staring at you with an expecting stare - almost waiting for you to make a move - intrigued to see if you can keep your cool around her.

His eyes almost daring you to kick up a fuss and expose them for what they really are.

You’re absent minded as you point the phone and spam your thumb on the camera button — taking enough photos so that your friend wouldn’t bother you to take a few more. A second later your friends leaping up slightly and clapping before snatching her phone of you and turning to him in thanks.

The music drowns out all sound as you take a step backward. Their sights on you still - almost threateningly. But you had no interest in sticking around. Your backward steps leave room for people to push their way in front of you - and a second later they’re out of your sight.

You rush to the bathroom.

Finding solace in the end stall as you try to steady your now panicked breathing. It’s like every memory of the game came rushing back within a second — completely overwhelming you. Images of blood — bodies, drugs.

“Fuck.” You hiss, noticing the tremble in your hands as you clutch them together. Maybe you hadn’t realised how badly the games had impacted you — but what made you feel sick above all things, the one thing that worried you to your core?

You found a comfort in their presence.

Maybe it’s a trauma thing.

Maybe not. You didn’t know. But one thing you did know is that you had to calm the fuck down. You suck in a harsh, deep breath and steady yourself.

You couldn’t let them ruin the debut of your new life.

Not even a second later, you’re storming through the dancing crowds - not bothering to notice that the crowd around the pair had died down as everyone went back to their dancing. You had no sights on your friends — probably deep into the club, enjoying themselves as they should. You hit the bar hands first, grabbing the counter as you lean to ask for a shot.

The bartender nods once and prepares it.

You don’t even realise how hard you’re gripping the bar side - your knuckles white - determined to get a drink down your neck and join your friends.

The shots placed in front of you and you instinctively stick out your card to pay but the bartender puts his hands up.

“It’s paid for.” Is all he says with a smile before heading down to serve the next person.

You watch him as he walks away, confused. Yet your questioning is instantly put to rest as you catch the colour purple out the corner of your eye. You don’t even bother to look. If you do, it just makes it real. You pick up the shot bravely and chuck it back, feeling the warm bitterness slide down your throat - you hiss softly, placing the glass down.

“Good?” Thanos’ voice cuts through the music. You decide to treat his question like a passing breeze - completely ignoring it - but not before shooting him a hard stare. He looks at you, helplessly amused by your coldness. You turn your head away and don’t even get two steps before you bump into Namgyu’s chest. His hands instantly find your shoulders, caressing them up and down condescendingly.

“Woah, woah. What’s the rush?” Namgyu says, expression blank as he crowds you - giving you nowhere to go but to step backward and sit back into the bar stool next to Thanos with a thump - back pressing into the hard wood of the bar behind you. You peer up at him, brows furrowed in defeat. You don’t keep your eyes on him for long though. Normally he doesn’t do the talking - so you look to your side at Thanos. He’s staring at you with upturned brows in exaggerated disappointment.

You simply glare and wait.

“Now this isn’t any way to treat your friends, is it?” He finally says, pitifully offended.

You decide not to reply to the obscure question. The three of you were hardly friends, then again - in his twisted mind, he probably thought you were. You just want to go. Your patience already warning thin.

You scowl, gathering all your confidence as you look away and go to stand but Namgyu clamps a hand down on your shoulder — his free hand flicking open a switchblade just inches from your face. A little closer and it would’ve trimmed your eyelashes. It’s a silent threat — your eyes landing on it as it’s metal winks sweetly at you in the clubs purple hues.

Your eyes scatter across the club — instantly hoping someone would notice your predicament. People just dance, sloppily fallen into one another — too intoxicated to even bat an eye. A soft huff leaves your nose — defeated before you look back to the knife, then to Namgyu who’s now smiling cockily at you.

“You gonna play nice?” Namgyu remarks, and gives you a moment to contemplate your next move. You could try and leave again - but you’re smarter than that. A knife in your back would be the equivalent of someone being passed out drunk here. He feels you settle back into the bar stool and takes your silence as obedience.

His smile splits wider, a little hum - pleased, erupting from his throat. He gives your cheek a little squeeze which makes you make a displeased noise as you yank your face out his grip. He’s flicking the knife away and pocketing it the next second.

Your eyes shut in brief relief.

“Y/n.”

Thanos’ voice comes again, pleading out your name to grab your proper attention this time. You realise you can’t exactly work your way out of this — so you give in, for now. You turn your head to him, your eyes opening.

“Answer my question, please.” He whines out, his tone hitting your ears in all the wrong ways.

You lock your jaw at him - your facial muscles visibly flexing from the intensity of irritation.

“We’re not friends.” Is all you reply with. You swear you see a glint of disappointment in his eyes.

He sighs softly, expelling it through his nose as he cranes his head over his shoulder and holds up three fingers to the bartender. Your eyes flicker back to Namgyu, his expression still cocky. You swallow hard — unable to resist mentally noting how good he looked. The thought didn’t last long though as you feel Thanos spin the base of your chair around to face the bar - your hands falling flat against the wood to stabilise the spinny chair.

You watch the bartender pour three shots. Colourful ones. Very in character to Thanos. You gulp hard, eyes flickering to Thanos who’s already smiling at you. You feel Namgyu shift to lean against the bar to the right of you - one forearm against the bar, his other hand holding the back of your chair - now sandwiched in between them both.

“Señorita.” Thanos says quirkily, taking a shot and holding it out to you. You consider it a second too long before he’s already shoving it into your hand - some spilling over the tip of the glass and over your fingers from the force of it. You grimace. He takes his own then, Namgyu following suit.

You stare down, trying to piece together exactly what their play is here. You already considered intimidation, but now Thanos is buying you drinks - which you don’t mind all that much. Drink is drink, but still.

Reluctantly, you’re first to shot it. You hear Namgyu and Thanos doing the same then, their glasses hitting the bar a second later.

You side eye Thanos, watching him take a second to recover from the shot as he sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. Were you done? Could you go now?

“Okay.” He breathes out, looking to you and offering you a smile before he stands up out the chair. You can’t even look up at him before he’s clamping his hand around your upper arm - yanking you out the seat.

“We’re gonna find somewhere a little more private.” He says, leaning down to whisper that to you - his grip on you implying a lingering threat.

“Kay?”

You simply glare up at him. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Thanos sticks his bottom lip out, “Don’t worry, Namgyu’s coming too.” he says, lifting his chin to point toward Namgyu who’s behind you.

“I got weed too.” You hear Namgyu say behind you, chirping up. You keep your narrowed eyes up at Thanos.

“See? He’s got weed too.” Thanos says characteristically, as though Namgyu having weed would somehow sway you into going. You scoff in his face.

“I said no.”

Thanos doesn’t take his eyes off you as Namgyu shifts behind you. You feel him place his hand on your back which causes you to freeze up.

“Relax,” Namgyu says, drawling out the word slowly, his hand stroking your back up and down as though to reassure you. You shoot your eyes to him - he’s smiling slightly, though you could see the wickedness peeking through his eyes. That was the thing with them two. The pair mask themselves too well - any normal person would assume they were caring, thoughtful even. But you knew every smile they give you, every seemingly innocent touch - like Namgyu’s hand on your back - was laced with threat and intimidation.

“We need to talk, okay?” Namgyu continues, and despite his tone lingering on the edge of mockery, you can believe that he means what he says. He’s much better at conveying things than Thanos who’s completely drugged out of his mind. You look back to Thanos.

He gives you a boyish, hopeful smile.

You sigh, dropping your shoulders. The quicker you agree and have that talk, the quicker it’ll be over and done with.

“Okay.” You agree.

The pair hasn’t split from you the entire way to a quiet room. Thanos’ hand on your wrist pulling you along. Namgyu’s hand flat against the middle of your back, enticing you forward. You had forgotten Namgyu had been a promoter at this club - which meant he knew all the right people, all the right quiet spots. Thanos shoots his head over and beckons Namgyu to go ahead and open the door, which he does - always the obedient type when it came to his good friend.

It wasn’t anything special. Two couches - a bar rack or two, a few beer kegs lying around with a tv up on the wall. Looked like a bougie staff room. Thanos beckons his hand toward one of the couches, so you do just that. You sink into it - surprised by its comfiness despite your inability to relax when you see Namgyu lock the door. They join you not a second after, the pair sitting next to each other on the couch directly opposite you.

It’s quiet between the three of you. Only the vague thrumming of the music outside which is now numbed by the walls of the staff room. Thanos still mindlessly thumps his head to the beat of it though.

“Y/n,” Thanos breaks the silence with your name, leaning forward in his chair - it’s leather creaking loudly under his movement.

“Do you believe in divine intervention?”

Namgyu already rolls his eyes at him, now sinking into the seat and pinching the skin on the bridge of his nose. Looking like he’s heard this a thousand times before — like he’s way too tired to call bullshit. Thanos is the open minded type. Namgyu, not so much.

You’re alike with Namgyu in that way, which is apparent as you snort a laugh at Thanos.

“What — like, a higher power?” You say slowly, amused — your mind wondering ahead as you try to figure out where he’s going with this ridiculous approach. Thanos smiles slowly, nodding his head, “Exactly.”

“I’ve been looking for you. The rest of our group too — wanted to rekindle on the outside, you know? And here you are.” He beckons his hands out toward you, giddy. You simply quirk a brow.

“Divine intervention. Fascinating, right?”

You cut him off with ease, “Drop the act. You just want to intimidate us into not running our mouths.”

His mouth stills, open. Your reply catching Namgyu’s attention as he slowly pulls his fingers from his face, eyes locking onto you. Your eyes dart between them both - you had no time for his lies or manipulation. He’s trying to sweeten you up - thinking you’re stupid enough to believe his crap. You want them to know that you know their game, and that you won’t be playing it.

“Right?” You say, stern.

A scoffed laugh leaves Thanos, impressed to say the least. You understand he’s got a career - a status, a version of himself to uphold. You also understand why he wants to protect that, but by finding you all and bullying you to silence for his benefit? It leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. The same with Namgyu too. You’d both seen them murder people, meaning you’re a loose end to them.

A grin raises the left corner of Thanos mouth, squinting one eye as he points a finger at you.

“You’re a smart girl, aren’t you? Here I thought you were just another pushover.” He analyses through restricted laughs. His hands slap down onto his knees suddenly as he stands.

“Well, may as well cut to the chase.” He says, plonking himself down on the sofa next to you. Clearly inconsiderate toward the concept of personal space. You exhale, already tired of this situation. Your eyes settle ahead - onto Namgyu, deciding you could tolerate Thanos as long as you didn’t look at him.

Thanos brings his face close to the side of your head, breath hot against your neck.

“I - we,” He pauses, extending a palm to Namgyu who you’re still staring at, “We need to feel confident in knowing you can keep your mouth shut about our little escapade together a few weeks ago.” He mutters, tone laced with a bit more sincerity now as he refers to the games. In fact, you know he doesn’t care if you talk about the games — you know that’s he’s referring to what you had witnessed.

Both of their actions - their murderous capabilities.

Your mouth twitches, now realising you have something over them. They’re concerned that you could taint their reputations. In fairness, you hadn’t even considered it. But there’s something satisfying about having that leverage on them that just tickles your mind in all the right ways. A one sided smirk paints your face.

“You’re murderers.” You say with a new found confidence and you see Namgyu straighten in his seat - on edge, as though his suspicions on you ratting were coming to a slow reality. Thanos is grabbing your chin in a second, forcing you to look at him — he looks disgusted that you would even say that, comically so considering that he is exactly what you accuse him to be.

“How could you say that, huh? We protected you in there — right, Namgyu?”

“Fucking right.” You hear Namgyu mutter in response, but his voice is coming from behind you now. You hadn’t even seen Namgyu get out of his seat — now feeling the couch beside you sinking as he settles there, pressing his chest into your back. Yet again, sandwiched.

You laugh once through your nose at them, glaring into Thanos’ eyes — his grip on your chin discomforting.

You’re not stupid. You know that in the games it was kill or be killed. That sacrifices had to be made. Most of the time, his and Namgyu’s actions strictly followed that principle. It’s the fact that they enjoyed it. Laughed about it — not even batting an eye when discarding someone else’s life. You had wondered when it would’ve been your turn.

You feel the tips of Namgyu’s fingers skimming your bare shoulder, dancing across the skin there before they’re replaced by his chin - settling his head onto your shoulder with a comfy hum.

“You should be thanking us.” Namgyu says into your ear, the proximity of his voice causing a cold shiver across your body. Thanos nods, the disgusted look on his face still remaining.

“Exactly right — shit, when did you get so ungrateful, y/n?” Thanos asks, pinching your chair harder - your strong facade starting to slightly waver at the rising proximity of them both. The need to escape this situation only grew stronger now — not that you’re afraid, but the tension in the room had grown thicker — a tension you didn’t know existed until Namgyu locked that fucking door.

Shamefully, you were enjoying this.

Being sandwiched by them. The warmth of Namgyu’s body heat pressing into your back — the way Thanos can’t help his eyes darting down to your mouth though he try’s to appear intimidating. It’s daunting and extremely testing. All the while making you feel like you’d lost all your self respect. It’s something you couldn’t let yourself succumb to.

So you pick the easier option.

“I won’t say anything.” You simply say, spitting out your words like you’re shocked that they thought you ever would.

“Fucking right you won’t.” Thanos bites out as he releases your chin backward harshly, your body weight falling back into Namgyu’s chest - you see it as a chance to leave, but Namgyu’s already looping his arm around your torso and softly pulling your back against his chest. Thanos is standing the next minute, pacing the room once or twice in thought — probably wondering whether to take your word, if he could trust you.

The drugs have obviously raised his paranoia.

He shoots a look at you — his brows comically curved downward in distain. You can’t help your smug expression.

He snaps then, again - bending over you and pointing in your face.

“You better not tell those pig cops a fucking thing —”

You don’t let him finish, deciding to finish this quick.

“With what fucking evidence, Thanos?” You slur out, your tone slipping into a mockery as you say his ridiculous name.

Was he that fucking high? Even if you wanted to rat them out, how could you? There wouldn’t be a slither of evidence to prove it. You’d just have to live with the knowledge. Your common sense plunges his live wire brain into silence for a fleeting moment.

You watch the realisation set on this face. It’s slow but incoming. A second later - his anger bleeds away, his frown now bleeding into a wide smile. You just clench your jaw at him - unimpressed. So unbothered that you’d even settled nicely against Namgyu’s chest - his fingers playing with the ends of your hair not even remotely a bother to you.

A soft exhale leaves Thanos’ now wide grin. A realising one. “Why didn’t I think of that?”

You want to tell him it’s because the drugs are frying his brain but you choose to hold your tongue.

He laughs right in your face then — not even realising his own stupidity. Too fucking high to comprehend common sense. He runs his hands through his hair frantically as he steps back, overjoyed. Feeling like he’d won.

“Ohhh, y/n — this calls for celebration.” He says before bending down close to you again, prodding his index finger into your forehead, pushing your head back so it rests back on Namgyu’s shoulder.

“You’re gonna stay right here while I get us some drinks, okay?” He says, condescendingly.

“Namgyu will take good care of you — won’t you boy!” He shouts to him before straightening up and heading out the room - the door briefly letting in the loud music before it slams shut behind him. You shut your eyes for a moment and you breathe a sigh of relief. As though a disaster had been completely diverted — realising his junkie brain could’ve settled on killing you even before thinking about the obvious.

A silence sits in the air.

“You know I told that fucking bastard the same shit you just did.”

Namgyu says from behind you — his tone surprisingly bitter when addressing Thanos. Almost as if a facade had dropped without his presence in the room. You decide not to reply — intrigued, feeling as Namgyu’s fingers continue their pursuit through your hair, fiddling - toying. He’d always been the touchy type.

“Told him that there wouldn’t be any evidence whether you ratted or not.”

You simply stay still against him — the urge to look over your shoulder and read his expression becoming more alluring. You hadn’t been exposed to this dynamic — the insecure side of Namgyu. Fuck, you didn’t even know he had it. Especially against Thanos.

You hear him scoff as a hand slopes down your neck, his index and middle finger catching under your chin and stroking the skin there.

“No, he only seems to listen to pretty girls.“

He pry’s your head back and over your shoulder to face him with his two fingers then, a soft tsk leaving his pouting lip as his eyes set on you.

You stare up at him — completely fixed on his gaze. Fixated on his softened tone whenever Thanos isn’t around, like he lets his soft spot for you seep through his hardened edges. You can practically feel his insecurity vibrating off him like live wire. An underlying anger that would soon enough boil to the surface, eventually thrashing out — it’s obvious he hate’s people walking over him.

Being made to feel idiotic.

You can’t help but pity him a little. Just a little, you promise yourself. Anymore than that and you’d start to worry about your sanity. You stare up at him, too concerned to speak but your lips are already parting before you can tell yourself not to.

“He looks down on you.” Your voice comes out in a shattered whisper, as though you know you’re crossing the line just by commenting on it. It’s not that you intend to steer his mind, but in reality you understood his mindset. His expression runs cold the moment you speak though and the next, he’s lifting you off him and throwing you to the other end of the couch.

The soft leather welcomes you though. You simply look over at him, bracing your hands on the couch to lift yourself up - he’s shoving his hand into his pocket, muttering to himself as he pulls out a small bag of pills.

You watch his fingers fiddle with the small packet, greedily sticking his hands in to seize a little blue pill.

“What’s that?” You ask sheepishly. He doesn’t reply - he just slips back onto the couch, pops one into his mouth - the sound of him crunching down on it was the only reply you got. You just gulp down hard, not wanting to push it but you can’t help but watch him - seeing how quickly the drug took effect by the way his shoulders drop in ease. The way the corner of his mouth slightly twitches upward - pleased.

It’s like watching someone breathe their first breath of air.

You pull your eyes away.

They flash to the door. You should leave.

“It helps.” You hear him say then, his voice a little more relaxed and unguarded from before. Your curiosity is a killer, turning your gaze back toward him. His head slants over to you, limp and he blinks his way into a very small smile. You only wonder what he’s feeling.

“What does it do?” You ask, your voice a little bolder upon seeing him more relaxed.

Namgyu inhales through his nose, his eyes creeping up to the ceiling in brief thought before they drag back onto you.

“Makes you forget. Makes you feel strong, you know?” He says, a proud gleam on his face.

You didn’t know. You couldn’t so easily forget, but god, you wanted to. That’s why you came tonight. To drink all the shit away. The games - the trauma, all that blood. Your throat runs a little dry as you drop your eyes. You’d taken drugs in college, a bit of everything really. You dabbled. But you never got yourself hooked like the way him and Thanos had.

They used it like oxygen, and now you’re eyeing the pill packet that’s slack in his fingers like a quick fix.

You swallow hard.

“Can I try?” You ask, too busy eyeing the packet to see the way a crooked grin slips onto his face. You hear him scoff a laugh which makes you look back up at him though.

“What?” You almost snap, your tone immediately defensive. He blinks at you, his grin still plastered onto his face.

“You couldn’t handle it.” He says, but his tone implies that he’s almost daring you. You blink at him, then back down to the packet. You were somewhat timid in the games — quiet. You had been too afraid to even form a sentence most times. Maybe that’s why he’s surprised that you’re asking this of him. You don’t know, but you don’t ask again.

You look away.

You hear him sigh. Then the creaking of leather.

“C’mere.” He says, so you look at him. He’s still sunk into the couch but he’s moved his arm out as if to invite you in. You simply stare. But he’s impatient.

“Quick before I change my mind.”

You move closer to him as though in autopilot. Without a second thought - as though your sensibility had slipped away upon invite. Shuffling down the couch till you’re shoulder to shoulder with him now. You hear a hum in his throat as you settle next to him, as if your warmth was almost a pleasure.

You watch as he dips his finger into the packet again, prying out another blue one, pinching it between thumb and index. It’s in your palm the next second and you can only stare down at it. You feel his eyes burning into the side of your head.

This tiny little blue pill. You know you shouldn’t. You know it isn’t the answer.

But it’s in your mouth the next second, sitting on your tongue softly inside your mouth. You suck on it a little, it doesn’t taste good. He stares at you intensely, as though boyishly excited.

“Don’t suck it,” Namgyu says, twisting his body toward you as he slings an arm around you, bringing his face in a little closer - just to guide you through it.

“Chew it.” He brings his fingers to his mouth as to action you, fingers covering his grin, nibbling ever so slightly on some skin there. He’s watching you like you’re some sort of fascination, like you’re the only woman in the world. You lock your eyes with his, and then crunch. The sound brings a little smile to his face. You smile back a little.

You don’t know how long it’s been.

Thanos still hasn’t come back. Probably moved on to the next thing to obsess over. Maybe some fans, maybe a girl. You didn’t know - fuck, you didn’t care. In fact, there isn’t much thought in your mind at all.

Your heads resting on Namgyu’s thighs, your eyes upward at the ceiling. He’s sat back, looking up too — his fingers softly running though your hair. There’s a comfortable silence between you both. Not in a million years would you have expected to be laying like this, with him. So peacefully.

“Fuck.” You softly whisper. And that’s all.

“Good shit, huh?” You hear, which causes a lazy smile to sit on your face. It was. A white ceiling hadn’t ever been more hypnotic. You don’t even know how long you’d been laying there, staring upward. The room felt more tighter, more warm. The music blasting outside the door had become nothing less than soft hum falling onto deaf ears.

It’s all hazed. Numbed. Feeling as though you’d been struck by lightning and somehow miraculously survived. Living in an aftershock, your skin prickling with false electricity.

“I feel so — heightened.” You say softly, settling on that word like it was the only way to describe what you’re feeling. Not like you needed to describe it to Namgyu anyway, this was like a walk in the park for him.

You hear him hum in agreement before his fingers leave your hair to ever so discreetly travel the pads of his fingertips down your cheek - testing your words, seeing how you respond to the feeling. Despite the delicacy of his touch, it feels like you’d fell into a bed of roses — a soft tickle, like an electric shock - but a nice one. Feeling it so strongly that your eyes flutter closed and back open on impact, enjoying it.

“Feels good, right?” He says, his half lidded eyes now looking down at you in curiosity. He sees the twitch in your smile — the way your eyes close, the slack in your shoulders as you relax against him. He’d always been attracted to you — and you, him. You’d felt attracted to him even during the games, shamefully so. Though you’re the stubborn type. The type to mistrust your own feelings - the type of person who denies a slice of cake, no matter how much they want it. Like you had done with him.

You told yourself no, over and over. Like he’s forbidden fruit.

But the way his fingers caress your cheek like your made out of china glass? You’re not even second guessing your feelings. You just let yourself enjoy it. Enjoy being close to him. No longer an overthinking nag in you’re head telling you that this is wrong.

You open your eyes and tilt your head to look up at him. His palm flattens against the curve of your face as you do - the cold of his rings kissing your skin.

You both stay like that for awhile, staring at one another - almost as though you’re both acknowledging exactly how the other feels - and finding a satisfaction in it. Both so blissfully unaware. Just being able to shut the fuck up and enjoy the impending quiet.

You eyes go to close again, but his hand pats your cheek softly.

“Keep ‘em open.” He mutters.

So you do. The next second he’s carrying his finger tips across your cheek again - as though he just likes the satisfied look on your face. Like he enjoys knowing you’re feeling good under his touch. He slips his fingers down and across your jaw - achingly slow, causing a bristle of goosebumps to prickle your skin. Your mouth twitches again.

He’s deadpan, only his lips are slightly parted - as though he’s analysing every crevice of your face, every dimple - every soft spot. You eyes dare to flutter closed, but you keep them open for him.

His fingers carry on as they graze over your chin, across — but come back on themselves. He tucks the rest of his fingers away, folding them under your chin - only now, the pad of his thumb as it comes to graze your bottom lip.

Your breath hitches to a halt deep in your chest.

You can’t look away. The intimacy of such a simple graze enough to send your heart fluttering wildly against your ribs.

His next words cut through the thick silence like a knife through butter.

“You ever made out while high before?’ He mutters lowly, his thumb now still on your bottom lip.

Fuck.

You can’t even find your words. Trying to form a sensible reply in your head, now an impossible task. All you can think about is how you now know he wants to kiss you — and that you want him to.

“No.” You manage, your voice slightly strained.

“Feel s’good.” He says, his reply as casual as it would be in any normal conversation.

You don’t even know how to reply. You’re simply shocked by his forwardness, his inability to feel shy or ashamed. A skill you wish you had inherited. But you feel it buried deep then - an urge inside you screaming at you, tugging at your vocal cords.

You didn’t know if it was the drugs.

Or maybe some new found confidence. But your next words fall out your mouth so easily that you even shock yourself.

“Can you show me?” You ask, bluntly.

You watch as his jaw tightens, the muscle underneath twitching his skin. An eagerness melting into his expression as quick as you had asked. It’s something about the way you asked for it. Asked him. Not Thanos, not some prick you could’ve been dancing with tonight. Him. It’s like a validation — like he’d been recognised, like you trusted him enough to do it despite how much of a prick he can be.

Even earlier when he threw you off him as soon as you tried to sympathise with him. You could’ve left — shit, he would’ve let you. But you stayed. You chose that — chose to get high. With him.

There’s something about that.

About you.

It strikes him deep in his chest. You can tell by the look on his face as he nods slowly.

“Yeah. C’mere — sit up for me.” He says, a new found gentleness in his tone — like he’s taking on a mantle of taking care of you. You want him to make you feel good. He takes that seriously.

You sit up slowly, an excitement twisting your stomach as you keep your eyes on his. The feeling that you were gonna burst if you held in your resistance much longer. He pats your thigh so you lift it slightly, giving him room as he scoops his hand under — lifting you onto his lap to straddle him.

“There you go.” He coaxes, shifting in his seat to help you get comfy.

Your dress rides up a little as you settle on him, stopping on your higher thighs, clinging to you perfectly. You see him as he watches that — his half lidded eyes unblinking as he huffs softly out his plump lips. Your breath comes out in ragged waves, incapable of calming the exhilaration now building in your chest. You can practically hear your own heartbeat — and you’re so close to him now that you even worry he can hear it too.

His hands settle on your knees first before they slide up your thighs and stop halfway. He squeezes them ever so slightly - eyes watching your reaction like a hawk as you press your lips tight, eyes closing briefly.

He doesn’t do anything else. He just watches you, scanning you — overly aware of how your senses had just spiked. You simply look back then — waiting in anticipation, but you’re waiting a second too long. You realise he’s waiting for you. You did ask after all.

You gulp down the dryness in your throat, dropping your eyes down as his tongue darts out lap his lips slightly. And before you know it, you’re leaning in.

He does to.

Meeting halfway as your lips press together once - softly.

It’s a short lived kiss as you both pull slightly back — still hovering near though.

The contact of that first one had been enough to send your heart plummeting into your stomach. Sending a jolt straight into your pussy — with one mean throb.

He leans in for another — your lips simply connecting again, before pulling away. And then another, and another. Each one just lingering a little longer that the last. By the next one, it’s more inviting, mouths a little wider as your lips greet with a little more edge - an eagerness. Like all you had needed was a second to adjust to one another. A second the adjust to the growing throb in between your legs.

Your lips smush together as the need grows. Both your breaths growing harsh as they expel through your noses. Your lips smearing against one another’s and you both open your mouths in sync - tongues slipping out to clash softly, wetly. The sensation of it pulling out a slow moan from your throat.

He tightens his grip on your thighs hearing that.

Confirming in his head that you feel good. And that it’s all because of him.

One hand slips up your thigh, before sliding all the way up your back - until he reaches the back of your neck, where he grips - tight.

Another moans slips out of you and straight into his mouth.

His tongue laps against yours, swirling — sucking, both your spits mixing together deliciously. The sound of it alone is vulgar — in all the right ways. You need to breathe but he’s got a vice grip on your neck — keeping you there, kissing him. It only makes you breathe harder through your nose, making you more eager as you really lean into the kiss, titling your head - forcing his head back and into the couch as you do. Inviting yourself further in.

It’s messy.

But fuck. He was right.

The drug you’re both on heightened things. Sensations — the kiss. Your skin red hot — pricking alive with goosebumps that ripple across your body like wild fire. So intense that you’re riving against him - chest to chest, your thighs clamping around his hips. The pair of you like animals — starved ones, who’ve finally got their pound of flesh.

It was supposed to just be a make out sesh.

Something timid and sloppy while you both ride out your high.

But you can feel his hardened cock through his jeans against your clothed pussy. It’s like an instinct as you sit on it, grinding down hard — rocking slowly forward in one mean swipe. He’s tangling his hand in your hair the next second and yanking your head back — the separation of the kiss causing you to take a gasped breath out your mouth.

You pant, your lips red - glossy with his spit. You still your hips from grinding as he stares at you — he looks wrecked. His hair now looking unkept, no longer neatly tucked behind his ears.

“Did I tell you to fucking stop?” He says meanly, between breaths.

You don’t say anything - too breathless to form a defence. You roll your hips down on him again, only once. He sneers.

“Nice ‘n slow, that’s it.” He drawls out, leaning back into the couch to watch you as he lets go of your hair, both his hands settling on your hips. You brace your hands on his shoulders - gripping, using him as leverage as you continue to grind down on him.

An hour ago you were calling him a murderer. Half an hour before that, he had a switchblade in your face.

Now, you’re both high and you’re dry humping him.

You could laugh about it if you weren’t moaning softly, your eyes closing as your head rolls back in bliss. His hands tighten on your hips — now moving them back and forth for you, dragging you up and down his hard on which begged to spring out of his fucking jeans. He’s puffing out breaths, then a hiss — or a groan. His noises only making the mess in your panties all the wetter.

“Look at you,” He pants out, staring at you.

“Asked me so nicely for a kiss and now you’re draggin’ your wet pussy all over me.” His voice is gruff — strained through the amount of pants.

He lets out a deep noise — rolling his head back, his cock now in agony from how fucking hard he is.

“Need to fucking taste that cunt.” He grits out between clenched teeth, hips bucking up into you.

“Namgyu,” You moan out, coming back in close as you press a sloppy, wet kiss to his mouth.

He invites it, his tongue darting out to kitten lick your bottom lip once, twice — before he forces his tongue through the little parting in your mouth. You moan into it, his tongue relentlessly exploring your mouth - swirling, expelling his own spit in. You’re helplessly smitten, feeling every little thing he does to you.

The ache is your pussy only grows and you can barely take it anymore.

You reluctantly break the kiss - your hands coming to twist into his t shirt.

“Please,” You groan out, eyes shutting as you rock against him.

“I need more, Namgyu. Please.”

You beg so pathetically - but he finds it sweet. Hot, obviously but still sweet. In fact you beg so sweetly that it makes him sick how much he wants to make you feel good. He’s always been a selfish lover in his past. Receiving blowjobs, handjobs — a quick fuck in the club bathroom, nothing intimate. It wasn’t his style.

But you.

Fuck. You’re like his own brand of heroin.

“I hear you, baby — I hear you,” he mutters against your lips — reassuring you through his own struggle as you’re still rubbing up onto his cock.

“But you gotta let me taste that pussy first. Then I’ll fuck it, yeah?”

You’re a mess against him — listening to his filthy words, sending your head into a spin so furious that you can’t seem to slow down. You just nod, still clutching onto him but he’s prying your hands off him not a second later.

“On your back f’me.” He mutters, peppering your lips with his mouth - the occasional lap of his tongue on your lip. You oblige, sliding off him and onto the couch - your back against the soft leather, cold — still not cold enough to cool you down. Your thighs are practically shaking — the eagerness to feel some sort of relief, to feel his hands on you. God, it’s unbearable.

He’s over you the next second — prying your knees apart. He sits there for a moment, deadpan but his eyes darken. His gaze boring between your legs — at the visible wetness in your panties. You watch his jaw tighten, the way his hair curtains his eyes, only making them appear more shadowed with intent. He’d ate pussy before. He’s done a lot, really. But it had always lacked a passion — never once had he felt an urge so strongly to please someone else other than himself.

It’s almost frustrating for him.

“Shit.” You hear him mutter, through the little gap in the corner of his clenched mouth, followed by an even lower, “fuckin’ slut.”

You’re a desperate mess, splayed out on the couch - and Namgyu sat there admiring you all the while. You just lay your head back, your eyes up at that white ceiling again. There’s a bliss that rolls over you, like a warm heat - seeping into your skin and cosying you sweetly. Like the sensation when you get into a fresh bed while it rains outside.

“Please.” You whisper softly, moving your eyes to plea with him between your legs. You feel him drag a single finger over the wet cloth of your panties - barely a graze. It’s enough to send your head spinning, gnawing down on your bottom lip to stifle a moan. Both hands disappear under your dress as his fingers hook on the waistband of your underwear - you lift your hips as he pulls them down slowly.

“Tell me want me.” He says, his voice low as he discards your panties to the side - his eyes stay pinned to yours. He’s not demanding you, that’s obvious. You can see the slight glint of pleading in his eyes — as though he needs to hear you say it. Needs to feel wanted.

It’s something you understand deeply.

The need for recognition. To verbalise it, is to make it real. He needs that more than you need him right now.

“I want you.” You whisper in reply. But you feel in your chest it wasn’t sincere enough. Your lips part again, a slight hesitation sitting in your throat. He stares at you, waiting.

“I need you.”

Those words pour out of you so intimately that it could’ve passed as a moan. You see his jaw set to one side, that satisfaction rolling over his face with such crude delicacy. He’s pressing his thumb against your clit a second later, grounding it into a slow circle - firmly. Your lips shudder open, then closed - unable to form a noise from the overwhelming relief. Your brows upturning, unable to hold your head up as you drop it back down onto the arm of the chair.

Namgyu uncontrollably sneers, the sight of you like this sending an adrenaline through his veins. Something he try’s to tame for now though - wanting to take his sweet time with you. His eyes drop down to your pussy. With his thumb still circling your clit, he uses his middle and index to stroke down your folds — slipping through your soak, till they stop at your tight hole.

“Fuckin’ soaked.” He grits, ever so slightly prodding your entrance with his fingers to test.

“N’ tight, shit. This all for me?”

You’re not looking at him - your eyes closed, but you can tell by the tone in his voice that he’s desperately pleased. Flattered maybe. You knew you were wet, but you must be really wet to get that response from him. The edge in his voice makes you clench around nothing.

You nod helplessly, then you feel his thumb press firmer against your clit. Your body jolts from the intensity, your eyes snapping open at him.

“Use your words.”

“Yes — fuck, yes. It’s for you.” You pant out, your voice reduced to a desperate mess.

He’s pushing his fingers in you before you can blink — but it’s not slow like his thumb. It’s one hard shove. Piston like, the tips of his fingers instantly hitting that sweet spot buried all the way inside you. You cry out — your body jolting from the force of it — the pleasure rolling over you like tidal waves, relentless and unforgiving.

He keeps his fingers there. Doesn’t move them, he simply curls them slowly - against your walls, and such a simple movement is having you crumbling below him.

You shudder a sweet moan, grinding your hips down against his fingers as to ask for more. But he pulls his fingers out. His eyes are on yours, and they stay on yours while his tongue comes out the lap over his fingers, tasting you.

You’d never seen anything like it, never experienced something so sexual in your life. You’re not even a virgin — but you may as well be by the way your thighs shake — by the way you grow increasingly hotter, intimidated by how fucking filthy he is. It’s contagious, intoxicating. More effective than the pill you both popped earlier. So proven as you reach up and grab his hand, pulling his fingers into your mouth to taste yourself too.

His mouth falls slack slightly at the sight.

Your tongue swirls around his fingers before you release them timidly, your mouth ever so slightly glossy from your own fucking juices. He’s staring at you like you’d just reached into his chest and pulled out his fucking heart. So intense it could’ve been mistaken for revulsion. But, no. Not him.

“Whore.” Is all he can manage to bite out, still stilled in his spot from you’d just done.

A confidence brims your throat, a slow smile craning up the corner of your lip - nothing holding you back with your quick reply.

“Murderer.”

Namgyu glares at you, a tsk coming out of his lips as they part in defeat. He doesn’t bother to deny it now. You’re both far too gone.

“And you’re still begging for my cock.” He challenges bitterly, moving his hands to undo his belt. You keep your eyes on his.

His belts being thrown to the side in a second, his fingers rabidly undoing his button and zipper as he pulls his cock free. Your eyes rake down his body till you see it, your stomach twisting. He’s big. Too big, you think. He holds his cock at its base, ever so slowly pumping it in his fist. His eyes remain on you, thinking.

You feel your pussy throbbing — clenching helplessly. You need it, you need it fucking now. You look up at his eyes again, expectingly. He’s stern — teeth slightly bared through the parting of his mouth from the pleasure of him fisting his cock softly.

“Murderer, huh?” He pants out.

Your expression wavers, realising he isn’t gonna make this easy for you now. He’d been generous this whole time but the second you run your mouth? He’s gonna make sure you know about it. You don’t speak, a timid look on your face now revealing itself.

“Guess that makes you pretty fucked up for bein’ this fucking wet for me then, yeah?” He grits out, now moving his cock to drag through your folds, slowly, relishing every slather of wetness. Your eyes flutter at the sensation, a moan catching in your throat as your head rolls back in bliss.

“Yeah, there it is. See? You’re just as bad.”

You can’t reply, your head reeling from the aching need to have him inside you. You pant out a breath, forcing your eyes down as you watch him slide his cock through your folds.

“You won’t fit.” You pant out, truly meaning your words.

“I’ll make it fit.”

You go to form a defence but his cocks splitting you in two in the next second. Stretching right through your tightness like an unstoppable force. Your mouth opens, a disgustingly load moan pouring out of you. You’re pussy clenches around his cock — sucking him in, and he’s obliging as he continues to push right up until your little sweet spot.

Namgyu grunts — then breathes out, almost sounding shattered from the tightness of your pussy. Hunching over you, his forearms now coming to settle on the couch at either side of your head - caging you in.

“Perfect fit,” he grunts out, grounding his hips against yours slowly.

“S’like you were fucking made for me.”

Your teeth catch your bottom lip, thrashing your head to the side in bliss. As condescending as he’s trying to be, he’s fucking right. Your pussy welcomes him in so perfectly and warm, tightening around his cock and hugging it. But it takes you a second to adjust - despite the overwhelming pleasure, it stings — completely filling you to the point that you’re trying to catch the breath wedged in your throat.

He slowly pulls out his cock, giving you the chance to exhale before he’s pushing it back in. You take it better this time, your pussy now accustomed to the overpowering size. Namgyu’s breath fans your cheek, like he’s trying to contain himself — the feeling of you squeezing down on his cock almost threatening to make him cum already.

You move your hips in a small circular motion, a little noise seeping out of you as you do. He likes hearing you — those little fucking noises you make. He’s clenching his jaw as he moves his hips back before slamming them back in, his cock hitting your sweet spot with ease. You yelp out, your arms coming to loop over his shoulders - fingers gripping into his toned shoulder blades.

Namgyu grunts at that, reeling his head back to look at your face properly.

You open your eyes up at him. Your expression torn between helpless and ragingly eager.

He grins a little, pulls his cock back and grounds back in with all the more force - your body jolting upward from it.

“I like the look in your eyes right now.” He says messily, condescending you. Your face reads needy, like the speed he’s going isn’t enough - that you need more but you don’t want to beg for it again. You glare up at him, but you cannot help the glossing plea in your eyes. He laughs out a little at you, between pants.

“Fuckin’ needy bitch.” He hisses despite his sick smile. His hips are going at a steady pace now, but not quick enough. Not the speed he knows you need.

“Ask me for it.” He pants out, his head so close that his hanging hair cages your own face. You don’t want to give into it — you want to play the game of power, but you know he’s relentless. You know he’ll fuck you slow until you’re a sobbing mess, pleading with him to make you cum. It irritates you — but it turns you on all the more. You use that aggression as you slam up your lips to meet his - crushingly desperate as you both tilt your heads into it.

You moan into it. You hear him moan too. The noise from him only fueling your fire as you bring his bottom lip into your teeth, gnawing hard — drawing a speckle of blood before you pull away, your head hitting the arm of the chair with a thud. You pant up at him, your chin raised as though you’d just made a bold statement.

Namgyu darts his tongue out and tastes the bit of blood on his lip.

“Fuck me. Hard.” You demand, and he’s staring at you like you’re a fucking god. He doesn’t reply, he just grabs your legs and hauls them around his hips as he picks up his speed — the sound of his hips slapping yours becoming louder and louder. Your eyes roll back, your mouth falling open wide from the euphoria.

He sees your open mouth and wastes no time as he spits into it harshly.

You look up at him — shocked, but he’s clamping his hand over your mouth the next second.

His hips pick up a quicker pace, the sound of your pussy squelching around him filling the room.

“Fucking swallow it.” He grunts out, teeth clenched as he drives his cock into you at a relentless speed. He watches your throat bob as you swallow his spit and then yanks his hand away from your mouth, his own mouth replacing it a second later.

You’re soaring. Room filled with sounds of your wetness, creaking leather and mutual moans. Stifled moans as your mouths welcome each others - his fingers reach down between your bodies to pinch at your clit, twisting it. You’d cry out a moan if you weren’t sucking on his fucking tongue.

You feel it then. That build. Your stomach slowly twisting inward - like an elastic, threatening to snap and loosen you up beneath him. He feels it too - the way your pussy hugs his cock all the more desperately. It’s all too much — you’d never fucked like this in your life. Never fucked high. Never fucked someone you’re supposed to hate.

It feels impossible.

Your breath hitches, your head pulling away from his as the moans roll out of you more ragged and uncontrolled.

“What?” He grits out, his tone mockingly pitiful. “You gonna cum on my cock?”

You can’t answer. Your chest rising and falling in aggressive rhythm. It’s too much — you already know you’re gonna cum harder than you ever have before. In fact the anticipation of it causes your hands to grip his hips, pushing — trying to ease his pace so you don’t truly unravel below him.

“No you fuckin’ don’t.” He mutters out meanly as he prys your hands off his hips, using one of his hands to vice clamp your wrists together — now holding them above your head.

You cry out, helpless - especially as he somehow picks up his pace. His hips cramming against yours meanly — without mercy or give. He doesn’t let himself cum. Not yet. Not until he sees you truly unravel.

“Namgyu —” You stutter out as you reach closer, your wrists wiggling in his grip.

“Open your fuckin’ eyes.” He cuts you off and as you peel them open for him,

You cum.

Your orgasm rips through you, starting red hot deep in your pussy. You cry out — loud, now grateful for the volume of the music in the club. The pleasure shoots through your legs — shaking them, and it’s so overwhelming that you can barely breathe. He’s glaring down at you, fascinated with the way your pupils blow wide — eyes glossing with tears that you can’t subside from the overpowering pleasure crippling you. He smiles — twisted, sickeningly pleased.

“Thaaaat’s it.” He groans out, now reaching close just from the sight of you cumming.

You’re barely responsive, your orgasm had ripped through you so hard that you could barely catch enough breath to keep a steady head. Your head spins — vision blurred as you helplessly blink up at him, lips swollen - hair reduced to a mess.

You just about slur out your next words.

“Fill me up — Namgyu, please.”

His breath shudders at your words and as he try’s to form some sort of horny response, he’s already cumming.

His face twists, eyes cramming shut as he leans his forehead against yours. You feel every muscle in his body clench - contort, tighten. He’s groaning out — sweetly, almost timidly. Like he can’t keep up the facade of a man who’s in complete control.

You feel his cum shoot into you, warm and slick. It’s delightful — your eyes closing as a little satisfied moan slips out of you.

You don’t know how long you’re both laying like that until you feel his body relax — his head coming down to lean into the crook of your shoulder, heavy pants ripping through you both. The rooms warm — thick, the sweat clinging to you both now drying.

You don’t feel any guilt.

There’s no dread.

In fact you feel more at peace with your mind now that you had done in a month. Like you’d took all your control back.

You feel him twitch as he lifts his head after awhile. He’s flushed, his hair clinging to the sweat on his forehead.

You look just as equally wrecked as he does.

You both stare at each other. There’s no snide comments, no demeaning. Just your warm breathes meeting in the middle.

The only thought that slips into your head is the only one that concerns you.

How the fuck could you possibly stay away from each other now?

Authors note: gang this took me SO LONG to write wtf ???? but anyways, plz plz plz enjoy !!! had way too much fun writing this <3 stay strong namgyu nation ❤️

[p3droatorres]

“Leave the game better than you found it. And when it comes time for you to leave, leave a legend.” - Kobe Bryant ♾️🐍🖤💛💜🤍🏀

[userluhna]

࿔⋆ STILL OURS

dad!hwangjunho x mom!reader

based on this request

words: 980

warnings: post season 3 squid game. hurt/comfort. found family. healing. sudden parenthood.

enjoy! :)

at first, it was overwhelming—more than you ever imagined. you never really expected to be a parent, especially not like this, with a tiny baby suddenly in your life, completely unplanned. maybe you had talked about having kids once, maybe far in the future, but this? this was different. raw and unprepared.

fear wrapped itself around your chest like a tight band, and sometimes, anger flickered beneath it. you and junho argued quietly, a few sharp words here and there, mostly because neither of you knew what you were doing. changing diapers was a mystery, decoding those tiny cries a frustrating puzzle. “i don’t know what to do!” you’d cried out one night, voice breaking in the silence of the bathroom, tears welling, ready to spill. it was nearly 3am, exhaustion creeping in like a shadow. “she’s not even… she’s not my baby. i can’t—i don’t—”

junho’s hands found your face, gentle but steady, wiping away the tears as he searched your eyes. “hey, hey, it’s okay,” he murmured softly. his own eyes were a bit red—lack of sleep, maybe, or perhaps his heart breaking a little too. he pulled you close, resting your head against his chest. “i know it’s hard. i’m scared too.” he kissed your temple, quiet and reassuring. “you’re doing better than you realize,” he whispered, rocking you both slowly, his voice barely more than a breath. it was a small comfort, but enough to keep you going. neither of you had a manual, but somehow you managed—you bought diapers and cribs, filled the nursery with tiny clothes and toys. all the money you had on that card went to her, never to yourselves.

months passed. you learned. between youtube tutorials and parenting classes, you found your rhythm. you figured out how to hold her without flinching, what her cries meant—hunger, tiredness, discomfort. you recognized her smiles, the way she calmed when you hummed.

she fell asleep on junho’s chest more times than you could count, and he never dared to move. just kept his hand on her back, breathing slow and steady. you, on the other hand, ended up with milk stains all over your shirt at odd hours, rocking her gently until she drifted off. junho would watch from the doorway, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips. “you’re doing great,” he’d whisper, stepping closer to wrap his arms around your waist, his chest against your back as you rocked yoo-ri. “and looking good doing it.” his voice was rough, tired but affectionate, lips brushing your temple. you laughed softly. “seriously? milk stains and messy hair? junho, i haven’t had a full night’s sleep in months.”

“so what?” he grinned, his lips warm against your skin. “can i call you hot mom now?”

you elbowed him playfully. “ow! that hurts.” he chuckled, “okay, okay. you’re a little menace, just like her.” and the baby smiled, as if understanding every word. she grew slowly, steadily. when she started crawling, junho baby-proofed the whole apartment, eyes never leaving her for a second.

“she’s not going anywhere, love. sit down for a minute,” you told him more than once, but he wouldn’t hear it.

“what if she gets into something dangerous?”

“oh, she will,” you said, and he just stared at her all the more carefully. her first steps were magic. you were playing games in the living room, laughter spilling from her lips, when junho came in, keys in hand, slipping off his shoes. crouching near the door, arms open wide, he called softly, “hi, sweet girl.”

and she stood—wobbly and unsteady, feet barely cooperating. “oh my god, junho!” you breathed, excitement shining in your eyes. “come here, yoori, come to appa.” her little legs carried her to him, and when she reached his arms, he lifted her high, planting kisses on her cheeks, never letting go for a full ten seconds. “you did it.”

she didn’t look like either of you—at least, not exactly. but there was something unmistakably hers in her character, a blend of the two of you. maybe a nose like yours, some soft features that could only be from her mom, but her own little spark that made her unique. you loved her fiercely, fiercely enough to call her your own from the moment she was placed in this room. maybe one day she’d understand, maybe she wouldn’t. but when she turned four, playing with junho, building a little fort in the living room, you walked in holding a positive test.

a new beginning.

you knelt down in front of your toddler, showing her the tiny lines on the stick. her eyes lit up, a huge smile spreading across her face. “i’m gonna be the best big sister!” she declared proudly. and she was—your first child, your heart, the one you chose to raise with every ounce of love you had.

masterlist

requests are open!

[shyoko]

They are caught in an intimate moment. ☆

This writing is my own; no copies, adaptations, or translations are allowed. I hope you like it. (English is not my first language.) 

 Requests are: open

I want to thank you all for all the support you’re giving to the reactions ♡♡♡

☆ Contains adult content. !!

Heeseung☆

You never imagined that baking cookies could turn into such a heated make-out session.

Maybe it was the long wait while the oven did its job, or perhaps it was Heeseung’s lingering touches on your skin—light, teasing, yet electrifying. Whatever the reason, the result was undeniable: you were trapped in his arms, your back pressed against the cool kitchen counter as his lips moved hungrily against yours.

Heeseung lifted you effortlessly, settling you onto the counter as his hands wandered freely over your body. A shaky breath escaped your lips when his fingers found the hem of your shirt, and in the blink of an eye, it was discarded onto the floor. His mouth trailed eagerly down your skin, leaving a burning path in its wake.

But the moment shattered in an instant.

—Oh, for God’s sake! Really? Is there nowhere else in this house?! —Jay’s exasperated voice cut through the air, freezing you in place.

Heeseung tensed immediately, his wide eyes locking onto yours in a mix of shock and panic. In a clumsy rush, he grabbed your shirt and helped you cover yourself, his voice caught between an apology and a weak defense.

—How was I supposed to know you were here?

Jay let out an exaggerated sigh, crossing his arms with pure frustration while you struggled to catch your breath and regain your composure.

Damn cookies.

Jay☆

You had decided to stop by the studio to visit the guys, and there you found Jay completely immersed in his guitar practice, rehearsing for his upcoming covers.

You knocked softly on the door, and after a few seconds, a visibly exhausted Jay opened it. His tired eyes and slightly tousled hair only made him look even more attractive.

—Did you not sleep well? —you asked with a hint of concern.

Jay gave you a small, lazy smile, his deep, husky voice filling the space between you.

—Not really… Think you could help wake me up a little? —his tone was sweet, but there was something undeniably mischievous in his gaze.

And just like that, within minutes, you were straddling his lap, feeling him buried deep inside you. According to him, this helped him relax and focus better—but the truth was, every time he shifted, whether to adjust his position or reach for something on the table, the friction sent waves of pleasure through your body, making it harder and harder to stay still.

The heat pooling inside you became unbearable, and after minutes of this slow, torturous game, you couldn’t take it anymore.

—Jay… stop moving, or I swear I’ll start bouncing on you —you warned, your voice shaky with frustration and desire.

He let out a low chuckle, his fingers tightening around your waist.

—Oh, sweetheart… don’t even try. I need to concentrate.

But if he wanted to play, so would you.

Without hesitation, you began moving against him, challenging him. His breathing turned ragged almost instantly, and though he tried to hold you still, the pleasure was too much—forcing small, breathy moans past his lips, mixing with your own.

Everything was going perfectly… until it all went to hell.

—Hey, Jay, could you help me wi—…?

Jungwon’s voice cut off abruptly. His eyes widened in shock, his entire body freezing at the sight in front of him.

You went completely still, your heart hammering in your chest as Jay tensed beneath you. The silence that followed was so thick it was suffocating.

Jay was the first to react, his voice coming out harsher than he intended.

—Jungwon… get out. Now.

The younger boy blinked rapidly, clearly in disbelief, before turning on his heel and stumbling out of the room as fast as he could.

Jay let out a long, frustrated sigh before lifting you off him effortlessly and settling you onto his chair. Leaning in close, his lips brushed against your ear, his voice dropping to a dangerously low whisper.

—I'll deal with you later… Don’t think for a second that I’ll forget how naughty you’ve been.

And with that, he walked out after Jungwon, as if nothing had happened.

But you both knew this wasn’t over.

Jake☆

What started as a quiet movie night ended with Jake pressing you down onto the mattress, his body hovering over yours as his hands slowly explored every curve of your back.

—Are you going to be good for me, baby? —he whispered against your ear, his deep voice vibrating through your skin—. Are you going to let me make you mine?

His lips trailed down your bare back, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses as his hands settled firmly on your waist. His touch was slow but sure, and just as he finally filled you completely, the sudden sound of a phone ringing shattered the atmosphere.

Jake let his head fall against your shoulder, letting out a low groan of frustration before reaching for the device. Without pulling away from you, he quickly silenced the call and tossed the phone onto the mattress.

—They couldn’t have picked a worse time… —he muttered with a smirk before refocusing on you.

He pulled you closer, pressing your back against his chest as he resumed his movements. His lips found your neck, his warm breath sending shivers down your spine.

But then the phone rang again.

Jake tensed for a moment before letting out an annoyed sigh.

—Give me a second… —he murmured irritably.

Still holding onto you, he grabbed the phone and accepted the call. Before speaking, he leaned down, his lips brushing your ear as he whispered in a teasing tone:

—Be quiet for me, okay, pretty girl?

You nodded quickly, biting your lip to suppress any sound.

—Ni-ki? —he answered, his voice still rough.

He tried to focus on the conversation, but right then, his hips moved involuntarily, and the pleasure that coursed through your body was too much to suppress. A muffled moan escaped your lips before you could stop it, forcing you to slap a hand over your mouth.

Too late.

—What the fuck, Jake?! —Niki’s voice rang out, clearly horrified—. Don’t tell me you’re fucking your girlfriend while talking to me! That’s fucking disgusting, dude!

Jake let out a deep chuckle, still holding you firmly against him.

—I'll call you later —he said casually, hanging up without a second thought.

He tossed the phone aside, his hands immediately returning to you, roaming your body possessively before leaning down to kiss your neck again.

—Now… where were we?

The suggestive tone in his voice and the way his fingers tightened around you made it clear—he had no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

Sunghoon☆

You had made plans to have lunch with Sunghoon, Jake, and Jay at a restaurant near the company after they finished their rehearsal. Everything seemed normal as you walked to the place, joking and chatting about random things.

Once seated, each of you ordered your food, and the conversation flowed naturally while you waited. But then, out of nowhere, you felt a warm hand rest on your knee.

Your body tensed immediately. You turned your head toward Sunghoon, giving him a warning look, but he remained as nonchalant as ever, carrying on with the conversation as if nothing was happening. His fingers started moving slowly, tracing light circles on your skin.

You tried to ignore him, forcing yourself to focus on the conversation, but the heat from his palm was impossible to disregard. And just when you thought he might stop, his hand began creeping higher, sliding up your thigh at an agonizingly slow pace.

A shiver ran down your spine. Your breathing grew heavier as his fingers grazed the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, so dangerously close to your underwear that every little touch made you hold your breath.

Discreetly, you caught his wrist in an attempt to stop him, but Sunghoon only pressed further, his fingers slipping between your legs with excruciating slowness.

The first direct touch had you biting your lips to keep quiet.

His caresses were soft but torturous, teasing you mercilessly as you struggled to keep a straight face in front of the others.

Just then, the food arrived. You sighed in relief, thinking that he would finally stop, but you were wrong. His hand didn’t move away—if anything, his touch became even more persistent.

You felt his fingers toying with the thin fabric of your underwear before effortlessly slipping beneath it.

Your back arched slightly, and on instinct, you gripped his wrist more firmly, silently begging him to stop. But Sunghoon only smirked in satisfaction, clearly enjoying the way your body reacted to him without anyone noticing.

Small, restrained gasps caught in your throat, and when your thighs tried to clamp shut, he simply nudged them apart again, his fingers growing bolder in their exploration.

And then, out of nowhere, a sudden jolt brought everything to a halt.

Sunghoon stiffened instantly, pulling his hand away in an instant. He frowned and looked up to see who had interrupted him.

Jake.

The blond was staring at him, his expression neutral, but his slightly furrowed brows made his disapproval clear. Sunghoon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, cleared his throat, and without saying a word, picked up his chopsticks and started eating as if nothing had happened.

You did the same, though your heart was still pounding, and the heat in your cheeks was impossible to hide.

Jay, completely oblivious to the situation, narrowed his eyes at the two of you.

—What the hell is up with you two? —he asked suspiciously.

No one answered. Sunghoon focused on his food, you avoided eye contact, and Jake smirked slightly, clearly satisfied with his intervention.

Jay let out a sigh, still confused.

Sunoo☆

For Sunoo, getting caught in the act was all part of the plan.

He had spent weeks listening to the guys tease him about how sweet and innocent he was, how unlikely it was for him to be with a girl. At first, he laughed it off, but over time, it started to wear on him. Did they really think he wasn’t capable of making someone feel good?

It was time to prove them wrong. And who better to help him do that than you—his best friend?

No words were needed. Just a single moment of tension, a look filled with intent, and the briefest touch before his lips crashed onto yours in a hungry, heated kiss—like you had both been waiting for this moment all along.

Before you could even process it, you were lying on the couch in the living room, Sunoo hovering over you, his body pressing against yours with the perfect mix of softness and urgency. He knew the guys would be back any minute, but rather than worry, the thought only seemed to excite him more.

His lips trailed down to your neck, leaving warm, open-mouthed kisses as his hands roamed freely.

—God… you’re so perfect —he murmured against your lips, his voice husky with desire.

One of his hands slid up to cup your breast gently, while the other trailed lower, fingertips tracing along your stomach before slipping between your thighs. With practiced ease, he found the hem of your underwear and, without breaking his rhythm, slid it down your legs before stuffing it into the pocket of his pants with a smug smile.

The first touch of his fingers against your bare skin made you arch your back. He moved with such confidence, such precision, that you couldn’t hold back a breathy sigh. Sunoo seemed to revel in your every reaction, his lips grazing your skin, leaving faint marks as he went.

And just as the tension reached its peak…

The door swung open.

The sudden sound snapped both of you out of the moment. Your heads turned simultaneously toward the entrance, where the guys stood frozen in place, eyes wide with shock, their faces a mixture of confusion and disbelief.

The room fell into complete silence.

But Sunoo didn’t even flinch.

With the utmost composure, he stood up without letting go of you and effortlessly scooped you into his arms. Turning to the stunned group, he flashed a radiant smile, clearly enjoying the effect his little stunt had caused.

—Oh wow, guys… didn’t expect you back so soon —he said, his tone laced with amusement—. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure to lock the door this time.

He shot them a playful wink before chuckling softly and carrying you off to his room, leaving them standing in stunned silence in the middle of the living room.

Mission accomplished.

Jungwon☆

The boys were just about to go on stage, each of them finishing up their preparations before the big moment. The backstage was pure chaos—stylists rushing back and forth, crew members making last-minute adjustments, and the deafening sound of the audience filling the air.

Amidst all the commotion, Jungwon suddenly appeared out of nowhere, grabbing your wrist and quickly pulling you into the dressing room. The door clicked shut behind him, and before you could even ask what was going on, his body was already pressing yours against the wall.

—Baby, I need you… —his voice was low and breathless, his eyes burning with desire.

You looked at him in confusion until your gaze dropped down—and suddenly, you understood.

—Wonnie… you have to be on stage in seven minutes —you whispered, trying to ignore the sudden heat pooling in your stomach.

He gave you a half-smirk, his fingers trailing softly down your waist.

—That’s exactly how long I need for you to help me with this —he murmured, leaning in just enough for his lips to brush against yours.

A shiver ran down your spine. You knew you shouldn’t be doing this here—not with so many people outside, not with so little time—but the way his body reacted to yours, the desperation in his eyes, the slight tremble in his breath… you couldn’t resist.

You dropped to your knees, your pulse pounding in your ears as your fingers worked quickly to undo his belt. Jungwon let out a shaky sigh as your hands wrapped around him, his body tensing at the first touch.

His fingers tangled in your hair, guiding your movements with barely restrained need.

—God… just like that… —he groaned softly, biting his lip to keep quiet.

His grip tightened slightly, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. Every sound that slipped past his lips sent waves of heat through your body, making you revel in the way he melted under your touch.

But then, the door suddenly swung open, shattering the moment.

—What the hell is going on here?!

Sunghoon’s firm, exasperated voice made you freeze instantly. Jungwon let out a frustrated grunt and quickly pulled away, fumbling to fix his clothes.

Sunghoon stared at the two of you, a mix of disbelief and irritation on his face.

—We’re about to go on stage, get dressed already, idiot —he huffed, crossing his arms.

Jungwon let out a heavy sigh, still trying to steady his breathing. Before leaving, he leaned in close to you, his lips brushing your ear as he murmured with a playful pout:

—Promise me you’ll take care of me later… I want more.

And with one last look filled with silent promises, he followed Sunghoon out, leaving you standing there, heart racing and body still burning, knowing this wasn’t over.

Ni-ki☆

It seemed like Jake had only one mission: to make Niki jealous by shamelessly flirting with you.

He spent the entire afternoon showering you with sweet compliments, winking at you, and cracking jokes that made you laugh—all while Niki watched from a distance, his frown deepening and his jaw tightening more and more.

At first, he tried to ignore it. But when he saw Jake leaning in too close, his arm brushing against yours with far too much confidence, his patience finally snapped.

Without a word, he grabbed your wrist and pulled you into his room, slamming the door shut behind him.

—Why the hell are you letting Jake flirt with you like that?! —he blurted out, his voice filled with frustration.

—Niki, oh my God, it’s not even tha—

Your words never made it out. Before you could finish, his lips crashed onto yours with overwhelming urgency.

This wasn’t a soft, playful kiss like usual. It was hungry, possessive, as if he needed to make it clear once and for all that you were his.

His hands roamed your body with desperation, gripping your waist before sliding down to squeeze your hips, pulling you even closer against him. You let out a quiet gasp against his lips, which only seemed to ignite him further.

—Tell me I’m the only one for you —he murmured breathlessly, his warm breath fanning against your lips.

His hand slipped under your shirt, trailing up your skin until it reached your chest, his grip firm yet teasing.

—Of course, you’re the only one for me, Niki —you whispered without hesitation.

The kiss deepened instantly, growing more desperate, more consuming… until the door swung open.

—Oh, for God’s sake —Sunoo’s voice broke the moment—. I came to check if you were okay after Jake’s little joke, but I see you’re being very well taken care of… so I’ll just leave.

He rolled his eyes with an amused chuckle before shutting the door behind him, leaving both of you breathless and flushed.

Niki let out a frustrated sigh, resting his forehead against your shoulder.

—Great… exactly what I needed.

But when he looked back at you, his eyes told a different story.

This wasn’t over.

[alice-everafter]

“... yes... wai—that... nono... NO—!"

Somewhere in between awake and unconscious your body abruptly jerks into action, brain forced to follow. Someone had shouted. A full on bellow and then a whoosh. But not whoosh like the wind, whoosh like fire. Like a flame surging to life amongst dry timber or old fabric and oh my god, your house was on fire. Grim had finally managed to set Ramshackle on fire and you were about to burn along with it oh god—

Idia is staring at you from across the barely lit room, headphones on and knees pulled up below his chin. His hair, waving and swishing wildly, is fading from an orange red hue to its usual blue.

"... Good morning," he mumbles, barely audible. Sat stock still like a deer in headlights.

You don't reply, still eying his hair. The pieces eventually come together, albeit slower than usual thanks to the fog of drowsiness still lingering over your mind. But once they do you flop boneless back onto the bed.

"... Rough game?" Flat on your back, you can make out the 'RESPAWN?' flashing across one of his giant monitors from the edge of your vision.

"Our healer sucks," is all he replies. The event is obviously still fresh in his mind from the way his hair whips and thrashes like Grim's tail when he's especially peeved.

"Uh huh," is all you reply. You’re still reeling with adrenaline from when your heart launched itself into your throat. Maybe you were more traumatized by fire than you thought.

Idia’s attention has gone back to his computer, if the sound of his typing is anything to go by. Probably yelling at this aforementioned healer from the way his keyboard clacks harshly amongst the silence.

You shift, shuffling deeper into the sheets, feeling the brush of the blankets under your skin. Then promptly remember that this is not your bed, but rather Idia’s.

This whole circumstance, much like every other circumstance you’ve been in since arriving to this world, was a series of domino effects. First, it was Azul inviting you to a board game club meeting. Then, you met Idia, and Azul helped you two hit it off by mentioning how you used to game back at home. Which, by the way, you have never once mentioned in the presence of Azul. But if you think about that fact for more than 15 seconds, you’ll just end up scaring yourself. So you choose not to, since you’ve had enough scares to last three lifetimes over at this point in your Overblot fighting career.

As you started getting to know Idia more, you found out that a video game from your home world just so happened to mirror a series he was particularly into. And after some especially enthusiastic encouragements from Ortho, here you were weeks later. On Idia’s bed with an old laptop of his at your side, half open.

In your defense, you didn’t originally intend to fall asleep. It’s just… his bed was comfy, and Ramshackle still has those bum mattresses.

You push up the screen and the light momentarily blinds you. Squinting, you make out your hastily made character stood in an AFK lobby. You also catch a glimpse of the time.

“Geez, it’s late…”

“Yeah.” Looking over the top of the screen, you notice that Idia has only one headphone on, the other pushed back behind his ear. He's still typing at a massively impressive speed. You're sort of starting to pity his party member, no matter how much their healing apparently sucked.

"Did you want me to get out of your hair?" You grimace the second the sentence leaves your mouth. Does what Idia have constitute as hair? Would it be more accurate to call it ‘flames’? Are you… being insensitive to supernatural hair having people??

Idia seems to be oblivious to your inner turmoil. Or maybe he just doesn’t care. Either way, he shrugs his shoulders half heartedly.

“Probs shouldn’t. There’s a curfew, so unless you want to get found by a patrolling ghost, it’s better to just stay here.”

“But…” He turns to you, hearing the uncertainty in your voice. “Is it… are you comfortable with me sleeping in your room?”

He takes the time to consider your words, gnawing on his blue tinted lips as he does. Eventually, he just shrugs again, “doesn’t matter.”

Though you haven’t known Idia long, you can recognize an introvert when you see one. Just as you can recognize the bunching of his shoulders the longer you don’t respond.

“I’ll go then,” you make up your mind and stand, willing the drowsiness from your limbs. “I’m sure I can handle a ghost or two, considering Ramshackle has a handful of them.”

He doesn’t say anything as you shut down his laptop and make your way towards the door. And you don’t really expect him to, until you’re halfway out.

“Wait.”

Looking back, he’s fully facing your retreating form. Headphones around his neck, blue brows furrowed, and lips pursed on the verge of a grimace.

“I—.. I said it was ok, didn’t I? Just stay.”

You blink, partially because you didn’t expect him to be so adamant and also because you think you’re hallucinating the way his cheeks are starting to look pink.

“Where should I sleep though? We can’t share your bed.”

“I’m not going to bed, so you use it.”

“What? The hell you mean you’re not going to bed?”

“Uh, I’m not going to bed. Has your hearing logged off along with your memory? I told you I’d be grinding all night for this event.”

“Yeah but… it’s Thursday.”

“… And?”

You’re starting to sympathize with your parents for all the times they yelled at you for staying up.

“Whatever, just…” he grumbles, swiveling his chair back to his huge expanse of monitors. “Do whatever…”

He’s got another application open on his other monitor, scrolling through some sort of social media forum. Mumbling something under his breath while his hair whips and flicks across his hunched over back.

You guess that he’s expecting you to leave.

So you step back in and close the door, throwing your stuff down where it was and marching back to reclaim your spot on his unfairly comfortable mattress that he doesn’t even deserve, since he apparently hardly sleeps on it.

Flopping right back where you were, he’s already turned his head to stare, incredulously.

“What?” You say, “you told me to do whatever. So here I am, doing whatever.”

“… Right.” His hair has fallen still around his shoulders, and remains there as you settle in.

It’s not long before you feel the pull of sleep once more as Idia gets into a new game, headphones back over his ears, knees under his chin.

“Tell your healer not to suck this time,” you think you tell him as you succumb to the pull. “So you don’t yell and wake me again.”

You’re not sure if he hears you nor if he responds, because you’re already asleep.

But then you’re not. You’re up, semi-lucid but not panicked. Gently, you rouse to the sounds of shuffling. First to one side of the room, then the other. Then towards you, towards the bed. A weight gets lifted off the edge. Idia’s laptop. He must be putting it away.

You’re scooting back before you consciously decide to. Leaving room for another body, if it wishes to take it.

Things have gone quiet and you’re falling under again.

On the edges of consciousness, the bed slowly dips. You smile as a faint warmth licks and flutters near your arms. Like hesitant flames.

You sleep, content.

[mxrcurysb1tch]

𓂃⋆.⟢ Astrology observations pt. VII ⟢ .⋆𓂃

｡𖦹° Hi my loves! I Hope you’re all doing well. Don’t forget that you can send me any astrology related questions to my asks and I will reply the best I can! (Please note that I don’t do vedic, persona charts or super minor asteroids). As always, take what resonates and leave the rest! <3

｡𖦹° 8th house synastry is the energy of unrequited obsession. It feels absolutely magnetic. Naturally, being the 8th house, the obsession will be very secretive and can involve frequently checking their socials, following them and just “happening” to be at the same place at the same time… generally just creeping on them in secret. The connection is likely to be very one-sided, with the house person being much more intrigued and concerned with the planet person. The planet person may be completely oblivious to these feelings. The house person may even be deluded into thinking there is a mutual connection. It can sometimes feel like being torn apart by the sheer weight of this longing and the impossibility of it all.

｡𖦹° 1h: Lilith/Pluto/Saturn/Capricorn/Scorpio: you probably have been told you have a resting b!tch face or just a mean looking face in general. Everyone thinks you look intimidating or angry or unapproachable. Don’t worry though, you’re baddass.

｡𖦹° Moon in the 1h synastry: The moon person is inclined to share their inner feelings with the house person because they feel intrinsically understood and comforted by them. The house person seems to instinctually know what the moon person is feeling and will know what to do to cheer them up and validate their emotions. I have this with one of my friends, his moon in my 1h, and despite us not being all that close, he opened up to me about something emotionally traumatic that happened in his life and I found myself compelled to do everything I could to make it better. We’re now really close because of that experience.

｡𖦹° I’ve noticed that 8th & 12th house natives have this interesting thing where they don’t always need direct experiences to learn lessons. I feel like they pick up on subtleties very easily so they can learn life lessons extremely fast and even without direct experience. They absorb the energy from those around them, learning what to do and what not to do just by intuiting and observing. Their lessons may be very psychic/emotional/mental rather than being outward so they can sometimes feel that though they have all of the same wisdom (and usually more) than their peers, they lack the concrete tangible experiences to go along with it and they can sometimes feel ‘left out’ of or unable to relate to the physical world.. They can also sometimes treat the physical world like it is optional or just not worth their time. 8th housers especially can develop a lot of apathy.

｡𖦹° Capricorn mars is the warrior placement. Mars is exalted in Capricorn and it is for a reason. Unless they also have other more emotional placements or afflictions, these people never ever throw fits. Instead, they calmly get on with whatever life has handed them and make the best of it every time. They are adept at turning pain into power and being extremely resourceful. They may have come from poverty or lack or even abuse but they do not wallow in it or allow it to stop them. These people have the drive and ambition to accomplish their goals despite any obstacle and that is truly an admirable trait.

｡𖦹° Libra moon with Aries Mercury is such an interesting opposition to have because they’re always talking a big game about all the thrills and dramas going on in their lives and all the people that have gotten on their bad side, who they hate and such but when you actually observe them in action they’re very accepting, easygoing people who don’t actually start drama or have these “wild” moments at all.

｡𖦹° it is really important for cardinal signs, especially moon to do something active or physical to get out of an emotional rut or stagnation. Transmuting and expelling energy is super important for them and creating something can help them to feel they’ve accomplished something for the day. Feeling useful and productive is extremely important for cardinal energy. Exercise is the biggest one imo but it could also be channeling energy into work, creative endeavours or even taking the focus off oneself and looking to helping others instead. Anything that is proactive. It may not help them to do a more passive activity or rest before they have had this release of stagnant energy because they might wind up more frustrated than before.

[lilpaigeywbb]

៵⋆ the reality of distance ៵⋆

➜ summary: surprising paige when she needs you most

➜ warnings: fluff (thats about it!) || not proofread!

➜ pairing: paige x long distance gf

➜ authors note: did we appreciate the donnie darko reference? anyways, here’s some fluff that i wrote this morning. i hope y’all enjoy!! also, feel free to ask if you want to be mentioned when i post something!! 

three weeks, twenty eight days, six hours, fourty two minutes, and twelve seconds. that was how long it had been since paige bueckers had seen her girlfriend and she was going crazy. the longest she had ever gone without you was maybe four days, mind you, at the VERY BEGINNING of your relationship but once you guys hit the 2 month mark, she was hooked. her behavior was that of a codependent puppy. she refused to be without you for five days at most. christmas breaks? she booked you flights to and from your hometown and minnesota. during the summer of your junior year, her parents weren’t surprised when she brought you with her. you were an extension of her and during long periods of time, she didn’t know what to do without you which just made going to the wings impossible. well, not really. she was so excited that she didn’t even realize she would be leaving you until she found herself in your car, driving her to the airport. you helped her get her bags from the back but she was almost in a trance. she had tried to convince you to go with her (multiple times) but you couldn’t. there was too much school stuff, too much job stuff, and too much family stuff that just had to come first. “but mama, i promise it’ll only be for a few days.” she begged, practically on her knees. “im sorry, baby” you whispered, placing a kiss to her head and waving her goodbye. luckily for paige, she was able to immerse herself in basketball so well that she didn’t have the time to think about how far away you were. she didnt have time to mope or be lost without you. 

until she did.

it was out of the blue, really. she was at a game when she saw someone who resembled you sitting courtside and it hurt. sure, she had facetimed you almost every hour of every day which helped enough but seeing someone who looked so much like you IN PERSON broke her. she felt herself succumbing to the loneliness of missing you again and everyone could see how badly it affected her. maddy noticed first, seeing how paige began to sulk. dijonai saw it in her fake smiles and forced laughs so she knew she had to take action to help out her rookie. you were sitting in your room, organizing your clothes to go back to your home state when you got a call from nai. she practically begged you to come to dallas, claiming she would get you anything you wanted and do your bidding for the rest of her life if it meant you come to surprise paige. all it took was one photo of her looking absolutely miserable for you to get on the next flight to dallas.

when you stepped into the arena, the noise was deafening. it was littered with people wearing her number on their backs and waiting for the team to start their warmups. dijonai offered for you to go into the locker room to surprise paige but you didn’t want to throw her off her game so you waited. you sat somewhere in the crowd, watching your girl play. she was even better in person than you remembered. during halftime, you got a text asking why your location was off which you ignored. then she called you. you sighed and found a quiet(ish) space to answer. “where are you? why is your location off?” she begged, clearly worried and upset by this. you sighed and glanced around. “i’m- at a club. with some friends. and i turned off my location so my parents couldn’t see?” you weren’t sure how convincing that was. probably not convincing at all because of how your voice wavered and sounded more like a question than an answer. paige huffed and you could almost see her pout. god, you wanted to see her… but you had to wait. “i dont believe you” she whined, growing more anxious. “just keep playing, baby. you’re doing so good.” “youre watching my game from the club?” “shut up.” you hung up with a small smile, returning to your seat. the wings were up 75-71 and you were cheering your heart out for your girlfriend. she was on fire. after the game (with a wings w), paige went into the locker room by dijonai waited for you. she watched as you rushed down to the court and then led you to the teams exit area. she told you to wait there, making a comment about how happy paige would be. 

about fifteen minutes later, the players started filing out, some of them recognizing you from the numerous photos paige had shown them. nai tapped your shoulder and whispered, “she’s coming out now.” you smiled and nodded, beyond ready to see your girl. you hadn’t seen her in person for so long and god, she looked good. better, close up. her muscular ar,s were protruding through her shirt and it made you want to be wrapped in her. you quickly went back to your spot behind the wall and waited for paige to walk by, waiting until her back was to you before calling, “p! can i have your autograph?”

her heart skipped a beat and she didnt hesitate to turn around, her eyes wide and so beautifully blue. she blinked a few times before it actually registered that you were there. her girlfriend was there. it took maybe less than three seconds for her to tackle you in a hug, the both of you falling on the ground. her teammates took pictures and videos, gushing over how cute you two were but she drowned them out. the only thing that mattered was you. paige nuzzled her face in your neck, not even caring that you two were on the ground. “i missed you so much,” she whispered, hugging you tighter, “don’t ever leave.” you laughed and hugged her back just as tight before helping her to stand up but she wouldn’t budge. “baby, you have to get off the floor,” you laughed, amused and touched by her childish behavior. she huffed and stood up before clinging to your arm again, looking at you like you hung the moon. 

later, you two sat on her couch in the quiet of her apartment. there were no distractions, no teammates, no schedules. just you and her, and the weight of all those days apart. paige leaned her head on your shoulder and whispered, “i didn’t realize how much i needed you.” you smiled and kissed her temple, holding her tight. “i’m here,” you promised, “i’m not going anywhere.” she smiled back and kissed your lips gently. 

the way you two were wrapped in each other reminded you that even in the reality of distance, what you had was real and nothing could change it.

[inkandapex]

in the slopes

Lando Norris x Reader

Chapter Summary: Lando and Y/N have always been inseparable, but during a snowy getaway with friends, their usual dynamic starts to shift. Unspoken feelings begin to resurface.

Word count: 6.1k

Warnings: some swearing angst & fluff

Winter isn’t exactly Y/N’s favourite season; she’d much rather be lounging under the warm sun, with her feet in the water and sand tangled in her hair. But alas, Quadrant's annual team-building getaway was set in the snowy slopes of Whistler.

"What could you possibly need this for?" Lando pauses his game and turns in his seat as he hears Max hysterically laughing at the whistle he found in Y/N's luggage.

"Give me that! Why are you two even here? Don't you have to pack your own stuff or something" Y/N whines and snatches the whistle from Max, tossing it across her bedroom.

"Max, be nice. It took a lot of grovelling to get her to agree to be in the video, let alone come with us," Lando laughs, turning back around to focus on his game.

"You better not be messing with my sims Lando, I spent hours building that house from scratch" Y/N sighs as she sits on the floor with a pile of clothes in her arms

"I don't know what you're so worried about Y/N, I'm not the best at skiing either. You'll pick it up quick" Max says as he sits on the floor helping her fold the clothes

"Yeah, remember you did so well when we did that karting video. You even ended up liking it more than you thought you would"

"Alright enough pep talk, i'm not used to you muppets acting so nice. Pizza's here. Norris get your ass off my computer and help me fit all of these into my bag" Y/N stands up as she receives a notification on her phone

Lando sits across from Max as Y/N leaves the room. Max watches his friend attempt to tidily fold a shirt before he lets off a scoff.

"What?"

"Please tell me you're finally telling her this week, I can't keep a secret any longer. P is starting to notice"

"Keep you voice down! And what do you mean P's starting to notice" Lando hisses, leaning back to peek out the door checking if Y/n was anywhere within earshot

"Mate, I get so nervous when she asks about you two! The other day, she asked if you two were together, and I just got all weird and defensive, trying to explain why you'd be hanging out together, when she was clearly just asking cause you both played padel that morning and she needed to ask Y/n about a dress" Max explains, almost out of breath, running his hand across his hair

"You're acting like it's so easy for me. Oh, thanks for being such a great friend for the decade I’ve known you, Y/N. By the way, I have feelings for you—no, scratch that—I’m in love with you." Lando chucks the shirt at Max, rolling his eyes as he lies back on the floor.

"That works"

"Shut up.... I just— its y/n, you know? I fuck this up, everything changes. Its not just about me and her"

"Look, I don’t want to get in your head, but I honestly think she might feel the same way. She shows up to races, she’s there for you whenever you need her, shit your family loves her. You're overthinking this, tell her how you feel. That's a good start"

Lando sits up, propping himself on his elbows, a defeated look crossing his face. "Exactly, she might feel the same way... if she doesn’t, it’s gonna get weird. I can't ruin our friendship like that"

"I can meddle"

"No! No meddling! This ski trip is for the team. When I find the courage to tell her, i will"

"More like when you find your balls..."

"Foods here! Come out here, no eating in my bedroom!" Lando kicks Max's leg just in time for Y/N to announce her return, pizza boxes in hand.

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

After a long day of skiing and filming, the group made their way back to the cabin just before sunset, just enough time to unwind before dinner. Y/N sank into the plush sofa by the crackling fireplace, the warmth from the flames making her sigh in relief. Wrapped up in a thick, soft blanket, she leaned back, absentmindedly scrolling through her phone.

"Wanna grab a little snack before dinner? I saw this cute cafe near by" Pietra plops down beside her, laying her head on her lap

Y/N lets out a groan, putting her phone away "P, please i'm so sore. I honestly think you'd have to drag me by my feet for dinner tonight"

"Oh but you did great today. You should've seen Max his first time on the slopes, it was almost sad." P sits up to give y/n some relief

"Where is he anyways? Go ask him to go to the cafe with you- bring me back a muffin while you're at it"

"He’s with his boyfriend, going over clips from today…" Pietra pauses, crossing her legs and narrowing her eyes at Y/N, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Speaking of my boyfriend’s boyfriend—what’s going on between you and Lando?" She leans forward slightly, her gaze sharp and accusing, as if she’s piecing something together.

This makes y/n frown, confusion spreading across her face "Me and Lando? What do you mean?"

"Come on, Y/N," Pietra says with a playful grin, leaning in as she pokes Y/N’s arm. "Ever since the season ended, you two have been hanging out way more. And didn’t you spend Christmas with his family? Oh, and let’s not forget today! On the slopes, he was literally stuck by your side the entire time—he’s usually off showing off or racing with the guys." She wiggles her eyebrows, clearly enjoying the tease, her gaze never leaving Y/N as if waiting for some kind of confession.

Y/N laughs, giving Pietra a gentle shove. "Did you hit your head out there?" she teases.

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Lando and I hang out all the time, it’s just that we’ve had more time recently. Plus, it’s not the first time I’ve spent Christmas with the Norris family." She shrugs casually, then continues, her tone softening slightly as she recalls the day. "And as for today, well, it was my first time skiing, and Lando insisted I join the trip to begin with. I guess he just wanted to make sure someone was there to keep me from falling on my face the whole time." She laughs again, shaking her head, clearly not fazed by the teasing, but her explanation still carries a hint of warmth.

"Huh... I could've sworn you were hiding something. I mean even Max acts all weird whenever I bring the two of you up"

"Max? What? About Lando and I?"

"Yeah, he gets all defensive whenever I bring up the two of you," Pietra says with a shrug, her eyes narrowing playfully. "I thought you two finally sucked it up and acted on whatever’s going on between you."

"Whatever's going on?"

"Come on y/n. You clearly have feelings for Lando. You may lie to everyone else but I see through you" Pietra laughs

"I’m— no. Me? Feelings for Lando?" Y/N stutters, her voice faltering as she shifts uncomfortably in her seat, suddenly feeling a knot tighten in her stomach. She tugs at the edge of her blanket, avoiding Pietra's gaze.

She forces a nervous laugh, but it sounds hollow, the tension in the room thickening. "Yeah, right. No— no, that��s not…" Her sentence fizzles out, her mind racing, but she can’t quite find the right words.

Pietra's jaw drops, her eyes widening in surprise before a sly grin slowly spreads across her face. "Oh my gosh..." she murmurs, her voice rising with the realization. "I was just messing with you, but—" She leans in closer, her smile growing wider as she watches Y/N squirm. "You do have feelings for him!"

Y/N's heart skips a beat, the words hitting her harder than expected. Was it that obvious? Did everyone see it? The weight of it all settles heavily on her, her stomach flipping in a way that both unsettles and excites her. "No, I—" she starts, but her voice is barely a whisper, unsure of what to say next.

"Y/N!" Pietra exclaims, her voice filled with a mix of disbelief and excitement. "He obviously feels the same way. Why else would Max be acting like that whenever I ask about you two?"

Y/N's stomach tightens, a wave of nervous energy making her insides churn. Could it be? Was it really possible that Lando felt the same way about her? Her heart skips at the thought, but then the doubts creep in, drowning out any sense of hope. No, he couldn’t possibly... Lando was Lando, the guy who was always surrounded by people, always the center of attention, effortlessly charming everyone around him. And she... she was just Y/N. Just a friend.

He only sees me as a friend. The words loop in her mind. Nothing more than that. They’d always been friends, nothing had ever suggested anything different, right? She feels a strange tightness in her throat, as if even acknowledging the possibility of something more would shatter the delicate balance they’d always had.

"Oh, honey, I’m sorry," Pietra says softly, her tone shifting as she notices the distant look in Y/N's eyes.

"I didn’t mean to make it weird," she adds, her voice softening. "But you know, everyone’s been kind of... wondering." Her eyes meet Y/N’s, a mix of empathy and understanding in them, as if offering a lifeline in the middle of the uncertainty.

Y/N lets out a laugh, shaking her head as she looks at Pietra. "You're just saying that to make the voices go away," she teases, trying to deflect, though her tone carries an edge of nervousness.

Pietra grins, unfazed. "No, seriously! A few of the newer people on the team genuinely thought you two were a thing when they first joined Quadrant." She leans back, raising an eyebrow as she watches Y/N's reaction, knowing full well that the thought might have crossed her mind too. The comment lingers, like an unspoken truth that makes the room feel a little smaller.

The sound of footsteps coming from the stairs behind them makes both Y/N and Pietra turn their heads in sync.

"You're not getting ready yet?" Max says, his voice teasing but with a hint of impatience. "Our reservation's in an hour, and we're starving. We can't be late."

He walks down the stairs with Lando trailing just behind him, moving toward the two on the sofa. Max leans down, planting a gentle kiss on Pietra's head as he passes, a small smile tugging at his lips. Lando follows closely, his gaze briefly flickering to Y/N before he glances away, his expression unreadable. The atmosphere shifts again, subtle but charged, as everyone feels the undercurrent of what’s unspoken.

"We might have to drag Y/N by her feet to the restaurant—her words, not mine," Pietra laughs softly, her voice playful as Max sits beside her, pulling her closer for a quick cuddle.

This catches Lando’s attention, and he pushes away from the counter in the kitchen, his footsteps quick and purposeful as he strides across the room toward the couch. He stops just short of them, his eyes narrowing slightly with concern. "Why? What’s wrong? You feeling okay?" he asks, his tone laced with genuine care, though his usual confident swagger seems a little softer.

"No—yeah, I’m okay, just sore, really," Y/N says, her voice a little shaky as she forces a smile at Lando. "I’ll be fine. P, we should get ready."

She stands up quickly, giving Lando a brief but reassuring smile before turning towards the stairs. As Y/N begins to head up, Pietra stands too, shooting Max a knowing look that doesn’t go unnoticed. Max raises an eyebrow, but Pietra simply follows Y/N up the stairs.

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

Dinner went by smoothly, the lively chatter and laughter around the table giving Y/N the perfect distraction from the lingering thoughts she’d been trying to push away. Lando’s presence felt comforting, like a steady anchor, though she couldn’t help but notice the occasional glance he threw her way—just enough to keep the butterflies fluttering in her stomach, but not enough to make her feel overwhelmed. For now, she was content to enjoy the evening, letting the connection with her friends fill the space that her doubts had briefly occupied.

Y/N lies on her bed, the soft glow from her phone casts a faint light across the room, but her mind is still tangled in the conversation earlier. She barely notices the time passing until a soft knock at her door pulls her attention away.

She sits up quickly, smoothing her hair back, and calls out, "Come in."

Lando slips into her room quietly, a bottle of water in his hands. He stands at the foot of the bed "Hey, sorry, were you about to sleep?" he asks, his voice gentle but with an undercurrent of concern.

"No, you're good," Y/N replies with a small laugh "Just on my phone... struggling to sleep, honestly." She smiles up at him, her eyes warm as she pats the space beside her. "What's up?"

Lando hesitates for just a moment, he crosses the room and sits down, the familiar weight of his presence settling next to her. He reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a small pill bottle, offering it to her along with the water bottle.

"Painkillers," he says, his tone casual but with an underlying kindness. "Thought you could use some if you want to be able to hit the slopes again tomorrow. We’re doing the sled race, remember?"

Y/N lets out a relieved sigh, her shoulders relaxing as she takes the pill from him, followed by a sip of water. "Thank you," she says, her voice soft. "I can’t believe I forgot to pack some."

Lando waves it off with a small grin. "All good," he says, his eyes meeting hers briefly. "Take one tomorrow before we head out too if you're still hurting."

She nods, feeling the knot in her shoulders start to loosen. The warmth of his presence is more comforting than she expected, and for a moment, the weight of everything else melts away.

"Do you fancy an ice cream?" Lando asks, a mischievous smirk creeping across his face as he nudges Y/N gently with his elbow.

Y/N raises an eyebrow at him, laughter bubbling up in her chest. "Ice cream? It’s almost midnight— and, uhmm... oh right, it's freezing outside," she says, her voice light with amusement. She shakes her head, grinning at his antics, but the playful glint in his eyes makes it clear he’s not giving up on the idea so easily.

Lando shrugs dramatically, the smirk never leaving his face. "Who says you can’t have ice cream in the middle of the night?" he teases, nudging her again as if trying to convince her to join his impromptu late-night mission.

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

The two walk back to the cabin, their laughter echoing in the crisp night air as they reminisce about the day’s adventures. Every so often, their arms gently brush against each other, the shared warmth a quiet comfort between them.

"Aren’t you glad I made you come up here?" Lando says, a playful gleam in his eye. "Next year, you could even try snowboarding" He wiggles his brows at Y/N, his voice teasing as if he’s already picturing her falling all over again.

Y/N groans dramatically, her breath visible in the cold night. "Can't we just go to the beach or somewhere warm that doesn’t require me to fight for my life and fall on my ass every couple of meters?" She stops walking, planting her feet firmly in protest, her face scrunched in exaggerated annoyance.

Lando laughs, his eyes twinkling as he glances at her. "Come on, you big baby," he teases, reaching for her hand and pulling her gently toward the cabin. "Let’s get inside. Your nose is so red."

Y/N huffs but lets him pull her along, the warmth of his hand in hers making her forget the cold. She can’t help but smile, even if she’d never admit how much she enjoyed their little banter.

They stand just outside Y/N's door, Y/N looks up at him with a playful smirk, her arms crossed loosely in front of her. "Thank you for tonight," she says with a hint of warmth in her voice. "Though if I wake up with a cold tomorrow, I’m blaming you and your ice cream escapade."

Lando chuckles, his eyes softening as he leans against the doorframe, his smile lazy but genuine. "I’ll be sure to nurse you back to health," he says, his voice low and easy, but with an undertone of sincerity. "I’ll be across the hall if you need me."

For a moment, neither of them speaks. Silence hangs in the air, a tension growing, subtle but undeniable. Their eyes meet and linger, flicking back and forth between each other's lips, the space between them feeling smaller with every passing second.

Lando’s breath catches slightly as he notices the way her lips part just a fraction, and Y/N, almost without realizing, shifts a little closer, the energy between them thickening.

Y/N takes a deep breath, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her jacket as she glances at Lando. “Lando... I— I’ve been thinking about us—” Her voice is quieter than she meant it to be.

Lando’s eyes widen in a split-second of panic, and he quickly cuts her off, almost too quickly. “Us? About us?” His tone is a little too sharp, his expression tight, as if he’s bracing himself for something.

Y/N freezes, but then gathers her thoughts, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Yes, our relationship—” She bites her lip, her heart pounding in her chest as she takes a step forward.

Lando blinks rapidly, trying to process her words. “—our relationship?” His voice cracks slightly, and his gaze shifts to the floor before quickly snapping back to hers.

Y/N nods, her hands trembling slightly at her sides. “Yes, well, no, I mean, our relationship as friends, of course!” She laughs nervously, her voice trailing off, trying to downplay the growing knot in her stomach.

Lando lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “Yeah, of course... uhmm, what about it?”

Y/N’s heart sinks a little, but she tries to push through the discomfort. “I just… I don’t know, Lando. I’ve been wondering if maybe we’re both feeling the same thing, you know? About... more than just friendship?” Her voice falters at the end, uncertainty creeping in.

Lando’s face flushes slightly, and he takes a step back, a defensive edge to his tone. “Oh well I mean, yeah we’re good friends, right? Best friends even, you and Max.” He says it quickly, almost too quickly, his words stumbling over themselves as if he's trying to convince himself just as much as her.

The silence that follows feels like an eternity. Y/N looks away, her stomach sinking, the words she was about to say hanging heavy in the air between them. She clears her throat, trying to force a smile, but it feels like it’s made of glass, fragile and thin. “Right,” she says softly, her voice almost too quiet. “I get it.”

Lando stands there for a moment, his expression caught somewhere between relief and regret. He can feel the weight of the situation, but he’s not sure what to say next. He couldn't bring himself to tell her how he really felt. "You... feel that way right? I mean you see me as your best friend?" he says quickly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but stopping short when he realizes how awkward it feels. "Maybe even your bestest friend, even over Max or P" Lando lets out a nervous chuckle in the attempt to ease the uneasiness filling the air.

Y/N nods, her eyes not meeting his. “Yeah, of course. Max isn't even top 3. Hey, I’m gonna head in and get some rest.” y/n attempts to return the banter as she turns slightly, her hand already on the doorknob, her pulse still racing from the conversation.

She pauses at the door, giving him a quick glance over her shoulder, the faintest trace of a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, though it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "Goodnight, Lando," she says softly before stepping inside and closing the door behind her.

Lando stands there for a moment, his hand still lingering in the air, unsure of whether he should follow her or just walk away. After a few moments, he sighs, shaking his head as he walks back toward his own room, the unspoken tension lingering in the silence of the hallway.

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

Lando laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling for what felt like hours, the thoughts of the conversation with Y/N replaying over and over in his mind. He couldn’t shake the feeling of regret, the missed opportunity to tell her how he really felt. Every time he closed his eyes, her face kept coming back to him, the look in her eyes that made him realize he might have just ruined everything by not saying what he’d wanted to say.

The sun was barely up when Lando found himself standing in the hallway, his heart racing as he made his way to Max and P's room.

"Max, you've got to get up, mate," Lando whispered urgently, his voice low but insistent, shaking Max awake.

Max let out a groan, his eyes barely open as he tried to make out his friend’s figure in the dim light of the room, the sun just starting to peek through the closed curtains. "What? Lando. What time is it?" His voice was thick with sleep.

"It’s... it’s early, I know. But I need to talk. I can’t stop thinking about it, mate. I messed up."

Max rubbed his eyes, finally managing to sit up, his confusion turning into concern. "Wait, what happened?" He yawned and stretched, still groggy but fully aware that Lando was rarely this urgent unless something serious was going on.

Lando ran a hand through his hair, pacing a little as he tried to find the words. "I didn’t tell her how I really feel, Max. And now I’m just stuck. I can’t stop thinking about it. I— I think I might’ve blown it." His voice was strained, frustration seeping through every word.

Max sat up straighter now, fully awake as he processed his friend's words. “Wait you’re talking about Y/N, right?” He rubbed his face, trying to make sense of Lando’s sudden shift in mood.

Lando paused, looking at Max, his face tight with the weight of everything. “She brought it up, she asked about us- our friendship and I just froze. I panicked, Max. I said I think she's my best friend, my closest friend and if you could've seen the look on her face... now I don’t know what to do. It’s messing with me."

"You idiot" a sharp toned voice makes the two look to the other side of the bed, a once sleeping P has now pulled her eye mask off, a dissatisfied look on her face. "She obviously likes you too Lando. You two are just too scared of actually facing how you truly feel. I literally had her confess to me last night before dinner"

Lando blinked in surprise, the realization hitting him harder than he expected. He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Max, on the other hand, sat back with an amused expression, taking in the scene unfolding before him.

"Wait—what?" Lando managed after a beat, completely caught off guard.

Max let out a heavy sigh, his tone softening. "Lando, you’ve been dodging it for how long now? What did you expect? That she’d just magically figure it out? You’ve got to be honest with her, mate. If you really feel something for her, you can’t just pretend it’s nothing. You owe her the truth".

Lando nodded, taking in his friend’s words. "Yeah, you're right. I just... don’t want to mess things up more than I already have."

Max shook his head, a knowing look on his face. “You’ve got to take the chance, mate. Just... talk to her. Don’t wait any longer. I can't even begin to think about whats going on in her head right now- you pretty much shut her down”

Lando sat back down on the edge of the bed, rubbing his face in frustration. “I don’t know what to say. What if she doesn't believe me— I don't want her to think i'm playing with her feelings on purpose, it was a genuine lapse of judgement I panicked.”

"Well, that’s the risk, isn’t it?" Max replied, his voice matter-of-fact. "But at least you’ll know for sure. The worst thing you can do is keep holding back. You’re already in deep, mate. Just go for it."

Lando sat silently for a moment, taking in Max’s advice, feeling a mix of relief and anxiety swirling inside him. He knew Max was right, but it didn’t make it any easier. With a long sigh, he stood up from the bed, a new sense of determination in his steps.

“Alright,” Lando said, giving Max a look of appreciation.

Max gave him a reassuring nod. "Just don’t overthink it."

Lando nodded, heading for the door. Before he left, he turned back to P speaking up as she put her eye mask back on. “You know, if it goes horribly wrong, I’m gonna kick your ass for hurting her.”

Max chuckled, leaning back into the pillows. “Yeah, i'd take that as motivation to fix this. Go get her, Lando.”

As Lando walked down the hallway, his mind was set. He couldn’t let another day go by without telling Y/N how he felt. It was now or never.

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

Lando had been pacing around the kitchen for what felt like hours, trying to gather his thoughts. Max and P walk towards him, the nervous energy was starting to crawl back under his skin.

"Have you guys seen—" he started, but P immediately cut him off, her tone firm yet surprisingly quiet.

"What did you do?" she asked, a knowing look in her eyes as she crossed her arms. "I thought you left our room this morning ready to fix things between the two of you."

Lando's mouth went dry, his words caught in his throat. He shifted from foot to foot, suddenly feeling like he was fifteen again and in trouble with his parents. "I tried, I peeked in her room and she was sleeping and I felt bad i didn't want to wake her. I came back a few hours later she wasn't in her room" His voice was a little shaky, and his hands fumbled with the sleeve of his jacket as he tried to avoid their eyes.

P raised an eyebrow, her expression a mix of frustration and disbelief. "So you didn’t do it? That's why she won't leave her room" crossing her arms even tighter, clearly not buying his half-hearted excuse. "You’re seriously going to stand there and tell me you didn’t even try again?"

Lando swallowed hard, the weight of the situation settling in. "I... I didn't know she was back. I don't even know where she went this morning— wait she won't leave her room?"

"She said she's feeling sick and that she caught a cold but she's clearly been crying. Lando she won't even tell me about what happened last night, she's hurting"

Max, who had been listening quietly. "Mate, you’re a mess," he said, sitting down on the counter with his arms crossed, his tone matter-of-fact. "You’ve been overthinking this for months now. It’s honestly exhausting. Now you've managed to drag her into this mess."

Lando exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair, his frustration clear.

Max gave a short laugh, shaking his head. "Mate, you’re already screwing it up by not talking to her. Go up there and fix it"

P stepped forward, her voice a little gentler now, but still firm. "Just go talk to her. Tell her exactly how you feel. You’ll either get your answer, or you won’t. But you can’t keep pretending like nothing’s going on."

With a deep breath, he nodded. "I’ll go talk to her. Try to occupy the rest of the team while we're gone" He straightened up, trying to shake off the nervousness that had settled in his stomach like a knot.

Max smiled, though there was a hint of mischief in his eyes. "Don't worry, we'll figure something out. And Lando?" he called as he started to head for the door.

"Yeah?" he turned back, his mind already racing with what to say to her.

"Don’t come back until you’ve told her. And if you screw it up, you’re buying us dinner for a week" Max said with a wink.

Lando shot him a look, but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "I’ll keep that in mind," he muttered, and with one final deep breath, he turned to head toward Y/N’s room.

This time, there was no turning back.

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

Another knock echoes through the room, causing Y/N to stir in her blanket cocoon. She sniffles and clears her throat, trying to hide the evidence of a long night’s worth of tears.

"P, I told you I’ll be fine. I don’t want anyone catching my cold. You guys go have fun," she calls out, her voice thick with exhaustion.

"It’s me," Lando’s voice filters through the door, catching Y/N off guard. She sits up quickly, her heart racing—what on earth could he want now?

Y/N hurriedly wipes at her face, but the mirror doesn’t lie. Her eyes are swollen, her cheeks streaked with dried tears, and her nose is a fiery red. She exhales in defeat.

With a soft groan, she cracks the door open "I already told Max and P I won’t be joining you guys," she says quietly, her voice heavy with guilt. "I’m really sorry, Lando. You should go... Everyone else is probably waiting."

Lando’s gaze softens, his brow furrowing as he steps closer, his tone gentle but knowing. "You’re upset about last night."

"I don’t know why I said what I said, but that’s not how I really feel," Lando insists, his voice laced with frustration, but the sight of the frown etched on Y/N’s face only deepens his anxiety.

Y/N’s gaze drops to the floor, her voice barely above a whisper, soft and tinged with hurt. "She told you, didn’t she?" The words feel like a weight she can’t shake off. She never imagined P would share something so personal, and now, she feels more exposed than ever.

Lando hesitates, shifting uncomfortably. "Yes, well… technically, she overheard me talking to Max about last night and—"

"You told Max about last night?" Y/N interrupts. She lifts her gaze, her eyes wide with disbelief. "What, me trying to confess my feelings for you and you immediately dismissing it wasn’t embarrassing enough? You had to go tell Max?"

“Y/N, no! That’s not what I—" Lando stammers. He takes a breath, gathering his courage. "I like you. I’ve liked you for months now. Max was the only person I’ve told.” The confession spills out before he can stop it, and for the first time, a sense of relief washes over him.

Y/N’s expression falters, a deep frown settling on her face as she tries to process his words. "Don't do that... please," she says softly, almost pleading. Her voice cracks slightly as she shakes her head. "You don’t have to lie to make me feel better about this." She struggles to fully comprehend what he’s just said.

"But I'm not lying!" Lando insists, his voice filled with urgency. His hands shake as he tries to convey the truth, the weight of his feelings finally spilling out. "For months, I’ve been debating whether or not to act on it. I didn’t know if you felt the same way... I didn’t know what I’d do if you didn’t." He reaches out, his hand trembling as he gently tries to take hers, hoping for a sign that she might believe him.

Y/N is still caught in the confusion of it all, but as his hand brushes against hers, something settles in her chest. The warmth of his touch brings a surprising sense of comfort, and she swallows back the confusion that’s been choking her. "But... last night?" she asks quietly, her voice shaky.

Lando’s eyes soften, and he looks down, clearly conflicted. "I panicked," he admits, his words coming out in a rush. "You bringing up how we might feel about each other was the last thing on my mind. Fuck, I didn’t even think it was possible. All the scenarios I made in my head were about how I’d finally tell you... how much I wanted to be with you." He looks up at her then, vulnerable and raw, his expression filled with regret. "I was just so scared you wouldn’t feel the same."

Y/N takes a deep breath, her chest tight with emotion. She finally meets Lando's gaze, and the moment their eyes lock, it’s as if time slows. The words that have been tangled in her mind for so long finally slip free, and she whispers, "I do... feel the same way."

A small, almost hesitant smile begins to form on Lando’s face. It’s the kind of smile that tells her he’s been holding his breath, waiting for this moment, unsure if he’d ever hear the words he desperately needed to hear. His eyes soften as he takes a step closer, and for a moment, everything feels like it’s falling into place.

Lando’s hands gently cup her face, his touch tender and careful, as if she’s something precious he’s afraid of breaking. His thumbs lightly brush against her cheeks before he reaches up to tuck a few stray strands of hair behind her ear. He lets his fingers linger there for a moment, feeling the warmth of her skin under his touch, before his hand gently rests on the side of her neck.

There’s a quiet intensity in the air now, a shared understanding that neither of them wants to break.

Lando’s smile widens ever so slightly, his thumb brushing along her cheekbone in a way that sends a warm shiver down her spine. "You have no idea how much I needed to hear that," he says softly, his voice still tinged with disbelief, as though he can’t quite believe this is happening.

Lando leans in, his forehead gently resting against hers, as if allowing the moment to sink in. There’s no rush, no need to fill the space with words anymore. All that’s left is the feeling between them—a feeling that says more than words ever could.

Lando’s breath catches as he hovers just inches from her face, his gaze flickering between her eyes and her lips. In a voice barely above a whisper, he murmurs, “I’m going to kiss you now.” his breath warm against her skin.

Y/N’s lips curl into a soft smirk, her eyes glinting with a mix of playfulness and something deeper. “About time,” she teases, her voice light, but there's a knowing edge to it. “For an F1 driver, you're quite slow.”

Lando’s eyes flash with amusement, a soft laugh escaping him as he shakes his head. “You’re lucky I really like you,” he responds, his voice warm with affection and the lingering hint of a smile. Before she can say another word, he closes the gap between them, his lips brushing gently against hers.

The kiss is slow at first, a gentle exploration, as if both of them are savouring the moment that’s been so long in the making. Lando’s hand moves to the back of her neck, pulling her a little closer as the kiss deepens, a surge of relief and longing finally being released between them. For all the uncertainty, the teasing, the games—they’re here now, and everything else fades away.

[aangelinakii]

SMASH.

— smash or pass red hood?

summary : red hood better watch out next time he's on patrol because he's got a fan. jason doesn't know how to feel about this.

note : a bit shit but i hope you enjoy lovelies

warning : crude language but nothing comes of it

"wonder woman is quite an obvious one," one of your friends, roy, chuckled as he brought his brown pint up to his lips, the blanket of foam on top leaving a few white bubbles in the beginnings of a new stubble.

around the table, there came a few hums of agreement, sheepish smiles as people sipped on their drinks.

someone else — in the midst of the loud chatter of the crowded bar you'd miraculously found a table in, pool cues clicking against shiny, coloured balls, cheers ringing out whenever a player kicked the ball into the goalpost on the wall-mounted televisions — suggested green lantern, but not the ginger one with the bad haircut, which earned a few laughs, too.

from the other side of dick, where his girlfriend sat, wally chuckled and jokingly glanced about the bar. "don't speak too loudly, i don't want him to hear us. you know guy, he's always just... somewhere."

kory, dick's girlfriend, piped up, causing all eyes, slightly bleary, her curls coming in and out of focus. "i don't know, i thought i would the smash him." she glanced at the other patrons at the table. "is that not a unanimous opinion?"

some mouths opened slightly, unsure whether to laugh or judge, or cry.

beer halfway to his chin, dick's eyebrows furrowed together, and a finger twitched from where it lay upon kory's shoulder. his glass hit the wood of the table with a clink, and he peered over at the slope of her nose. "do you have something you want to tell me?" he asked, humorous, though, even past the near-slur of his words, it was a half-joke.

more than a few empty glasses in front of you, the unfinished ice cubes melting into a new drink of water, the foam of some still fizzing, you opened your mouth to throw a new hero into the fray.

living amongst heroes and vigilantes made for some interesting games of smash or pass? especially when you and your friends are a good amount of drinks down, and most of the group are lacking in the dating category (save for dick and kory, but they're always welcome.)

"green lantern this, aquaman that. have you guys even taken a minute to think about the people without the powers?" you gasped, hands coming up from under the table to emphasise your point. "like... hey, red hood could freaking get it."

all around, figures tensed, smiles grew, laughs chuckling past teeth, some drinks getting choked on and nearly spat out.

beside you, jason cleared his throat as he lifted his dark, half-finished third pint of beer to his lips.

taking in the withdrawn smiles of your friends, although you couldn't process it as quickly and accurately as you could most of the time, you leaned forward even more so over the table, almost nudging over a few drinks.

"do you guys not agree!?" you nearly shrieked, genuinely taken aback that no one else was so quick to smash red hood, as they had been to smash wonder woman.

a few eyes met across the table, although none of them yours.

when stuff like this got brought up, your friends began to feel more and more guilty that they hadn't revealed to you such an important part of their lives; what they usually got up to most nights.

they claimed to have tricky jobs, all over the place, with hours that seemed to come in the day of.

normally, talking about heroes was fine, as long as the conversation remained justice league-centred, and never sifted too close to the titans or batman's sidekicks (although, if sober you thought about it, dick and jason, and even wally sometimes, seemed to get uptight whenever you called robin or kid flash a sidekick).

and you had definitely hit a nerve this time.

"didn't realise you were so into red hood," roy commented from opposite you, his fiery eyebrows twitching in amusement.

"into him?" you practically guffawed. "oh, i'd smash him until he can't remember his own name."

if you'd been finishing your drinks at a slower rate, you'd have noticed the playful glint in his hazel eyes as they flitted over to the brick-built guy beside you, though he seemed to have been shrinking into himself by the minute.

fingers closing in around your cold glass, you chuckled into the drink, your clouded mind not allowing you to shut that running mouth of yours. "in the kitchen, on the floor, in the shower, against the wall, in the backseat of the car." you paused as you brought your drink to your lips. "the bed, obviously," you had to add.

buzzing with laughter, wally nodded to jason beside you, causing all alarmed eyes to turn on him. "where do you think red hood would wanna get smashed, jace?"

knuckles white with the strength of which he clenched his fist around his pint glass, jason gave a sigh, lifting his eyes from the pond of beer to his friends in shame.

his gaze trailed along to settle on you. you, cheeks flushed, stare wavering, frame shifting absently in your chair. you, who had no idea.

with the huff of a sigh, he gave a shrug, lips thinning, and he looked back down into his drink.

one day you'd know.

[vivimura]

PAIRING ~ bf!nrk x gf!reader

SUMMARY ~ when you visit your boyfriend to spend time with him, he downright ignores you and continues gaming leading to a grumpy play fight which soon escalates into something not so playful.

GENRE ~ fluff, suggestive.

WORD COUNT ~ 1.485k

ᯓ★ i had fun writing this ngl.

when you giddily turned the doorknob to riki's bedroom in his dorm apartment, your face rotted into one of disbelief. the room was dark, except for the large, obnoxiously bright tv screen near one wall of the room, with riki sitting across to it on a small black leather couch, a warm lamp lit on his side. he had a pair of gaming headphones snug on his head, one which had a mic to convey his less than clean exclamations of frustration at his teammates. there was a controller in his dexterous hands, his tongue darting out ever so often and teeth sunk into his plump bottom lip in focus. he didn't seem to have noticed you were even there, and to make things worse, he wore just a thin black tee and basketball shorts. it was a simple outfit, yet effective in driving you crazy in all the right ways.

you sighed and rolled your eyes. damn it. if you didn't know any better, he had probably spent all day glued to his couch, and it was probably going to remain that way unless you did something. you rid yourself of your puffer jacket, clearing your throat as you neatly folded it in an attempt to get him to at least acknowledge your arrival. but of course, your attempts were in vain. 

you knew for a fact that he wasn't utterly unaware of your entrance, given how the corner of his lips tugged up into the tiniest ghost of a smirk. he was playing a game you were familiar with. he sensed you walking closer to where the couch was, but paid it no mind, the yelling and screaming of his other online gaming teammates ringing out through the air along with his own voice. it was only once you were standing between the couch and tv, arms on your hips, that he craned his neck up to look at you, a smug expression forming on his face. you narrowed your eyes into a glare, tapping your foot on the ground, waiting for him to take his darned headphones.  he chuckled lowly, continuing to game by peaking over your shoulder for a few more seconds out of thorough enjoyment of watching you stew and grow impatient. but, he knew he should set a limit to his teasing. he took off his headphones and leaned forward to set them, along with his controller down on the coffee table in front of him. "something wrong?" he teased, his tone all too playful for your liking. “oh, don’t give me that. and quit smiling.” you almost immediately responded, crossing your arms over your chest. “it’s cold as balls outside, but i still came to see you. you didn’t even look my way!” you scolded, but it came off more as whining to your boyfriend. 

he held his hands up in mock surrender, a small smirk still tugged at his lips at your pouty expression. he had to admit, you were pretty cute when you were mad. "i'm sorry, i'm sorry." he chuckled again, patting the empty space next to him on the couch. "come, sit. i'll make it up to you, yeah?"

you felt your irritation slowly but surely subside, but kept your expression indifferent. with a petulant ‘hmph!’, you looked at the spot riki patted at, and then at riki. you dodged the edge of the coffee table by the couch, deciding to climb up onto riki’s lap, straddling his thighs instead.

he could only shake his head fondly, his soft and deep laughter ringing in your ears. he was more than happy to indulge you. he leaned back against the cushions of the couch, gaze never leaving yours as one hand found a place at the small of your back.

“pay attention to me.” you whined, rather demanded, nudging your scrunched nose with riki’s. he chuckled to himself and hummed playfully, landing a gentle pinch on your hip and watching your reaction with sheer amusement. your demand earned a huff from him before he replied, "you're literally sitting in my lap right now, baby. how much more attention do you want?" “i don't know, i don’t care..”, you continued, wrapping your arms around his torso in a firm grip and burying your face into your neck. as much as you tried to act bratty and annoyed, you couldn't deny how flustered amused smirks made you feel.

he wrapped his arms around your waist in response, keeping you firmly against him, your small form pressed up against his much larger frame. your neediness was only driving his smirk to widen. "needy baby." he teased, one hand finding your hair and gently running his fingers through it. a frown of irritation formed yet again at his little tease. you further dug your face into the crook of his neck, your mind working overtime on how to reply. when you couldn’t, you decided to land a bite on his neck as ‘punishment’. he let out a slight huff in surprise at the feeling of your teeth against his skin, his grip around your waist tightening somewhat as he did. "little brat." he muttered under his breath, lightly tugging on a few strands of your hair as a 'punishment' of his own. “oww..” you pouted, dramatically massaging the spot on my scalp. you pulled your face out of the crook of his neck, announcing your irritation with a frowny face. apart from irritation, there was a certain flare of competitiveness in your eyes. oh, it was so on. the pads of your fingers and palm made contact with riki’s chest as you landed a slap on it in return.

"hey-" he cut himself off with a scoff when you slapped his chest, the expression on his face growing into a smirk once more. he knew all too well about your playful tendencies, and his competitive nature was beginning to be triggered now. without a word, he suddenly hooked one arm leg under your thighs, the other near your waist and lifted you up. with a few long strides, he carried you to his bed before you could even process what was happening, unceremoniously dropping you onto his bed. your eyes widened, and before you could even try shouting at him or wriggling out of his hold, you landed on the black duvet covering his twin bed with a bounce. dumbfounded, you exclaimed, “did you just body slam me, riki?!” he chuckled as he crawled onto the bed between your legs, hovering over you on all fours. his smirk grew as he watched you pout up at him, clearly not too happy about the way you had landed on the bed. "i guess you could say that. did you like it?" he asked in a teasing tone, one of his hands going to tease under your shirt. “i- wha-” butterflies. god, butterflies had likely colonised your stomach over his stupid smirks and how he could easily manhandle you into doing essentially anything. but, you knew better than to give him the satisfaction of seeing how flustered you were. you concealed your feelings with a grumpy pout and maybe just a little genuine embarrassment of your own lack of strength. “you can’t just do that!” he chuckled yet again, his hand still exploring your exposed skin under your shirt, slowly making its way up to your ribs, right under the lacy edge of your bra as he continued to look down at you. your bratty behavior amused him, and he was always fond of how easy it was for him to tease you. "i just did, baby. it's fucking adorable how easy it was to." he cooed, his hot breath fanning against your neck, his nose nuzzled into its subtly fragranced skin. if you were standing right now, you were certain your knees would've given out. there was something so attractive about riki's confidence, not to mention his little cuss, that it turned you on in ways almost embarrassing. you shakily exhaled and frowned in slight offense, realizing you were a gone case if you stayed there any longer. stuck under some of the weight of his larger, muscular frame, you began squirming and wriggling in hopes to coax yourself out of his grip. he simply scoffed and grinned at your efforts to escape from under him and used the hand not snuck up your shirt to pin both your wrists over your head. he now pressed his lips against the side of your neck, planting a few gentle kisses before speaking again. "stop squirming." he whispered next to your ear before nipping at the lobe. you felt your face heat up, a tingle between your legs now undeniable. you bit the insides of your cheeks and let out a silent shaky exhale. you continued squirming under him, now using a tactic of pity to get away from the situation. “let me go, you’re heavy...” he lifted his head from your neck to flash you a wolfish grin, using his knees to spread your legs apart. the next thing you knew was his very evident erection pressed right by your thigh, and his hot, deep whisper right by your lips, “nah.” part 2

[thehmn]

I was joking about Kojima doing something freaky with Heartman in Death Stranding 2 but never in my wildest imagination could I have come up with this.

Spoilers below the cut.

This right here has some insane implications for Heartman’s future love life.

Deadman and Sam are this game’s version of Hal and Snake from Metal Gear Solid. In their first game together Hal will ride off into the sunset with Snake if Meryl, the female love interest, dies and in subsequent games Snake and Hal have moved in together and raised a daughter though Snake still has flings with women here and there. Even though they’re never a confirmed couple it’s strongly implied by them living as a family and they get a lot of callbacks to other confirmed couples, including confirmed same-sex couples.

Sam and Deadman aren’t far off. Once they start suspecting that they can’t trust the president Deadman joins Sam in the shower partly to drown out their conversation but he also press Sam up against the wall so it’ll look like they’re having sex. That way no one will wonder why they’re always sneaking off together. But later on they get a much more emotional connection and in a heartfelt scene Deadman puts his hand on baby Lou’s pod as if it was a pregnant belly and basically asks Sam “The three of us, we’re a family, aren’t we?” and by the end they hold Lou together looking exactly like a couple of loving dads. Before they part ways they hold each other tight in a way Sam hasn’t done with anyone else. In the second game Deadman even tells Fragile he knows Sam’s body better than anyone, which is even less subtle than “I know the major better than anyone” from Metal Gear which is considered one of the most explicit confirmations of a gay couple in the franchise.

So Sam is devastated when he learns Deadman died in Death Stranding 2. Deadman plays a cruel joke on Sam by letting him think he can hug him only for Sam to tumble through the holographic message. In Deadman’s defence he didn’t know he’d be dead by then and probably assumed they’d be able to hold each other for real eventually.

He still found a way to return to Sam though. He donated his heart to Heartman who had abused his own heart to the point of breaking it completely. With Deadman and Heartman’s newfound connection Deadman is now able to possess Heartman’s body in the three minutes Heartman dies every 21 minutes and later on they seem to come to an agreement where Deadman can take over Heartman’s body whenever he wants.

Deadman in Heartman’s body lures Sam to a hidden corner where he explains the situation and Sam eagerly throws himself into Deadman’s arms…just in time for Heartman to wake up. Everything about both Sam and Heartman’s reactions tells us this wasn’t an innocent hug. Heartman clearly feels confused and violated so Dollman asks Sam to leave so he can explain the situation to Heartman.

Heartman seems to really think it over because one morning Sam wakes up in Heartman’s lab just as Heartman is coming back to life, suggesting Deadman had a hand in setting the situation up. Heartman sits down uncomfortably close to Sam as if he’s trying to tell him something. They talk about the state of the world for a bit before Heartman tells Sam that he too is in love with a woman, The Hydrologist, who lives in his lab and who has build a hotspring for Heartman, comparing the hotspring to love and making love. He then tells Sam that he can use his hotspring whenever he wants. No prices for guessing what he means.

We don’t know if Sam takes him up on the offer but Heartman basically told him “I’m okay with the three of you sharing my body” The Hydrologist even calls Heartman “our shared friend” whenever she talks to Sam. Just wild Kojima.