#anyways if you know me you did not see this

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

I really loved your career day fic and I was wondering if you could do a Shut up mom fic with the same lineup with nanami tho if you write for him🥺 👉👈

Shut up, Mom!

Tags: teeth rotting fluff, mostly crack, cursing, jjk men as dads / fem!reader

An: I would be delighted to write this anon :) my requests are open, loves. If you want me to write a specific idea, definitely ask and I’ll try to deliver on it! also, if anyone wants to be on a taglist please let me know. So, I gave Sukuna a kid in this one because I didn’t really see Yuji calling you mom or him dad. Yuji calls you two unc and auntie :)

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

“Aoi, did you take out the trash?” You ask your nine-year-old son while trying not to giggle. Aoi has recently discovered pranks, and he suggested playing one on Satoru. You couldn’t help but think that was an amazing idea.

Your husband was leisurely sitting on the couch, playing a game on the console he and your son shared. He was able to see you from his peripheral vision while you and Aoi were in the dining room. He didn’t seem to be too intrigued by the conversation, but Satoru is a chronic eavesdropper. He can’t help it with his technique and all.

“No, mom. Why can’t you do it?” Aoi plays his role perfectly, even throwing in an annoyed groan at you. Gojo cut his eyes towards you two, but he stayed silent for a moment. He knew this was your battle to face, and he wasn’t usually the disciplinary parent anyways.

“Because I told you to do it, Aoi. It’s your chore.” You say, putting on a serious voice as you would if he had really been sassing off to you.

“Ugh. Shut up, mom!” Aoi yells with a dramatic eye roll.

Immediately, you hear the game console cut off. It seems like you two had garnered Satoru’s attention. Footsteps carry into the dining room, and your all too tall husband leans against the doorframe.

Aoi sees his father, and his eyes widen. Your little actor. He then tries to walk off, but Satoru easily put his hand out against Aoi’s chest, preventing him from going anywhere.

“Woah, woah, woah, there little man. Who do you think you’re talking to there?” He interjects as his hands slowly unwrap his bindings from around his eyes, letting you know that he’s about to get serious.

“She’s getting on my nerves, dad!” Aoi continues to play the role, even though you can tell that he’s scared shitless.

“Hey, look at me.” Satoru says as he bends his knees to be eye level with Aoi. Your son complies with his dad’s order. “I don’t give a shit, okay? Never, and I mean, never tell your mother to shut up unless you intend on fighting me afterwards. She says to take out the trash, you say yes and take out the trash. Do you understand me?” Satoru says as he holds his son’s shoulders, squeezing them a bit so Aoi knows he’s not fooling around.

“Because I don’t think you want to fight me, do you?” Satoru questions. His blue eyes beam in the light, making your son nervously sweat.

“Baby, it’s just a prank.” You quickly interject with a laugh as you gently nudge your husband away from your son.

“Yeah dad, I was just acting!!” Aoi’s nervous gaze flutters into an adorable smile.

Satoru rolls his eyes and playfully laughs along. “You two are too silly, makin’ me turn off my game for this.” He shakes his head as he wraps his eyes back up.

“You were like gonna hollow purple me!” Aoi shouts with an excited laugh, and he reenacts Satoru’s cursed technique.

“Yeah, I love your mom a little too much.” Satoru responds with a grin up towards your direction.

SUGURU

Mimiko and Nanako are coming into their teen years, and recently, they’ve been obsessed with the idea of TikTok. After seeing the “shut up mom” prank all over, they knew that they had to play it on Suguru.

You, of course, agreed to help them pull off their little shenanigan.

“You two are not going out. It’s a school night.” You chide at the twin girls, giving them a small wink as Suguru was enjoying a cup of tea while sitting at the breakfast bar. He was scrolling mindlessly on his phone, reading the news or something like that.

“Mom, please. Everyone’s going.” Nanako pled and even threw in a small pout.

“Yeah, who cares if it’s a school night?” Mimiko chimed in.

“Girls.” Suguru warned as he normally did when you were having to deal with the twins. He didn’t like the idea of the girls ganging up on you.

“I said no. I bet you two didn’t even do your homework yet either.” You carry on, eyeing the two girls as if they were really in trouble.

“Ugh! Mom, shut up!” The girls somehow managed to say in sync. The two had obviously practiced their lines.

The tea glass hit the counter, and Suguru a stood up from his seat on the stool. “Hey. I don’t ever want to hear that kind of language in this house, especially not to your mother. Got that?” He said as he eyed your daughters.

Your husband was a bit of a strict father to the girls. He really just wanted them to turn out good, so he was the main disciplinary figure in the house.

“Dad! She’s-“

“Aht.” He cuts Mimiko off, and starts to walk up to the girls. “I didn’t ask. Apologize to your mother this instant. Then, go upstairs and do your homework. You two are grounded from going out for at least a month.”

“Sugu, it’s a prank.” You say as you can’t hold back a laugh from how angry he got that quickly. “It’s a prank, sweetie.”

Your two girls were nodding quickly, holding their hands out in surrender. “We saw it on TikTok!”

Suguru rolls his eyes at the three of you. “That app is no good for you.” He quietly chides. “Did you two do your homework?”

Mimiko and Nanako exchange nervous glances, and they both run up to their rooms to get it done.

Your husband laughs quietly and shakes his head before sitting back down on his stool. You walk over towards him and card your fingers through his long hair. He lets out a long exhale of contentment while leaning his head into your touch. “What are we gonna do with those two, hm?”

“Love them and try our best to teach them.” You softly respond before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

TOJI

Toji is a pretty laid back dad. He lets you take the lead on a lot of the parenting aspects, since it comes to you more naturally than it does with him. However.. he has his moments.

“Megumi, come help me do the dishes.” You say to your 13-year-old son. He’s in that weird stage of puberty where you’re his best friend one day and his worst enemy the next, which means he sometimes agreed to play pranks with you.

“Busy, mom.” He mumbles at the table as he’s trying to learn the hand signs for one of his shikigami. He was left learning this stuff on his own since Toji wasn’t a sorcerer, and you weren’t apart of the Zenin clan. You had no idea how to do the hand gestures.

“You can do that after you’re done helping me, Gumi.” You say as you turn on the kitchen sink. Your son doesn’t even acknowledge that you said anything.

Toji eyes him from his seat at the dining table, waiting for his son to comply.

“Gumi. Get in here.” You finally say after a minute of him not responding to you.

“Shut up, Mom!” He raises his voice at you, and immediately, Toji is on him quicker than you could respond.

“What did you just say to your mother, brat?” Toji grits as he stares down at his teenage son. Megumi looked back up at him mortified. “I brought you in this world, and I will take your ass out of it if I hear you speak to your mom like that again.”

“Baby, baby, baby, it’s a prank!” You say as you rush over to Toji. Megumi cracks a nervous smile, and you gently nudge Toji back.

“It’s a prank!” Megumi shouts as he leans back away from Toji slightly.

Your husband lets out an annoyed grunt. “You two play too much. Gonna make me kill my own son.” He says as he releases Megumi’s shoulder. He walks back over to his seat at the dining table and smacks your ass on the way back.

SUKUNA

“Ryu, come take out the trash!” You yell to your son. He recently brought up the idea of pranking Sukuna by yelling at you to shut up in front of him. You had urged your son that this was a bad idea, but he was persistent.

Sukuna was sat at the dining table, eating whatever Uraume had prepared for him. Usually, Uraume handled the trash as well, but you distinctly told them to leave it.

There’s no response.

“Ryu! Trash now!” You call out again in a more frustrated tone.

Sukuna is biting his tongue at this point. There is nothing that he hates more than insolence, especially towards you. You’re his queen, and he demands for all to respect you, including his son.

No response.

“Ryu!”

“Okay mom! Shut the fuck up!”

All four of Sukuna’s eyes widened, and he put down his fork. “Domain expansion. Malevolent-“

“It’s a prank!” You shout as you spin to look at Sukuna quickly. Your son is standing behind you, quite literally trembling in fear.

“Yeah- it’s a p-prank, dad.” Ryu stutters out.

Sukuna narrows his gaze, and he looks between the two of you. “Foolish.” He grunts. “Boy, come have a seat.” He commands, and your son reluctantly complies.

“If you ever pull some shit like that seriously, I’m not afraid to start over and make a new kid. I got nothing but time on my hands.” Your husband says while eyeing your son.

“Ryu’s a good kid, Kuna.” You assure him as you walk over to your husband and rub on his shoulders a bit.

“Mmm, for now.” He mumbles, and he nods his head to the trashcan. “Take the trash out.”

NANAMI

Your husband was sitting in the living room, enjoying his “lazy Sunday” as he called it. He had a cup of coffee in one hand and a book in the other. He couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the life he was living right now.

He had everything he ever dreamed of: a stable job, an amazing wife, a small family in a loving home.

You were sitting next to him, casually rubbing on his thigh through his pajama pants. You and your daughter had been texting about playing a prank on your dear husband, and it was finally going to happen.

“Hana, did you fold the clothes like I told you to?” You call out to your daughter as she’s in her bedroom. Nanami turns a page in his book, still not paying too much attention.

“Mom, I’m doing something!” Your daughter yells back.

“Hana, get in here and fold those clothes!” You shout back, getting a bit more serious. Nanami lets out a small sigh as he places his mug on the coffee table. He’s normally quick to nip Hana’s attitude in the bud.

“I’m busy!”

“Hana!”

“Okay mom! Just shut up already!” She finally yells as she storms into the living room. Nanami shuts his book and immediately stares down your daughter.

“What did you just say?” He asks as he sits up from his cozy position. His jaw tightens a bit as he glares at Hana.

“I just told her to shut up. She’s being overdramatic.” Your daughter continues, playing her part perfectly.

“Who’s her? Your mother? You’re telling my wife to shut up?” Nanami says as he starts to stand up.

“It’s just a prank, Ken!”

“Dad, it’s a prank-!”

You and your daughter both shout nervously, and Nanami looks at both of you confused for a moment. It then clicks in his head. “God, don’t stress me out like that.” He chides as he relaxes back on the couch. He wraps his arm back around you and picks up his book again.

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au (chapter 16 + 17) tw: violence, injuries, and misogynistic language

first chapter >> last chapter

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Sinking into fear is the body’s natural response. You let it envelope you without putting up a struggle. It wouldn’t be one that you’d win anyway. Resistance already leaks out of you like tar, pooling around your quivering legs.  

It makes you feel lighter than air, almost buoyant; and conversely, heavier than lead. 

You can’t feel the cold metal of the gun through the layers of fabric separating it from the skin of your back, but you can feel its weight. And you can imagine it burning into you, burning a ring into the flesh, the muzzle leaving faint depressions behind, circular indents.

“Don’t feel so clever now, huh?”

Fear chokes as well as it binds. When the man you remember as Graves (appropriately named, you think, the gravity of the situation sinking into you as well) drawls the words into your ear, any moisture in your mouth dries. 

“Well?” he prompts, shoving the gun harder into your back, almost sending you toppling into the shelf still in front of you obscuring you from sight. “Got anythin’ to say?”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out.

“You a mute, girl? I know you ain’t deaf since you heard I’d been sniffin’ around lookin’ for ya. ‘Least I’m guessin’ you did, since you managed to give me the slip for the whole time I was in town.” He sniffs. “Took me a while to find out you were shacked up with the sheriff. Hiding in plain sight. Couldn’t believe I missed ya when Sheriff Price was damn near the first person I met in this two-bit town.”

You finally muster up the nerve to speak. “Y-you’re making a mistake.” 

The furled upper lip is audible in his voice. “I’d try not to piss me off too much, sugar. Lyin’ just rubs me the wrong way is all.”

“No, you—you really don’t—” 

He shoves the gun harder into your back, making you wince. “Now, I know you’re a slippery little bitch, so I’ll level with you, alright?” Graves murmurs, pitching his voice low to ensure that only you hear. “You make so much as a peep—so much as a fuckin’ whisper—and I’ll shoot. Wink and I’ll shoot. I am dyin’ for you to give me a reason to go with the better half of the dead or alive question.”

There’s no point in lying. It might’ve worked had it been anyone but the man holding you hostage; not a man as stubborn and mulish as him. You nod when he asks if you understand.

“Now get to steppin’.”

He doesn’t tarry long, leading you out of the shop with a hand on your shoulder and . You stare at Miles with mounting horror, wordlessly begging him to look up from the ledger open in front of him on the counter. Your prayers go unanswered though; he doesn’t so much as glance towards the door before it’s swinging shut behind you.

“Remember,” Graves says in a low voice as the two of you step out onto the porch, “not a word. I will shoot anyone that tries to interfere.” 

That kills the impulse to shout for help. 

The thought of letting Graves take you away without voicing so much as a single plea fills you with horror, but you can’t see any other way out. He walks you through the streets like an old friend, the pistol still wedged into your back obscured by his coat. No one seems to notice the wild look in your eyes or the strained edge of your smile. 

Your behavior infuriates you. Demural and soft and wretched. You’ve only allowed one man to put you under their thumb; only one has ever earned the right. 

The thought of your husband is an ache in your chest that doesn’t abate. It thumps with the terrified flutter of your heart. You half wonder if he’ll suddenly appear from around a bend and wrench you into his arms, gun already drawn and aimed at the man attempting to take you away from him. 

“My husband—” you start, tripping over your words. Almost tripping over a rock as well since your spine is too stiff to let you look down at the ground while you walk. “—He can—he can pay you.”

He laughs, a nasty, mocking sound. “I’m sure he’d like to, sugar. Jus' ain’t sure he’s got the cash to pay your price.”

“At least let me ask—”

At that, he jams the gun violently into the small of your back, making you wince agaun. Petrified. Sweat sluices off your brow and drips down your face. “What part of shut the fuck up don’t you get?”

That silences you. Hard to muster up the nerve to retaliate with a gun lodged against the base of your spine. Still there’s so much that bears asking. Why did he come back? Why here—why now? 

The town takes on a dull, listless quality as he steers you away from the more crowded areas. It’s almost like looking through muslin; a veil between you and the world. 

Your eyes dart from person to person as they pass by in the opposite direction, but even those that bother to meet your gaze only smile politely, a couple passing gentlemen chirping, “Morning, Mrs. Price” before sweeping by in a hurry. 

None question the wild, frantic glint in your eye, the look of a horse about to bolt. If they paid you more than a moment’s notice, they might, but even the lady who frowns curiously at Graves, his hand still resting gently on your arm as if he were an old, dear friend, abandons her momentary curiosity when her companion says something of interest, pulling her back into their conversation. The flicker of hope in your belly dies a soundless death. 

There’s something almost phantasmagorical about the entire ordeal. Almost like it isn’t quite happening, like you can’t quite make yourself believe that this is, in fact, real. Like you’re watching from outside of yourself. Though you can see the wooden facades of the nearby buildings and smell the scent of hay and manure from the livery stable, it doesn’t resonate within you as real. 

He meanders through town with you stationed in front of him. A meat shield. Collateral damage. Simply by the way he maneuvers you through the crowd, he reduces you to a body, stripping you of any semblance of personhood. You’re less than meat to him, less than human even—no more than a meal ticket. 

When you muster up the courage to open your mouth the next time someone passes you by, Graves’ hand slides up to your shoulder and he digs his fingers into the bone. A warning. 

“If you think I was kiddin’ before, just try me,” he sneers into your ear, thumb pressing into your shoulder blade until you wince. 

Again, his voice dispels any thought of getting someone’s attention. 

He doesn’t lead you towards the train station like you expect. Instead, he heads to an awning beneath the saloon on the periphery of town where a couple horses are leashed to a post, waiting for their riders to come untie them. The roof of the awning is strung with a dense cluster of overlapping cobwebs. A spider scuttles across the web and into the dark inner recesses of the canopy. 

This far from the center of town, there’s hardly anyone. When you give your surroundings a quick glance, you can’t find a single other soul within earshot, only a single man pushing open the batwing doors on his way into the saloon. Then you’re alone again. 

A tawny gelding chuffs when Graves approaches.  When he suddenly unhands you, it doesn’t click until he’s several paces away from you, running his hand down his horse’s neck and rifling through the saddlebags, emptying the contents of his coat pockets into them. You have to glance down at your shoulder just to be sure. He sheathes his gun as well, tucking it into the holster fixed to his belt. 

“Bought the horse off a drunk three towns back,” Graves explains while loading up the horse.

You don’t respond, still unsettled. It’s the first time since he led you out of the general store that his gun hasn’t been aimed at you. It wouldn’t be practical for him to dress and load the horse one handed. The sun beats down on you, burning the top of your head. This could be your moment—a moment to scream or run away.

But you don’t. You don’t scream and you don’t run because you are, above all else, a coward. Through and through. You’ve been running from your problems for months now, leaving someone else to take care of the mess you left behind. 

Fear paralyzes you; it makes you think too much or not at all. Even now, with Graves giving you the perfect opportunity to turn and run, you can’t stop thinking about the potential consequences. What if he were to shoot you? What if he were to haul you back into town and expose your sins to everyone who gathered around? What if the people in town that have come to see you as one of their own were to gather around your crumpled form and stare at you with vitriol and disgust? 

“How did you—” you start, then pause to breathe, the nausea building again. “I thought you’d left town.”

“You’d’ve liked that, huh?” 

You don’t answer that. You know better than to antagonize a man with a gun. 

He sighs when you don’t rise to the bait, almost pettish. “Wedding announcement. I saw it in the paper—by then, I’d moved on to Lexington, so it took me awhile to backtrack, but I just knew somethin’ about that bit in the paper about the sheriff’s wife hailing from the east coast didn’t sound right. Too big of a coincidence. Had to at least be sure—retrace my footsteps. Lotta money on the line, you know.”

You stare straight ahead at that. You ought to have known. 

(“In the paper. The county sheriff got hitched—of course it’d be a story.”)

“To be honest, that kinda cracked me up. Murderess marrying the county sheriff.” He snorts out a laugh, shaking his head. “Sorta thing you’d read about in a dime novel.”

A new emotion wells up within you. It simmers in your belly, hot and cold at once. Righteous fury. All this time, you’ve been betraying yourself with your silence, allowing men to read your fear as guilt. Complicit in your own ruin. 

“I’m not a murderer.”

The look he gives you is withering. “Sugar, I hate to break it to you, but you did kill a man.”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Nothing ever does, it seems.  But the more you hold it in, the uglier the thought seems, until it erupts from your chest like Vesuvius, lava and tephra shooting out. 

“He deserved it,” you finally spit out, the words coming from deep in your chest. 

Graves doesn’t even pause in his ministrations, back to tightening the saddle straps. 

“He deserved it,” you repeat, spittle flying out of your mouth and landing in the dirt between the two of you. 

“That’s not somethin’ I usually concern myself with,” he finally says, looking distinctly unimpressed when he meets your stare. Bored blue eyes. 

You’re struck by the sense that your life means so little to him that the circumstances surrounding your bounty hardly merit more than a passing thought. If he could spare less, he would. 

It’s the vilest thing in the world to be regarded with such bored contempt. 

“He would’ve—he would’ve raped me otherwise. I didn’t have a choice.” 

At that, Graves pauses. When he looks towards you, his eyes are curiously blank. 

“Better that than what’ll happen now,” he says, the words so perfunctory that it takes a moment for them to sink in.  When they do, you have to swallow back bile.

His glibness shatters whatever hope you’d had left. 

In that moment, you finally acknowledge that appealing to his sense of decency won’t lead you anywhere because it simply doesn’t exist within him. You’ve known men like him before—those more concerned with lining their own pockets than taking care of the vulnerable people around them. The archetype is not uncommon. You should’ve expected it even, especially from a bounty hunter. 

There won’t be any bribing him or talking your way out of the situation you’ve found yourself in. Whatever facinorous end awaits you back east, he’s happy to shepherd you there so long as it earns him his thirty coins. 

How many times do you have to ask yourself if you’re brave enough to do something before you answer? 

When Graves turns to face you again and takes a step towards you, likely to urge you up onto the saddle, you recoil, stumbling away from him. His eyes sharpen at your movement, fulvous wolf eyes narrowing on you. 

“And here I thought you’d stopped pissin’ me off,” he says lightly, a hard edge underlying his words. His hand lifts to rest against the handle of the revolver tucked back in its sheath, thumb flexing over it. 

“What’s the point?” you retort, nostrils flaring. “You either kill me here or I die there.”

You sound braver than you feel, fear making you shake so hard that your knees almost knock together. 

Graves’ smile is all lip, no crinkling around the eyes. “Oh, I won’t kill you, sugar. I’m a better shot than that.”

Your heart pounds against your ribcage, stomach turning over at the thought of him putting a bullet through your shoulder or leg. 

“I’m surprised you won’t just come quietly. You think the sheriff wouldn’t hand you over to me himself if he found out what kinda woman he married?”

That’s been your fear from the very beginning. The one thing that’s kept you awake at night, the nightmare shaking you out of a dead sleep. You’d convinced yourself that him calling the authorities or even escorting you back east himself was an inevitability. That John Price, paragon of virtue, wouldn’t bend the rules for anyone, much less you. 

But the more you think about it, the less sense it seems to make. Every tender word and touch rises to the forefront of your memory. If John has shown you anything, it’s love. He’s proven his devotion a thousand times over, shown you time and again that were you to leave, he’d come running. 

Suddenly, the thought that your husband would let someone take you away from him seems preposterous. It doesn’t align at all with the man you know. He’d go to hell and back for you, would rip out a man’s tongue for speaking to you the way Graves speaks to you now. Hindsight makes that clear. 

You meet his eyes, intention set. “I’d rather just ask him.”

Blue eyes turn to flint, flat. Droll candor shed for ruthlessness. Silence before a storm. 

He’s on you before you even have a chance to whirl around and make a run for it, arm cutting into your windpipe when he wraps it around your neck. He drags you back into the shadows of the awning, out of sight from anyone on the street; your heels score lines in the dirt. You choke, wheezing on your next breath, but his arm tightens, trapping the scream in your throat. 

“Shoulda done this before,” Graves grunts, reaching into his back pocket and pulling out the pair of cuffs he had tucked away. 

When he unhooks his arm from around your neck, you gasp for breath, sucking in deep lungfuls of air. Panic swirls and rises in your chest. 

“Get your hands off—” you hiss, beating his arm with your fist to no avail. He yanks your arms in front of you until your wrists are pressed close together. Your blood curdles at the feeling of cold iron against your skin and the gut-wrenching sound of handcuffs being fixed around your wrists, tightened to the point of pain. You can hardly flex your hands with how tight they’re bound. “Let me go, let ME GO—”

He pulls you in close again. “Don’t think I won’t tape your fuckin’ mouth shut too,” Graves snarls in your ear. Nausea swells in your belly. 

“Please— please don’t do this—” you beg, a sob breaking from your chest now. 

He sighs, long suffering. “Lord knows I tried to warn you.”

Despite the threat, Graves doesn’t tape your mouth shut. Instead, he fastens a rough piece of rope around your head, fitting it between your teeth like a bit. You don’t have it in you to be thankful for small mercies this time. The hemp cord scratches the corners of your mouth when you try to move your lips around it. 

“There,” he says, giving you a rough shake, satisfied. “That’s better. Can finally hear myself think.”

The tears leak out of the corners of your eyes in big, fat droplets, clouding your vision. When he wipes your cheeks with a calloused hand, the nail of his thumb catches on the delicate skin under your eye, leaving a thin cut. The pain makes you flinch, staring daggers at the man in front of you, but he doesn’t apologize for his rough handling. 

Graves heaves himself up onto the saddle first, swinging a leg over with practiced ease. You yelp when he hauls you up after, setting you on the saddle in front of him. Heat crawls up your neck when your skirt billows around your waist, horrified. 

“Save your tears, sugar,” he tells you, gathering the reins in one hand. “You’ll need ‘em for later.”

The horse whinnies when Graves pulls upward and guides him towards the road leading out of town, hooves clopping against the dirt. Your heart shoots up into your throat. 

Galloping out of town, you chance a glance back, head spinning as the world blurs around you. A man stands under the awning you just left, his head cocked as if stupefied. He’s too far away for you to get a proper look at his face though, no way to tell if he’s someone that might recognize you and alert John. You try to scream or wave your hands—anything to get his attention, to let the stranger know that something is wrong. 

You watch until the figure melds into the surrounding town. 

You keep waiting for someone to appear from behind you. A tall figure to darken the horizon, blot it like the moon passing over the sun. 

The last bastion of your hope collapses into rubble the farther away you ride, no man nor horse following you in pursuit. And then a hand grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches your head back around, cutting off your view.

The plan is to leave the horse in the next town you reach and take a train back east. Graves would’ve done that back in the town you just left, he tells you, but he wanted to put as much distance between you and the sheriff. 

“You never know with men who’ve gotten a taste of married life,” he says when he finally deigns to stop miles from town, sitting on a rock and having a drink while he leaves you tied to the horse by your wrists. You shift from foot to foot, a cramp winding up your legs. “They get themselves a little pussy and lose all sense of dignity or morality. Can’t be trusted to do the right thing.” 

Steam practically billows out of your ears. You have the good sense to keep your mouth shut though, cognizant of the fact that you’re alone out in the middle of nowhere with a man who’d be happy to bring you back dead or alive. Though he hasn’t been quite so explicit, it’s apparent in the way he doesn’t offer to untie you or let you rest as well. The skin under the cuffs on your wrists are rubbed raw from your attempts to free yourself, and from the journey itself, with all the jostling and the persistent cramp in your right shoulder. 

The animal awareness dawns on you during that first rest. He’d taken the rope out when you were far enough outside of town that it didn’t matter if you screamed or not. That’s what stays your tongue now—the creeping notion that you are far from anyone that would be remotely sympathetic to your plight. 

“How much was the bounty?” you ask, more out of morbid curiosity than anything. You balance on one foot to shake the cramp out of the other. 

“Now, I hate to be rude, sugar, but what does it matter to you? It ain’t you collecting the reward.”

Your lips flatten into a taut line, already regretting prying. It’s not like knowing would change anything. 

The break ends sooner than you’d hoped, Graves urging you back onto the horse before taking a seat behind you. It troubles you because you’re not far enough away from town that you couldn’t still be rescued. There’d be more of a chance of John or someone else—one of his deputies, perhaps—coming across you out here. But you don’t have much of a choice. 

Out here, the land stretches on without end. Only the faint blue of a mountain ridge paralleling your route breaks the horizon. The land is flat, sparse apart from the dense shrubbery and trees twisted and bent by the wind. Cottonwood and boxelder. Chokecherry. Dogwood and hawthorn. Lush blooming saltbrush. 

The clear blue sky overhead is almost mocking, the rain from earlier long since abated. There’s hardly a cloud in the sky now. It’d be scenic if you could abstract it from the circumstances. A perfect day for gardening or a brisk walk after being kept indoors because of the rain. You’re still damp from riding through the rain earlier. 

A few bison congregate in a small dip in the terrain, grazing on the wild grass. You stare at them wide-eyed as you gallop along the upper ridge, startled by the sight of so many in one place. 

Despite the sublime beauty of the land, you remain on edge, unable to take anything in or truly enjoy it. Panic and revulsion leave you as gnarled and knotted as the krummholz trees out in the middle of the open plains. Riding with Graves feels nothing like the few times you and John shared a horse. It’s impersonal; transactional. Entirely against your will. 

The sun has only just begun to descend under the horizon when you and Graves approach a ramshackle house situated by itself in the middle of the open plains. Barely more than a barn, and long since abandoned by the looks of it. Age has done the place no favors; wooden slats sag and separate from the exterior of the house, the gaps in between the boards letting in all manner of insects and rot. 

Graves dismounts his horse about a stone’s throw from the hovel. His brow furrows with dissatisfaction as he surveys the abandoned property. 

“Shit,” he remarks, sucking his teeth. “A local back in town swore a family still lived here. Don’t look like anyone’s lived here since Abraham.”

Part of you wishes the former tenants still resided here, on the off possibility that one might take pity on you, but a much larger part of you is grateful for the dwelling’s vacancy. You’ve heard stories before, of families living out in the middle of nowhere. Rumors. Not all bad, of course; it’s common enough for families migrating west sometimes to stop along the way for a generation or two, building more permanent dwellings than the caravans they began their journey in. Many such families were also known for putting up travelers passing through in exchange for goods or help with chores. 

But you’ve also heard other stories. Like the Riley family out near Cherryvale and their homestead just off the Great Osage Trail. They lived out there for more than two decades before the number of lone travelers vanishing off the trail within walking distance of their property pointed the finger of suspicion at them. When the authorities finally got around to procuring a warrant for their property, they found the house deserted apart from the furniture that couldn’t be loaded into the wagon and an infant boy, dehydrated and petrified. 

You shake the story from your head. “…Are we spending the night here?” you ask tentatively. 

He looks at you from the corner of his eye, nostrils flared. “Don’t go gettin’ any ideas in that head of yours. Jus’ because a man’s gotta rest his eyes, don’t mean I gotta give you a peaceful night’s rest. No, I’m leavin’ those hands of yours tied.”

Your hopes deflate at that. 

He helps you dismount before hobbling his horse with a pair of leather straps around its front legs to keep it from darting off in the middle of the night. You wince sympathetically; you have more in common with a horse now than any man. 

The inside of the cabin is just as derelict as the exterior. At the very least, he feeds you. A couple scoops of pemmican straight from the tin. The fact that he insists on feeding you instead of letting you feed yourself puts you on edge. Your spine is stiff as a board through it all, your mouth barely opening up to receive the spoonful of pemmican, the metal clanking against your teeth. You wince, the sound itself tasting of rust. 

At all times, you are aware of the precarity of your situation. You can’t imagine there were any stipulations in the bounty to bring you back unscathed. Though he hasn’t tried anything untoward so far—not so much as made a licentious remark—you don’t know how long your luck will last. You flinch every time he so much as twitches in your direction, sure at any moment his mood will flip and he’ll drag you across the floor and haul himself over you. 

It’s enough to make your stomach hurt, turning over itself. He doesn’t try anything though, and for that you exhale shakily, the tension running off you in rivulets. 

One hour drags into the next. Night blackens the sky, seeping in through the crumbling walls of the cabin. 

“Well,” Graves says, wiping his hands together to dust off any lingering crumbs. “I’m gonna hit the hay.”

“Do…do I get to sleep as well?”

He cocks a brow. “Not much I can do to stop you.”

“It’s just that…” You lift your hands as you trail off, silently pointing out the handcuffs still secured around your wrists, the implicit assertion being that you won’t be able to sleep with the metal digging into the bones of your wrists. 

Graves scoffs. “You can’t think I’ll just uncuff you ‘cause we ain’t in town no more. I got a little more sense than that, sugar.”

“You could use rope instead?” you suggest. 

The seconds he spends considering it are long. You hold your breath as you watch him weigh the pros and cons. 

Finally, he shrugs. “Alright.”

The relief that washes over you is almost palpable. 

He pulls a blanket out of one of the saddlebags to function as a makeshift pillow, setting it up on the floor in the center of the room. True to his word, Graves uncuffs you and loops a double knotted rope around your wrists instead, fastening the rope tying your hands together around his own wrist. Your stomach sinks as he pulls the knot taut. 

He levels a heavy stare on you after giving the rope one last tug. “I don’t usually repeat myself, sugar, but I will this one time. Don’t go tryin’ anythin’ stupid. I’m gettin’ a good night’s rest and so help me if you wake me up—” his eyes flash, gray going steely “—you won’t like the consequences.”

You nod. Swallow back the phlegm clogging your throat. 

True night plunges the old house into darkness, cricket songs slipping in through the cracks in the walls. The temperature also plunges with the setting sun. It gets cold at night, even in the summer months; the draft makes you shiver, the rotting exterior letting in the elements. 

You keep to the wall with the least amount of rotting boards, as far as the rope tethering you to Graves will allow you to go. It would probably be in your best interest to try and get some sleep, but you’re far too restless to calm down. The atmosphere in the house is far too eerie to settle your nerves either; you can’t help but wonder about the family that must have left this place to rot and fade away into memory. 

It’s all you can do to blink back the tears that spring to your eyes when you think about the memory of you that John will have to carry into the future now that you’re gone. It isn’t fair. After everything you’ve had to endure in this lifetime, you thought maybe that this might have been your reward. That John was your reward. 

Your hands drop from your chin to your knees, hopelessness plaguing you again. The thin, sharp whistle of defeat. High and reedy as a death rattle. 

Then your eyes drop to your wrists.

The cord is fastened in a bowline knot around your wrists, difficult to undo without considerable effort, but the material is softer than the cuffs Graves had you in before, and it gives when you pull one hand down while pushing the other up. Your skin bunches around the cord, but it doesn’t cut into you the way the metal did. 

Graves is still fast asleep when you glance over at him. He doesn’t snore, but the rise and fall of his chest under the blanket is steady. Stable. 

The fatigue dissipates from your body the second you put it together. That there’s a sliver of a possibility of slipping your hands out of the rope tying you to Graves. The exhilaration is almost overwhelming. You have to sit with it a beat before acting, wary of letting your guard down too fast.

Time passes slowly as you fiddle with the knot, reaching your fingers as far as they’ll go and gritting your teeth through the ensuing cramp in your wrist. You nearly groan in frustration when your hand twitches and you accidentally retighten the knot. A near crushing blow. 

Please, you mouth more than whisper, frustrated tears clumped in your lashes. Teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip, pinching off the wail rising up your throat. 

Your heart skips a beat when the rope loosens around one of your wrists, enough for you to wiggle a pinkie underneath and slowly shimmy it up the length of your hand. A cramp makes your pinkie spasm, almost causing you to lose your grip. Sweat pools in the cup of your palm. 

When your wrists are finally free, the rope clutched in trembling hands and the basal joint of your thumb scrapped raw from the fibrous rope, you can only sit there, heart beating wildly in your chest. You have to force yourself to remain calm, wary of waking Graves up after all that effort. His eyelids quiver only with his dreams though. 

You glance towards the door on the other side of the cabin. It seems either farther away now that you know it’s within reach. You know better than to just run straight for it though. Weeks of being on the run before finding John have taught you to pace yourself, to push down the fluttering evocation in your chest to make a mad dash for the closest way out. 

Instead, you take a deep breath out, closing your eyes until you’ve calmed down. Then you rise slowly to your feet. 

Your eyes, having long since adjusted to the darkness, scan the room for any loose floorboards. Aside from one obvious corner of the house which has begun to rot away and collapse, it’s hard for you to discern at a glance which boards will groan under the weight of your feet. You have no choice but to guess.

Each step has you on edge, heart in your throat. Your focus shifts quicksilver between the floor and Graves. Waiting for any sudden movement. 

Halfway to the door, you take another cautious step forward and the floorboard creaks under your foot. Your heart stops, eyes flitting instantly over to Graves’ sleeping form. He doesn’t so much as shift. It’s another beat before you’re able to move again, confidence shaken by the noise. You keep imagining him suddenly shooting up from the floor, pistol in hand, the hammer striking the primer, the hiss of gas escaping the barrel. 

The door gives a faint creak when you push it open, so you open it only enough for your body to slip through, wincing when you twitch and accidentally push it open another inch, dragging out the creak. Still, he doesn't wake. You slip past the door, shutting it quietly behind you.  

The moon glows cornsilk gold in the sky. A vast, uncharted land stretches out around you, untouched by human hands, or so changed over the years that any human presence has long since been buried beneath the loam. But when you stare out into the distance, you realize that you have no idea where you came from. Everything looks the same in each direction, no landmark familiar enough for you to orient yourself. You’re out in the middle of nowhere and nothing looks right. 

If you had less strength, you’d fall to your knees. The despair is so immense that you hardly have the strength to hold it all at once. 

The silence lulls you into a false sense of security. You linger for too long, stuck contemplating your options. Coyotes yip in distant packs, their barks carrying across the plains. You shiver at the sound. It reminds you again that you’re on your own now. No husband to come chasing after you if things get sticky. 

Your first few steps away from the cabin are tentative, gliding your legs through the grass and staring up at the cornsilk moon. A combination of indulgence and bewilderment. If you knew the right way home, you wouldn’t waver, but these days, you have no faith in your instincts. They’ve only ever led you off course. 

The gelding that Graves rode in on sits in the grass with its hind legs folded underneath it. With its legs still hobbled, you know removing the leather will take more time than you'd like, but you figure it'll be easier to make your way across the plains on horseback, with the added bonus of leaving Graves stranded. If God were just, he’d starve out here and leave his corpse for the coyotes to feast on. 

You approach the horse cautiously, conscious not to make any sudden movements. Its ears angle towards you as you draw near. Attentive to your presence. 

“Hey there, honey,” you whisper, reaching out a hand and trying to show that you aren’t a threat. Its nose twitches.

Another step forward. Easy does it. One leg in front of the other.

“I won’t hurt you. I promise.” You try to mirror your memory of John in your voice, honeysuckle soft words. 

You aren’t John though. Not even close. You take another step towards it.

It brays when you get too close, skittish. The sound pierces through the night, louder than the coyotes in the distance. Louder even than the creaking door.  

The hair on the back of your neck raises, lips numb. Then the prickling awareness of movement in the house, like an itch on a phantom limb. 

Behind you, the door to the cabin bursts open with a bang, slamming off the wall and ricocheting back. You whip your head around to look only to find Graves’ towering form under the shadow of the doorway, his hair mused and clothes askew. And he looks enraged. 

“Hey!” Graves bellows from the doorway, breaking into a run towards you. “Get back here!”

There’s no time to sit with the regret, no time to bemoan the fact that you didn’t exercise enough caution, that for some reason without a gun leveled at your head, you allowed yourself to forget the very real danger this man posed to you. 

All you can do is run.

The grass whistles around you. You run so hard that your lungs burn, your arms pumping furiously beside you, dress swishing between your legs. You don’t have to look behind you to know that Graves is gaining on you. His body is built for pursuit. Still, you push yourself past your breaking point, not stopping even when you taste blood in your mouth. Mindless; directionless. No idea where you’re going—just away from him. You’d jump off a cliff if you came across one. 

He’s close enough for you to hear now, heavy breathing right behind you. But by then it’s too late. A heavy body rams into you, sending you careening towards the earth, the ground rushing up to meet you halfway. The dirt hardly cushions the blow. 

You hit the ground hard. Head knocked loose of thought, agony ripping across your face. The double blow of a body heavier than yours forcing you into the dirt, so solid that it crushes the breath from your lungs. 

Blood leaks from your lip, most likely split. When you breathe in to fill your lungs, you taste dirt and rust and earth. 

“Insufferable bitch,” Graves snarls, putrid breath wafting under your nose and making your eyes water. He grabs a handful of your hair and wrenches your head up before slamming it back down. Something crunches. Distantly, you wonder if your nose is broken. 

Your ears ring, the rest of his words drowned out by the blood rushing to your face. 

“Please—” you beg, blood dripping from your split lip. 

“Knew I shouldn’ta trusted you—conniving little cunt—c’mere now, get up—”

He rises to his feet over your body, big hand curling around your wrist. You hear your shoulder pop when he yanks your arm behind your back. A rush of cold. A sweat breaks on the nape of your neck. Shock sets in the moment after, adrenaline flooding your body. 

Then a sharp, focused surge of pain. It radiates from your shoulder outward, so intense that you can’t believe it at first. Your whole world reduces down to it. Feathering out down your back; irradiating waves of it. Thoughts scattering and then coming back together around the pain. If you scream, it comes out unbidden. 

“Ah, hell, I didn’t mean to do that,” he grumbles from behind you, likely staring at the unnatural jut of your shoulder. “Alright, sugar, one second—I’ll pop that back in.”

“Nononono—” you gasp, panic lancing through you, but he pays no attention to your words. 

The pain of popping your shoulder back in is excruciating. Relief follows shortly after, but the time between dislocating and relocating your shoulder is so short that it hardly comes as a balm to the pain.

“You…bastard…” you gasp. 

“Wouldn’ta had to do that if you hadn’t run,” he sighs, the sight of your pain subduing his rage. 

It doesn’t stop him from grabbing you roughly by the arm he just dislocated when he finally gets you on your feet though, steering you back towards the house. The pain that radiates up your arm is almost blinding. 

He drags you back to the cabin with a punishing grip. There’s no sympathy when you stumble. Moonlight illuminates the path back to the cabin and shows you the trenches in the wild grass made by your feet. Hardly more than a couple rods. 

The defeat that courses through you upon being dragged through the ramshackle front door is ten times that of earlier. When he lets go of your arm, you collapse in a heap on the floor, aching and sweating. A bag of bones and blood. You’d rattle if someone shook you. 

“I hate you,” you mumble from your spot on the floor, shaking through the pain. “Rot in hell.”

Graves doesn’t respond, but you can almost hear the way he grins.  

No rest for the wicked or the good this time. Graves wakes intermittently throughout the night to check up on you, wary now that you’ve tried to run. Your regret is palpable. You should’ve waited. Bided your time. There won't be another chance now, not after you played your hand so soon. 

The ache in your shoulder keeps you from finding sleep. Every time you get close to it, the pain radiates down your arm and it slips from your grasp, your hand closing around the empty space it leaves behind. Teeth grit, breathing through the pain. Loosening your jaw and panting because the pain overwhelms you when you so much as shift onto your side, the hard floor digging into your elbow. 

Right on the edge of sleep, just as you're about to latch on, a boot catches you in the ribs, jostling you back into the realm of pain. You wheeze, breaking into a coughing fit. 

“Get up,” a hoarse voice grunts above you, empty of sympathy. “We got places to be.”

He has the two of you back on the horse as soon as dawn breaks. Your escape attempt the night before must have spooked him, and you regret it now in the light of day because you know he won’t let you out of his sight again. The metal handcuffs digging into your wrists assures you of that. 

There’s no time for breakfast or time to wash up. Graves makes it a point to be back on the road as fast as possible, repacking his bedroll and stuffing it back in the saddlebag before dragging you up with him. 

The pain is a dull throb after sleeping most of the agony away. It comes back when you move too quickly though, which is hard to avoid on horseback when each gallop echoes through your sore bones and joints. 

The arching sun immixes with the heavens above, rising higher as the hours pass. You ache for a hat; something to keep the heat of the sun off your head. On the horizon, the mountain ridge sits like a spine bursting out from the earth. It’s all wastelands and portents. Evil omens. 

Your heart feels swollen and bruised, like something trampled under elk hooves. 

“Cheer up,” Graves says, tipping your chin up when the sun reaches its peak around midday, the gesture making you so uncomfortable that you almost shudder out of your skin. Your face still throbs with pain. “You should be glad I didn’t jus’ shoot you.”

Your lips pull back, baring your teeth to nothing. 

A shot rips through the air at that, his words commanding it into being. Your head instinctively ducks and even the horse under you staggers, spooked by the sound. Graves curses, tensing up behind you.

"What in the hell—"

You whip your head around to stare behind you, looking for the source of the gunfire. When you find it, your eyes widen.

[babyleostuff]

─ PINK RIBBONS

𝜗𝜚 THEME: fluff, domesticity, you being jeonghan's whole world (mention of the military) 𝜗𝜚 PAIRING: idol!jeonghan x fem!reader 𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT: 792

natalia's note: idc if this is too dramatic, i don't want jeonghan to go

⦗💌 ⦘your favourite past time? playing with your boyfriend's hair, duh. sadly, it's the last time you get to do it for the next two years.

“here,” jeonghan drops a bunch of… somethings in your lap and sits down on the fluffy rug you bought last month, his back facing you. 

your boyfriend’s randomness is nothing new; even before you began dating, you quickly found out that yoon jeonghan was an unpredictable man. but no matter how much time has passed since you agreed to be his girlfriend, you are still taken aback each and every time he decides to do something out of the blue in his jeonghan fashion. 

you quickly grew to love his randomness, though. it’s like being surprised in the best ways possible.

“what,” you pick up a packet of colourful hair ties and hair pins, “what do you want me to do with those?”.  

jeonghan turns around and looks up to meet your eyes, his own holding nothing but fondness and warmth. “my hair,” he says and shakes his head of messy brown hair he died a couple of days ago. “we haven’t done this in a while, so i thought it’d be nice.” 

your stomach churned. how many times have you sat like this - you on the edge of the sofa and jeonghan in front of you, resting comfortably against a cushion you placed so as not to strain his back. a drama or a cooking show would be playing quietly in the background, neither of you watching it, too busy with basking in the domesticity. 

looking back, it was a no-brainer that you got addicted to your boyfriend’s hair so quickly. playing with it became a little habit of yours - before bed, in the morning, at a game night with the boys, during parties - whenever jeonghan was in your arm’s reach, you’d play with his hair, no matter if they were short or long (though you always mourned his long hair whenever he cut them). it always managed to calm you down and ground you when life got a bit too much. 

you’ve never experienced deja vu before, but if this was how it felt then you’d rather be hit with a sledge hammer. it’d hurt less. 

and now… despite that you could feel your heart breaking, you couldn’t tell him no. it’s probably the last time you’ll be able to do this before the enlistment anyway, so maybe… maybe it’ll be a nice way to celebrate his last days at home? 

“it’s hair. it’s just hair,” your mind seems to scream into the void as you grab a couple of the purple-ish hair bands and slide them on your wrist. but your heart is even louder and it feels like you’re being ripped apart. 

were you being dramatic? definitely. did you care? not at all. your whole life would change in the next day or so and despite preparing for this for such a long time now, it didn’t make it any less painful. with jeonghan leaving you’d be losing a part of yourself.

“hey,” he raises his hand and grabs your chin, “get that scowl off your face.”

“i know,” you sigh. “it’s just that-,”.

“i don’t want to hear any of that. we’re having fun tonight, honey,” jeonghan says and runs his thumb over your cheek. affection and pure love, which are always there whenever he looks at you (coups makes sure to point that out on every possible occasion), seemed to slow your racing heartbeat, because the longer you stared into his brown, gentle eyes the more your mind seemed to quiet down. oh, how you are going to miss that lovesick stare. “no more sad faces, yeah?” 

you swallow and nod, your heart heavy from all the emotions. the pink ribbons and blue pins look like the opposite of what you are feeling, but… you have to be strong. if not for yourself, then for jeonghan. 

“any specific requests?” you ask and comb your fingers gently through his silky hair.

“nope. whatever you do,” he says and turns his back to you, “it’ll look perfect.” you couldn't see jeonghan’s face, but you could hear the smile in his voice. 

placing a peck on your exposed leg, he makes himself comfortable against the cushions and lets out his grandpa-esque sigh. 

what the next days are going to bring - you aren’t sure. you don’t even want to think about it. but for now… for now, you are as content as you can be. enveloped by your love’s affection like a security blanket, his warm hands sliding up and down your calves, as if reminding you that he’s still there, it is enough for you. enough to swallow your tears and put a brave smile on your face for the man sitting in front of you. 

for now it is only you and him and all the pink ribbons.

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[ggidolsmuts]

Good Girls in the Dark - Choi Yena

"Hello, I'm Choi Yena, nice to meet you!"

"Omo son why didn't you tell us your girlfriend is so pretty?! Come in come in!" Your mom quickly leads Yena into your home, who's already locking arms with her. "Finally you bring someone back for Chuseok!" she looks back at you and admonishes. You simply shake your head and follow them in.

"You look so young, I thought you were oppa's sister!"

"Oh stop it, you have such a sweet tongue!" 

Yena's a good girl.

At least, that was your initial impression when you met her for the first time—it was supposed to be a Yuehua flex, having Yena drop by to say hi, to congratulate everyone on the successful joint project between Yuehua and your company. Mindful and demure, she was considerate of everyone, smiling and greeting all of you like the energetic idol she is.

True to her energy, she insisted you all go to a club for the afterparty, but the group soon diffuses into the crowd—some people left almost immediately, others stayed for a few drinks, and yet more broke off into their cliques. You try to sneak out too, until Yena somehow gets a hold of you, pulling you into a dark corner of the club. She has a drink in hand, but by now it is empty save for a few drops of whatever she had.

"Why do you keep looking at me?" she demands to know.

"What? I haven't!"

"Don't lie, I saw you sneaking looks." You were, but you didn't think Yena would notice, that you would just blend in with your co-workers.

"How would you know?" you fire back.

"Because I've been looking at you too." It must be the alcohol in Yena talking, for she smashes her lips into yours, tongue immediately pushing into your mouth. She does have a sweet tongue. "Can I trust you?"

"You should have asked me that before you kissed me."

"Oops, oh well. Now answer the question."

"Yes."

"Good, I don't want to go home tonight," she breathes into your ear.

Yena's a good girl in the dark.

"So how did you two meet?" your dad asks during dinner.

"At work! I was at an event for our company, and he was there! He was very nice to me."

"That's all it took? My son is good!"

"Dad don't," you mutter, shaking your head and leaving the table carrying your dishes. At least Yena didn't say it started with a hookup, or your parents would have had an aneurysm. The one night stands became more frequent, and your apartment became a place for stress relief for Yena.

Over time the two of you ended up spending equal amounts of time talking and fucking, and both of you finally gathered the courage to give in to your feelings and agree to start dating—to be fair, neither of you were seeing anyone else anyways, so exclusivity wasn't a discussion that needed to be had. Ironically the dating aspect wasn't really a thing either—Yena was an idol, so any dates you two had were just at your place.

"What? Our son is so charming, he found a celebrity girlfriend! And she eats so much too, I thought you would be dieting or something, I was afraid I made too much!" you hear your mum say.

"No no, that's just a stereotype, I eat more than he does!"

"That's great, you eat so well!"

Yena's a good girl.

~~

"Fuck, you eat me so well," you moan as Yena slurps you, tongue running up the underside of your shaft. It's early in the morning, the sunlight just peeking through the curtains. You can barely make out the shape of Yena in your sleepy haze, but you can definitely identify her by her tongue and hands.

"Because your cum is so delicious!" she says as she strokes you, eager for her morning cum-ffee. "I can see some of it already!" She licks your tip, swiping up the dripping precum. Yena's hungry for more, and she goes deep on your cock, taking all of it in easily. The loud sloppy noises she makes are the lewdest alarm sounds you've ever heard, and your favorite by far.

"Oh fuck, Yena, I'm gonna cum!" There is no holding back your orgasm, and your hand finds itself in her hair, pushing her down like she was an alarm clock. You thrust up involuntarily, and Yena hums as you hit the roof of her mouth, feeling you surrender in the form of a thick morning load sliding down her throat. Yena's eyeing you as you come down from your peak, making sure you're fully drained before she let's you go with a pop.

"Thanks, I gotta go now."

"Wait, I need something for the morning too no?" You wiggle your eyebrows and Yena laughs.

"I suppose I can spare a few minutes," she sighs theatrically and slides up your body. You expect her to remove her pants and underwear, but she's already naked from the waist down.

"Tch, you were expecting it weren't you?"

"I knew you would repay the favor." She pushes herself onto your face.

Yena's a good girl in the dark.

~~

"Auntie, do you need help with the dishes?"

"Oh no no no you're the guest, you can't be helping with the dishes!"

"I don't mind, besides it makes the dishes go by faster!"

"You see son, why can't you be more like Yena?"

"I live by myself, I do the dishes back home already!"

"I don't care, come help us with the dishes or else!" your mom threatens.

"Fine."

"God it's like I have to beg you to do the dishes, at least Yena's so polite and well-mannered, offering to help!"

Yena's a good girl.

~~

"Please sir."

"What do you want me to do Yena?" you ask the naked idol bent over your lap.

"Spank me."

"What's the magic word?"

"Please spank me." You reward her with a hearty slap across her ass, watching it jiggle and turn red. Yena yelps before thanking you.

"Good." You rub her cheek to soothe her before slipping your hand between her legs—she's dripping. Carelessly you run a finger along her pussy, letting her wetness coat it before wiping it on her. Yena squirms, and you wrap an arm around her midriff, holding her flush against your body, trapping her. Yena takes a deep breath and relaxes, going limp briefly.

"T-Thank you." It made her feel taken care of—she can let her mind go blank, let the pleasure take over, leave everything to you. But you tease her, rubbing her slit as you stroke her head, petting her like you pet a cat, or a duck perhaps. All while she can feel your erection poking her from below. Yena's little gasps and moans get louder and more frequent, breathing heavily over your lap as you continue.

"Please put it in." You push two fingers in, and Yena clenches immediately around them. You push Yena forward on your lap, bending her over one thigh to give you better access to her pussy. Yena's almost folded in half over your leg, blood rushing to her head as she watches her own toes curl uncontrollably due to your fingering. You dig deep, bending and twisting your fingers, as if trying to find the last cookie crumb deep inside Yena's jar. You do find what you're looking for, and Yena's the cookie that crumbles.

"R-Right there!" Beneath you Yena's face is red, both from pleasure, and from the little droplets she sees appearing between her legs. "Wait oppa, I'm going to make a mess—"

"Oppa?"

"I mean, ah! Sir, sorry sir, wait, stop!" You dig a little harder, a little faster, and it becomes a stream of liquid pleasure, leaking down her leg and dripping off Yena's toes.

"Manners Yena."

"Puhlea—" Before she can get the second syllable fully out you press her sensitive clit with your thumb and Yena chokes out a desperate cry, drenching your hand in her slick as she cums hard. Yena claws at your leg, gripping it tightly while she splashes over you. You help Yena right herself, but her legs are weak, and she sits in a puddle of her own juices as she lays her head on your thigh, breathing shallow and labored. You lay a hand on her cheek, and she turns to kiss it, as if soothing herself on you. When she opens her eyes again she looks up at you, before looking to the tent you're pitching in your pants.

"I want you," she whispers, managing to push herself up and pull your shorts off. Her hands go to your boxers, but you stop her.

"Are you forgetting something?"

"Please." Yena says it like an afterthought, removing your boxers and getting in your lap—her slick covered legs are spreading it everywhere on your couch. She tries to sink herself on to you, but you shift your hips, making her miss. "Come on!"

"Say it like you mean it."

"Please, I need you in me." She grabs your cock, her hands wrapping around your length. "I need something thick in me, my pussy needs something to... grip!" She twists her hands, squeezing you tightly. You let her position you at her entrance, and your cock twitches a little as a few more drops of slick land on your shaft.

"Please give me your cock," Yena whispers before kissing you needily.

You slam her down on you.

"Oh fuck!"

Yena's a good girl in the dark.

~~

"Yena do you drink? Are you allowed to?"

"Oh yes of course we are allowed to, I'll have whatever oppa has."

"Okay I'll go get the beer."

"No dear, get the ginseng wine."

"Should I?" Your dad nods emphatically.

"We're all becoming one family here, we can break out the good stuff and celebrate!" You know exactly where this is going as your mum brings the wine.

"Dad no don't do that!" You grab Yena's hand in apology. "Sorry."

"No no, I'm sure Yena doesn't mind! All we're saying, your mum and I, is that we would approve of whatever you two want to do in the future. Get married, have kids, you know, whatever you want!"

"It's okay uncle, I understand, thank you for being so nice to me and making me feel so welcome! We haven't really talked about our future, but it's good to know we have your support!"

"Good, see, that's a sensible young woman! Cheers!"

Yena's a good girl.

The operative word there is "really", because you two have certainly talked about your future together.

In bed.

In the heat of the moment.

While you're deep in Yena.

~~

"How many kids should I put in you, how many do you want!" you grunt as you thrust down into her, feeling her clench around you in response. Yena's legs push uselessly against your arms, your elbows locking her knees down in a mating press.

"As many as you want, fuck! That's so deep!" Her arms have a stranglehold around your neck, keeping you close, her flexibility allowing you to kiss her even as you fuck her in the uncompromising position. Yena's tits jiggle as you pound into her, a lewd visual of just how hard you're thrusting.

"B-Breed me, breed me harder!" It was a kink that Yena let slip once, and since then you've indulged her, joining her in enjoying the thought, relishing the feel of fucking Yena raw each and every time.

"Fuck I'm going to cum, you better keep count!" you shout as you slam down into her with finality, letting loose multiple shots into her. Yena seems to go over the edge with you, clenching around your pulsing cock, lips mumbling incoherently. You collapse on top of her, burying yourself against her neck, kissing her lovingly and cuddling her. It is a little later before either of you are able to speak.

"Five, I counted five shots earlier," she murmurs into your ear, tickling you.

"That many?"

"Mmhmm, I must have drained a lot out of you, hm? Poor oppa." Yena jokes, pinching your cheek. But she pushes you on your back and gets on top of you. The sight of your load leaking out of her is enough to get you to half-mast, and her words get you the rest of the way there.

"Let me do the rest of the work. We have to contribute equally to get me knocked up." She slides her cream-filled warmth over you.

Yena's a good girl in the dark.

~~

"I'm done showering!" Yena announces to you as she joins you in the guest bedroom.

"Great, let's get some rest, it's been a long day." You pull the covers over the two of you and hold Yena close. "Thanks for coming here with me."

"Of course, your parents are so nice!"

"They got a little too excited about meeting you, sorry."

"No no it's okay, I like it, they're fans of me, because of you!"

"I guess." You kiss the top of her head, ready to sleep. Yena is not though, and she slips her hand under your t-shirt.

"Haven't I been a good girl today? Shouldn't you reward me?"

"Yena..." you start.

"I didn't tell them we started dating after multiple hookups together. I didn't tell them we do it raw all the time. I didn't—"

"You really want to have sex here, tonight?" Yena nods and throws a leg around you, and to your surprise she's already very wet.

"Just the thought, you know? Being part of your family, us being a family, starting a family. And I heard ginseng wine is good for you too, get the blood flowing." You know exactly why Yena's so wet now. "I-I even brought towels from the bathroom. I'm going to make such a mess." She says it like sex is a foregone conclusion.

"You're going to have be really quiet, I know how loud you get when you want me to breed you."

"That's what the other towel is for." She scrunches the towel up and bites down on it, looking at you pleadingly.

Yena's a good girl, but Yena's your good girl in the dark.

A/N: Just something quick and dirty, the whole "Good Girls in the Dark" song from her just gave me the idea lol. Right before her next comeback heh, maybe there's another "dirty" title there hopefully, or I'll just make it dirty as usual. Thanks for reading!

[superbat-love]

Clark: Uh, hi Bruce.

Bruce: Hey.

Damian: Are you two going to stare at each other forever? Because it’s getting awfully cold out here.

Clark: [clears his throat] I brought your son over. I think you left him behind at the zoo.

Bruce: Yes, sorry about that. I have Jon here, I mistook him for Damian. I’ve been meaning to drive him back to Metropolis, but you saved me a trip. Thanks.

Jon: Alfred gave me a huge bowl of chocolate ice-cream, dad! It was sooo good!

Clark: Thanks for looking after Jon. Well Damian, I’m glad to have met you again, even if it wasn’t exactly under ideal circumstances.

Bruce: What did he do?

Damian: Nothing! It was the stupid zookeeper’s fault.

Bruce: Damian…

Damian: The zookeeper’s still alive, okay? The monkey would have been happier here anyway.

Bruce: Damian, I told you to stop bringing home random animals. Don’t think I don’t know about the cow you’ve been hiding in your bedroom.

Jon: You have a cow?

Damian: Yeah! Her name is Bat-Cow. Do you want to meet her?

Jon: Wow, I wanna see her! Can I dad?

Clark: Um, sure, if it’s not a problem for you, Bruce?

Bruce: Go ahead. [Watches Damian pull Jon to his room] God, why did I decide to have kids?

Alfred: You have eight, sir. It’s a little too late to be having regrets now. [turns to Clark] Forgive us for our lack of manners, Mr Kent. Would you like to come in for a cup of tea?

Superbat Family Fics

[jjunberry]

❝ forever with me ❞

synopsis ⟢ can't promise that things won't be broken but i swear that i will never leave,please stay forever with me…when you’re forced to sit next to the one person you despise the most during a road trip, things get tense as emotions are at an all time high.

pairing ⟢ nishimura riki x fem!reader

genre ⟢ enemies to lovers, forced proximity, non-idol au, slice of life, angst, fluff

warnings ⟢ arguments, cursing, niki & reader being assholes, jungwon and jake playing cupid??

wc ⟢2.2k mlist ⟢

your eyebrows furrowed at jungwon, who stood across from you. “you have got to be kidding me,” your arms crossed. he smiled sheepishly, “i’m sorry but this year, it’s your turn for the back seat.” the back seat which you’ve always avoided since every year niki sat back there. “jungwon, this trip is a four hour drive, you want me to sit next to him for four hours?” jungwon sighed at your question. “with the drivers rotating, you two don’t drive so it’s easier this way.” curse you for not having your drivers license.

“i am not happy about this,” your arms crossed as you plopped down on your couch. jungwon sat next to you, resting his head on your shoulder. “it’s only for the ride there, you can manage yeah? just take your headphones.” you sighed and nodded, “i’m only doing this for you and the others, don’t expect a peep out of me.” jungwon smiled at your words, knowing there was no way you’d keep quiet against niki.

the days leading up to the road trip, you tried your hardest to avoid niki. key word tried, he always finds a way to get under your skin. whether its taking your seat while out to eat, or cutting you off in line at the mall. it never failed to get a rise out of you. the boys could practically predict what the two of you’d say to each other.

“at least say excuse me, you gremlin,” jake mocked you. “move, you always take to long anyway,” sunoo was quick to mock niki’s response. they of course never did this in front of you two, afraid of even more warfare. despite how funny the arguments could be, they also got quite annoying. the constant bickering was enough to have the group want to rip their hair out.

niki was in no better spirits about having to share his precious back seat with you. he barely liked to share with the guys but to have you back there? the boy wanted to just unpack and not even go. “it’s not that bad,” jake said watching niki angrily shove the remaining items he had into his bag. “it is that bad actually, she’s insufferable. how can i sit next to her for four hours?” niki looked at jake with furious eyes. “look if you drove then maybe you’d be better off, but it’s easier this way”, jake shrugged. niki seriously needed to get his license, he rolled his eyes. “see you in the morning man, just take your headphones and ignore her i guess”, he patted niki’s shoulder before leaving.

you were the last stop before they could go on the road. niki was already annoyed. he only had his wired headphones, the car they rented had a small back seat, so he’d be even closer to you then he wanted to be. he rolled his eyes watching you stumble to the car with your bags. his eyes followed jungwon who jumped out to help you. the trunk opened and jungwon placed your bag in the back, handing you your smaller one. “thank you wonnie,” you grinned, hugging him. “you’re welcome.” he opened the sliding door to let you in.

in the second row sat, jay and jake. the middle was occupied by sunoo and sunghoon. heeseung was driving and jungwon had the passenger seat. “hi everyone,” you greeted them before climbing into the very back seat. niki furrowed his eyebrows when you finally sat down, your shoulder brushing his slightly.

with the reduced space, your legs and shoulders were touching his. niki began bouncing his leg, the annoyance of sitting next to you already bothering him. you looked at him, you wanted to scold him for bouncing his leg, but you remained calm for everyone’s sake. once heeseung checked that everyone was ready he began driving.

everyone was conversing amongst themselves, you tried to occupy yourself on your phone, by looking out the window. niki was like a statue next to you, besides his leg that was still bouncing. you leaned up, propping your head on the back of the middle row seat. “hi,” sunoo giggled seeing your head pop up between himself and sunghoon. “hi,” you grinned.

he motioned with his head, “doing okay back there?” you sighed,” i guess so,” niki let out a groan shifting away from you causing you to fall back from the seat. “stop leaning against me,” niki snapped. “spoke to soon,” you whispered to sunoo before returning to your seat. “sorry jeez,” you scoffed, leaning away from him as far as you could. niki rolled his eyes at you.

a few minutes had passed, you subconsciously began tapping your fingers against your leg. to whatever beat you had in your head, niki clenched his jaw at the rhythmic pattern. it was unbelievably irritating, “can you not?” he asked. you turned to him confused, “what?” he rolled his eyes, “stop tapping your fingers it’s annoying.” you narrowed your eyes at him, “yeah? well so are you bouncing your leg but i didn’t say anything.”

he rolled his eyes and stilled his leg, you smirked slightly before stopping the tapping. you laid your head against the window, feeling sleepy. however the small bumps the car hit were uncomfortable. your smaller bag only had a few things in it, not holding the small stuffed animal you were looking for. it was a small bear, you’ve had since childhood you literally always bring with you. turning so you could reach in the trunk, your body kept bumping into niki. the boy groaned, “what are you doing now? can’t you just sit still?,” he tried to scoot away from you. “i was looking for something,” you grumbled clutching the bear and turning to sit back down. “seriously?” niki noticed the bear you were now holding.

“that could of waited,” he snapped. “i’m going to use him as a pillow, it’s..you know what, i don’t have to explain myself to you.” you placed the bear in a spot to cushion your head. niki scoffed and adjusted in his spot. his leg pushing into yours, “could you maybe not be a dude and save me some room,” you asked pushing his leg back over with yours. “i can’t help it,” his eyes rolled. that’s all his eyes ever did when he looked at you. “we have to stop for gas, if anyone wants snacks or to stretch their legs,” heeseung spoke. once he pulled into the gas station everyone piled out of the car. your arms stretched above your head, a soft groan falling from your lips. goosebumps covered your skin as a chill breeze went by. “can i borrow a hoodie, anyone?” you spoke. they all nodded saying to just grab one from the back. opening the trunk you dug through the bags until you came across what you were looking for. pulling out a large gray zip up hoodie, you smiled once the sleeves covered your cold arms. jungwon came bouncing out of the gas station with a bag full of snacks. “here y/n,” he said, handing you a bag of skittles and a bottle of sprite. “thank you wonnie,” he smiled and got into the passenger seat.

you dreaded sitting next to him again, but everyone was ready to get back on the road. niki had his head turned away from you when you got in. your chest tightened but you refused to let him get to you. “can you scooch over a little bit?,” you asked, squeezing into your seat. his leg was partially on your side. he let out a scoff before pulling leg closer to his side. taking your seat, you pulled your hood up and leaned against the window. niki’s eyes drifted to the hoodie you were wearing, his hoodie. he felt his heart pounding against his chest, you looked so good in his clothes. sunoo turned towards you, holding out his bag of gummie worms, “want some?” you nodded reaching into the bag and grabbing two. “thank you,” you grinned.

niki was silent, a storm was brewing inside him. he didn’t think it was fair that you got along so well with the boys. why couldn’t you get along with him like that? why did you two hate each other so much? truth is neither of you could pinpoint any moment that could of caused the mutual feeling of hate between you both. “riki would you like a gummie worm?” sunoo asked holding the bag out to him. niki looked at it seeing no blue left, then he noticed the blue gummie worm in your hand. “no someone already took the last good flavor,” he huffed. your eyebrows furrowed and you handed the gummie worm to him, “here,” his eyes widened as he stared at it. part of him wanted to take it, he didn’t know what caused him not to. “i don’t want it after you’ve had it in your hand,” he grabbed a red one from sunoo before turning to ignore the both of you.

sunoo turned back around to ignore the brewing argument, but you shrugged and said nothing. trying your best to not fight with him.

it wasn’t long before another fight broke out. the bouncing of his leg? a fight. the tapping of your nails? a fight. sunoo pointing out you were wearing niki’s hoodie? a fight. “y/n isn’t that riki’s?,” sunoo pointed towards the gray hoodie on your body. you looked towards the hoodie and shrugged, “yeah i guess so i just grabbed one,” your eyes quickly glanced at niki who had a scowl on his face. “maybe ask before wearing someone else's clothes,” his voice was cold.

“but i did, i asked to borrow a hoodie.” you were quick to defend yourself. “well you didn’t ask to borrow mine so why are you wearing it?” his eyebrows were furrowed. you turned towards niki, angry. “why are you so upset about it? it’s just a hoodie, i’ll take it off. i’m trying to be nice but you’re being a prick,” your hands reached for the zipper pulling it off and tossing it towards him.

your perfume filled his senses as he folded the hoodie and set it beside him. his heart was racing for many different reasons, the glances from the boys made him more angry. “no one wants you here anyway, so of course i’m being a prick,” niki seethed. “i’ll have you know the boys want me here, otherwise i wouldn’t of been invited,” niki laughed. “you’re only here because they pity you, because you cling to them—to everyone like an abandoned puppy. nobody wants you here.”

it felt like your heart stopped. “riki that’s not true,” sunoo spoke up. you drown them out turning towards the window ignoring the boys attempts to speak to you, ignoring niki’s longing glance. his own heart wrenching as he caught sight of the tears welling in your waterline. he put his headphones in and turned towards his window. the familiar sounds of his alternative playlist playing. his leg continued to bounce yet this time you were dead silent. ignoring him all together, he hated to admit it but he missed the attention.

what felt like hours passed before niki couldn’t take it anymore. he plucked one of his earbuds out, handing it to you. you looked at the earbud, then up at him. he wasn’t looking at you, but the thought of hearing music was better than whatever silence your latest fight had caused. swallowing the lump in your throat, you placed the earbud in your ear.

the familiar lyrics of ‘if i’m james dean, you’re audrey hepburn’ filled your ears. your eyes widened not expecting niki to share the same music taste as you. taking the risk you scooted closer to him, to shorten the length of the headphone wire. he let out a deep breath, relaxing his body resting closer to yours.

niki took the peace between you as his chance to apologize. the car intensely quiet, he didn’t trust his voice to come out as a whisper. niki’s hand wrapped softly around your wrist, pulling your arm towards him. he waited to see if you’d pull away, when you didn’t he took a breath. using his finger he carefully spelled out ‘i’m sorry. your breath was caught in your throat, as your heart was hammering against your chest. niki stopped spelling but his hand remain on your wrist, his fingers itching to lace with yours.

taking a chance you opened your hand, palm up. niki was quick to lace his fingers in yours. the song continues between the two of you. sealing your feelings for each other. you leaned your head against his shoulder, your body relaxing against his. niki sighed contently resting his head on yours, his hand holding yours like you’d disappear if he let go.

your relationship was far from mended, the two of you were content with the comforting silence you created. the music and movement of the car was enough to lull both of you to sleep.

in the front seat jake and jungwon shared a knowing look, jungwon grinning knowing he purposely took your headphones. jake smirked knowing their plan worked, and they’re friendcation would be peaceful afterall.

author’s note: eeeek my first riki fic 🥳 hope you all enjoyed it ♡!!

taglist: @jjunieworld @304files @babymochibeargyu @miaroseindreamland @seuliecore @seobluv @ray0magdalene @mimisxs @ppeachyttae @capri-cuntz @eneiyri @50-husbands @riksaes @imma-jiki @luvvhaos (if your name is bold i couldn’t tag you)

love , echo ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪

© jjunberry - all rights reserved. please do not repost on any social media sites, translate, or modify any of my works.

[veltana]

Breaking point

✦ Pairing: Roommate!Bucky Barnes/Fem!Reader

✦ Word count: ~2,5k

✦ Rating: Explicit

✦ Warnings/tags: Dub-con (proceed with caution if this might trigger you), pwp, smut and a bit of fluff at the end, possessive/protective!bucky, degredation (slut, fuck doll, cum-bucket), grinding, choking, spitting, pussy slapping, fingering, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, pet name (sweetheart).

✦ Summary: Bucky is done with you going out with losers.

✦ Note: This used to be called I will kill them if they touch you but I never liked that title so I renamed it! Also, you guys didn't know what you were voting for, but it was the banner for this story! Please reblog and comment! Asks are always welcome 💚

Masterlist | AO3

"Please don't scare this one away as you did last time," you beg and look at Bucky's reflection in the bathroom mirror. He makes a face where he's leaning against the door frame behind you and then sighs when you give him a look. "He wasn't worth shit if he didn't wanna fight for you," he points out.

Now it's your turn to sigh and you cross your arms, glaring at him. "He isn't supposed to fight for me on a first date. We're supposed to have a good time and hopefully fuck." Bucky's mouth hardens, and he looks away. He doesn’t like that, at all.

Ever since you became roommates he's been very protective of you, helping you with the smallest things, driving you everywhere you need to go, even if you can drive yourself. Sometimes it's overbearing but most of the time it's nice to have someone care for you like that.

Unfortunately, recently he's picked up a habit of intimidating the people you go on dates with. He stands behind you when they come to pick you up, and his large frame and cold stare make many of them cower. A few have turned around right away, others have asked if that's your boyfriend or something, thinking it was some type of open relationship/cuckold situation.

"Don't say shit like that," Bucky says through gritted teeth. "I don't wanna think about you fucking other people." You can't help the teasing smile that cracks your face. "Makes you jealous?" With a huff, Bucky pushes off and leaves you to continue.

Two hours later your makeup is done and your hair fixed to perfection. You sit on the couch in shorts and a t-shirt, with a glass of wine, waiting until the last minute to put on the skin-tight dress. While scrolling on your phone, Bucky sits beside you with a beer. "So where's the loser taking you?" "Don't care,” you shrug. “Honestly, my priority tonight is to get laid. The previous ones were a little too… bland. But he seems promising." "What do you mean, bland?"

Putting your phone down you look at him, "You don't wanna hear this anyway, you'll just get mad," you point out. "I don't get mad," he defends. "Pfff, you're such a liar, I can see it in your eyes whenever I mention another guy." "Because you deserve the best and all I've seen is trash."

Irritated, you put your glass down too. "Why don't you pick for me then? Who would James Bucky Barnes deem worthy of fucking me?"

The grip on his beer is so hard his knuckles whiten and his lips are a thin line. When he doesn't answer you lean back and start to count people off.

"Well, Steve seems a bit too sweet for my taste but I mean I would not mind trying a slice of that all-American beefcake," you muse. "Sam is so charming and funny! That quick tongue would probably work wonders, if you know what I mean," you wink and watch as Bucky's eye twitch, his jaw clenched hard.

"Tony," you continue. "Well, he seems a little self-absorbed but maybe he's a really selfless lover. Won't hurt to check!" "Loki is so handsome," you bite your lip. "I would surrender my body to him in a heartbeat! But I've heard that he leaves people high and dry and that would be awful."

Tilting your head, you say, "Do you think Thor and Jane would be up for a threesome? I can just imagine eating her out while he fucks me from behind and then we could-"

With a slam he puts the bottle on the table and grabs your face with his hand forcefully, silencing your tirade of words and squeezing your cheeks so that your lips pucker.

The grip is close to bruising and it's an instant pull in your lower stomach. His eyes are black with anger, something you've never seen directed at you before. "No one," he hisses. "Not one of them is fucking you, I will kill them if they touch you."

His hand releases you and grabs your neck instead. You're shocked, and instantly so horny it hurts. Opening your mouth to speak he squeezes harder, making a wheezing sound come out.

"I'll give you a chance to stop this. Tell me right now you don't want this and we'll act as if nothing happened. Otherwise, I'm fucking you into this couch until you can't remember your goddamn name." When he finishes his grip lightens. The rush of blood makes you euphoric and boneless. You want to give yourself to him, let him do whatever he wants. "Fuck me," you whisper.

The kiss is more teeth than lips and the hold around your throat hardens again. You try to keep up with him but it's impossible as he pushes his tongue into your mouth, claiming every inch, making you lightheaded with the lack of oxygen. You gasp for air as he pulls away, releasing you. His gaze is brimming with lust and want now, all signs of anger gone. Then he pushes you down onto the couch.

"You're a kinky little slut, aren't you sweetheart?" he mocks and leans in over you, spreading your legs with his. All you can do is nod and try to wiggle close so you can press your center against his clothed cock. It's clearly outlined in his sweatpants and you hope it's as big as it seems. "If I put my hand down your pants, are you gonna be wet for me?" "Yes Bucky," you whine.

The throbbing is almost unbearable and his smirk is downright sinful. "Come on, rub yourself on me, show me how much you want it." With another whine, you brace yourself against the couch and lift your hips. He doesn't move a muscle to help as you struggle to find the right position.

"That's disappointing," Bucky smacks his lips and frowns. "Thought you wanted this." "I do Bucky, I do, please I'm trying," you tell him desperately. With effort, you get into a good enough position to grind your cunt on his cock through the layers of clothing. It's not nearly enough to curb the ache.

"Useless," Bucky sighs and grabs your legs. "Do I have to do everything?" He pushes your knees up towards your chest, folding you in half and pushing his cock right into your core.

"Sorry," you moan. His mean words have only made you needier and you move yourself against him with abandon. Bucky is motionless above you, not making a sound or saying a word, just staring at you chasing your high. Your movements turn unsteady when you start to come close.

If you were of sound mind you would notice the glint in his eyes but instead, you’re barreling towards your climax. Until he suddenly moves away.

Gawking you stare at him and he just smiles wickedly in return. "Take off your clothes, spread your legs" he instructs and you quickly pull your pants off and discard your t-shirt and underwear, spreading your legs as best you can on the couch. Bucky takes in your bare body, moving his hands slowly down your thighs until his palms frame your pussy.

"Fucking shaved for him too,” he notes with a snarl. You're not sure why that upset him. "Sorry!" you say, just to be safe.

"I don't need your hair curled, your make-up done or your whole body shaved. I will fuck you anyway, sweetheart, no matter what you look like because you belong to me," he growls before he spits on your cunt, sending a rush through you, making you moan and spread your legs even more.

For the first time, he touches you properly, letting his fingers spread the spit all over your pussy before shoving two of them into your soaked core. He pistons them in and out, putting his thumb against your clit and making colors burst before you.

"You want to come on my fingers, you fucking slut?" When you nod frantically he instructs, "Open your mouth, stick out your tongue." A second after you do spit lands on your tongue and droplets on your face. It nearly tips you over.

"Swallow it," he orders and watches you as you do, some form of approval shining in his eyes for the first time. "Who do you belong to?"

The question is too complicated to understand, you can't focus on what he wants. "I don't…" is all that comes out.

"Wrong answer," he says and removes his fingers, making you shout in disappointment. Sharp slaps land on your wet cunt and you instinctively try to move away from it, but he grabs your legs, pulling you back. "Don't you fucking run from me."

"I'm sorry," you cry, looking pleadingly at him. "I'm- I'm yours James, yours to do what you want with. Please, please, please let me come!"

With a huff he pushes his fingers back in, pressing the tips into your g-spot and getting his thumb back on your clit. His unbothered state makes you feel so small and insignificant, heightening the pleasure coursing through you.

As it climbs, your body shakes, your legs trembling from being held open. "I'm- I'm- don't stop!" you beg. Closing your eyes you focus on the feeling of him, his other hand still gripping your thigh hard. You hope it bruises.

"I can feel you, slut!" Bucky's voice is the cherry on top of everything. "Come on my fingers, do it, come for me!" he commands and of course, you do as he wants. With a scream you convulse, almost pushing him out with the sensation flooding you. Bucky is talking above you but you're not sure what he's saying because all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears.

A hard tap against your cheek makes you open your eyes. "Don't pass out on me, I'm not done with you yet." "Wouldn't dream of it," you smile dumbly, and it earns you a smile in return. But it quickly passes as he pulls off his tank top and pushes down his pants. The cock is just as big as you hoped.

He rubs the head against your soaked center, sending overwhelming sparks through you, making you twitch. When he notches the head of his dick at your opening your blood freezes. "C-condom?" you stutter.

Cocking his head he asks. "Do you really want that? Doesn't a slut like you want to be filled up with cum?" "Y-yes, but, Bucky…" you gnaw your lip.

"I want to fuck my little cum-bucket raw, make sure you feel me running out of you for days," he gives a light thrust, almost pushing inside, giving you a taste of heaven. For a second you look at each other and Bucky presses in just a little bit more. It decides it for you. "Please fill me with your cum Bucky, I need it so bad!" you whine and he chuckles before shoving his fat cock into you without mercy.

Quickly you wrap your legs around his hips, meeting his hard thrusts that are sending your body into overdrive. "Feel so fucking good sweetheart, your cunt was made for me, wasn't it?" he groans. "Yes it was," you answer breathlessly.

He grabs your face. "Those other losers are never going to satisfy you." "No, Bucky, only you!" "That's right, you're my fuckdoll now, sweetheart," he says before he leans down to kiss you. It's much sweeter this time and you grab his head, carding your fingers through his hair, feeling your chest fill with another type of warmth.

When he pulls back he says, "Beg me not to come in you." Your cunt clenches and your second orgasm is suddenly a lot closer. "Bucky, please don't… I can't get pregnant," you make your voice small and frail.

In response his laugh is cruel. "Yes you will, your purpose in life is to be bred. I'm going to cum in you every day til it sticks and then everyone will know who you belong to." "Please, pull out," you beg and reach down to rub your clit, feeling the climax shimmering underneath your skin.

"Such a bad liar, sweetheart," he chuckles. "Are you going to come on my cock? Are you gonna claim me just as I claim you?" "Yes! I just need- harder!" you pant. "Fucking hell," Bucky grunts and does as you demand.

The climax rips through you with little regard for your sanity. The sound leaving your throat makes it raw and a second later Bucky moans your name loud enough for the neighbors to hear. It's almost good enough to feel him finish inside you that you come again, but you’re too spent to do more than shudder.

Then he kisses you again, sweetly, caringly, and pushes his arms in under your body to hug you close to him. "So perfect," he whispers against your mouth. The cums start to trickle out onto the couch but neither of you care, too caught up in each other's lips.

"How are you doing sweetheart?" he asks when he comes up for a breath. "I feel a little high," you confess. "Haven't been fucked that good in a long time."

There is something in his gaze that shifts and he leans his forehead against yours. "I'm sorry. I just… I couldn't take it anymore… I like you so much." "Lucky for you I get off on that stuff," you smile. "And if I had said stop I trust you would have."

He hugs you so hard you can hardly breathe. "Of course, I fucking would." "You can make it up to me by going tender the next time," you smile. "Next time?" "As many times as you’ll have me." He laughs into your skin. "I don't think you're ready for that!"

Suddenly the sound of the doorbell jerks the two of you apart. You stare at Bucky with wide eyes. "My date," you whisper, horrified.

With a smirk, he raises himself on his arms. "I should make you go on that date with my cum running out of you, maybe even let him get as far as spreading your legs just to see that you’re already claimed."

With a groan, you cover your face with your hands. "Don't tempt me," you tell him before wiggling out from under him, finding your clothes, and hastily pulling them on.

Opening the door just a crack, you understand you look a mess by the way your date eyes you. "Sorry," your voice is small. "I wasn't feeling great and then I fell asleep on the couch." "Yeah, you look terrible," the guy notes before handing you one of the ugliest bouquets you've ever seen. Quickly stepping away he says, "I'll call you." but you know he won't. "Great, I'll see you around," you respond before closing the door.

Bucky takes the flowers from you and shoves them in the trash before grabbing you around the waist and kissing you again. "Didn't you say he was promising?" "I have no clue what you're talking about," you answer with a completely straight face but then start to giggle as he swoops you up and carries you to his bedroom.

[cashmoneyyysstuff]

just a thought !! but what do u think ‘suki would do if he accidentally hurt reader ? like an elbow to the nose or smth , bc i kid u not that happened with my bf today and he would not leave until i told him i was fine 😭 js thought that katsu wld be an internal emotion wreck ??!

wait i love this omg😭😭tysm for the ask anon this is so cute, your boyfriend sounds like a sweetheart !

your nose stings.

you don’t really know how it happened, but you ended up getting decked in the nose by your boyfriend. accidentally, of course, said boyfriend would rip his own nails of before even thinking of hurting you. however, said boyfriend was also built out of fucking marble.

so it wouldn’t be surprising to say your nose hurt like a bitch.

“ow, ow, ow !” you whine, katsuki channels through confusion, realization and utter fear in about a millisecond. his hands smack against your face.

“holy—shit ! what the fuck’re y’doin’ ?!” his eyes scan all over your face like he’d shot you, and it honestly almost felt like he did. his hands grip at your cheeks. you wince when he presses his thumb to your nose. “ow—i was jus’ g’nna surprise you—ouch, katsuki !”

you pull your face out of his grip but he pulls you back, “stop squirmin’ an’ let me see.” he mumbles quietly, eyebrows furrowed hard. in focus or anger or worry but probably a mix of all three if you knew anything about him.

“holy fuck, why were you sneakin’ around like that, dummy..” you want to roll your eyes about him still trying to scold you, but the tone of his voice is different then when he usually does. he does sound genuinely worried so you want to reassure him.

“i was just trying to say hello.” you reiterate. “suki, i’m fine. it’s already starting to hurt less.” he ignores you and continues to inspect your face.

“nothin’ broken..” he mumbles to himself, thumbing at your nose a bit softer this time. you manage a snort.

“of course not, jesus, katsuki—”

“you’re okay, yeah ?”

“yes !” you giggle, gripping at his wrists. he pouts, studying your face. “it’s already starting to hurt less.”

he frowns even harder “i elbowed the shit outta you.”

“by accident.” you correct, “katsuki, it’s fine.”

“..you’re sure.”

“i’m sure.” you nod, smiling at him to reinforce your point. he squints, then sighs loudly. leaning in to kiss the bridge of your nose, copying the get better kisses you jokingly give him that he always scoffs at but insist you give him without fault. it hurts a bit, but you feel giddy anyway, your smile grows wider.

“don’t sneak up on me like that again, dummy.” he insists “i mean it.”

you cross your fingers together “promise.” you hum, he scoffs, you don’t think he can muster up a roll of his eyes right now since he can’t seem to be able of taking them away from you. he runs his thumb over your forehead.

“if it starts hurting or something, you tell me.”

“katsuki !” you groan, laughing. katsuki doesn’t look amused. not at all.

he growls “oi, i mean it.”

“i got it, i told you i am fine. you’re okay.” it seems that was the reassurance he needed. that you weren’t mad at him to boot. he exhales, shoulders dropping the slightest bit.

“…...you’re positive ?”

“katsuki, i swear to god—”

[fandomxo00]

Logan and reader being in a secret relationship while at the mansion and him staying awake late (though let’s be honest he was awake anyways) just so he can sneak into her room to spend time with her, snuggle, watch a movie (bonus points if it’s a twin bed - I love the idea of a 6’2” man squishing himself on a twin bed with his partner just to spend time with her no matter how uncomfortable it is) x 🥺💕✨

note: logan in his sweats makes me feral, 2000 logan makes me feral, logan makes feral - he's such a night owl and id soo match his freak lmao -trying to work on the requests i have won't be super long or edited, but i'm excitedd xooo, if your request isnt posted soon, i'm just still working on it! i so appreciate all of the requests i get, thank you guys ❤️❤️❤️

it would be super late at night; he'd been tossing and turning for hours. Thinking about you and trying not to give in to see you. The two of you weren't technically together, though he claimed you whenever he did fold. You were much younger than him, you were still technically a student. You just got here a little while ago, already an adult when he met you. But you were still in the student side of the building, he even had to fuck you in a twin bed. Most of the time you didn't fold and come to him, you were far too nervous to sneak into the teacher's dorms of the school Plus, sometimes you tricked yourself into thinking he didn't want you, so you wouldn't risk it.

So with the moon's light shining through his window, he kicked off his sheets, turning so his feet hit the floor. Logan was only in his gray sweatpants, his hand coming to scratch as his belly before he rose to his feet. He knew that if he didn't go to you wouldn't go to bed til much-much later, your mind never able to turn off. So he walked over to the back of his door, grabbing his zip up hoodie and walking out of his room. Padding down the hallways, listening carefully to things around him. Before coming up to your door that had little stars around your name. His hand came around the handle, his jaw clenching as he twisted the knob and moved the door open.

That's when he saw you, completely unaware that he was in the room. You had your glasses on the bridge of your nose, your chin dipped as your brown eyes focused on the screen. You were typing away with your earbuds in, the music you were listening could be heard from the outside. Though with his hearing he knew what song you liked, always listening to the same playlist whenever he came in. Little did he know you had a playlist labeled, 12, for the first letter of his first name. Songs that reminded you of him, or songs you heard him playing in his classroom. He glanced over at the window that was cracked open, your rig and torch sitting below.

You even smoked late at night, trying to get your mind to slowly shut off but sometimes it was like your sleep medication and the weed kept you awake. Though some nights it was the opposite, but he saw the tired look in your eyes. You were fighting sleep, and your mind probably kept going. When he closed your door, your head lifted up and you yelped, jumping.

Logan laughed as you took out your headphones, "Like you don't see me every night." He joked, as you scoffed, closing your laptop quickly and setting your thighs to the side.

"Was waiting for you."

"Should've just come to me, sunshine." Logan hummed as he sauntered over to the bed, your hands reached out to the sides of his jacket zipper, pulling him into you. His lips find yours in a soft kiss as you rise on to your knees.

The two of you crawled into bed together, Logan pulling you in closer to him so you comfortably lay on the bed, his legs folding into yours to create room. Curling his head into your neck with one arm under your neck or arm, the other around your waist or hip. The two of you couldn't really move much and when you did, the other had to be aware in order to not fall off the bed. You usually didn't just find sleep, when you first started doing this it was filled with a lot of sex. But the two of you were just too tired, so you listened to each other talk. Feeling the vibrations of each other's chest, breathing, hands tracing over each other's skin as you rambled.

Logan having to turn you into him so he could kiss you, looking into your eyes as you rambled on about the story you were writing. He loved how much detail you went in with him, especially when it got dirty. Logan listened to every detail fascinated by the way your mind worked and how excited you would get at some plot points. You would wound up in the crook of his arm, while he found his home tickling the skin of your neck with his beard. His natural musk invading his senses and drawing the sleep out of him as he found solicae and comfort in your embrace. Your own hand draped over his waist, moving under his jacket to feel his warm skin. Then he'd peel off the jacket, pressing you to his skin and making you practically purr as you melted into him.

tags: @ohtobemare @jessjessmarvelandhp @chronicallybubbly @delicateholland @bubblegumholland @mega-kittyglitter-1

[giannaln4]

I'm Sorry

lando norris x fem reader

summary: A moment of frustration made Lando react the way you never thought he would, and boy, would he regret it.  (1.6k words)

warnings: angst, swearing, argument, mean lando,  fluffy ending

a/n: ok so for this, i decided to go back to Baku and put the quali result in a totally different perspective than my last fic. i guess i kinda like it but i'm not very good at describing arguments 😭 anyway pls let me know what you think!!

ALSO i have an announcement to make and i'm really excited for it :)

check out the original request here!

↺ back to navigation — send me a request!

The qualifying this weekend was an absolute mess, to say the least. Lando was hard on himself no matter the result he got. Even if it was good, he would always find something to criticise himself, but P17? Everyone was in for a treat, you thought.

The worst part is that it wasn’t even his fault; it was a stupid mistake by the marshals, and he was not to blame for it. A yellow flag interrupted his lap, and he was immediately kicked out in Q1. 

Seeing the first qualifying session being over with his name in red was not something anyone wanted to see, especially not him, and now that every point was essential, you knew it crushed him.

He came back to the garage to see the rest of the qualifying with his team, and as soon as he got out of the car, you saw how frustrated he was. You understood him, of course, it sucked that this is how the weekend was going, but you would be there for him no matter what.

Once Lando took off his helmet, he headed straight to his driver’s room, and he didn’t even look at you when he walked past. That meant he wanted to be alone, but oh silly you, you decided to follow him.

He let out a loud sight when he heard the door open and close behind him, not really in the mood to hear what you had to say. He knew for a fact you were going to tell him he did well and it wasn’t his fault, which he greatly appreciated, but right now, he just wanted to suffer in peace.

“Baby?” You called him out, just testing the waters, but he didn’t respond. Instead, he hummed in annoyance. “I know you don’t want to hear this right now, but-”

“You are right, I don’t want to hear it,” he interrupted you, not even turning around to face you. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned into it, taking a deep breath. 

That should have been your cue to leave the small room and leave him alone, but for some reason you didn’t. “Lando, don't beat yourself up over this. It wasn’t your fault, and I’m sure things will be better tomorrow. We all know what you can do and you still have the race-“

“This is MY job, Y/N. I probably know better than you do,” he snapped, raising his voice and finally turning around. “This is what I’m fighting for, we all are. Do you know what’s at stake here? I finally have the chance to compete for a championship, and I just blew it.”

To say you were astonished was an understatement; this was the first time he ever snapped at you that way and you didn’t know how to react. “I’m sorry, I just-”

“Every point counts, and not even starting in the top 10 tomorrow- fuck, not even top 15, there is not much I can do.” Now, he looked more mad at you than frustrated at himself, and that crushed you. “I came here to be alone for a bit, I was hoping you would at least respect that." You stayed silent, knowing a single sound would make you cry, and you didn’t want to piss him off more than he already was. “I know you are trying to help, but you are not, you can’t.”

You just stared at him, tears threatening to leave your eyes; he had never raised his voice at you in a heated moment, and it hurt like hell. You definitely should have stayed outside. 

He walked towards the door and stepped out of the room without uttering another word, leaving you alone to deal with your own feelings. 

As soon as the door was closed, you started crying. It was your own fault, really; you could always read him like a book, even today, and you knew better than to disturb him when you weren’t supposed to, but today for some reason you just couldn't keep your mouth shut. Idiot.

You tried to calm yourself down; the last thing Lando needed was to see you cry on top of his result, but it was harder than you expected. This being the first time an argument got so out of hand made you feel absolutely terrible, especially because it was your fault. Deep down, you knew he didn’t mean it, you knew it was his feelings talking, but that didn’t make it any less painful.

A few minutes went by and you could still hear the cars out on track, the mumbling of the team, and people constantly working out there, so you tried to use that as a distraction. Anything to take your mind off what just happened. 

Unfortunately, it didn’t help, but at least you ran out of tears, and now you were just staring at a blank wall, thinking how you could begin to apologise for earlier, if he would even give you the chance to. 

Truth is, you weren’t sure if bringing it up again would be a good idea; you wanted to apologise for disrupting his cooldown moment, but what if hearing that made him mad again? Or worse, what if you didn’t apologise and made the situation even bigger? Your spiralling made you lose track of time, and a knock on the door pulled you out of your thoughts. 

“The car is about to leave, Y/N, they are waiting for you,” you heard someone say on the other side of the door. You were at least hoping Lando would come and get you once it was time to go back to the hotel, but he didn’t.

“Thanks, I will be there in a minute,” you replied, grabbing your things and Lando’s before sprinting outside. 

The car ride was hell. Lando didn’t look at you the entire time; he was just staring at his phone, texting who knows who, his face as neutral as ever. It felt longer than it actually was, and when you finally got there, he just stepped out of the car and didn’t look back. You let out a sigh and followed him, leaving a prudent distance between the two of you. 

Once you were in the hotel room, you both started to get ready for bed, like you usually did, except this time, you didn’t acknowledge each other. 

That was until you were already on your side of the bed and he came out of the bathroom, taking the spot next to you and burying his face on his phone again. The entire time you were building up the courage to say something, anything, now that you decided that apologising was the right thing to do.

“Lando?” You called for him, but again, he just hummed in response. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You were right, I shouldn’t have said anything, and I should have respected that you just wanted to be alone.”

That’s when it hit him. How could he get so mad at you for trying to make him feel better? 

He dropped his phone and turned to face you, and noticing your sad expression and teary eyes broke him. His eyes softened as guilt washed over him. Why were you apologising when he was the one who reacted like that? But as soon as you looked down at your hands to avoid eye contact and tears started falling down your face again, he felt even worse. 

“Y/N… Baby, I’m so sorry.” He got closer to you, softly taking your cheeks in his hands to get you to look at him. “Please don’t cry, I’m sorry I acted like a dick and raised my voice at you,” he stared, wiping your tears away, carefully thinking about what else he could say. 

You, on the other hand, didn’t know how to react. Your plan was to apologise and hopefully move on, but now that he was apologising, you didn’t know what to say; you didn’t want him to feel guilty, even though it was his fault you were in that position right now. If only he took a different approach. 

“It wasn’t your fault, okay? You were just trying to help, and I should have appreciated that, you know that I do, I just... I don’t know, there is no excuse for what I did.” But you were still silent and trying to avoid eye contact. “Baby, say something.” 

“Lando, you yelled at me.” You finally replied, your voice a bit muffled by your tears.

“I know, I shouldn’t have done that, and I promise I’ll never do it again.”

After a minute of silence, you just nodded, which made him let out a sigh of relief. “Okay.”

“Okay? I’m sorry, my love.” He pulled you into a hug, your head on his chest as he placed a soft kiss on your head. “I know I was a dick, and I really wish I was nicer about it.”

“It’s okay, I get it; you were frustrated with your result, and I should’ve known better than to interfere with what you were feeling.”

“No, it’s not okay. I was frustrated, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you.” Lando was rubbing your back softly, trying to bring you the comfort you tried to give him earlier. “I love you, and I can’t describe how much I appreciate everything you do for me; I know having to deal with my shit is not easy, so thank you.”

“It’s fine, I mean it.” You looked up at him, locking eyes finally in the entire day. “Just... don’t push me away, okay? And if you do need to be alone, just say it, and I promise I will listen next time.”

“Okay, sounds good.”

He gently placed a hand on your check, rubbing small circles before leaning in for a kiss, one both of you much needed. And with one final ‘I love you’, you feel asleep in his arms.

[arcadia-of-pluto]

Casually calling them "daddy" LADS

Word count; 1,913

Themes; slightly barely there suggestive content, fluff, established relationship

Warnings; mention of "daddy" ofc, fluff

Notes; So these turned out more fluffy than I originally intended...honestly, thought they'd be more smutty, but I've learnt that it's really difficult for me to write smut. Or at least, smut with little to no context before it all goes down. I might eventually write some smuttier drabbles, but regardless of smut, I hope you enjoy this little thing I wrote!

You saw that there was an old trend about calling your boyfriend “daddy” and videoing their reaction so, obviously, you wanted to give it a try…

Xavier 

It's been almost a year since you and Xavier started dating– and it was a wonderful eleven months! He told you everything about himself. What his future with you was like, all of his feelings throughout the centuries, and you listened. You wholeheartedly believed him, because it would be one hell of a lie if it wasn't true…and you didn't think Xavier had the time or energy to come up with a complex lie like that. 

But even if you now know, time moves on. There's not much you can do about your future self, so you can't really change the future in that way though…Xavier's here now, in the past, and that's all that matters to you. 

Anyway, today was just a normal day as any. 

You were sitting at the counter, keeping a close eye on Xavier– who was attempting to follow, yet another, cooking tutorial. The man was desperate to cook a decent meal for you. His heart dead set on making you something edible for your upcoming year anniversary…and while that was cute, you also wanted to mess with him. 

You push your cup just out of your reach and make a big show of trying to reach for it, before sighing loudly. 

“Daddy, can you pass me my drink please?” 

You can hear the clang of a spatula hitting the floor and you watch Xavier’s body comically whip around to face you. 

“What?” His head cocks to the side as his wide eyes were set on your face. “Say that again..”

“Hmm? I said ‘Xav, can you pass me my drink, please’.” You copy his head tilt and he quickly shakes his head.

 “No, no you didn't.” He takes a few steps toward you before grabbing your hand in-between both of his. “Say it again.” 

You couldn't resist his sweet puppy dog eyes, so you hold back a smile as you meet his eyes. “I...called you daddy.” 

“Really?” He seems unusually excited. “So are we…?” His gaze lowers to your stomach and you can’t help the giggle that slips from your lips. 

Gosh, he was so cute. 

“Baby– no, no. We're not pregnant.” You run your fingers through his hair with a smile on your lips. “Are...you disappointed?” 

“Mmh..” Xavier hums thoughtfully for a moment before he shakes his head. “No. We can just make it a reality later. No need to rush.” 

Zayne 

You and Zayne have only been dating for six months, but it felt like much longer. Having known each other since you were little, you both had always been close– well, your definition of close and his were probably different. You always thought of him as a friend while he tried to keep a distance and thought you hated him. But time brought you both back together with him as your primary care physician. 

The two of you had been flirting up until his birthday and finally made it official once he blew his candles out on the cake you made for him. It was a sweet time, but that was six months ago. 

Now, though, you really want to fluster the man. 

He always embarrasses you and makes you feel nervous, but you never get to see him that way. Sure, his ears will turn red and sometimes he won't meet your eyes when you get too intense with him, but you've never seen him absolutely shocked. And you just wanted to see one look of surprise from him. 

So, what did you decide to do? 

You decided to casually call him "daddy” as a joke.

That should definitely go over well. 

Zayne is seated behind his desk at the hospital, sorting through papers as you longue on his sofa. Your eyes continuously glancing toward the windows to make sure the door was shut and the blinds were closed. 

“If you keep staring at the door, you just might burn a hole through it.” Zayne says, though he didn't even look up from his paperwork. He was attentive like that and probably already knew you wanted something or you were ready to go home. And he was right. 

“When are we going home…daddy?” You ask as you kick your feet in the air behind you. You were on your stomach, resting your cheek against your arms as you watched his expression…which didn't change at all. 

"Just give me a few more minutes, angel, and I'll be done.” Zayne pushes his glasses up with his index finger and clicks his pen, jotting down a few notes. 

“I–” You puff your cheeks out with a small sigh and decide to keep going with it. “I want to go home now, daddy.”

“Didn't I just tell you to be patient?” Now Zayne finally looks up at you with one of his brows raised. “I'll deal with you when we get home.” 

Rafayel 

It's been four months since Rafayel asked you out. Four months since you tugged Rafayel down into the bath with you, which set off a chain reaction of a steamy night, followed by him asking you out the next morning; he also complained that you both went out of order, but he wasn’t too upset when you continued where you left off…

Now, though, you moved out of your apartment and to Rafayel's home, ‘Mo Art Studio’ at Whitesand Bay. 

It was definitely odd at first, but it was a good change of pace. Always being by the ocean, able to take your morning walks together on the beach and collect seashells. You had a whole collection on your desk at work. He'd always give you the most unique and prettiest shells, saying “only the best for his cutie”. 

He was also so easy to fluster. 

You immediately knew you had him wrapped around your finger every time his ears would turn red. That same crimson slowly made its way from his ears to his cheeks, all the way to his whole face. So you assumed your little ‘prank’ would also have the same effect. 

You were sitting on a beach towel in the sand with an umbrella blocking your eyes from the bright sun. In front of you was Rafayel, painting your visage, with an easel. His hand deftly moves across the canvas as he sketches the outline for his new painting. 

Lately, you are the only thing he can paint. Always asking you to stop what you're doing so he can run and get his sketch pad. You could be doing something so normal and mundane, but he'd be struck with the inspiration to record your very image. 

As much as you loved it and thought this was very sweet, after almost two weeks of this…You wanted some form of payback. 

“Hey, daddy, can we take a break for a second? It’s really hot out here.” You squint your eyes to try and see Rafayel's face, your hand fanning at your body because you, seriously, are hot out here. 

“Huh?” 

It's like Rafayel is frozen in time, or buffering. He's just blankly staring at you with a confused expression on his face until his pencil drops into the sand. That's when he quickly stands up  and makes his way toward you. 

“Again.” 

Now, it's your turn to be confused. 

“Raf, what–” 

“Not that, say the other word again.” His ears were red as he crouched down in front of you, a look of determination in his eyes. 

“No– you're making it weird!” You put your hands on his shoulders, trying to put some distance between him as your face turns red. 

“Please, I really need to hear you say it again! I'm seriously going to die if you don't.” There's your overdramatic fishy. 

“Fine, but just this once.” You grumble, turning your head to look away from him. “Daddy…” Though you say it as low as you can and Rafayel groans, tilting his head back. 

“Louder.” He rests his forehead against yours. “Come on, cutie. If you don't…I might want to change that to my new nickname.”

Sylus

It's been about…a year? Yes, definitely a year since you and Sylus started dating. Well, you both have differing opinions on when exactly you started dating. Sylus claims it was the moment he laid eyes on you in the N109 Zone, while you claim it was only about six months ago– which is when you and Sylus made a bet. 

It was a bet where if he came back safely from his mission, he'd leave you alone. He wouldn't bother you anymore, wouldn't talk to you, contact you, anything of the sort…and you won, but you didn't realize he'd actually do it. So whenever you seeked him out to make sure he was safe, and he ignored you, you realized that maybe you did want him in your life. 

This led to you running across the street to him and jumping into his arms like this was a hallmark movie, and you claim this was when you officially started dating Sylus.

But between us, you just agree with Sylus when he says a year, because if you don't, he'll pout for the whole day. 

...And today was one of those ‘pouty Sylus’ days. 

You went on a mission that was probably way too dangerous, even though you told Sylus you were going to slow down on your Hunter's work. But you couldn't just ignore endangered civilians. If any of them would have died, that would've been too much for your sympathetic heart to handle. 

And even if Sylus understands your reasoning, he's still upset that you left without telling him– having woken up to a cold bed without you by his side sent him spiraling into a panic. 

So, when you got home, you noticed he was sulking in the kitchen as he made dinner. 

“Sy…” You take your shoes off by the door, nervously fiddling with your fingers as you tentatively walk into the kitchen. Standing behind the counter, you sigh, “I'm reeaally sorry...” 

“If you're reeaaally sorry, then help me make our dinner.” He says, not looking up at you and that doesn't make you feel any better. 

“Okay..” You finally step past the counter and you look around. “So…what do you need?” You were trying to figure out something– anything that could make Sylus feel better when a thought comes to your mind. 

Most guys probably like it when their girlfriend calls them daddy…right? 

“In the cabinet, top shelf. I need a bottle of garlic powder.” 

Okay, you got this. 

You take a deep breath and open the cabinet, straining your arm to try and reach the seasoning bottle, but your fingertips barely brush it and knock it over. “Shit…” You swallow back your nervousness before continuing, “Daddy, can you grab it for me?” 

The room fills with silence for a moment, but then you hear Sylus chuckle. 

“Sure, kitten.” 

Your back suddenly feels warm as a firm chest presses against it and Sylus reaches up from behind you to grab the bottle. 

“I ask you to do one simple thing and you can't even do that.” Sylus chides, clicking his tongue as he pops the bottle open to pour some into the pan on the stove. 

“Da–”

“If you think a few empty words will make me feel better, kitten…you've got to try a lot harder than that.” 

I'd like to say, this is definitely one of my better drabbles– one of my favorites, in fact!

I have like...six more ideas for drabbles and then I'll need to come up with some more. Like these new cards and Rafayel's student photoshoot event really had me thinking of how seriously the LADS men would take roleplaying– and that spawned a whole different drabble idea, so you can definitely look forward to that!

I'm trying to come up with new ways to do my drabbles, so that's why I did a little prelude before I started writing for the guys. Please let me know any feedback yall have for me! Especially with the coloured dialogue, I'm not too sure if I like it, but it seems really pretty and probably makes it easier to tell who is talking apart. (I won't use it for my fic though, only the drabbles!)

Anyway, I have a small personal project I'm working on this weekend so I probably won't be able to write any chapters for my 'Divisa' fic, but I'm still going to post chapter nineteen of 'Twist of Fate' and try to write at least two more chapters since I'm only on twenty-three or so.

I hope you all enjoyed these drabbles and I hope yall have a great night/day! 🩷

[u5an5]

Just watched Deadpool & Wolverine with polish subs based on dub and I have to be honest, there's much more funny stuff than I expected, considering that the rest of it made me glad I'm not watching it with actual dub

So, things that picked my interest:

Instead "207 when I watch Gossip Girl" he straight up says "207 when I watch porn" (Gossip Girl isn't especialy popular show here so reference wouldn't mean anything for majority of audience anyway, but to straight up say it instead replacing it?)

"Ok peanut, 'guess we're getting that team-up after all" got replaced with "Okej ptysiu, nie ma to jak seks grupowy", which translates to "Okay cutiepie, nothing better than group sex" (??? we're still in the first 5 minutes of the movie)

"you know what they say, when one door closes, your locker at work opens" translated to "Jak to mówią… Jak zamykają od przodu, to ładujesz się od tyłu" which translates roughly to "Like they say... when they close the front, you get in the behind" which I find kinda funny

Peters line about seeing Wade in suit comes of gayish cause he doesn't say he wants to see him in the suit again, he wants to LOOK at him in it again, you know what I mean

intead "This guy looks ready to throw it all away for me" he says "This cutie would gladly get hugged by my bowels" which is a lot more straightforward than I expected

Wades spiel to comic acurate height Wolverine is much more insulting and instead being all "what a cwute short king you awe" translates to "Oh fuck, a furball dwarf? Was there even dwarf like that? Furballs mommy drank lots of booze when she was pregnant? Maybe daddy was a ratferret? Don't even come near me, 'cause you surely have ticks"

"I need you to come with me, right now" to "Zapraszam cię na randke, i to natychmiast" meaning "I invite you to a date, and I mean right now" (Logan replies with "Złotko, nie kręci mnie to" which translates to "Sweetie, I'm not diggin' it" and by "it" I'm honestly not sure if he means Wade himself, the fact that Wade said he's only here because he's the Wolverine just a second ago, or because his suit looks like fetish gear)

"It's quite common to Wolverines after 40" to "It's normal when going trough menopause, I get it"

they replaced "peanut" to different endearments to not be repetive but the most often used one is "ptysiu" (ptyś is a choux pastry; if I had to translate it as english endearment, I'd go with cutiepie). its cute imo

Logans "bub" also got replaced by endearments/insults losely fitting situation but the stupidest one has to be Logan calling Johnny "misiu", which translates to "little bear" and let me tell you, it's HILARIOUS cause it's equvalent of calling a random guy "sweetie" but in the "your grandma asking if you want seconds (yes you do, no you don't have any say)" way

"my boy's wicked strong" is translated to "mój chłopak zna się na rzeczy". It's slightly like the papi situation from spanish dub cause yes, "chłopak"'s direct translation is often "boyfriend" but it is also used as "boy", "guy" or "dude", usualy towards guys younger/about the same age as you. However, the addition of "mój"/"mine, my" makes it much more angled towards boyfriend, wherever they wanted to or not. There are at least three different ways to translate it and make it less gae I know and the've still chosen this one.

They made, in my opinion, the "its a common curtesy to ask" "Its good thing I don't give a fuck" lines better by translating them to "you shoud've ask, thats polite thing to do" "and you can politely fuck off"

they replaced Star Trek reference with Star Wars one, using Han Solo instead Spock and idk. on one hand they did it to THE spirk moment but on the other they made, and I may be reaching, but it seems like covert reference to "I know" scene so ??? (star trek is nowewhere near as known as star wars here so they would probs replace it either way but it also can be just "star trek and star wars sound so much alike, they have to be basically the same, right?" haha joke)

them instead innuendos using the most over the top forms of insult that no one ever heard is kinda funny but only because I only had to read them; if I ever heard somone call somebody "kutasina" irl I would find a way for at least one of us to not be able to hear anything ever again ("cockleter" is my best attempt to recreate this horseshit)

If you guys want to share some treasures from your native dubs/subs, feel free to

[faeriekit]

Health and Hybrids (XXVIII)👽👻💚

[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]

🖤Chapter navigation can be found here🖤 Click to browse previous updates.

💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts 💚 (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)

Where we last left off... Danny has another hashtag breakdown! Man, we've got a lot of these, huh? It's YJ's fault this time; whoopsie doodles! ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.

💚👻👽👻💚

“Danny,” Diana says from the door.

Danny looks up from his place in the book. It’s definitely aimed at younger kids, but it’s a pretty wordy picture book; there are a couple paragraphs he can’t quite parse, but he’s making pretty good progress on the words he can’t recognize.

It’s a story about a cat who misses its mother. Danny tries not to relate to it too much.

“Hm?” he asks, flipping the front flap of the dust cover over his current pages to mark his place. The book goes back onto the nightstand, beside his space shuttle; Danny uses the railing beside his bed to support himself stepping up and out of his wheelchair, leaning on the railing until he can figure out…wait, where’d he leave his old people walker?

“This walk is long. You will want your chair.”

Well, then. Couldn’t she have said that before Danny did all that pulling? Danny falls back into his chair, kinda peeved. “Fine.”

Diana smiles. She doesn’t have to wear the mask around him anymore— Danny’s pretty sure that his injuries have been declared as clotted, or sealed, or whatever at this rate. They for sure swabbed his ectoplasm and came to some kind of conclusion, anyway, which means he only looks gross, but isn’t, like…actively leaking fluids.

On the one hand, gross! But, well, you know. Nothing for it but bandaids and time.

And her face looks nice. Danny hadn’t known what she’d looked like, before. She smiles when she sees him. Her light eyes crinkle, and her lips turn up… She’s nice. Danny’s sure that she’s only there to be in charge of him in case he gets scary, but she’s in charge of him and she’s nice. She doesn’t have to be nice; lots of people have been in charge of him and been mean about it. There was that one guy who kept holding him—with the taser—

(Time slips away from him, a little. When he gets back to the world in front of him, Diana is carefully looking at his face, the back of her hand stroking the back of his.)

Danny’s in his chair. He’s not…there. He’s in his chair, on a big space station (????) with a bunch of really colorful fighters on it, and Diana is touching his hand (that’s so much weaker and slower than it used to be) and he’s not hungry and he’s only scared because of memories. He’s safe. He’s not being pinned down by the neck so that they can strap down his wrists and hips to the table—they’re not shocking him—he can move his fingers, he’s not stuck in his core—

His core throbs. Danny bites into his bisected lip, and tries not to cry.

“Are you alright?” Diana asks, voice gentled. The soft touch of her hand doesn’t stop. “We can wait. There is no—“

Danny shakes his head, and takes his hand away so he could wipe at his eyes. It’s fine. Bad memories are everywhere: in the walls, in the floor, in the ceiling, in the hands of people taking care of him. That’s not… There’s nothing Danny can do about that. That just. Takes time.

…He think he might have that time. Now. He thought he would die for good in that five by five box, waiting for something that would finally end him instead of just keeping him in a cycle of injuries he never fully healed from.

But now he’s not. He’s here.

He wants to keep going.

“Alright,” Diana says, slow and careful. “Hold on.”

Danny doesn’t hold on—or, well, you know, he engages his core muscles and all that, but he doesn’t cling to his arm rests or to the frame of his chair because he knows that Diana is really, really strong, but she also really, really doesn’t want to hurt him.

She rolls him out of the medical wing and into the space station proper. Danny feels like he’s been here before, but he doesn’t remember it super well. Maybe it was when he was sick or something? Either way, a lot of different people wave at him as they go by—or just straight up stare, if they’re rude—and Danny generally just watches people rush by, carrying all kinds of equipment, and a potted plant, and a…starfish in a jar…?

Oh, the starfish waves at him???? Danny waves back because?? What??

Danny rolls to a stop at a smooth, cylindrical elevator. It looks like a giant test tube.

…Oh boy. Danny takes a deep breath, and holds it. Reflexively. Sure, this elevator probably isn’t like being dunked into water to see if his body absorbs ambient oxygen from the atmosphere or if his biology is truly not oxygen-based, but the memory is. Bad.

They go upwards. Nothing happens but Diana’s pushed button.

Danny exhales.

They get off at a section of the base Danny’s never been to, and it's essentially just a long, somewhat narrow hallway. The walls are actually painted a creamy off-white here, and there’s…like…decorative panels towards the base of his wheels trailing down the hallway? An orange ceiling, too?

Huh??

The rooms are numbered, but they’re not plain steel like in other areas downstairs; some of them have stickers, or drawings, or marker written straight onto the door itself. They look...cozy...? Danny thinks so, anyway, compared to the rest of the ultra high tech space base.

They roll to a stop in front of a door. It’s got a number on it, same as all the others, but there’s a box cutout taped to the front of it. The—

—The print is of the same style of space shuttle Danny keeps next to his bed, inked onto glorious cardboard medium.

Danny stares.

“Gegrapa,” Diana urges, so gentle. Too bad that, uh, Danny doesn’t know that one. He looks at her. She mimes touching the door— Oh. Got it.

Danny leans forward just enough to touch the door with his fingertips.

The door says something in a robotic voice, but the synthesizer is too mangled for Danny to make out the words. The door slides open horizontally into the wall, instead of the way the other doors open like portals or from below, and it’s kind of cool?

Inside is a bedroom. Danny stares.

…No, it’s actually a bedroom. Not a medical wing, not a cot, not a repurposed conference room or—it’s actually got a bed in it. Like. A real one. There’s a wooden headboard and it’s got a mattress on it that’s thicker than a VCR.

There’s constellation sheets on a bed big enough to curl up on.

There’s a nightstand, a small desk on the far wall—there’s a little lip where the bedroom dips into a tiny sitting room, a small television on a table and a small table and chair. It’s kind of…it’s kind of like a little hotel suite.

Danny’s mouth goes dry.

He doesn’t move, and Diana doesn’t wheel him in. “It’s okay,” Diana says, and—Danny almost flinches when she touches his hair, but it’s only Diana, who’s never hit him, and they’re fine. He’s…safe. It’s safe. He’s safe here. “Do you want to go in?”

Danny doesn’t move. His hands don’t touch the wheels. They’re shaking; he puts his hands in his lap and he tries to breathe. “…What?” he asks hoarsely.

“A rum for my Danny,” Diana murmurs, quietly. Danny’s heart throbs at the possessive. “You are healthier now. You do not need doctors every hour, but only sum hours. You cuðe spenda more time here, all ana.”

Words go by so fast even at Diana's smooth, unhurried pace— and Danny licks dry, split lips. He looks around the room—and the room is small, sure, but they're in space. Space will always be a premium. Even in this small room, though, the furniture is sparse and placed distant from each other…distant enough that Danny can wheel around freely in his chair.

There’s a Moon clock display hung on the wall over the doorway, and Danny can faintly see the outline of what he assumes is the current lunar phase as seen from Earth.

Having the lamp isn’t exactly the same as glow-in-the-dark-stars, and thank goodness for that. If it had been, Danny might have cried.

(Or, he realizes, something burning in his eyes that isn’t ectoplasm, maybe he is crying.)

“...Me?” Danny asks, terrified to know the answer. Is this room for him?? Is he getting a room here? Is he supposed to stay here? On the moon?! Is he supposed to stay with everyone here, in a tiny room, where there’s nowhere to go and nowhere to escape?

…It’s a bedroom. It’s already so much more than the stupid guys in white ever gave him.

“Yes,” Diana says, and lets go of his hair. “Use it, or do not. Sitta here, or sitta in the medical bay, but now you have two choices.”

Okay. So Danny has choices. He swallows his feelings—they taste a lot like snot—and rolls himself inside to inspect the room.

There’s another little fridge inside the sitting area. It’s not right next to the bed like it is beside Danny’s cot, but it is the same style of fridge. When Danny pops the door open, it has the same styles of snacks. Fig Einsteins. Peanut butter squeezies and applesauce squeezies and yogurt squeezies. Protein shakes in bottles. Pedialight. Hummus packs.

Danny might still need someone to open the snack packs for him. That’s kind of a high dexterity food, if he thinks about it.

“If you wish to sitta here, we will visit you all you like. There is a belle at your bed,” Diana says, and walks in with all her purple scrubs and tied-up hair to point to a little button on his nightstand. It’s red. It’s got a little smiley face sticker next to it, and Danny thinks he recognizes the style from one of his nurse’s bestickered name tags. Belle is probably a direct cognate for bell. He’ll be able to get everyone to come up here if he needs help.

…Okay, that’s kind of nice. To have personal space. He hasn’t had that since… Danny’s eyes squint as he thinks; he rubs an eye. Wait, when had he been squatting under a conference table? Was that a real memory??

Diana is very tall, even in the little space, but when she ducks her head, the gesture makes her a little smaller, a little more manageable for Danny’s lower-than-usual-gaze. Now that he can see her expression, she looks soft, and even uncertain, even though she looks stone and strong on the television when she goes out to fight. “Do you like it?” she asks.

Danny fidgets.

He—does. He likes it a lot. The room doesn’t have any windows, but if Danny moved all his things in here, got used to being able to come and go, and people coming in and out…this space could be just another space. It’s quieter than the medical ward. More peaceful.

…The room is utterly devoid of other people.

(Danny thinks of The Box. Danny thinks of being in The Box.)

(Danny doesn’t like remembering The Box.)

“I am scared,” Danny admits to his twitching thumbs, his fingers itching for a fidget toy or one of his physical therapy tools. Diana’s face immediately drops.

“Why are you scared?”

I’ll be alone Danny wants to say, but he doesn’t know the word for alone and he struggled with phrasing. “No…people here.”

“That is triewe. You would have more dīegolnes here,” Diana agrees, and straightens out of her crouch. “Is that good, or bad?”

It isn’t good and it isn’t bad…? Danny isn’t sure how to phrase it. It’s neither. Being alone is just scary.

“You not hurt me,” Danny tries, knowing he’s missing some connecting word in the middle. He ignores how Diana comes back to kneel beside him, because if he looks at her, he won’t say anything. “Do not.”

“No,” Diana says, from beside and below him, gentle, careful. “We do not.”

No. They don’t. Danny swallows. “Bad…hurt me.” He doesn’t know the word for Earth or planet or even downstairs, so he just meekly points downwards.

Diana stills. It’s like watching Vlad’s Maddie cat spot a bird to hunt down. Danny tries not to feel pinned. “On eorþegearde?” she asks, still light, still gentle. Danny can hear a shadow of steel, though, and he counts himself lucky that she’s never treated him like an enemy. Danny quickly nods. His eyes squeeze shut.

“Who?” Diana asks feather-light.

Danny doesn’t want to tell them what he is. Admitting the name of the agency hunting him itself would be given in.

…But maybe if he doesn’t say the name…and they...and they promised they'd help hide him...

He wants to be right. Danny wants to be right that they're nice, and that they want to help him. Danny wants to be right that they want to protect him. As long as he never, nevernotevernever tells them he's a ghost...

Maybe someone will help him. This time.

“Bad,” Danny repeats, because he genuinely has no idea how to translate?? “Wants…hurts me? For…” WHAT WORDS DOES HE KNOW? Danny gives up and just draws a y-shaped autopsy incision on his chest. It goes down from his collarbones to his belly button.

Diana watches. Her eyes are sharp.

“Do you feel safe with the staff dunstæger in medical?” Diana is quick on the ball with the question and Danny nods quickly—he’s never alone there, and no one’s ever hurt him, and people whose job it is to help people are always coming in and out, and Medical helps them too.

“Good,” Danny whispers. “Talk…talks to me.”

“Ealne weg,” Diana affirms firmly. Whatever that means. “We will cepa you safe.”

You safe and we is all Danny needs to hear. He could probably cry by himself, but Danny wants the comfort anyway; Diana lets Danny take her hands into his, and he lets tears fall into someone else’s grip instead of his own.

*

Bruce is halfway to the monitor room before he feels himself be picked up from underneath the armpits.

Usually finding himself at inappropriate heights involves horseplay from Clark. No one else would be so bold as to actually put their hands on him within the professional setting of the Watchtower—and Bruce has worked very, very hard on maintaining a reputation that keeps the handsier of his fellows at bay.

The culprit is not Clark this time. Bruce finds himself looking downward at Diana’s tearstained face, fury and resignation warring in her expression.

Bruce is careful not to sigh. “Wonder Woman. What is the matter?”

“Someone,” Diana grits out, voice carefully modulated to cut out her own pain, “Hurt my charge.”

On the one hand, the situation with their patient is exactly as Bruce had expected. The circumstance is tragic. The circumstance was predictable.

On the other, Diana's new upset means that Bruce now has more information to work with than ever before.

Bruce can work with this.

“Tell me everything.” Bruce’s voice is just as firm—even held midair like a cat. “I will help you in every way I can.”

[sunberies]

The panic that once filled his body was now replaced with an incredibly light feeling, one that he doesn’t fully recognize. Lifting the small trolling up towards his face, a laugh escapes him as their noses touch, tears now freely falling from his eyes. The feeling was happiness, pure and unbridled, a feeling which had seemed unattainable for years, was all encompassing. Teary eyes take in the sight, never straying away as if she would disappear from his hands if he did. After what seemed like years of waiting and worrying and preparing and maybe a bit more worrying, she was here, and it was more exciting than he thought it would be.

I think I might actually be insane, crazy if you will, DERANGED if you must

Not mentioning anything about the color he has here because I don’t think he’d be able to actually see it yknow? Poppy would definitely notice it but I don’t know if she would say anything, she’d just be happy to see him happy :3

Ok uhm anyways bye yall, this was too much for me I gotta go like, watch a documentary or something informative to detox after this🫦🫦🫦

[bvidzsoo]

Haunted me, haunting you

⁀➷ District 12 ⭒ District 12 was the smallest and poorest of the thirteen districts of Panem; their main industry is coal mining; victors: Lucy Gray Baird, Haymitch Abernathy, Katniss Everdeen, Peeta Mellark

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: victor!Song Mingi x female reader

⁀➷ Warning: cursing, ptsd, panic attacks, violence, blood, mentions of death, hunting, injuries ⁀➷ Word count: 19.7k ⁀➷ Rating: mature, nc-17 ⁀➷ Genre: Hunger Games!au; acquittances since childhood to lovers!au, set before Katniss and Peeta became victors ⁀➷ Summary: After the 73rd Hunger Games, Song Mingi wasn't the same. The spark in his eyes was gone, his once bright smile disappeared and his face became ashen, cheeks hollow, he was merely a shell of the man he once used to be. It hurt seeing him lose himself to the trauma he was forced to endure in the Arena, still haunted by memories...memories of killing someone you both cared about, someone who meant the world to you. Will you be able to help Mingi before it's too late? But most importantly, will Mingi be able to let you in when you bear the very same face he was forced to murder in the Arena in order to become a victor?

A/N: Y'all! My lovelies, it's here!! My thesis was about The Hunger Games and I actually came up with the plot back in like...May?? Uh, anyways, no more gatekeeping this story too lmao, let's all thank Choi San for his appearance this weekend at fashion week, because his outfits inspired me to finally write this oneshot and also come up with a story for him, so, stay tuned! ^^ This piece is actually so very dear to me, I absolutely loved writing it and I just really want to hug Mingi in this, so I really hope you'll love it and enjoy it as much as I did while writing. If I forgot to mention any warnings, let me know so that I can fix it, and sorry for any mistakes, they do slip through sometimes when I proofread. Let me know what you thought of this oneshot, your feedback is always greatly appreciated! Enjoy now! ^^ divider

            His hair was outgrown again, black strands fell into his small and sharp eyes, obscuring them from the world. He had a certain crazed haze in them, irises shaking as the warm brown was overtaken by darkness, a never-ending blackness. The meadow was silent apart from the breeze rustling the leaves, twigs snapping underneath the weight of our feet if we didn’t watch where we stepped. It was quiet apart from the surprised sound I had made and his pants, hurried and frantic as if he was still trying to catch his breath, as if he was frightened by my mere presence. And perhaps he was as our weapons pointed at each other. My hideout had been behind a large bush while his had been behind a tree, wide enough to hide his tall and lanky form. You wouldn’t be able to tell he had lost weight due to the excessive clothes he always wore, but if you knew where to look, you’d spot his sunken collarbones and sharp cheekbones, hands decorated with veins that popped out and a jawline that seemed unnaturally sharp.

My body finally relaxed as it registered no danger, my arm going lax as I lowered my bow and arrow. It took a few more seconds for the man standing in front of me to mirror my actions, eyebrows furrowed deeply with conflict on his face. I knew why he was looking at me like that, a striking reminder of the crimes he was forced to commit, but I didn’t let that deter me from the kindness I always showed to him.

“Hello,” I spoke up softly, mindful of the animals around us and the fact that he was here to hunt too, “I’m sorry for startling you.”

He didn’t speak up, he rarely did when he was in my vicinity—not that he spoke much around people ever since the Games—but that didn’t throw me off from continuously treating him like a human being, something he was, had always been, will continue being. I knew many didn’t treat him like that anymore, everyone threw him glares and spat harsh words at him, but the absent look in his eyes never changed. It was like he wasn’t really there.

“Are you just starting your hunt, by chance?” I questioned, placing my arrow in its holster as I continued holding onto my bow. Despite having lowered his weapon—a bow and arrow, as well—his fingers still curled tightly around the butt of the arrow, almost as if his body refused to relax in my presence. I understood why.

“No.” I tried not to show my surprise when he answered verbally, his voice a low rasp and a deep rumble in his chest. It hadn’t always been like that, when we were younger, his voice used to be squeaky almost like a mouse and oftentimes shrill when he giggled or laughed.

“I have just come out to hunt,” I continued, keeping the soft smile on my lips, but he wasn’t looking at me anymore as I watched him struggle to release his arrow, “Would you like to join me?”

He stiffened again, and I knew why, but his movements became frantic all of a sudden, the arrow slipped in its holster and the bow was back around his wide shoulders. He looked up, face almost pained as he stared at mine deeply, then he shook his head. I didn’t move nor say anything as he suddenly took off, feet tangling in weed and almost sending him flying onto the floor of the forest, but I didn’t help him. I knew he’d hate it, he didn’t let anyone touch him, so I just stayed put and willed myself to watch him as he just barely regained his balance. I wanted to help, but he didn’t allow me, he never has and never will. The meadow was wide, covered in lush green weeds, trees, bushes and colourful flowers, fallen twigs and leaves, logs and rocks, but he still came towards me, not avoiding my body. It was new, most of the time he’d walk around me and not even spare me another glance, but today his eyes were piercing and his stance held more confidence than I have seen in him ever since the Games. My smile didn’t slip off my lips, I was grateful that he wasn’t so keen on avoiding me anymore. But still, almost as if he realized what he was doing, his steps veered away and he went around me just last minute, the fabric of his forest green jacket brushing against my knuckles. I swallowed, nervous for no reason as I turned my head to look after him, “Goodbye, Mingi.”

He flinched when I said his name, he always did and perhaps always will, but instead of ignoring me he looked back too, jaw clenched, but he offered a silent greeting with a nod of his head. My smile widened and his eyes did too at the motion, then he paled, body visibly shaking as he suddenly took off in a sprint, leaving my heart aching and hands trembling as he disappeared from view, my legs giving out as I sat on the muddy floor of the forest. I couldn’t blame him, I never did and I never will, but he made it infinitely harder to cope with the pain of having lost my twin sister because of him.

            The hunt had been successful, I managed to catch four wild ducks, which meant plenty of good coins for a tasty dinner for three. I have started training to become a nurse around a year ago, right after losing my sister, and that meant we were tight on money. I couldn’t say my family struggled much despite being from District 12, but after my sister’s death, it felt like things had slowed down. Money started coming in rather scarcely and it made me realize that she had been an important contributor to our income. Unable to sit back and watch my parents struggle, I decided to follow her path. It had been her dream to become a nurse, to reach the Capitol and become a great doctor, but the Games took both her and her dream away from us. It was a hard blow, it was hard because Mingi could’ve sacrificed himself for a woman who had a whole future planned ahead of herself unlike him, who failed to finish school in his last year and was supposed to work in a mine for the rest of his life. He was selfish, scared, and desperate to remain alive, all reasonable emotions when you’re faced with the choice to kill someone or be killed.

I never blamed him for killing my twin sister, I never hated him for being selfish and shooting his arrow straight into her heart. At least she left this terrifying world quickly and painlessly. I never wished death upon Mingi when my mother wailed while my father held her in his arms and rocked her, sobbing just as loudly as her when the camera span on my sister’s lifeless eyes and face. I never blamed Mingi for her death because he sobbed just as hard as us after the kill, holding her frail frame in his arms as he screamed towards the sky, words unheard as the cameras didn’t record audio too. I didn’t blame him when I found refuge in the meadow my sister loved so much, curled up in a ball in the tall grass as I cried loudly, chest aching and ears ringing until nightfall, when I finally felt empty and numb. And I still didn’t blame him when he returned home, crowned as the winner of last year’s Hunger Games, rewarded with so much money it would last him generations and a house at the Victor’s Village so big three families could fit inside. And despite the pain I felt when the train came to a screeching halt and he got off with empty eyes and sunken cheeks, our eyes meeting for a brief moment, I couldn’t hate him or blame him because the Song Mingi once everyone had known was gone.

The sky had turned darker as the sun hid behind the trees, the moon taking its place in the sky as mist settled upon the forests that surrounded our district. And despite the nightfall, the Hob was alive and buzzing with people who were desperate to trade their goods in exchange for some coins in order to survive another day. The four wild ducks I had caught, I had cut up and taken their feathers off, were displayed on the small table I managed to fetch from behind the building that has seen better days, and I set it up next to an old lady who sold trinkets and jewellery that looked older than even her. I have promised to give her the smaller duck in trade for a silver bracelet that had one pearl. I had never seen a pearl up close, and despite knowing that I’d never wear it, I’d figure out eventually what I wanted to do with it. Perhaps I’ll give it as a gift to my father, since it looked way too big for a woman’s wrist, or perhaps I’ll bring it to my sister’s grave and leave it as a gift to her. I didn’t dwell on the thought much.

The Hob was well-lit despite the old lamps that hung above our heads, and the late summer chill had settled inside, prompting everyone to wear their warmer clothes. I had accepted the battered blanket the old lady handed me when she saw me shivering, and promised to return tomorrow with ointment for her cut-up hands. I couldn’t tell whether she had nobody to look out for her or if her family had simply abandoned her, but I have promised myself after my sister’s death that I would help those who needed help yet couldn’t pay with coins for my services. A flower, cheese and bread, or even a small trinket would be good enough for me, I’d make use of it if it meant I helped a soul that needed attention and care.

Three ducks still sat on the table in front of me and I smiled warmly at everyone who wandered towards me, hungry eyes fixating on the ducks. The man that stood in front of me was a mine worker, I knew him because he worked with my father numerous times before.

“Hello, sir.” I greeted him and his eyes briefly looked up at me.

“Your father must be proud of you for helping out,” He muttered under his breath as he scratched his already irritated neck, “he speaks of you a lot on our breaks. How much for one duck?”

“Five coins will do, sir,” I answered him politely, but as he looked inside his pouch his face had turned ashen, then furious.

“Five is too much, child, who do you think can pay so much?” His voice turned harsh, and the lady next to me cast a glance our way.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I risk my life stepping outside the boundaries of our district, five coins are cheap for my sacrifices and the duck.” I didn’t let him waver my resolve, I knew how people were here. They would try to trick their way out of paying the worth of the items, and I wouldn’t fall for his manipulations. But the man seemed displeased as his fist came down on the table, making me jump. I wasn’t a violent person, but I was glad for the knife that was hidden underneath my clothes, pressing against my hip as a reminder that it was there. The old lady now looked at us, eyebrows furrowing.

“Maybe you should return to your little nursing school and fuck off to the Capitol like your sister had—”

“If you cannot pay five coins, walk along!” The old lady snapped next to me, eyes hardened and voice raised as it turned heads, curious eyes watching the tense exchange. The man threw her a glance and scoffed before he reached inside his pouch and retrieved the coins I had asked for, throwing them on the table as he grabbed one duck and stalked off. I sighed but gave the old lady a thankful smile and collected the coins, crouching down to retrieve one as it had tumbled to the ground. The cacophony of the market seemed to quieten at once until it turned into just murmurs, and I stood back up with a confused look on my face. I was a bit far from the entrance of the Hob and couldn’t see far ahead due to the number of people inside, but when the crowd started parting for a certain person, I understood their reaction.

Despite the camouflage he tried wearing, his clean and thick clothes managed to make him stick out like a sore thumb, his small eyes sharper now that the lower half of his face was concealed by a black silk scarf. He still wore the same jacket as earlier today, a satchel bag sitting against his hip as he wandered further inside the market. People whispered behind his back and stepped aside when he came too close, and I watched as people glared at him behind his back, pointing fingers and no doubt throwing insults at him. I wondered if people from other districts treated their Victors the same way people here treated Mingi. Maybe it was because my sister was a beloved figure in our district, a professional healer and always kind to everyone, maybe it was because Mingi had lost himself halfway into the games and murdered those who crossed his path viciously. Behind all the stares, glares and whispers lay something deeper. It was fear because people were reminded of their animalistic side, of who they could turn into when faced with the question of whether they wanted to live or die. They were scared because everyone knew they would do the same Mingi had done, kill an innocent and kind person in order to survive.

It was almost as if the market had frozen over when Mingi finally reached my humble table, silence so loud it irked my ears as everyone watched on edge our exchange. His eyes didn’t settle on my face for long, reluctant to look at me when so many were watching us, but I just smiled and looked at him with kindness, “Good evening, Mingi.”

I could hear gasps even, mouths hanging open as the Victor halted in front of the ducks I managed to hunt, eyes sweeping over them as if he did a quick count in his head. Even if minuscule, his eyes conveyed surprise and somewhat admiration when we looked up at me again, but upon seeing my smile, his eyes steeled, becoming devoid of any emotion. He nodded his head once in acknowledgement, then swiftly walked off, eyes set on a table that was littered with old and new weapons alike. Mingi had the money to buy the best of the best, but he always came to the Hob, late at night, probably hoping fewer people would be here. He could afford luxuries, but he preferred helping out those in need. He never said anything when they demanded more of him, he just wordlessly handed them the coins and left with a quiet ‘Thank you’. People catalogued him as selfish and ruthless, but he was deeply caring and rather selfless. It all mattered on the perspective you had of him and whether you wanted to spot the good in him or not.

Once Mingi was on his way towards other stalls and tables, the market seemed to regain its liveliness while remaining aware and alert of his presence amongst the crowd. Nobody approached him and nobody spoke to him, the vendors gave him second glances and seemed reluctant to acknowledge him despite the money they knew he could offer them. My eyes remained on his tall form, his shoulders hunched forward, as people passed by my table, sometimes stopping to inquire about the price of the wild ducks. A girl, too young to be here, bounced towards my table as she held onto her mother’s hand, eyes stuck on the ducks. My heart ached at the sight of her frail frame and the ghastliness of her mother’s face, and when she tried to veer her daughter away because they barely had any money, I cleared my throat and stepped around the table.

“Hello,” I greeted them kindly, and smiled at the girl as her eyes shone with enthusiasm, “Would you like to buy some wild duck?”

“We don’t have enough money, sorry.” The mother muttered embarrassed and I quickly shook my head.

“Well, you’re in luck tonight then, because I’m not looking for money.” I have acquired ten coins as I have sold two ducks, and while I still needed at least ten more, everyone had to make sacrifices and I wasn’t about to let them walk away without the duck in a bag and in their hands.

“But—”

“Come.” I beckoned the little girl towards myself, disregarding the mother as her eyes widened, “Which one would you like?”

I crouched down to be at the same height as the girl and she smiled widely at me, eyes sweeping over the two ducks that have remained on the table. She stuck her tongue out as she seemed to analyse both, then pointed to the larger one and I grinned back at her.

“That’s a good one,” I said with a chuckle and the girl shyly ran back to her mom to hide behind her skirt. I grabbed a paper bag and carefully placed the duck inside of it as the mother’s eyes followed my every move.

“I cannot accept this.” She tried to refuse but I was having none of it as I handed the bag to the little girl instead.

“You can.” I said with a reassuring smile, “My mother is looking for a seamstress, perhaps you can help her out sometime?”

I knew the woman was a seamstress whose business wasn’t flourishing anymore, but she was still clinging on to it, trying to do her best as she raised her daughter. Nobody knew who her father was and they had been treated harshly ever since she was born. Tears sprung into the mother’s eyes and she bowed her head deeply, “Thank you, I’ll make sure to do a good job. Bring in your clothes too, if they need fixing.”

“I sure will, thank you.” I bowed back and looked at the little girl, “Do you like pies?”

“I do!” She exclaimed happily and I chuckled.

“Well, then, I’ll see you two sometime next week with a pie and three dresses.” The mother bowed her head again and thanked me as a tear fell down her cheek, then she veered her daughter towards the exit as she blabbered on about how she loved duck meat the most. With a content smile on my lips, I walked back behind my table as I felt eyes on me. The old lady had a thoughtful look on her face as I faced her, and then she looked towards the crowd and sighed loudly.

“Your parents have raised you well, both you and your sister.” The old lady said and I nodded, agreeing with her, “She was kind too, but you are kinder, my dear. You have never expected anything in exchange for your actions, ever since you were little.”

“If we don’t stick together, then who will help us out?” I asked, eyebrows furrowing and my mood souring, “Surely not President Snow and the people from the Capitol, right?”

The old lady gave me a long look as she hummed, eyes looking back onto the crowd as I heard someone yelp. Curious, I turned my head and tried to pinpoint whoever had called out in fright, but the crowd was big and I couldn’t see anyone.

“Be brave and honest, but careful, even the walls have ears, my dear.” The old lady advised as men started shouting, the crowd crying out in fright again as suddenly it started dispersing not far from us, the people hid behind tables and next to vendors as another man exclaimed in pain. My eyebrows furrowed as I perked up, walking around my table as the crowd was clearing and I could almost see what was happening up ahead.

“What is the matter—” My eyes widened when I realized someone had Mingi’s torso pressed against a table, face down, wrists held behind his back as he struggled to break free as he hissed and glared viciously. My eyes widened as suddenly he kicked his leg backwards, and the man holding him folded over in pain as he released the Victor, scrambling back as Mingi whirled around with a wild look in his eyes, hands held out protectively in front of himself. The crowd steeled for a second, my heartbeat quickening as I realized he had the same look in his eyes as earlier today. Then, almost at once, three men jumped forward and tried to restrain him as Mingi pulled a knife from his pocket, sneering at whoever jumped at him, his chest rising and falling rapidly. I didn’t know what led to this altercation, but something felt wrong. Mingi was inoffensive, he never attacked first and he wouldn’t even hurt a fly even if it bothered him. Someone must’ve done or said something that made him so defensive.

But the men didn’t care as more women screamed, and I gripped the edge of my table as they jumped towards him, trying to take him down. Mingi was alone and despite being strong, he couldn’t defend himself against three men who were stronger and really angry. The way he held his knife was obvious enough that he didn’t intend to harm anyone, it was obvious enough to me that he was scared. My heart leapt into my chest as a man jumped at him from behind, unseen by almost everyone, an arm going around Mingi’s neck as the one to his right slapped the knife out of his tight hold. Then, his knees were kicked out from underneath him and he fell with a terrified cry, trashing around as the men tried to restrain his frantic movements. I took off without realizing my legs were taking me in their direction, heart beating fast as my ears rang, head aching the more Mingi’s cries started sounding less aggressive and more scared, but nobody seemed to hear them or care about them.

I pushed people out of the way, unapologetic and frantic, running around tables and jumping over crates as they were in my way, the only goal in my mind to reach him. Held down like that, his eyes were wide and filled with helplessness, the same look had been reflected in my sister’s when she had been shot in the heart. Mingi was still trashing around but his body was trembling now and it was audible that he was struggling to breathe. My body was lit with deep anger as I realized everyone was feeding off of his fear instead of realizing he was having a panic attack. The last person I pushed aside gave me a look and went to grab at me, but I threw them a menacing glare before I broke free of the crowd finally, panting as the attention was on both Mingi and me now. The men who held him were smirking and mocking him, but a look of confusion crossed their faces when I stood in front of them, frantic and desperate to stop this.

“Stop it!” I snapped, voice a lot more high-pitched than I expected it to be, “Let go of him!”

“He’s like a rabid dog,” One man hissed, “Like hell, are we releasing him. He’ll hurt us—”

“I said,” My voice held danger as I itched to grab my knife and hold it threateningly towards the men, “let him fucking go!”

And if my scream didn’t chill the onlookers, then Mingi’s helpless whimper did as his eyes screwed shut tightly, even his head shaking as he struggled to breathe. I didn’t wait for the men to listen to me as I scrambled towards Mingi, falling to my knees with a loud thud as my knees shook from the impact, but I didn’t care as he was finally released. He flinched and tried to flee, but my cold fingertips traced his forehead as his eyes snapped open, wide and shaking as they bore into mine.

“It’s okay,” My voice was quiet and gentle, assuring, “I’m going to take this off.”

I gently grabbed the scarf that covered his nose and lips, and a strong hand suddenly grabbed at my bicep. The men tried to touch Mingi again, but I threw them a warning look.

“You’ll be able to breathe better, Mingi,” I said with the same softness as the grip on my arm continued to tighten, but Mingi didn’t object as I slowly pulled the scarf off his lower face. He gasped and clung onto me with both hands now, lips trembling as his body shook. He looked smaller than he was, he looked on the verge of passing out. With a shaky breath, I traced his thick eyebrows and brushed his long bangs out of his eyes as I offered him the smallest smile.

“Mingi, what we’ll do next is easy, alright?” He gasped as he was hyperventilating, but his eyes were stuck to my lips, “We’ll breathe together, alright? We inhale big and exhale long, good? You’re safe, Mingi.”

I didn’t know how much my words managed to reach his mind, but I started taking big inhales and long exhales, hoping that he’d soon follow my lead. People gawked at us and murmured, horrified that I was helping the man who mercilessly killed my twin sister. I didn’t care, Mingi was human too and he was suffering. It was right in front of their noses, the fact that he was still struggling and paying the consequences of his actions, but nobody seemed to actually care that he wasn’t just a rich and scary Victor now.

“In,” I inhaled, holding Mingi’s cold face in my hands as his fingers dug into my cardigan, “Out.”

And he was slowly catching on to how to breathe in and out, his chest expanding and then falling back as he emptied his lungs. His body was shaking and he would still whimper or become smaller when someone made a sound too loud, but I was here, and I was determined to help him regain his senses, regain himself. It took him a few good minutes, but his frantic breaths have found a new rhythm, much calmer and quieter than before, inhaling and exhaling at the same time with me. A small smile crossed my face when I realized he was slowly returning to himself, my thumbs gently rubbed the skin under his eyes, trying to bring the smallest form of comfort. His grip relaxed around my biceps and his body leaned towards mine as if it was trying to drink in my warmth, I let him nuzzle his face into my hands as his body finally stopped trembling. The people around us went quiet and I gulped, trying to keep my composure in front of everyone. I was mad, I was angry and I wanted to scream at them for treating him like an animal, for caging him in and making him feel like he was in danger, like he was back in the arena once again, triggering a panic attack and probably unwanted memories that he tried to bury deep down.

“You’re safe, Mingi.” His eyes snapped open and bore into mine, irises expanded and still alarmed as he took breaths through his mouth, hands slipping down from my biceps to my wrists. His grip was painful and I understood that he wanted my hands off his skin, so I pulled them back into my lap, but he didn’t let go of me just yet. His eyes were shaking again, tears sprung into them and he gulped, subtly shaking his head. He had become paler than he was before, and I knew the crowd was too much, the eyes and the whispers, the fingers that were pointed at us and the sneers, the judgemental stares. I gripped his wrists back and stood, looking down at Mingi as I silently asked him to stand as well.

His eyes continued boring into mine, face ashen, but at least he knew he was safe as long as he didn’t let go of me.

            The petals of the soft pink flower felt dainty underneath my fingertips as I gently traced them, a small smile on my lips as I inhaled their scent before rearranging the bouquet in the vase. I had brought them in from the meadow just yesterday, so they were still fresh and flourishing. The meadow was full of the pinkish coloured Musk Mallows which was my twin sister’s favourite flower. She’d always gush about their softness and beauty, collecting a small bouquet for herself to decorate her grim side of our shared room. I wasn’t fond of the flower at first, its smell irritating my nostrils, but with the passing of years and sneaking to the meadow before sunset, I started loving their familiarity. The meadow was peaceful, quiet, and far away from the Peacekeepers and the grey haze of District 12. It was a reminder of what our Earth must’ve looked like before the nuclear war destroyed it and forced it to become what Panem is today.

The pink flowers reminded me of freedom and of my sister, of a dream that was possible to achieve if you never gave up and fought for it. It reminded me of love and laughter and the look on my sister’s face whenever she cradled it to her chest, of the chastising of our parents for sneaking out once again, but the fondness on their faces when my sister and I would sprint to our rooms giggling and talking about going to the meadow again tomorrow to make flower crowns for our mother and father. It reminded me of tender touches and a quiet love that you didn’t have to talk about or scream it out into the world for everyone to see it or understand it, it reminded me of a toothy smile and small eyes that once used to laugh, of sneaked glances and shy looks passed between classes.

The deep voice of my father's and my mother’s gentler one carried outside of their room, all the way to the kitchen as I changed the flowers’ water, my parents’ murmur gentle and warm. The water was cold against my skin and it made me shiver despite the warm summer breeze that came inside through the open window, and I smiled when I heard footsteps coming into the kitchen. My father was dressed in his overalls, his tools in a handbag and a cap low over his eyes as my mother came following him outside, fussing about the hole in his jacket’s arm. Their love had always been quiet and subtle, it was always about noticing the small things, about doing something quietly for the other one.

“Don’t worry, a small hole won’t make me feel cold down in the mine.” My father’s voice held amusement as he grabbed the jacket out of my mother’s hands. I rearranged the flowers in the vase once I was satisfied with the amount of water inside the glass, and chanced a glance in my parents’ direction.

“But it will seem like your wife is unable to sew it for you,” My mother’s eyebrows were furrowed and I chuckled quietly, picking out seven pink flowers from the bouquet.

“And isn’t that true?” Teasing bordered my father’s tone as he gave my mother a cheeky smile, and she looked away with an embarrassed huff, “Don’t worry, nobody will notice it. It’s rather dark down there.”

“Do you remember the small pink and purple boutique at the square?” I perked up, gaining my parents’ attention as if they were oblivious to my presence.

“The lady who has a daughter now?” My mother asked as she fixed my father’s collar, remaining close by his side.

“Yes, hers.” I nodded, then crouched down to place the flowers I picked out of the vase inside my basket, “She owes me a small favour, we should bring our faulty clothes to her.”

“I heard she’s been struggling,” My father trailed off as he looked at me, but not for too long, then grabbed my mother’s hand, “well then, why not? Everyone needs some coins to make due.”

“Right.” My mother nodded with a smile as I grabbed my basket and mentally prepared myself for a good enough excuse, “We should visit her, then, sometime this week—Y/N, where are you going, honey?”

I froze in front of the front door and tried to look as innocent as possible, “I’ll stop by at a house before I head to the Nursery, one of my patients was sick lately.”

“In the middle of summer?” My father asked with confusion, eyes straying from my face when I looked at him sadly.

“Some old people are barely hanging on, dad.” I muttered but shook off the grim thought, “I’ll see you tonight, right?”

“Sure, take care of yourself.” He said gently and I nodded, eyeing my mother as her fingers curled around my father’s arm just a bit tighter. Working in a mine had always been dangerous, it had always taken away lives way too abruptly and painfully.

“See you, then.” I waved at my parents and they smiled, proud but with sadness bordering their eyes as they never looked at me for too long. I understood why. The face which was mine hadn’t always been just mine, it had once been my twin sister’s too, even if slightly different. I didn’t blame them like I didn’t blame Mingi, and I never got angry at them like I never got angry at Mingi. Everyone suffered and coped in their own way with loss, and when things got too difficult to bear anymore, I knew I would find solace in the meadow that reminded me so much of my sister.

The walk to the Victor’s Village wasn’t too long, but it was midday and the streets were littered with people going on about their day. I greeted those who offered me smiles and I stopped to talk with those who needed my advice as a nurse. Young children laughed and screamed in the courtyard as I passed by the school, pleasant memories flooding my mind as a young girl clung to the gates and waved at me with a giggle. It reminded me of when I tried to scale the gate in order to prove that I was strong, only to fall and twist my ankle as I tried not to wail, but instead swallow the pain and smile when my classmates started fussing over me. It had been—an already—tall and lanky figure that pushed everyone aside with worry on his face as he came to kneel next to me, thick eyebrows furrowed as he clumsily grabbed my leg, applying pressure where it hurt most. I cried out, scaring everyone, and they started shouting at the boy, trying to pull him away from me as they accused him of hurting me, but I didn’t want him to go. His touch was warm and gentle, scared but willing to help, and I only stopped throwing a fit when the other children left him alone and made him pick me up and carry me to the Nursery that was close by. His voice was still scratchy back then, but it was soft and friendly, “You’re safe, Y/N.”

Nervous for no reason, I readjusted the collar of my lavender-coloured dress and then knocked against the perfectly white door, the air a bit clearer over here. The Victor’s Village was just by the borders of District 12, meaning that it was closer to the forest and meadow I loved so much. It was always silent here, and it smelled of flowers and baked goods whenever the Song’s front door was open to let the fresh air in. Only two houses were inhibited inside the Village and at night it could seem eery, almost haunted by all the lives lost in the Hunger Games. But my irrational nervousness came to a stop when the front door opened and an elderly smiling face welcomed me on the other side.

“Oh, my dear,” The elder woman, Mrs. Song, had a surprised look on her face, “I didn’t expect to see you so soon!”

After everything that’s happened at the Hob last night, I wouldn’t have abandoned Mingi, leave him alone to deal with the aftereffects of his panic attack. I stuck to his side and walked him back to the Victor’s Village as no words were exchanged between us, but the fact that he didn’t shuffle too far from my body was the confirmation I needed that he appreciated my presence and persistence. I was a nurse in training, after all, and he was just a person fighting against the demons inside his mind.

“It was due time I brought you a new ointment, Mrs. Song.” I said with a smile as Mingi’s grandmother beckoned me inside, “And I picked fresh flowers yesterday, I figured they would look nice in your kitchen or living room.”

The old lady’s face lit up upon hearing about the flowers, and I had just barely stepped out of my sandals when her hand gripped my wrist and pulled me after herself. Despite the house being managed by an elderly couple and their grandchild, it was in perfect condition and always pristine clear. I have offered to help them out more often, but Mrs. Song had always said that they were doing fine and capable of handling the huge house on their own. I didn’t want to push them or make them feel incapable since they had Mingi back now, thankfully, and they wouldn’t need another pair of hands to help out. While my sister and Mingi were in the Games, I frequently stopped by the Song’s small house to help the elderly couple with anything I could. Sometimes I cooked for them, other times I helped scrub the house clean, and when their legs hurt too much, I would sell their baked goods at the market and bring back the coins for them.

“You’re so sweet,” Mrs. Song mused as she directed me towards the large table in the kitchen, “Take a seat, I made some apple pie just this morning, it’s my Mingi’s favourite. Would you like some too?”

“I wouldn’t want to take it away from him, then, since it’s his favourite—”

“Nonsense.” Mrs. Song waved her hand, hurrying to take a plate and fork, “That boy is so tall but so skinny. He barely eats anything lately, my dear, what should I do to bring back his appetite?”

It’s been almost a year since his Games, and sometimes I found myself throwing up after eating, my sister’s lifeless eyes flashing behind my eyes, a constant reminder that she wasn’t here anymore. That she wouldn’t go to the Capitol and that she wouldn’t become a nurse, never to hunt again or lay in the flower field at the meadow.

“Just be gentle and patient with him, Mrs. Song,” I placed the basket on the table and opened it, “I can’t guarantee he’ll ever be fine, but he’s doing better. I can see it in his eyes.”

“He’s still haunted by memories,” Mrs. Song whispered defeated as I grabbed the flowers and the tin can of ointment for her leg, “but he doesn’t wake up from nightmares so often anymore.”

“He’ll get better with time, he’ll eventually stop blaming himself.” I whispered as I headed towards Mrs. Song, who had paused and had her head lowered, “He’s lucky to have you and Mr. Song, and you’re doing everything you can for him. It’s good, I am glad he has people who love him and support him.”

Mrs. Song hummed and turned her head to look at me, taking the items from my hands. She smelled the flowers and grinned, placing the ointment by the sink as she went to fetch a vase for the pinkish flowers, “I had always been able to tell whether it was your sister or you, you know? Remember when you brought my Mingi candies when he helped you with your homework? Your sister never quite liked him, I once watched her kick him in the shin because he refused to carry her to school on his back.”

I blushed and looked away feeling embarrassed as Mrs. Song started laughing quietly, amused by the recall of a longtime memory, “You’ve always been soft-spoken and calm, you always looked at my Mingi with admiration and understanding in your eyes. I know he’s not—he appreciates everything you’ve done for him since—since that day, and he’s trying to mend your once bond.”

“It was her who volunteered to take my spot,” My throat felt a little tight, like something was bothering it from the inside, “she knew what she’d have to face, she chose her fate willingly. Mingi only did what everyone else did before him and will do after him, I just wish he was …more willing to receive kindness and love.”

Mrs. Song hummed and gave me a long look before she walked back to me, grabbing the curtain of the small window as she pulled it to the side. She had a big smile on her lips as she gazed outside, and I followed her line of sight, stunned by what I saw. Mingi was outside in the back garden with his grandfather, crouched down and digging up the soil as a half-empty sack lay next to him. His grandfather was fanning himself and holding a bottle of water as his mouth moved, telling Mingi something that made him smile. It was small at first, barely a twitch of the corner of his plump and red lips, but then it expanded slowly into something wider. Something which pulled at the corner of his sharp eyes and softened them up, the brown in them brighter and warmer as his smile only became bigger, crooked front teeth on display, boxy and warm. It lit up his sharp face and made him look kind and friendly, so easily lovable, so easily approachable. The smile made his eyes so small you almost couldn’t see them as they creased, long and tall nose scrunching up as his chest started shaking. It looked like when he was sobbing, but now he was laughing, loudly and joyously, and it made it harder to look at him than at the blazing sun.

My breath hitched and something dormant stirred in my chest, something that made my heart pump my blood faster and my palms ball up into fists as my eyes widened, lips parting in surprise the longer I watched the joy expand on his whole face, making him throw back his head, his black hair not obscuring his eyes for once. His skin was pale despite its tan complex, making it obvious that he didn’t spend much time outside anymore, but under the warm rays of the sun, it made him glow brightly and breathtakingly. He looked casual in his white shirt, which threatened to fall off his right shoulder, and his dark blue trousers were dirtied by the soil his knees dug into. He looked gorgeous, beautiful and mesmerizing, and I have just realized I never wanted to see him cry or frown or tremble in fear ever again. I wanted Mingi to be happy, to be joyous and grateful that he was still alive. I wanted him to smile and laugh every day, his warm eyes trained on me—on my face—without pain or hesitance lingering in them. I wanted Mingi to see me and not my dead twin sister in the reflection of my features.

I gulped, suddenly aware of the tears in my eyes when Mrs. Song placed her wrinkly hand on top of my fisted one, gently squeezing it. Her eyes bore into the side of my head and I sniffed once, trying to gather myself and blink the tears away. Mrs. Song remained silent, but she hummed and gently helped my hands relax as I uncurled them, pressing them into the cold countertop, “He smiles like that from time to time, when he’s able to let go of everything and just be in the moment. I know you miss my grandson, and I know you miss your sister even more.”

“I was never meant to lose both of them,” I whispered, voice strained as I forced my head to turn, Mingi’s laughter and happiness burned into the forefront of my mind, “The Games were never supposed to take away the sister I loved with my whole being, and they were never supposed to take away the innocence and light in Mingi.”

“Life isn’t always fair, my dear,” Mrs. Song said as she let the curtain fall back in place, “Sometimes unexplainable things happen and if we dwell on them trying to find an explanation, whether ordinary or divine, we threaten to lose ourselves in an impossible quest. You’re stronger than anyone has ever thought you’d be, don’t let the darkness get to you like it gets to most of us. You have no idea how much it means that there’s someone who views Mingi like a human being besides me and his grandfather, I was afraid he’d end up like Haymitch, but he’s still fighting and trying to do his best.”

“Mingi’s stronger than he gives credit to himself,” I said with conviction as I walked towards the sink to fetch the ointment I brought, “He’ll never end up like poor Haymitch. I’ll have to check on him soon.”

“He’s still breathing, if you’re worried about him.” Mrs. Song’s tone was sour as she knocked on the window, “I went over today, brought him some pie too. It was the first time since we moved here that he didn’t slam the door in my face, I suspect apple pie is also his favourite.”

Mrs. Song and I chuckled to ourselves as we heard the front door open and then close loudly, manly voices conversing about whether the new seeds they had planted would grow out fast or not. I opened the tin can and handed it to Mrs. Song so that she could smell it and realize I had infused some cinnamon into it since it’s her favourite scent. Her eyes lit up and she grinned just as the men appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, Mr. Song’s laughter gruff, followed by a scratchy cough. I let my eyes fall on the grandfather and grandson, their eyes and noses very similar, it seemed like the traits had carried over to Mingi too. His grandparents weren’t tall people, but judging by the small fragments of memories of Mingi’s parents, I could remember his father being an intimidatingly tall man. Unfortunately, he died in a mining accident when Mingi and I were barely five years old, and his mother unfortunately died not even two years later due to an incurable sickness.

“Oh, Miss Park, what brings you our way?” Mr. Song asked in surprise as he tried to stand up straighter, dusting off his pants and making soil fall onto the clean floors. Mrs. Song’s eyes narrowed but she didn’t say something as Mr. Song acted like he was innocent.

“I wanted to bring Mrs. Song a new ointment for her leg, hopefully, this will work better.” I tried to act like it didn’t hurt when Mingi’s expression fell once he realized it was me who stood in their kitchen, “Is your chest alright, Mr. Song? Do your lungs still hurt when you cough?”

“Ah, no, don’t worry about me!” He quickly brushed my concerns off, but my eyes were stuck on Mingi as he shuffled on his feet, shoulders hunching as if he was trying to look smaller. He didn’t look my way, sharp eyes pointed to the floor, but his face was void of any expression. I could still see his smile in front of my eyes, I could even imagine what his deep laughter sounded like—probably higher-pitched because it had always been breathy—but it remained as an unfulfilled desire because Mingi would never look at me like that, just with anguish and pain in his eyes, “And are you well? I hope our Mingi didn’t inconvenience you too much last night—”

“Helping him, or anyone for the matter, is never an inconvenience to me, Mr. Song.” I didn’t mean to cut the elder man off, nor to sound too snappy, but I couldn’t help myself. The anger and rage I felt last night for the treatment Mingi was forced to face at the Hob still simmered just underneath my skin, making me sensitive, “It wouldn’t have even happened if people stopped seeing him the way the Capitol has painted him, I—I can’t just stand and watch them torment him, I’m sorry. But I’m glad you’re feeling better today, Mingi.”

The Victor flinched when I said his name, gripping his left arm as he started scratching it through the fabric of the loose white shirt he wore, but he nodded his head and briefly looked up at me, a glimpse of gratitude visible on his face, “Thank you for stepping in.”

“Anytime,” I said, and then Mingi was looking anywhere but at me, my presence in his home clearly making him feel uncomfortable. Realizing that despite his grandparents always welcoming me eagerly with open arms, Mingi still didn’t feel comfortable nor keen on seeing me in the one place where he was supposed to be safe from everyone and everything. I understood why, so I didn’t let the thought sour my mood or bring my spirits down, instead, I went and gathered my basket with a smile on my face and glanced at Mrs. Song, “Thank you for the apple pie, but I’m needed at the Nursery, I’ll have it some other time perhaps. Mr. Song, don’t exert yourself too much and if you’re feeling unwell, let me know.”

The men stood aside so that I could leave the kitchen and despite making sure I didn’t walk too close to Mingi, my knuckles still brushed against the soft fabric of his shirt, just barely but it felt soft and warm. My body stiffened, but I didn’t stop despite Mingi’s head turning to look after me, eyebrows furrowed as he looked conflicted.

“Goodbye!” I called before I was out the door, forced to take deep breaths as my heart was hammering against my chest. I had thought I could do this. But the longer he looked at me with disdain, reluctance and pain in his eyes, the more my chest ached and my lungs constricted, trying to call out for the man I was missing, for the boy who always smiled when he saw me and averted his eyes shyly if he looked for too long. But I wasn’t giving up, I couldn’t, and I wouldn’t treat him like the monster the Capitol made him out to be.

            The Hob once was a place filled with laughter and good disposition, a place where people went to dance, listen to music and enjoy their evenings. Now, after the war that destroyed District 13, the Hob became a mere warehouse that was worn down by the passing of time, destroyed by harsh winters and scorching summers. With its missing windows and hollow insides, the people of District 12 made a place out of it that would host illegal night markets, a means of trying to earn more coins in plus despite it being illegal. The Peacemakers knew of it but they never interfered as long as those guarding it got something out of it too. But with the disappearance of what the Hob once used to be, it needed a replacement, a place that would bring people together still, bring some light into their dark every day. The Hut was that place, an old house of a family that have long died since, in a slightly better-off part of District 12. As expected, the Peacekeepers knew of this place too, but they rarely came to bother people as it was close to the mayor’s house, thus leading to fewer displays of aggressive behaviour. But there were exceptions, there always were exceptions.

The people of District 12 couldn’t be considered hostile or unfriendly, but they knew how to hold grudges, and they weren’t afraid to show their hatred toward one another. It’s this reason why they so blatantly mistreated Mingi, swearing and cursing at his face, brave to lay their hands on him without thinking that it could trigger memories from the Games, making him lash out. At the Hob, when he had a lapse of judgment, his panic attack was induced by something that triggered a terrible memory from the games, leading to the altercation. But people seemed to not understand this, ignorant and unwilling to hear me out and realize that they were hurting him more by their attitudes towards him, ostracizing him even more. My friends, who had always known how I felt about Mingi, were just as ignorant at first, blaming him and mocking him, but they’ve gotten better at accepting him and leaving him alone. They weren’t children anymore, I wouldn’t be held accountable for their actions and words, but I could at least try and open their eyes to reality.

The Hut was almost overflowing by the time me and my friends had arrived, rushing inside as the summer breeze bit at our exposed skin. The long-sleeved dress I wore was dark green, like the forest I’d go hunting at, and I had a dainty brown belt around my waist that my sister had gifted me a long time ago. It was made of leather and it must’ve cost a fortune to her, but she smiled widely and clapped her hands when I opened the small gift box, my eyes widening at the expensive clothing item. Now, knowing that she loved it when I wore it, I made sure to wear it as often as I could even if she wasn’t here to see me. It’s the thought that mattered, and I knew she’d be elated if she were here.

We managed to catch an empty table, just about fitting for seven people as we settled in our chairs, voices raised as the live band played their upbeat music, gathering dancing couples close by the scene and cheering everyone on to come and dance. My friends wanted to grab each a pint of beer before we’d mingle with others our age, so I volunteered to walk up to the bar and order us drinks as three Peacekeepers off duty had approached our table, obviously trying to charm the single ladies who sat there. I wasn’t keen on them, they were ruthless in their practices and unforgiving and fake even when they didn’t wear their uniforms. I had no interest in men like them, men who chose to serve the Capitol and earn a paycheck by asserting violence on others.

I pushed my way through the crowd and tried to dodge every drunk person that came my way, but someone had pushed me from behind just as I neared the bar, making me fall forward and crash into someone’s back. The person stiffened instantly and before I could panic, the familiar scent of the person reached my nose. The fabric of his sweater was soft underneath my fingertips, obviously being a gift from someone wealthy as nobody from District 12 could’ve afforded it. It was beige and had an intriguing black pattern knitted into it, making the sweater look even more cozy. I stepped back and up to the bar, cheeks flushed from the heat inside the place but also from stumbling so clumsily into Mingi.

“I’m sorry,” I spoke up as our eyes met, his widening as mine looked away, “someone pushed me and I lost my footing.”

Mingi didn’t answer, but his hand curled around his pint, knuckles turning white as he squeezed it. His eyes remained stuck on me, though, something unusual as I fumbled with my small purse to find enough coins for my order. I threw him a quick glance and he quickly averted his eyes, staring ahead as his eyebrows furrowed. His hair, surprisingly, was brushed out of his eyes and his cheeks were tinged pink, finally not so pale and sickly looking. His plump lips were chapped but Mingi didn’t seem to mind that as he took a small sip of his own beer. I leaned over the bar and motioned towards the one managing it that I needed seven pints. I wouldn’t be able to carry them to my table, but someone would help, I didn’t worry about that. Now that I had to wait, I turned my body to face Mingi’s, and watched as he stiffened when he realized I was looking at him.

“Are you here by yourself?” I asked with a small smile on my lips and he nodded, picking at a thread of his sleeve as they were longer than his hands and covered them. The sweater created the illusion that it swallowed Mingi’s broad and tall form, giving him a cosy look that oozed safety. I fought against the pull to step closer, to touch his sweater to feel its texture, to compliment him about the way he had styled his hair, finally not obscuring his beautiful eyes. Mingi remained silent, eyes pointed forward as the men standing by the bar gave him irritated looks, as if his mere existence was an inconvenience to them. I sighed and leaned back just a bit, throwing them a warning glare until they turned away, looking uncomfortable.

“Would you like to join me?” I tried with an innocent offer, my smile slightly widening, “I’m here with my—”

“No.” But Mingi’s answer was quick and almost frantic as his eyes widened a bit, his head turning just a little to look at me. He looked almost appalled by my offer and I felt bad for making him feel uncomfortable, but lately, I felt like I didn’t know what to say to him, what was appropriate and what was triggering.

“Right, sorry,” I muttered an apology as the host appeared with my pints of beer, a younger boy trudging after him with a grimace. He looked like he didn’t want to be here, and by the baby fat on his cheeks, he probably wasn’t even supposed to be here.

“Here, help the lady!” The host announced loudly and grabbed the coins I pushed towards him, pushing the younger boy around the bar. Mingi’s eyes fell on the boy, who seemed to pay Mingi no mind other than a quick glance, and I offered him a smile as I grabbed four pints.

“I’ll be here, Mingi.” I ignored it when he flinched, instead smiling wider, “In case you change your mind or need me.”

“Thanks.” I didn’t let my surprise show as he thanked me, quietly and almost hesitantly, but our eyes met and he nodded his head, eyes unsure as they remained stuck to my face. I lingered for a second, wishing to say more, to look at him more, but the young boy was already walking off with the other pints and I couldn’t stay by the bar forever. I nodded my head and swiftly walked off, not without looking back and realizing Mingi’s eyes were following me. It made my chest constrict, a lump in my throat rise as I forced a smile onto my face once I reached my friends’ table, which was filled with laughter and joy.

It felt nice breaking away from the monotonous days, from the grey mood everyone in District 12 seemed to have, it felt nice to spend an evening laughing and enjoying myself. Music seemed to always uplift my mood, and I loved watching people dance, eyes stuck to the way they twirled and moved, sometimes laughing, sometimes looking like they were concentrating too much. I loved to watch the gentleness they held each other with, the spark in their eyes and the ease with which they knew how to follow one's lead. The evening had turned into the late hours of the night, my stomach ached from laughing, but my feet still felt fine as I hadn’t danced just yet. Nobody had approached me and I didn’t want to dance with just anyone, so I also didn’t try to find a dance partner. Despite laughing and conversing with my friends, my eyes often strayed towards the bar, unable to focus on the conversation as I gazed at Mingi, wondering what was going through his mind. He didn’t move from the bar but he did find a seat on a stool, and he didn’t drink more than two pints of beer, but he did eat a pie that looked to be with apples. Nobody approached him and he didn’t approach anyone, he remained alone and stuck to himself as he often would look towards the dancing crowd, picking at the skin around his nails.

Mingi had once used to love to dance, whenever we came here, he wouldn’t sit down for even a second. We never came together, our friend groups were different, but we always somehow stumbled into each other. He had once tried to ask my sister to dance with him, but she gave him a disgusted look and stomped on his feet before storming off towards the boy she was head over heels. Taking pity on Mingi, whose lips were downturned and his head hung low, I told him I really wanted to dance but nobody wanted to dance with me. The joy was back on his face as he took my hand and led me towards the dancing people, blabbering on about his favourite songs and how he had tried playing the guitar before but failed. After that, Mingi always seemed to save me a dance before we’d head home. Perhaps there was one person, after all, that I expected to ask me to dance tonight, and it was Mingi.

I was sat at the table with just two of my friends as they drunkenly tried to ask about how my nursing school was working out, but I barely paid them any mind as I saw two men creeping towards Mingi. They seemed to be drunk too, but they had vicious smirks on their lips and narrowed eyes as they spoke between each other, pointing at Mingi’s back. My jaw clenched when one grabbed his shoulder and yanked him backwards, startling Mingi who almost managed to fall off the stool. The other leaned in uncomfortably close, spatting words in his face as Mingi’s eyebrows furrowed, face falling slowly as fear coated his eyes. Sitting up abruptly and alerting my two friends, I paid them no mind as my legs carried me over to the bar, storming up to Mingi and the two idiots without paying mind to anything else.

“Excuse me.” My voice was loud and harsh as I snapped, jaw clenching when only Mingi seemed to realize I was there too, “Get your hands off him, now.”

And then I grabbed the man’s wrist who still held onto Mingi tightly, making sure to dig my nails into his skin as he yelped, turning around with fury on his face. I didn’t release him, not yet, as his face got red and his chest puffed up, prompting Mingi to slide off his stool, standing tall as he watched the exchange.

“You failed to hear me the first time,” I said, then pushed the man back by his hand before I released it, “surely a woman’s grip didn’t hurt you?”

The man scoffed as his hands balled up into fists, and suddenly Mingi was moving, making me gasp when I felt my back pressing into the bar, body shielded by his much taller and bigger one as he stood in front of me, gripping the other man’s forearm with a sneer on his face, “Don’t touch her.”

Mingi’s voice was low and threatening and it only took seconds for the man to start trembling as he tried to yank his arm free, looking towards his companion with a helpless look. But the man didn’t seem like he wanted to help as he watched Mingi with an open mouth.

“Mingi.” I whispered, scared that this would turn into a really bad scene, something I couldn’t help him get out of like at the Hob, “Would you like to dance with me?”

Mingi froze, dropping the man’s forearm as he turned around, eyebrows furrowed and body too close to mine. I looked up at him, finding myself breathing harder when I felt faint fingertips brushing against my knuckles, making my heart somersault.

“Yes.” And before my mind could register that Mingi had accepted to dance with me, a large hand on my waist was gently veering me around the crowd, leading me towards the dancing one, where the band’s music was louder and everyone was smiling and enjoying themselves. My heart raced in my chest as Mingi led us into the middle of the crowd, coming around me as his eyebrows were furrowed, hands hesitant to touch me anywhere despite having led me here by a hand on my waist. I gulped and raised one hand, deciding to make the first step and offering him a gentle invitation.

I didn’t think he’d actually take me up for a dance, I only said that to de-escalate the situation and to have an excuse for us to walk away from it. But Mingi seemed to take it seriously, his warm and large hand hesitantly slipping into mine. His hand was calloused from wielding a bow and arrow and from working in the back garden too, but his touch remained gentle and mindful. He didn’t wait for me to hold onto his shoulder as he pressed his other hand flatly against my lower back, guiding my body closer to his, but leaving a small gap. I gulped as I looked up, eyebrows furrowed as I fought against the tears that wanted to fill my eyes.

It felt like the world had stopped moving around us, as if the Games never existed, as if the old Mingi was back and my sister was watching us from the sidelines with a displeased look on her face. The tension eased from Mingi’s body and he looked at me with less guilt in his eyes as we made eye contact, but he still swallowed hard, lips parting as his voice was gruff and raspy, “Why are you so kind to me?”

“Because you deserve kindness,” I answered without hesitance, gripping his shoulder and clinging onto him too tightly, having little care about the fact that perhaps this was too much for Mingi, that maybe he didn’t want us standing so close, touching each other in familiar ways. But he remained silent as his body further relaxed, shoulders lowering as I felt his fingers jab into my lower back, with a tug on my belt he closed the gap between our bodies.

I couldn’t breathe all of a sudden, what was supposed to be a dance position felt an awful lot like an attempt at a hug, and I couldn’t breathe as I drowned in Mingi’s closeness, warmth and safety, letting my forehead press against his collarbone as a tear rolled down my cheek.

I hadn’t cried since my sister’s death.

            The days went by quickly here, people were used to their routines and they followed them diligently. Nothing ever interesting or intriguing happened, life was mostly grim and grey. Our District wasn’t well off and there were days when even the wealthiest had to sit back and consider whether throwing out money for luxuries was truly necessary or not. The Hob was filled with more and more people trying to earn a little more in plus, desperate as hungry children hid behind their mothers and hollow-cheeked men tried to be louder so that they’d attract attention upon their stalls. It was a hard-to-swallow picture at times, but it was what I grew up seeing my whole life. I still took pity on everyone, never getting quite used to seeing all the suffering these people had to endure, frequently reminded that I was one of them too, struggling at times to get by. Training to become a nurse had made me realize that I felt fulfilled helping others and that it made me find a purpose other than trying to survive day by day. It gave me hope that if I was capable of helping and healing others, instead of harming them and taking their lives away, then others were capable of taking me as an example to become better and more helpful towards their peers. District 12 had always been forgotten and misjudged by the public—hence why it came as a shock to the Capitol that Mingi was strong and perfectly capable of handling a weapon and defending himself—if our people didn’t stick together, then who would vouch for us?

Helping others, even in the smallest ways like bringing them water or even a slice of bread shouldn’t have been considered something impossible, offering a helping hand to an elderly couple shouldn’t have surprised others when they found out about it. That is why helping the Song family had never seemed like a nuisance to me. Before the Games, it didn’t feel wrong to anyone, but after Mingi returned as a Victor it wasn’t just him who was shunned, his grandparents were too, treated poorly by those who once had happily visited their small patisserie, looking out for the elderly pair who have raised a small child into a fine young man. It was disheartening to watch how the people treated the family, only to realize my own family viewed them the same way. My parents stopped asking about their well-being, about whether Mingi would’ve liked having dinner with us, whether I would go hunt with Mingi and bring back flowers for my sister, they acted as if he never existed. I understood their reasoning, but I couldn’t accept it. They couldn’t blame him for something that was out of his control, for something he was forced to do. That is why I never cared what others thought of me, what they said about me behind my back, whether they judged me or not for keeping in touch with the Song family. Only I could change my mind about them, nothing anyone else said about them could influence me in any way.

That is why I continued to stick around, that is why I visited them weekly to make sure the elderly couple was healthy and Mingi wasn’t cooped up in his room all the time. Today, just shy of a week since Mingi and I had danced at The Hut, I stopped by to see whether Mrs. Song needed help with house maintenance. I memorised the days she liked to clean the house, opening all windows and dusting off all shelves, moping the floors clean and baking something delicious for her husband and grandchild. The blueberry muffins were in the oven, their aroma making my stomach churn as Mrs. Song was perched on a chair, rearranging a shelf of books as she carefully cradled their spines, smiling whenever she opened a book, flipping through pages that were yellow already. I was sat on the windowsill as I cleaned the hinges of the window with a green rag, humming to myself as the birds outside chirped loudly, making me smile. Mr. Song had ventured inside the District, looking for trinkets as he was building a small jewellery box and needed something to decorate it with. If Mingi wasn’t home during the day, he most certainly was out hunting, so I didn’t have to ask Mrs. Song about his whereabouts.

“The Capitol people are coming next week and they’ll be here for a few days,” Mrs. Song spoke up as I felt her eyes on me, “you shouldn’t come over, for your own safety. They are curious people and they always ask questions, they always pester Mingi whether he has someone or not. There’s—bad people in the Capitol who tried to buy him but Haymitch didn’t let them, it’s a dangerous world. Mingi wouldn’t want you involved either.”

I gulped, gut coiling upon hearing people tried to buy him as if he wasn’t a living person with a will and control over his own choices, it didn’t sit well with me, “Is something the matter?”

“No, the Reaping is getting closer and President Snow wants to showcase last year’s Victor.” Mrs. Song sighed and carefully got off the chair, sitting on it instead, “Update the public about what he’s been up to lately and how he’s doing, it’s all for show, really. But Mingi hates it, he’s been more—silent and avoidant, he doesn’t leave his room so often anymore. I know he’s scared, he’s dreading the Reaping. He will probably have to go as a Mentor this year and he doesn’t want to. The nightmares are back too, I don’t know how to be there for him anymore. I don’t know what to do to reassure him anymore.”

A feeling of sadness permeated my whole being as I closed the window, shiny and as good as new as I faced Mrs. Song, “He knows you’re trying your best, and he’s trying his best too. Just let him be and offer him a shoulder to lean on when he comes to you, I think he’s gotten better at coping. I can make a tea for him, to sleep better and have less nightmares, if you want me to.”

“I’ll ask him about it.” Mrs. Song smiled and stood, bringing the chair back to its spot in the kitchen. I drew the curtains together and grabbed the rag to bring it to the bathroom and wash it clean, but as I stepped into the hallway, the front door opened and Mingi stepped through the threshold. His black hair was dishevelled and his attire was completely green, his jacket undone and t-shirt underneath muddy as he kicked his dirty shoes off by the door. He hadn’t noticed me yet as he held a wild duck in his hand, an arrow still lodged in its heart.

“’Ma, I’m—” When he looked up his body tensed, eyes stopping on me. I stood up a bit straighter and offered him a small welcoming smile.

“Hello.” I greeted, holding the rag with both hands in front of me. It’s been a week since we danced together and he hadn’t been as tense around me as before, he spoke a bit more, but he still kept his distance. He didn’t look at me for too long, but his eyes looked less haunted whenever he did, “How was your hunt?”

Mingi swallowed then his eyes looked down at his hands, the dead duck wasn’t dripping blood on the clean floor at least, “Short, but I caught something at least.”

“That’s good,” I smiled a bit wider, “your grandma will make a delicious stew out of it, I’m sure.”

Mingi hummed as his eyes were stuck on the arrow that went through the duck’s heart as if he was unable to look away. His thick brows furrowed and his jaw clenched, but he abruptly raised his head, eyes hard and body alarmed as I tried to stand as unthreateningly as I could. I didn’t want to trigger any memory if able, so I looked to the side as Mingi’s eyes continued boring into the side of my face, “Would you—would you like to—if my grandma makes stew, would you—the duck I caught, I—I’m sorry.”

Silence stretched between us as I sighed, not annoyed and neither tired, just feeling defeated when I chanced a glance at Mingi. He looked disappointed as he chewed on his bottom lip, shoulders hunched forward again as his bangs fell into his eyes, “Would you like me to come over for lunch if your grandma makes stew, Mingi?”

He stiffened, flinching slightly, but he wordlessly nodded slowly, looking at me through his eyelashes. I chuckled and nodded, feeling like we had just taken an immense step towards finding common ground again, towards reestablishing what we once had, “Alright, I’ll come over if you still want me to.”

“I will.” Mingi said hurriedly, I had barely finished talking, “I won’t change my mind.”

I felt my chest slowly warm up as my smile slightly faltered, forcefully ignoring the need to walk over and hug him, inhale his earthy scent and thank him for trying to mend our lost relationship. I nodded, eyes boring into his as Mingi nodded back, shifting on his feet as if he didn’t know what to say more or what to do next. But to his luck, Mrs. Song had just walked out of the kitchen, eyes widening in delight when she noticed her grandson, “Mingi! You’re back! Go wash up, you can take care of the duck afterwards.”

Mingi nodded and walked further inside the house, making sure to avoid touching me when he passed by me as I pressed myself up against the wall. I watched him press a quick kiss against his grandmother’s cheek and then disappear inside the kitchen before he raced up the stairs without looking back. Mrs. Song chuckled before she looked at me with a knowing look in her eyes, then pointed towards the bathroom, “Were you headed in there?”

“Yes, do you need anything?” I asked as I approached her, trying to stop my eyes from gazing up at the stairs as Mingi’s loud footsteps thudded against the floorboards as he entered his room, closing the door loudly.

“I will hang up the laundry, can you bring Mingi’s clothes up to him after you’ve washed the rag?” Mrs. Song had a sweet smile on her lips as I nodded, setting into motion as I headed inside the bathroom, “My knees are old, my dear, they don’t function as well as yours or my grandson’s…”

I heard Mrs. Song mutter to herself as I chuckled quietly, nearing the sink as I looked up, met with my reflection in the mirror up on the wall. I turned on the faucet without looking down, my eyes a dark colour but under the sunlight a blazing amber—if I believed what everyone has always told me—and my short hair was braided behind my ears as that’s how far I could actually braid the strands. The two ponytails that sat at my nape were small and sometimes managed to tickle me, but I didn’t mind them, the hairstyle was practical and looked cute. I didn’t like my hair getting in my eyes when I was working with my patients, and today had been a rather packed day at the Nursery before I could leave to help Mrs. Song out.

The water was warm against my skin as I rinsed the rag out, carefully hanging it on the side of the bathtub, eyes looking around the bathroom in search of Mingi’s freshly folded clothes. They were placed on top of a low stool behind the door and I went and grabbed them, fingers curling into the soft fabric of the shirt that was at the bottom of the pile. They smelled fresh, devoid of the earthy scent Mingi usually carried with himself, a tinge of citrus could be smelt in the fabric as I brought it up to my nose, taking a deep inhale. Realizing that what I was doing was probably inappropriate, I stopped myself and rolled my shoulders back, trying to stop the blush from spreading widely onto my cheeks.

Mrs. Song was outside in the back garden as I headed for the stairs, the double doors opened and the curtains fluttered as the wind blew inside, Mrs. Song’s pleasant singing voice carried by the wind made me smile. I carefully walked up the stairs, which were made of marble like the rest of the ground floor’s flooring, and was met with pictures hung on the wall of the Song family. There were some older ones, black and white, and some newer ones where Mingi was small and smiling widely as his parents held his hands, his mother’s smile a perfect replica of Mingi’s. Mingi was the perfect mixture of his parents’ traits, but he seemed to take slightly more after his father, who had the same small and sharp eyes as his son, his nose long and tall. I was familiar with the pictures, I’ve seen them numerous times in the Song’s old house, but it brought comfort seeing them once again. The Victor houses were devoid of colours and any life, they exuberated coldness and stripped the home of any cosiness. It felt nice to see Mrs. Song trying to bring it more life with the pictures, her favourite paintings that were family heirlooms and carpets that she and Mr. Song had inherited over the years, with flowers littered around every part of the house.

I knocked on Mingi’s door, his bedroom was the last in the hallway and faced towards the forest, unsurprisingly, but there was no answer. Trying again, not intending to intrude on his privacy, I knocked some more but there was still no answer. I grabbed the doorknob and whispered his name as I poked my head inside just a little, only to realise he wasn’t in the room. Eyes widening, I pushed the door further open and froze, taken aback by what I was seeing. I had never stepped foot inside Mingi’s bedroom ever since he moved inside this house, but upon one glance, it was a replica of his old bedroom. Even the way his things were positioned was the same, his furniture the same, the only difference being the white walls while in his old bedroom, they were grey and the paint was chapped, falling off in some places. It smelled like musk and something citrusy inside, perhaps oranges, as I let the door close behind me, a single lamp lit on his desk despite it being daytime. His blackout curtains were drawn together, but based on the volume of the birds chirping, I could tell the windows were open. Walking further inside, I noticed a small notebook opened on top of his desk, a pencil on the floor and the beginning of a sketch that looked an awful lot like the meadow.

There was a thud behind me and as I turned around, I just realized there was a door inside the room, closed but light flooded out from underneath it. Deciding to place the clothes on Mingi’s bed, I took off towards it just as the door opened and warm steam wafted outside of it. Freezing, I opened my mouth to quickly explain myself but was caught off guard by what I saw. Mingi, still oblivious to my presence fumbled with the light switch as he stepped outside of the joint bathroom, hair dripping wet and torso bare as a black towel hung low on his hips. His cheeks were flushed and the water from his hair dropped to his wide shoulders, quickly trailing down his broad chest, between his pecks until they disappeared into the towel. The beginning of a happy trail started just where the towel concealed his lower body and I gasped, turning my head away when I felt my whole face on fire.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were showering!” My voice was high-pitched, flustered and sounded embarrassed too, “Your grandmother asked me to bring up your clothes and I—I knocked, I really did but you didn’t answer and I—I’m sorry. I really am, I’ll go, I just—”

My heart was beating so fast and loud, I was sure Mingi could hear it too in the silence that followed my frantic explanation, hands slightly shaking as I placed the pile of clothes on his bed, clumsily knocking some over. Letting out a frustrated huff, I fumbled around as I grabbed them, folding them again as I tried to ignore Mingi’s frozen form in the room, dark eyes trained on my body, watching me wordlessly.

“You can leave them, I have to put them away either way.” Mingi’s voice was deep, tone light despite our predicament. I gulped and stopped, closing my eyes as I took a deep breath, steeling my nerves before I stood up straight, letting go of the short-sleeved white shirt I was about to fold.

“I’m sorry.” I apologized again, keeping my eyes glued to the floorboards, “I didn’t mean to—”

“I know.” It was unlike Mingi to cut me off, especially with so much understanding in his voice. He hadn’t talked to me like that since the Games, he hadn’t kept his eyes so insistently on me ever since the Games. My cheeks were still burning, not because I caught Mingi half-naked, but instead because he wasn’t looking away, he was trying to catch my gaze as he lowered his eyes, “Thank you.”

My muscles became tense, eyebrows slightly furrowing as I licked my lips, not quite understanding what he was saying thank you for so earnestly. I hadn’t done anything of great importance, I just merely brought his clothes up for him because his grandmother was old and probably struggled scaling the stairs so many times a day. Willing myself to look up, to tell him that he didn’t have to thank me for something so simple, the words got stuck in my throat as we made eye contact. His face looked relaxed, wet strands falling onto his forehead in a way that didn’t obscure his vision and he wasn’t hyperventilating and neither looking uncomfortable. I gulped, opening my mouth to say something, but my eyes slipped and landed on his left arm where a big red gash stood out strikingly against his tan complex. My eyebrows furrowed as I continued looking at it, and when Mingi realized, he hid his arm behind his back.

“When did you get that?” I asked, concern lacing my voice.

“Yesterday.” Mingi’s answer was short, voice once again void of any emotion.

“Did you treat it?”

“Washed it with warm water.”

“That’s not good enough,” I muttered, eyebrows furrowing in worry as I looked back up at him, “you need to disinfect it and put ointment on it, you should also probably wrap it up with gauze too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve survived worse.” I knew he didn’t mean to sound so aggressive as he said that because he flinched, his right hand balling up into a fist as he averted his eyes, turning his head to the side.

“I know,” I whispered, but I wasn’t about to let him walk around with a fresh cut, “but you need to treat that. I’ll be right back.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to—” But I was out the door before he could finish his sentence, hurrying down the long hallway and then skipping down the stairs as Mrs. Song remained outside, now sitting in a chair as she watched the bees that flew onto the flowers in her garden, a content smile on her lips. I rushed towards the downstairs bathroom and opened the cabinet above the bathtub, grabbing the distilled water, saline solution, a soothing ointment I learned how to make from my sister, and some gauze. As I left the bathroom and raced back up the stairs, I heard the front door opening, meaning that Mr. Song had also returned home. In my rush to get back to Mingi and treat his fresh wound, I forgot to knock to warn him that I was heading in, but thankfully he was fully dressed and sitting on his bed, left leg bent while the right one hung off the side of the bed. He looked up alarmed as I heaved a sigh, closing the door behind me and placing everything on the bed in front of Mingi as I neared him.

“May I wash my hands in your bathroom?” Mingi didn’t hesitate to nod and I quickly went inside and washed my hands thoroughly with soap, letting them dry on their own as I walked back inside his room, pulling the bathroom door closed with my foot. Mingi watched me, neck craned as I stopped next to him staring down at the bed as I debated whether I should ask him to turn around or sit opposite him. Deciding that he looked comfortable and I didn’t want to bother him, I got on the bed across from him, sitting on my knees as I lowered myself on my legs, looking down at the solutions I brought, “May I see the wound?”

Mingi froze for a second, but he didn’t stall for long as he extended his arm, shuffling closer when he realized we sat too far from each other. He gulped, loudly, but I ignored it as I grabbed his arm and pulled it towards my lap, eyebrows furrowing as I inspected it. The skin wasn’t red around it, thankfully, but the wound seemed rather irritated. I looked at him for a brief second, surprised to find Mingi looking at me intensely, “May I touch you?”

“Yes.” His voice was low and raspy as he answered, and he tensed when I hummed, looking back down at the wound. I sighed and gently traced the skin around the wound, making sure there were no bumps or smaller cuts before I grabbed some gauze and poured distilled water on it. Mingi helped me uncap the bottle and then held it for me as I placed his arm back in my lap, gently tapping the gauze on the wound, knowing that it probably wouldn’t hurt him. He remained silent and I didn’t speak up despite wanting to ask questions about how he got this wound, I just handed him back the lid and he lidded the bottle before putting it aside.

“This might sting a bit,” I warned him as I grabbed the saline solution and opened the bottle, pausing to look at him, “did the soap sting?”

“Yeah, yesterday,” Mingi mumbled and looked away, lowering his head as his shoulders were hunched forward. His hair was damp, but at least water wasn’t dripping everywhere from it anymore. He wore fluffy trousers and a white t-shirt which was a bit tight and clung to his body, enunciating his scrawny but broad form. I hummed and tapped his wrist to warn him that I would pour the saline solution on the open wound now, which thankfully didn’t need stitches as it wasn’t deep enough. The muscles of Mingi’s arm tensed when the solution reached his wound, but he made no sounds. I made sure to pour only as much as was needed to disinfect the wound and glanced up at him, finding his jaw clenched and nose scrunched up as he stared down at his lap. Closing the saline solution bottle, I grabbed a clean gauze and folded it so that I could tap it against his skin. We remained silent as I worked slowly and carefully, not wanting to cause more discomfort. I felt Mingi’s eyes on me when I placed the bottles aside and grabbed the small can, my hand falling next to his as I paused.

“This won’t sting, it’ll help ease any discomfort and soothe the burn.” I informed him and then opened the can, taking a copious amount of ointment on my fingers before I started rubbing it into the wound, not pressing it too much as I knew it would hurt, “You should use this three times a day until it fades into a scar, and if you go hunting, you should wrap it up with gauze for some extra protection. If anything gets into it, it might get infected. I should check up on it in two weeks, but if it starts bothering you in any way, let me know as fast as possible, okay?”

I looked at Mingi with raised eyebrows and he nodded wordlessly as I sighed, glad that I could help. I closed the small can and placed it next to his knee so that he’d put it away somewhere where it was close by, and prepared to grab the dirty gauze and bottles, when long and thick fingers curled around my right wrist, halting my movements. I froze, staring ahead at Mingi’s chest as it was rising and falling rhythmically. His head was still lowered, eyes obscured as his big hand felt cold against my skin, the hold gentle and not bruising.

“Thank you.” I smiled and nodded with a hum, letting my eyes rest on his face, which he was trying to hide.

“Of course, Mingi.” But maybe I said something wrong because his head snapped up, eyebrows furrowed as his eyes searched mine, lips pursed as he looked confused and even annoyed.

“Why are you so nice to me, Y/N?” He asked, voice shaking as his fingers uncurled from my wrist, dropping down between us, accidentally brushing against my knee.

“Because you deserve kindness,” I wanted Mingi to understand that he wasn’t different than anyone else, that he was a person who deserved to be treated well and with love and tenderness, “Because you’re a human being with feelings and thoughts and struggles just like everyone else. You don’t deserve to be treated badly for what you were forced to do, everyone would’ve done the same if they were in your place, Mingi. You’re gentle and compassionate, you’re easily spooked and you’re clumsy despite being tall and strong, you listen to others and you help them. You’re kind and you’re a good person despite what others might think and say now about you. You’ve always picked me up when I fell, you never laughed when I didn’t know something, you waited for me when nobody else did, and you never seemed to forget about me when everyone else did.”

My breath hitched in my throat when Mingi’s hand raised, warm and hesitant as it cupped my right cheek, his fingers burning my skin as I continued speaking, “I’m not scared of you Mingi, you’ll always be the shy little boy to me who carried me on his back when my feet started hurting and pulled on my hair when I threatened to fall asleep in classes. Nothing will change that, not even you pushing me away.”

I watched as Mingi’s eyes got teary, his bottom lip shaking as his hand fell from my cheek, making me miss his warmth as I almost grabbed onto his hand to press it back against my skin, yearning for his touch. But he only hunched more into himself, shoulders shaking, and I knew he wanted to be alone, with nobody to see him as he became vulnerable and emotional. Gathering the things I brought with myself beside the ointment, I left the room, leaving him alone to mule over the words I had said to me.

I could only hope he would start believing them

            And maybe my words did get through to him because the next time the two of us were out in the forest to hunt, we ran into each other and instead of him running away like always, he stopped walking and waited for me to reach him. He was just about to jump over the fence when he glanced over his shoulder and spotted my approaching form. I smiled widely at him and waved as I hurried my steps, holding onto the bow that was around my shoulders, ten arrows sitting in the holster by my hip. Mingi’s bow was around his shoulders too, but his holster was next to it instead of it being on his hip, and he wore his green jacket and black-coloured pants. It was a sunny day today, so I didn’t wear my usual hunting gear, just a light blouse that had to be laced up at the chest and trousers that once belonged to my sister.

“Hello, Y/N.” I froze when I heard him greet me, usually not being the first one to acknowledge my existence. My smile became wider as I had to look up at him, shielding my eyes with a hand as the sun shone down on us brightly.

“Mingi, hi!” My tone was laced with enthusiasm, and despite Mingi not smiling, I could tell by his expression that he wasn’t in a displeased mood, “Did you just arrive?”

“Yes, I planned to hunt for a few hours today, it’s too warm to sit by the house.” It was a long sentence, a longer answer, something that hadn’t happened in a long time. I tried to tell my racing heart to calm down, to savour the moment while it lasted. In his eyes, which were lighter under the bright sunlight, I recognized the spark which was always present in the Mingi before he left for the Games.

“I agree, it’s even worse further into the District,” I nodded and grabbed the fence, “Would you…like to hunt with me?”

It was a bold offer, I knew it could sour Mingi’s mood rather quickly, but I could only hope he wouldn’t turn me down. I missed hunting with someone, I missed the dynamic that came when you had someone next to you, how much more silent you needed to be, more careful and more vigilant. I used to hunt with my sister almost daily, we’d sneak out when our parents were busy and would only return by nightfall. Once, we ventured further into the forest, far from the meadow, and discovered that there was a small but beautiful lake an hour away. We rarely went out there, out of fear of the Capitol watching over it, but I cherished the memories we shared there with my sister.

“Yes, we could hunt together.” Mingi’s answer was unexpected, and my eyes widened as I looked up at him, trying to read his expression but it didn’t say much. He nodded more to himself before he gripped the fence and pulled himself up halfway, jumping over it and landing with precision, it certainly wasn’t the first time he’d done it. Knowing that I’d never be able to jump over it, I crouched and pulled on the fence just underneath the sign that warned us of high voltage, creating a gap where I could go through. Mingi watched with surprise as I came up next to him, pushing the fence back so that it wouldn’t be visible that there was a passageway.

“Was that always there?” Mingi asked amazed, still looking at the fence as I readjusted my blouse.

“Yes,” I said with a chuckle, taking off towards the trees, “I’m too short to jump over the fence, did you think I did the same as you to get out?”

“Yes?” Mingi asked as he averted his eyes, cheeks dusted pink as he made me chuckle. I bumped my shoulder into his as we walked further inside the forest, covered by the shade of trees which brought me instant relief as sweat had broken out on my forehead and temples. I patted them off with the sleeve of my blouse and grabbed onto my belt as we walked around bushes and stepped over fallen logs, hiding behind a boulder as we spotted a deer. Our breaths were synchronised as Mingi and I peeked out above the boulder, watching the pretty deer as it remained oblivious to our presence. Mingi’s fingers tightened around his bow as he exhaled, and I turned my head to watch him curiously. We had to remain silent in order not to alert our prey, but I couldn't help myself.

“Will you claim it?” I whispered, the sound quiet as Mingi took his bottom lip between his teeth, his head turning. Our faces were close as he exhaled, the warm air brushing against my cheeks, but he shook his head.

“I don’t hunt deer anymore, they are too beautiful,” Mingi answered, voice less cautious as the deer’s head snapped up and looked around, aware that it wasn’t alone anymore. I didn’t say anything for a second, just savoured our closeness and Mingi’s musky scent combined with the earth around us, as our eyes bore into each other. I hummed and faced the deer at last, watching as it continued eating once it decided that it wasn’t in danger.

“Should we head further in, then?” I raised an eyebrow, a friendly smile settling on my lips, “Find the wild ducks?”

Mingi and I made brief eye contact as he nodded, and then we both straightened up and stepped around the boulder, alerting the deer and making it run off in fright. My eyes followed it, remembering the one time my sister ruthlessly hunted down one of them, telling me that an animal was a source of food no matter how pretty as I started crying while I watched it die. I didn’t join my sister for a week after that incident, and I felt warmness spread through my chest that now I knew Mingi didn’t like hunting them either. Wild ducks were a little bit easier to hunt, at the beginning I wasn’t keen on capturing them, but famish was horrible and it made us do things we didn’t want to.

I followed after Mingi in silence as he jumped over rocks and logs, navigating his way around the forest as if it was his second home—which it might’ve been at this point—watching closely the way he moved, the way he carried himself. His shoulders were pulled back and his back was straight, he moved with elegance and confidence as he pushed the branches of a tree to the side, waiting for me and holding it for me as well. His muscles weren’t too tense and he seemed to be at ease as a small smile played at his lips, probably subconsciously, as his sharp eyes surveyed the place every other minute, looking for the wild ducks but also to spot any other possible prey. A red fox jumped in front of us and made me gasp as I didn’t expect it, and once Mingi’s initial shock was gone and he lowered the protective arm he’d put in front of me, he grinned at the fox and stomped his foot once, making it run off. I curled my palms into fists when our knuckles brushed together as we walked side by side, trying to fight the urge to hold onto his hand and intertwine our fingers. I missed holding his big hands, feeling their callousness and the few silver rings he wore dig into my skin.

Mingi slowed his steps when he spotted the wild ducks and I made sure to remain quiet as I watched mine too. He motioned behind a tree and we lowered ourselves behind it, peeking out at the ducks from both sides of the trunk. Mingi faced me with a questioning expression and I nodded once as I moved slowly and silently, taking my bow and an arrow as I hooked it, getting in a better position to pull it back. Mingi watched me closely as my muscles tensed and my arm pulled even further back, lips brushing against the arrow as Mingi hummed once, throwing a pebble to make the ducks fly off. I sprung up and locked onto my prey, letting go of the arrow at once as we watched it shoot straight at a wild duck, hitting it and making it fall onto the forest ground. My heart was beating fast, making my body warm as my blood flowed faster, cheeks tinged red as I smiled widely, pulling another arrow to shoot another duck that wasn’t spooked and remained behind. I hit that one too, and wondered when Mingi would shoot his own shot, but when my head turned to look at him, he was frozen and his eyes were wide. His knuckles were white as he had grabbed onto the tree tightly, breathing faster than before.

Realizing that something wasn’t right, I lowered my bow and scootched closer to him, “Mingi?”

My voice was quiet and cautious as Mingi mumbled to himself, seemingly stuck somewhere inside his mind as his body shivered, “No.”

I realized he was having a flashback when he gasped loudly and stood up straight abruptly, shaking his head more feverishly, “No! Stop, no!”

I let my bow fall to the ground as I stepped closer, trying to stabilize my breaths, “Mingi, focus on me. Listen to my voice—”

“No, she’s dead!” He screamed, voice raw and raspy as he faced me frantically, his body shaking, “I—the arrow—I killed her, she’s—she’s bleeding, I—”

“Mingi!” My tone was higher as I grabbed his wrist tightly and stared up into his eyes, “Snap out of it, it’s not real. We’re in the forest—”

“No, I killed her. She’s dead, you—you are dead, I—” Mingi gasped loudly and tried to yank his wrist free, but I grabbed onto his arms and yanked him closer to myself, forcing him to remain by my side.

“I’m not her.” My voice was harsh, eyebrows furrowed, “It’s me, Y/N, we’re back in District 12, in the forest, hunting. It was a wild duck, Mingi.”

It took him a few seconds to realize I was saying the truth, that the face which was talking to him wasn’t that of my dead twin sister’s, but of the girl he left behind when he left for the Games, the girl who he abandoned when he returned, “Mingi.”

“Why?” His voice was shaky and he suddenly stepped closer, all up in my personal space. I had to crane my neck back to look up at him, “Why are you doing this? Why are you still here? Why do you talk to me? Why don’t you hate me? Why don’t you—just kill me?!”

His tone rose with each desperate question, his bottom lip shaking as his eyes filled with tears, his chest rising and falling rapidly, “What do you want from me? Just let me—hate me, Y/N, shun me away, scream at me and slap me, I—I don’t deserve any kindness. I don’t deserve you anymore, I’m a monster. I’m a criminal, I murdered her, I shot the arrow straight through her heart. I have no future, I’m a nobody, I don’t deserve to be alive, why are you still with me?!”

“Mingi!” I screamed, making him flinch as I shook his hands off my arms and cupped his cheeks instead, pulling his head down to be eye level with me, “Look me in the eyes, Mingi.”

But he didn’t, he looked at the ground and shook his head, sniffing loudly as my jaw clenched, “Look me in the eyes, I said, Song Mingi.”

I had never spoken to him harshly, I had never demanded anything of him before, and upon hearing my tone and words, his eyes snapped up, wide and shaking, “Look at me. My eyes are dark, just like yours, hers were light like the sky during the day. My hair is short and wavy, hers was long and straight, always in a perfect bun while mine is almost impossible to tame. I’m tall, she was shorter and always complained about it. My voice is higher-pitched and warmer, more comforting, hers was raspy and always demanding, always ordering something. We smell different, she loved flowers and smelled like them, and I hate flowers and would rather cover myself in mud than smell like it. My body is covered in moles and hers barely had three, all on her face meanwhile mine has none. I like to read about nature and birdwatch as well as stargaze and braid hair, she hated reading and she only watched the night sky because she knew I loved it, she never braided her hair because the strands were too thin and would constantly fall out. I want to heal and help people because I love our humanity and I’m conscious that we are here one day and the next maybe not, she wanted to heal people because it made her feel like she had control over life, because she never got to control her own life, Mingi.

“She was mean to you and she didn’t like you, she pushed you around and made fun of you whenever she could. I never did, I always wanted to be by your side, I wanted to talk to you and listen to your stories, I wanted to shield you from her harsh words. You wanted to dance with her, but she always refused, so I took her place hoping it’d make you happy since I looked like her, I hoped you’d be able to imagine it was her and not me. I help your grandparents because I want to and because I care about them, not because our parents sent us over to your house to help you out, I didn’t do it because I knew our mother would buy us new dresses. I don’t want to see you in pain and agony over having killed my twin sister, Mingi, I have never hated you for it, and I have never resented you for what you had done, so please, stop seeing her in me and look at me. See me, Mingi, please.”

Mingi was crying by the time I was done talking, his body shaking as he forced his eyes shut, his tears wetting my hands as I rubbed the skin under his eyes as his arms no longer lay limply by his side but circled my waist and pulled me into him, embracing me in a tight hug as I let him burry his head in my neck, heart-wrenching sobs leaving his mouth as I ran my fingers through his smooth hair, allowing him to let out all the grief and pain he’s felt and tried to push down.

“I forgive you, Mingi,” I said it because I knew it was what he needed to hear and not because he had anything to be forgiven for, “for everything.”

He nodded his head frantically as he continued crying, fingers digging into my blouse desperately as his loud sobs echoed around us, a few Mockingjays picking up on it and carrying it further inside the forest. I hugged him closer to my body when his muscles started easing up and I massaged his scalp when his sobs started vanning, hiccups and sniffing following it, tight embrace turning into comfortable body warmth that screamed out for companionship.

And I knew he’d get better, he was strong, and he was no pawn of the Capitol.

2 months later

            The sun had lost some of its warmth now that autumn was approaching and I didn’t feel ready to let go of the lush green scenery, of the forest that brought such huge refuge and safety. The meadow was full of blooming colours, of flowers that made me sneeze, of bees that were loud and made Mingi jump every time they flew past him. I had my eyes closed as I played with the petal of a Musk Mallow, the person lying next to me fidgeting every few seconds as he was afraid of bugs. I had a smile on my face as he finally sighed and gave up, sitting up as he pulled his knees into his chest. The Reaping was tomorrow, the Peacekeepers were getting the square ready, and the train bringing the Capitol people would arrive tomorrow. Effie Trinket would act like picking a boy and girl for the Games was normal and Haymitch would be probably black-out drunk while Mingi would stand on the podium shaking and looking sickly pale.

“I’m scared.” As if hearing my thoughts, he whispered, “I’m not ready to return, I don’t want to go back, Y/N.”

“They will never make you go back into the Games.” I tried to remind him.

“I know, I just can’t watch a child I know attempt to train for something that will lead to their dismay.” Mingi’s voice was defeated as I blinked my eyes open, raising my hand to shield them from the sun.

“Perhaps District 12 will have another Victor, Mingi, have more faith in them.” I tried to sound encouraging, but I knew it was of no use. Mingi and my sister got reaped when they were eighteen, what was supposed to be their last year participating in the Reaping. The odds were rarely in our favour.

“I can’t be a mentor, it’s too soon.” Mingi pressed his forehead against his knees, squeezing his eyes shut tightly. I sighed and followed him, sitting up as I pulled something out of my pocket.

“You’ll be fine, you won’t be alone and you’ll be a good mentor, Mingi.” I said with an encouraging smile as he turned his head to look at me, “They won’t hurt you at the Capitol, they can’t. Remember, you are your own master and you can’t let President Snow get inside your head. You did well when they came to take the interview all those months ago, you’ll be able to ace this too. I believe in you, Mingi.”

He bit his bottom lip, eyes searching my face before they settled on my own, our gazes boring together as I looked down at my hands, playing with the single pearl on the bracelet. Taking a deep breath, I looked back up at Mingi and smiled at him softly, extending my hand with the bracelet towards him, “For you, as a token of good luck and trust, because I trust you and I—I’ll be here, home, waiting for you to return to me, Mingi.”

Gaze softening as he straightened up, he took the bracelet from me, his warm fingers grazing my palm as they curled around the bracelet, a small happy smile spreading onto his lips. He looked at it for another long moment, inspecting the pearl just like I had done after I brought it home, and then he looked up again, turning his head to face me. His voice was barely a whisper, “I’ll miss you, Y/N, so much.”

I smiled and released a quiet breath as Mingi leaned closer, supporting himself with a hand as my eyes fluttered closed, his plump lips hovering just for a second before they pressed against mine firmly. They were warm and not as chapped as they usually were since I had made him an ointment to use, and they were soft and tasted of the chamomile tea his grandmother made us drink before we headed for the meadow. I kissed back with passion, hoping it would convey all the unspoken things, all the words I wasn’t able to say yet, but would say when the timing was right. His kisses were always careful and gentle, like him, hesitant until his brain registered that I wanted him just as much as he wanted me, only becoming firm and demanding when he couldn’t withhold himself anymore. I smiled as we pulled back, our lips making a funny sound when Mingi chased after mine and pressed a loud quick kiss against them again, making himself blush and giggle as he turned his head, gazing out towards the trees and shade.

“I’ll take care of your grandparents in your absence,” I promised as I offered him my hand, heart leaping in my chest when his longer and thicker fingers slipped between mine, intertwining with confidence and conviction.

“Thank you, they’ll probably ask you to sleep over sometimes.” Mingi said, his thumb rubbing my knuckle as I squeezed his hand, “They don’t like the quiet when it’s just the two of them.”

“I’ll make sure to spend the night from time to time,” I promised again with a smile on my lips as Mingi and I glanced at each other, settling into a comfortable silence as I helped him wear the bracelet before we scooted closer to each other, hands still intertwined and gazing forward at the serene nature, the deer that played around oblivious to our presence, the leaves that were moved by the wind.

There were days when things were harder to cope with, when Mingi couldn’t get out of bed and when he didn’t want to see anyone, but there were days when Mingi couldn’t stop laughing, when he cradled me against his chest and told me he loved me, when he promised to marry me if our world miraculously changed for the better. I knew it wouldn’t be easy to remain by his side, that we’d both be faced with challenges and hardships, judged by our people and by the Capitol, but we didn’t care. Something that we both loved and cherished had been ripped from us by tyrants, my sister and his innocence, we’d stop bowing down to the pressure to live a life that we didn’t want.

And, sometime in the near future, we both knew that dire days were coming before a bright and free future,

“And the Tributes from District 12 of the 74th Hunger Games are…Katniss Everdeen and Peeta Mellark!” ~ Suzanne Collins

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[andcars]

# 𝗙𝗖𝟰𝟯 ─── MAKE IT UP OFF-TRACK MASTERLIST . . . REQUEST ME . . . TAGLIST . . . AO3

YOU'VE RACED WITH HIM AND you've been under him. still, it hurts you when he outqualifies you. it almost hurts as much when you both still think you're just fuck buddies. ────── original prompt req.

PROMPTED DIALOGUE . . . # “You’ve been staring for a while” PROMPTED TAGS . . . # praise kink, rivalry, friends with benefits, jealousy ADD. TAGS . . . # quickie vibes, sex in the hospitality, author has a language kink, but also deepl translations WORD COUNT. . . # 1.6k

────── AO3 VERSION

P11. Fucking P11.

Everyone else is in the garage as you come in, all angry and disappointed. You were tenth of a second behind P10 and you weren't able to push it on the last lap because you went off track limits.

What’s done is done. You can’t work with a car that clearly doesn't wanna work with you. The better part of you wants to let this go and simply rest for tomorrow. Call it a day. Think of how to dominate tomorrow. Sleep it off.

But Franco walks to the garage at P7 and proceeding into Q3. The plan gets thrown away immediately.

You don’t hate the guy, of course not. You’ve met him times before when he was still in F2. If, of course, meeting him included hotel rooms and secluded bathrooms. You met him a lot, if so.

It’s not his fault that he’s better than you, as of now. You should be happy, really. But fuck, it should hurt how some rookie is better than you in a car you’ve driven for a year.

Despite all of this anger bubbling in you, you can’t stay mad at him. You could never stay mad at him, you think. Yet it hurts all the same.

You look away as your eyes meet. Not giving him a chance to even confront you or attempt to comfort you, you leave.

It’s pivotal now to talk with your strategist. He’s expecting you, unfortunately. Knowing damn well that your next duty was to come to him to see how to improve your performance, he already had your data pulled up.

Your, and their, wrongs are being talked into your ear and out the other. The farthest screen turns black, and you see Franco in the reflection. His blurred figure is towards you, his panting from the race still evident on him.

It’s difficult to pretend to care about racing right now. It’s not like they say anything different anyway. The rear wings are fucked, the tyres are fucked, the wheel can’t turn, and your head is just in the wrong direction. All the same things said before.

To the driver’s room you go. Q3 starts and you don’t do anything. The TV screen shows the delayed race as the crowd cheers from the opposite sides of the wall. Franco is in danger, with Mercedes finally coming out from the pit—you don’t expect anything more.

After the stretched minutes alone in your room, a knock comes on your door.

You say, “I’ll be out soon, tell James to get some patience,” with your head in your phone. No fucking way you’re going to be dealing with them while you’re still pissed.

The door opened and you grunt. Looking up, Franco was grinning at you.

“I’m also hiding from Jego,” he says, the grin on his face annoying, “can I come in?”

“And we both get caught?” It doesn’t matter what you think, he puts his feet in anyway.

The couch is uncomfortable. If they aren’t spending money on the car, they might as well spend it on the seats. With you laying across the couch, he kneels between your legs. You raise an eyebrow at him as he undresses his fireproof suit.

You ask, “You seriously wanna fuck?” and he laughs.

“¿Me dirás que no? (Will you tell me no?)” he murmurs, getting on top of you with his hips pressing against your ass. “Did you know I placed 6th today?”

“Mhm.”

“No?” He places a kiss on your cheek. “Didn’t watch me? What were you doing in here?”

His lips ghost over your neck, the warmth of his breath sending a small shiver down your fine. You know he felt it when he chuckles in your skin.

“Getting fucked my brains out,” your voice is flat. “What were you doing out there?”

“Ah, amor (love), you won’t get me like that,” he whines and kisses you once in one side. Then twice the other. He says, “You are so mean though, telling me things like this. Do you wish you were with someone else? Hm? ¿No me querés más? (You don’t want me any more?)”

Franco comes up to part your lips open with his tongue. You gasp a little, your arm limp over his back. His mouth wide open, chest pressed against yours, tongue just brushing against your lips, he says—

“Quiero coger. Te quiero comer a besos. Quiero que me hagas tuyo, mi amor. Don’t go making me jealous because you are.” (I want to fuck you. I want to lavish you with kisses. I want you to make me yours, my love)

His hand is gentle on yours, playing on the hem of your pants as his kisses turn wet. Desperate. Loving. It hurts you how careful he is with you when you spent the past hour hating him in your head.

And he’s always so gentle. He always used to ask you if you liked it, his words almost always in Spanish. As if he’s lost in you, he doesn’t know what words to use.

He no longer needs your permission now. A finger rubs between your clothed cunt as his hand pushes your shirt up to hold your tits. He moans more than you, in love with your body.

“So good,” he murmurs, “don’t ever look for anyone else. For me, please?” You moan against his cheek as he focuses on rubbing your clit through your pants. “I can make you feel so good. Amor, I can be yours.”

In moments like this, he’s too drunk on sex to know the words he’s spewing. He reaches for the lube and condom hidden in your desk. His movements are sloppy. You swear he struggles a little in opening the cap up.

He asks you something in Spanish. It’s out of your vocabulary, so you tilt your head.

“I don’t need to prepare you, right? You’re still loose?” You can see his hips grinding against the palm of his hand. His cheeks are flushed, and you see drool coming down his chin. It’s pitiful.

You nod. “Yeah, just give me a bit to adjust if you wanna—fucking hell.” It’s out of your control when you laugh. Franco eagerly shoves his pants down alongside yours.

“What has gotten you so eager?” you ask.

“I got P6,” he smirks. That little fucker.

His cock is rubbered and wet when it enters you. He moans loud as your hand comes to his cheek. It’s catlike, the way he goes soft against your hold.

Shifting slowly, he grinds inside of you. The soft rubbing inside your walls almost has you mewling. But you keep your eyes on him, ignoring the pooling pleasure between your legs.

Telling him, “You’ve been looking at me,” has his lips pouting. “If I didn’t know better, I would say you were in love with me.”

“I am in love with you,” your cheeks flush, and you’re not sure if it’s the sudden thrust of his cock or his words. “I’m in love with the way you race, how you over-perform a dying car, how you move.”

His eyes drop to where you two meet, jittering his hips a little. With the quick thrusts, you’re caught off guard and moaning out his name. He looks very satisfied with it.

“Oh, amor—” his words turn gibberish to you as he starts to move. His pace is uneven, driven by the thought to take you carefully and the urge to bring the both of you to climax. Not a single word is getting into your head.

But his voice is so loving. He’s panting between every other word, lips pouted and eyebrows furrowed. His voice is getting louder, and you put your hand against his mouth.

“Shut - oh, God… Shut up,” you whine, feeling the cockhead rub against your g-spot. “You’re so fucking… good. Just like that, fuck me.”

He shuts up when he goes down to kiss you. Both his arms wrap around you, embracing you as he finds the right angle to make sure you’re still getting stimulated. His hair is rubbing against your clit, the little tickle in them getting you to moan a little louder.

You feel dizzy. It’s not the lack of air during the kiss, you know it. He’s just holding you close to him while he takes you like you’re his lover. Your heart curls in itself, punishing itself for its own stupidity.

But fuck, you want to focus on the now. The way his hands are going up and down your back, soothing you as you get lost in the pace of his thrusts. The way his body towers over you, completely enveloping you in his hold. 

“I’m gonna—” he gasps, his pace barely slowing as you assume he cums inside of you. You whine when he bottoms inside.

Franco knows you. He knows you too well. He grinds inside of you before pulling out. Still, he doesn’t let you think another thought before he’s flicking your clit.

“Shit, fuck, Franco!” he smiles under your silent praise as his other fingers tease at your hole. “I’m gonna cum too. Just like that. Don’t fucking stop.”

He only leans down to spit on your pussy, easing the rub as you’re moving your hips along him. You cum with your back arched and your hips off the couch. His hand stills on your clit as his eyes are fixated on the way cum leaves your pussy.

You drop back down when he places your hips on his lap. “Don’t get it dirty,” he reminds you, tying the condom and throwing it in the bin. “It’s embarrassing to explain to the cleaners.”

His humour comes in at the worst moments. You grunt and he only laughs. “It’s not even funny. You’re just telling the truth.”

“It’s funnier in Spanish,” he promises.

You think about how it probably sounds just about the same.

🗒 𝗣𝗔𝗣𝗘𝗥 𝗧𝗥𝗔𝗜𝗟 . . . first time writing for bro ! i'm so open to writing more of him so i added him in my taglist options, so if you wanna be tagged for future fics of him 👀 you know what to do . if you already sent me a form before , you can resend another with him included ! anyways , fixing up the next few fics soon . ˎˊ˗ ᝰ. ──── 📨 @delululeclerc @hiireadstuff

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