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#the movie better do my boy justice
bononocat · 1 year
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hobie brown you will always be famous!! 🎸💥✨
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thelien-art · 10 months
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When the world domination doesn't go as excepted...
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I´m not resistant and never claimed to be.
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Meme reference:
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kvaughanarts · 1 year
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Oh yeah the movie is gonna be a thing
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ghostwaffleheimer · 1 year
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Finally saw Sonic 2 last night and my partner has been playing Frontiers lately (I am still going "holy shit this is a Sonic game??", shocked how good it is so far and we're only on Ares) so I may be on the verge of falling back into Sonic brain time
so uh have a redraw of this meme that I first saw in high school and still sometimes think about
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ghoul-haunted · 9 months
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oh thank god some good fucking subtitles
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flamingpudding · 6 months
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Fictober23 Prompt: 9 - "I wouldn't do that if I were you."
Fandom: DPxDC
Rating: T
Warnings: Red Hood's swearing, mention of character death
Danny blinked a couple of times before he realized what exactly happened. He had been with Alfred making some cookies for the rest of the family after Oracle had reported they would all come back uninjured. And Danny had decided to help Alfred in hopes to get back on Damian's good side. The boy had been pretty short and huffy with him ever since Danny had admitted that he didn't plan on getting reinstated as hero.
The rest of the family had taken it sort or well, sure there were the occasional side comments in hopes to maybe convince him to come on patrol with one of them every now and then but otherwise his decision was greatly accepted. Alfred had appeared especially happy when Danny had announced that after having lived with the Waynes for little more than a year now.
Of course Phantom would still come out to help if his ghostly rogues decided to show up and pester his new family or Lady Gotham needed help with something or when Lazarus Pits were involved. But this certainly did not include a situation like that.
Looking down at his gloved hands, Danny breathed out a sigh of relief, noting that he had gotten summoned as Phantom at least. Pretransfomred. Last time he got summoned and had appeared shortly as plain old Danny before changing into Phantom, Tim, as Red Robin of course, had gaslighted the cultists into believing they hallucinated seeing Daniel 'Danny' Fenton-Wayne for a brief moment. The press still had a field day with the nonsense the arrested cultist spouted.
At least now they wouldn't have to deal with another media drama that could result in Vlad trying to fight Bruce for custody again. Still, Danny frowned, they had summoned him right out of a late night baking session with Alfred and knowing his family the way he does now it was only a matter of time before they all stormed this place or at least some of them.
Bruce had put a tracker on him specifically for this kind of situation, aside from the fact that he was also still pestering the Justice League Dark to find a way to stop it from happening in the first place.
"You do realize that you are in deep shit right?" The occult leader looked at Danny for only a short moment before continuing his spiel about how with the power of the summoned they would lead the world back to the balance it's supposed to have and bla bla bla. Being the Ancient of Balance Danny never thought he would even get summoned, aren't cultists in books more interested in evil demons, masters of chaos, Cthulhu and so on?
Knocking with his fist against the barrier lightly, the halfa noted that he would probably be stuck in place until his family showed up to disturb the chalk writing on the floor. For a moment he wondered if he should attempt to break out but then remembered the lecture Bruce had made him sit through the first time he broke a magical barrier and got injured in the process. It was probably better to wait.
"You know the last time I got summoned out of family time, one of my brothers went apeshit on the cultists." Danny continued to interrupt the leader's speech, just to be a little shit. He needed to pass the time somehow. Plus he wasn't lying. He had gotten summoned right out of movie night with his siblings, it's no understatement to say that they were not amused. Jason was especially pissed for some reason. "And the time before that it was my younger brother, that was a whole lot more bloody but no one died anyway in the end.
"Silence spirit of balance, you will listen to me. I was the one that summoned you."
"Yea… buddy that's not how this whole summoning thing actually works. You read a couple of fictional books." Danny retorted until he saw what the leader pulled out and flinched back.
How was that possible? Danny was sure that after his parents death, Bruce had bought all the rights of Fenton Works, including the patents and put it all in Danny's name no matter how much some tried to fight it. If it wasn't willed to Danny then Bruce had bought it. They had stopped any production of his parents' inventions, they had forced the GIW to cough up all the inventions they bought and then disband the governmental organization through the Justice League.
Of course Danny had known that some of his parents inventions were still on the black market and then there were also Vlads inventions but, the cult leader was holding up a Fenton bracelet Danny had specifically created for his brother to help him control the corrupted ectoplasm in his system until his treatment with Frostbite was done. How was it possible for them to get a hold of it? No wait it looked slightly modified from the one he made for his brother.
"This will make you listen to me." Danny's eye widened as he noticed a shard of a very familiar red crystal embedded in the bracelet when the leader waved it around triumphantly at Danny's reaction. It wasn't enough to brainwash him by simply holding it to his face but if he made direct contact with it? Danny wasn't so sure.
"How did you get that!"
"Oh not so mouthy anymore are we?"
His core quivered and all his eyes could do was focus on the red shiny stone as flashback ran through his mind as he pressed as far away from the leader as he could. His back hit the other end of the barrier he was in and Danny contemplated breaking the barrier and high speed flying home to the Wayne manor even if it risked injury.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you." The calm but familiar voice broke Danny out of his panic as he saw a blade sneak around the leader's neck. Robin was standing right behind the man seemingly having appeared out of nowhere.
"Robin! B said to wait for his signal!" Another voice appeared and Danny heard the thud next to him with the flutter of a cape. Relieved, he turned his head ever so slightly to find Red Robin next to the barrier, looking unimpressed at the fact that Robin, from the looks of it, had run ahead of them once again.
Robin clicked his tongue and Danny finally relaxed enough to snicker at his siblings' banter. Before he could add in his own two cents to the banter a window crashed in and Red Hood added himself to the rescue party.
"Can't any of you follow a fucking plan?" The man announced his presence loudly while also landing boot first on some random cultist members. That instantly scattered, their stunned frozeness, caused by their leader getting held at blade point, broken now.
"You're one to talk. Since when do you simply follow B's plans anyway?" Red Robin huffed back, taking the bracelet from the leader as well as destroying the barrier seal with his boot by smudging the chalk writing.
"Point taken." The other answered as he started to knock out any cultist that was in his reach. Red Robin joined him once he gave Danny a look over and was certain that the barrier no longer existed.
Robin once more clicked his tongue causing Danny to look over, the leader now knocked out cold before his feed. "Phantom, you need to stop getting summoned by these incompetent…"
"Imbeciles!"
"Scoundrels!"
"Asshats!"
"Scum!"
"Fucktards!"
"Lunatics!"
"I do not require your input!" Robin shouted across the room at their older siblings that were currently giving the rest of the cult members the beat down of their life.
"Fruitloops?" Danny offered chuckling at the seething glare Robin directed at him for that and he lifted the palm of his hands in a sign of peace.
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oddinary4bts · 7 months
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When the End Comes | ch 2 (jjk)
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☆summary: Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?
☆pairing: photographer!Jungkook x lawyer!female reader
☆rating: 18+ (minors DNI, there is mature content in every chapter)
☆genre: breakup!au, slice of life!au, angst with a big A, smut
☆warnings: moving, curses, alochol, explicit content: female and male masturbation, pain kink (Jungkook), mentions of blowjob and penetrative sex
☆word count: 8.7k
☆series masterpost
☆a/n: I don't even know what to say about this chapter, just that I FEEL their pain so much :'( justice for my babies
☆a/n pt2: Thank you to @moonleeai for beta-ing this, you are the best <3
☆Read The Forgotten Spaces here, the prequel to When the End Comes! It does not need to be read to understand When the End Comes, but I think it still should be read first to have a better understanding of the characters in general!
☆Add yourself to the taglist here (if you were on the taglist for The Forgotten Spaces, you're already on the taglist for When the End Comes!)
☆☆☆☆☆
But love never leaves a heart, where it found it, found it You found it Someday, I'll fall into you That's where I'll be now when the end comes
When the End Comes, Andrew Belle
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Thursday, July 6th
                Days and weeks have passed. Apparently, even months have. Jungkook hasn’t really noticed – he’s been stuck in a daze, stuck replaying your breakup over and over again. Wishing he’d begged you to stay, though he could tell that nothing would have been fruitful.
You had made your decision already.
He hasn’t done anything since you left. Hasn’t left your apartment except for looking for a new one, when Yoongi forced him to go. Because alone, he can’t afford the one you had together. And it’s too filled with memories anyway.
All the pictures on the shelves by the window, turned towards the wall the night you left. The echo of your laugh, in every room he steps in. The ghost of you, just a silhouette he can’t ever reach when it’s dark and his mind is playing tricks on him.
The night you left, he thought it was a joke. A sick, twisted prank, and he believed you’d come back. When hours passed and dawn approached, he got up from the spot where he was sitting in, near the door, and turned the pictures towards the wall before heading to bed.
He hadn’t been able to sleep in the bed, and he’d slept with Bam directly on the floor.
A few nights later he’d made an actual bed with blankets on the floor, and he’s been sleeping there since then. But not tonight – tonight he’ll try sleeping in bed, in his new apartment.
A space that shouldn’t remind him of you too much.
He’s packed almost everything before today. He had nothing else to do, and it served to keep his mind busy during the long hours of the day. At night he usually has nothing to keep his mind from going to you, and he thinks he’s stuck in the moment when you left.
It’s a looped film in his mind, a horror movie that will forever haunt him.
The boys are helping. They brought most of the boxes he’s packed to his new place already, a small studio in the same building as Yoongi and Kiko. It’s on the other side of town, far from where he built a life with you, and he really hopes your ghost won’t follow.
Though he doubts he’ll ever escape it.
Everyone is currently doing a trip to the other apartment, except Jungkook and Yoongi. Mostly because Jungkook has been standing in the empty living room, save for the pictures on the shelves.
You left with the couch and the dinner table, telling him to keep the TV even though you were the one to buy it years ago. And that day you came to pick up your stuff…
Another haunting moment to add to the long list that’s been tormenting him since you broke up.
He shuts his eyes, pinches the bridge of his nose, jaw clenching as the familiar ache takes over his heart. He doesn’t want to cry today – at least not before he’s alone in his new place. Because he hates how his friends are concerned, hates that he can’t just stay home alone.
None of them understand the sorrow that’s been plaguing him – hell, all of them except Jimin are happily dating. A dirty, ugly part of him hates them for it, and he’s been trying to distance himself.
“You good?” Yoongi asks, startling him.
Jungkook’s hand falls to his side, and he forces his eyes open. Yoongi is next to him, an eyebrow cocked in question. “Yeah.”
“Do you want me to put these in a box?” Yoongi enquires, and Jungkook clenches his fist as Yoongi’s pointing to the pictures.
“I can take care of it.”
It takes him a few seconds before he does get in motion, and he heads to the shelves. There’s already a box waiting for the frames, one Taehyung put there earlier before Jungkook told him not to touch anything.
“Do you want help?” Yoongi asks carefully.
Jungkook steels himself as he grabs the first picture. He already knows which it is, from its placement on the shelf. It’s one of his exhibit’s pictures. The one he titled ‘Where I found hope again’. It’s the sunset from the living room of the apartment he’d found for you.
Seeing it hurts, but he barely pays attention to it, carefully putting it in the box before grabbing the next one. There you are, cheeks red and smile bright in the snow of December, and he feels like dying as he remembers the name of that one.
‘Where I learned to love again’. It feels like it’s laughing at him right now, like life is having a good laugh at his expense. He wants to throw it away, to burn and watch your beautiful form crumbling into ashes.
Instead, he puts it away, before moving to the next one. He thinks he goes blind – he doesn’t see the next pictures. Doesn’t focus on any of them, and lets the ache take over his action, over his heart. When he’s done, he realizes that the apartment is once again filled with voices – none of them being the right one, and he wishes to be alone.
Wishes to be allowed to crumble, to let himself be carried by the wind.
The rest of the day is a blur. He barely remembers getting to his new place, riding shotgun next to Jimin while Taehyung and Namjoon talked about something on the backseat. Jimin was silent, respecting Jungkook’s need to not speak, and maybe it’s for that reason that Jungkook says yes when Jimin asks if he wants some company when the others finally start filing out at the end of the day.
They all hug him tight, tell him that they love him and hope he’ll like his new place. With everything placed, Jungkook knows that he’ll always hate it, because it lacks the only thing that he truly wants – you.
And he’ll never have that again.
“Want to order something?” Jimin asks.
Jungkook is sitting on a kitchen chair, watching the condensation on his glass of water when Jimin speaks. He raises his head – his friend is scrolling on his phone, and he shoots Jungkook a look as he remains silent.
“Sure,” Jungkook finally answers. “Did you have anything in mind?”
Jimin nods. “There’s this great dumpling place nearby, and they deliver.”
“Oh.”
If Jimin notices Jungkook’s lack of enthusiasm, he doesn’t mention. Because Jimin is a good friend – he’s been one of Jungkook’s closest friends for years for a reason after all.
“Pork and green onion works for you?” Jimin asks.
“Sure.”
“I’ll get the marinated cucumbers too.” Jimin pouts at his phone as he focuses, and then his gaze darts once to Jungkook. “Anything else you want? They got bobas too.”
Just thinking about drinking boba makes Jungkook feel nauseated, so he shakes his head no. Jimin purses his lips, nods curtly and then says the food is on its way.
His statement is followed by silence, until the front door opens as Yoongi returns with Bam, as promised. Kiko was taking care of him all day, since she and Yoongi live in the same building. Yoongi promises that Bam was a good boy, and then he leaves again, nodding his head at Jimin.
As if to say ‘thank you for being here’. Jungkook hates the gesture, hates that he let Jimin stay, but he figures he can always just ask him to leave when they’re done with the food.
He had to eat anyway, right?
Needless to say, his appetite has been off, since the day you left. He’s been working out more though, something to keep his mind busy, but he’s been unable to eat like before. Jimin forces him to eat half the dumplings though, and Jungkook reckons that even after everything, dumplings still slap.
Not a lot of things in life still slap without you around.
One thing that does suck is, Jimin tries to make conversation through dinner. He asks Jungkook if he has any project coming up, if he ever plans on returning to Europe. The answer is easy, and Jungkook gives it without an ounce of hesitation.
“No.”
Jimin cocks an eyebrow, as if surprised by his answer. “Why?”
Jungkook grits his teeth, but offers no answers. He thinks it’s obvious – he’s been hating the European continent ever since the night you left because he can’t bring himself to hate you instead. So he directed it to the place that took you from him, and so far it’s been keeping him going.
“You know…” Jimin carefully says. “We’ve all been avoiding talking about it. But how are you even doing, bro? Every time I see you it’s just…”
Worse. He’s convinced that’s what Jimin was going to say, and he doesn’t blame him. It’s worse every time because he has been getting worse. As if adding another mark on the calendar equals to adding another on his heart, and the wounds haven’t had time to heal.
He doesn’t think there’s enough time in a lifetime to heal from losing you.
“I’m okay,” Jungkook lies easily.
Bam offers him salvation, barking by the door. As he rarely does, Jungkook gets up, a frown moving on his features. Jimin lets him go, even as Jungkook mumbles he’ll take the dog outside. His friend remains silent, and Jungkook is able to slip into the evening without Jimin pressing him about the lie.
As Jungkook had assumed, Bam just needed to pee, and probably barked because of the unfamiliar environment. Jungkook debates taking him on a walk, hoping Jimin would be gone by the time he comes back, but it feels too cowardly, even for him.
So he takes Bam in right away – the walk would have been hell anyway.
Jimin hasn’t moved while he was gone, and Jungkook tries to avoid the conversation by cleaning the table, putting away the empty dumpling container in the recycling bin after he’s rinsed it thoroughly. He feels Jimin’s gaze boring into the back of his head, but he does his best to ignore it.
“You shouldn’t drop your job in Europe,” Jimin suddenly says.
Jungkook whips around from his spot by the counter under which the recycling bin is. “What?”
“Isn’t it…” Jimin winces, shaking his head slightly. “Listen, this will be tough love, but isn’t it losing everything if you just… drop it too?”
Jungkook sees red. “Get the fuck out.”
“Bro.”
“Get the fuck out,” he repeats, putting emphasis on each word.
“We’re just worried about you,” Jimin says carefully, still not moving from where he’s sitting.
Jungkook has half a thought that he could carry his friend out if he wanted to, but surprisingly enough his heart breaks in his chest, tears blinding his vision.
“I just can’t go, okay?” he chokes out, and his nails dig in the palm of his hands as he clenches his fists hard. “I just can’t.”
Jimin watches him carefully, before sighing deeply. “Okay. It’s okay. There’s plenty of stuff you can do here too.”
Jungkook gulps, blinking the tears away until Jimin is clear in front of him again. “Can I…”
He stops, because he knows he shouldn’t ask. Knows he shouldn’t care, yet he can’t help himself. Jimin doesn’t press, waits for him to be able to speak. It takes longer than Jungkook thought possible, and he has to shut his eyes and lean against the counter before he finds words again.
“Can I ask how she has been doing?” he voices, words falling softly, almost soundlessly, in the space between them.
“Jungkook…”
“Just,” Jungkook lets out, eyes shooting open. “Please tell me she’s okay.”
Jimin’s silence is telling enough – you must be going through it too. It fills Jungkook with bitterness, with something vile and disgusting that tastes like bile on his tongue. Because you don’t get to be suffering, you don’t get to have made this decision and suffer from it.
Why the fuck did you make that decision then?
“You know,” Jimin starts carefully. “You guys were together for a long time.”
“Why?” Jungkook asks. “Why did she do this?”
And then the tears are moving freely, and Jimin quickly gets up to hug him. Jungkook rests his forehead against his friend’s shoulder as he breaks in the embrace, like he’s been doing for weeks now.
“It’s going to be okay,” Jimin promises when the tears recede and Jungkook stops trembling, as if his body, too, is too tired to keep on breaking.
Strangely, he gets the feeling there’s nothing left to break anyway.
“How?”
Jimin remains silent for a while, as if searching for the exact right words to say. Jungkook doubts they exist – how can someone repair a broken heart such as his?
“Life finds a way,” Jimin eventually chooses to say. He pulls away from the hug, though he still holds onto Jungkook’s shoulders. “Life always finds a way.”
Saturday, July 15th
                You’re tired. Have been tired. Think you’ll forever be tired. A relentless exhaustion has settled over you like a mantle of snow settles on the land during the months of winter. With it comes an unshakable cold, and even though it’s summer you’ve been cradling your hoodie to your frame, draping yourself with it as if it’ll chase the cold away.
The cold is never going to leave. You think your heart turned to ice in your chest, and it pumps freezing blood into your veins. You’ve been trying to warm up, but heat is a mirage to you, an illusion you can’t reach.
Heather and Bridget are hosting a dinner at their apartment today. You’d wanted to avoid it, but considering they offered you a room for a few weeks before you found a new apartment, you couldn’t say no. Yet you dread the moment you’ll be faced with the other girls, some of them your friends because they are dating… his friends.
You’ve been trying not to think about him too much. It’s hard – he’s lurking at the back of your mind, a reminder of your failures. Of the places where you went wrong, the mistakes you committed. Not that the breakup was a mistake – you think you made the right decision, or at least you’ve been trying to convince yourself that you have.
But you didn’t lie to him – you love him. Still do, though now it’s more like grief. Though, what is grief if not the next step in the eternal timeline of love?
You worry at your lips, bury your hands in the pocket of the hoodie. You fumble with your keys as you wait in front of the door, as you try to knock but find you’re unable to. Because it means talking to them, it means pretending that you have been able to eat or sleep for weeks.
You reckon Heather and Bridget know, to a certain extent. Saw you wither like a flower when autumn comes, though you think now you’re settled in deep winter.
You think it’ll pass. You doubt a pain like this can last – no soul can withstand it forever. But that would be admitting that he was your soulmate, and you aren’t stupid.
Soulmates don’t exist. Because if he was, why then was the distance enough to break you up?
You sigh, eyes falling to the ground in front of your feet. You take a steadying breath – it does nothing to help.
You’re a coward. You’ve become a coward, and you think it might be because you put all of your courage in that night weeks ago. It broke you, broke the steel you used to be able to drape yourself with.
Now you’re stuck in the never-ending winter, withered and lifeless.
“Y/n!” Jo says, and you startle.
You turn your head to the side to see Jo as she’s walking around the corner, and she smiles at you as she makes her way towards you.
“Hey,” you reply as your throat goes dry.
If he has a best friend, or at least a female one, you think it’d be her. They’ve been friends since before you reconnected with him, since before you even knew her. Seeing her feels like it’s wrong, but then again everything has been feeling wrong lately.
“Did you already ring?” Jo asks as she stops next to you.
You purse your lips, shaking your head no. “Huh,” you let out. “I was about to.”
Jo nods, and you think she immediately senses your unease. She’s a good person though, and an even better friend. She doesn’t say anything, and she rings the door for you.
You don’t know what to tell her. All that you can think of is, if someone has news about him, it would be her. She’s the only one you believe there’s a chance he’s been honest to.
Before you can say anything, the door opens and Bridget ushers you inside. You realize that you’re the last ones to get there – you usually never are. Usually always make sure to be the first, only so that you can help the hosts.
It seems losing him changed that.
You greet everyone half-heartedly, quickly moving towards Jiho. Jiho hugs you, tells you she’s happy you came. You can’t return the sentiment, so you offer her a tight-lipped smile as Heather announces that dinner is ready.
Their chatter is lively. You feel like you’re watching the scene through a frosted window. Like you’re stuck in a blizzard, watching people reveling in the warmth of the other side, wishing somehow that they’d share it with you. And it’s not that they don’t try; multiple times throughout dinner the other girls try to talk to you.
You reply, you always do, but there is just so little to say, so little words your brain can conjure up. It’s like your thoughts are slower – you’ve been that way at work too. You’re lucky, you haven’t been working on anything big in the last few weeks. But next week you will be, and you don’t even know if you’ll be able to do it.
At least Harrison is on the case with you. As one of the most talented junior partners of the firm, you think he’ll be able to manage the case even with you at his side.
You eat what you can, though you’ve run out of appetite before you even broke up. You force yourself, mostly because you don’t like how Kiko’s looking at you. How you notice her leaning to speak in Jo’s ear more than once during the meal.
You’re aware that they’re speaking of you – do they hate you as much as you hate yourself?
You doubt they can.
When dinner is over, you offer to clean the dishes. Jo ends up on washing duty with you, and you work in silence, water sloshing around as you rub the plates clean while she dries.
You’re cleaning a wine glass when she says, “How have you been?”
The question is a simple one. The truth isn’t so, and you wonder if you should lie. You think it’d be a mistake. Jo’s perceptive, she’d see right through the lie.
“I’ve been better,” you answer, shrugging your shoulders as if it doesn’t matter.
That much is a lie, because everything about him mattered.
“I can understand.”
Heavy silence follows, and you pass the glass to her. You hope she won’t speak more, hope she’ll offer you kindness and let you dwell on your mistakes, but you know it’s unlike her.
Indeed, she speaks up after a minute. “You know…” She pauses, and you glance once at her to find her features troubled. “I was wondering… what brought you to this decision?”
You freeze, hands in the water. It’s hot enough that your skin is turning scarlet, yet you barely even feel it. “What?”
“If you don’t want to speak about it it’s fine,” she gently says. “But I’m just concerned about you.”
“Did he ask you to ask me this?” you enquire, accusingly. You frown at the tone of your voice, and apologize as you resume washing the glass you’re holding.
“No,” she answers. “He hasn’t really been talking to anyone.”
You shudder, with horror and compulsion at the person that you were weeks ago, the one that caused him to isolate himself.
“Oh.”
Jo waits a moment, but when it’s clear that you aren’t going to speak again, she says, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t prod.”
You wet your lips, swallow around the lump in your throat. “It’s okay.”
Perhaps that’s also a lie. Perhaps you believe nothing is okay, nothing will be okay again. But you don’t voice it – it’s all your fault anyway.
“It’s okay if it isn’t okay, you know,” Jo gently says as you hand her a glass.
Your vision blurs, but no tears fall. No tears are left – you cry them to sleep every night already.
“Long distance is a bitch,” is what you eventually say. “You think you can make it through everything, and then long distance happens.”
You want to clench your hand around the third glass, want to feel the shards of it cutting through your palm like the shards of him have been stabbing through your heart. You force your grip to remain loose, lest you stain the sink with blood.
“Like for real, without it we would have been fine.”
You’ve told Jiho the same thing. You think you’ve told him the same thing, but you barely even remember the breakup. Just remember holding onto him at the end, and then winter seeping in through the crevices in your soul.
“I’m sorry.” Jo looks at you kindly when you glance her way. She offers you a sad smile that you want to hate, yet it just makes you want to break. “I’m really sorry it came between the two of you.”
You take a deep breath to tame the aching in your chest, nodding once. “It’s whatever.”
“It’s not.”
She’s right, so you remain silent. Choose to seek solace in a wordless moment, one you spend finishing the dishes. And when you’re done, and she’s wiping the last one, you find yourself asking, “How has he been doing?”
She stops moving, meets your gaze before letting her gaze drop to her hands. “As I said, he doesn’t really speak to anyone.”
“Which means he hasn’t been great.”
You know him enough to know that. She does too – she nods, before shrugging her shoulders. “Jimin and Tae have been making sure he’s okay though. Surviving.”
Because sometimes all there is to do is survive.
You’re relieved that his friends are there for him. It lessens the pain somehow, to know he’s not alone. You aren’t either – Jimin is your friend too and, even though she’s a mom of two, Jiho has been there for you ever since the breakup.
The first time Lisa asked you where Jungkook was though… felt like heartbreak uttered in an innocent sentence. Like the universe had gone wrong, like left and right were interchanged. You were lost then, and you still are today.
All at your expense.
“Good,” you answer.
She looks conflicted, pained – you understand why when she asks, “What about you?”
You clench your jaw out of reflex, as if it’s an accusation. As if admitting that you’re going through frozen hell is wrong of you, somehow. You think it is. After all, this is supposed to be better than the distance.
“I’ve got Jimin too, and Jiho,” you reply, voice strained. “Bridget and Heather too. They’ve been helping.”
Jo nods. “Good. Don’t isolate yourself.” There’s a pause, and her features turn pensive. “And you know, you got me too. You have all of us.”
Tears blur your vision, but like your soul they turn to ice before rolling down your cheeks. “Thank you.”
Smile apologetic, she nods again, as if her job here is done. And it must be – Kiko and Bridget walk into the kitchen, and they clearly don’t sense the atmosphere that’s clinging to you. They strike conversation with Jo, happily, and her stance switches to one that’s more relaxed.
You decide to leave them alone, because these three have always been a little closer to each other than you to them, and you return to the other room, where Chaeyeon, Valeria, Jiho and Heather are lounging on the couches. You debate leaving, debate claiming that you have to work early in the morning, but somehow you choose not to.
Is it a sign that you’re moving on? You don’t know.
When you do leave, later that night, at the same time as Jo and Chaeyeon do, you find yourself walking next to Jo as you head to your respective cars. Lance is picking Chaeyeon up, and she waves you two goodbye as you walk away.
You stuff your hands in the long sleeves of your hoodie, as if the air outside is remotely cold. It is not – there’s been a heatwave around for a few days. Luckily enough for you, a freezing heart seems to be a good remedy for the heat, and you still seek the comfort of your hoodie.
“I was wondering,” Jo says as you near where your car is parked. “Are you still planning on coming to the wedding?”
The forsaken wedding. The thing that set everything in motion – the spark that caught fire on years of your relationship.
You purse your lips, shrug your shoulders. “I think so,” you voice. “Yeah. You two are my friends, even if…”
If you’re closer to him. You don’t say as much, but it’s needless. Jo nods, understanding as ever, and she tells you that you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.
You think she’s a fool for believing that you wouldn’t want to go. Because… what’s wrong with wanting to make sure he’s okay with your own two eyes? What’s wrong with needing to see him in another context than this never-ending winter?
That night, you lie awake for hours. Picturing him behind your closed eyelids, only to find emptiness where he should be. The blankets are cold, the fan overhead not needed, yet you can’t bring yourself to turn it off.
Can’t chase the feeling of his absence from your heart.
You seek solace in memories of him, in the thought of his lips on yours. Of the featherlight kisses you used to exchange in the dead of night, when sleep was evading you or him. You must be half asleep – because suddenly you can almost see him here. Can almost hear his voice as he’d call you baby, mouthing the word against your neck before he’d suck on it.
Your heartrate picks up with the memory – they’re flooding in. The smell of his skin, the taste of his lips, the inebriating sweetness of his kisses. You remember the weight of him on you, the press of his knee between your legs.
And then you seek solace with a hand between your thighs, trying to remember how he touched you. How his long fingers always dragged you to a land of pleasure, how he’d managed to keep you there until you were insane with his taste.
You breathe out his name, a soft moan, though it’s almost a plea. A plea for him to appear, for him to never have been gone.
For you to never have pushed him away.
When you come down from the high that finds you in your memories, you lie on your side, holding one of your plushies to your chest. They don’t replace him; they never have.
You end up crying yourself to sleep over the memories, over the July night sky and the dance crew and every night you took for granted, believing that he’d be yours forever.
You cry for your decision, no matter how right it was. Because you know it’ll always feel wrong.
Friday, July 28th
                There’s something about work that’s been setting you on edge. That’s been making you want to pull your hair out of your head – if only that was possible. It’s strange; you’ve been thinking about the breakup less now that you’re neck deep in work.
Now that you spend hours upon hours at work, after the usual closing time.
Luckily enough, you’re almost never alone. Harrison accompanies all of those late evenings as you work through the case, as he tells you what to do and you tell him you don’t need his help. He laughs at that – Harrison has an easy laugh. It makes its way to his lips whenever you speak, and it’s been like a ray of light in the otherwise dark land of your heart.
He’s a good coworker. Someone that’s noticed just how bad you are, but that’s decided to not treat you differently. To let you nurse your heart in peace, while he offers you the normalcy of what work should be.
Today, at lunch break, he suggested going out for dinner and drinks, along with the rest of the team that’s been working on the case. Mostly because you’re finally closing in on something that is clearly going to be good, and he believes it’s important to celebrate. You don’t have it in you to say no, and that’s how you find yourself squeezed between him and Anna, the paralegal that you’ve worked with the most, in the booth of a nice pub near the firm.
You’ve been sharing a nacho plate with Harrison and Ian, another one of the junior partners of the firm, and you’re sipping on a glass of the pitcher of sangria that Anna ordered for you and her. The buzzing of chatter and laughter makes the pub into a lively place, and you reckon you like the atmosphere.
You like the plants that cascade from their pots on shelves in the walls, like the hanging lights that shine brightly onto the tables, like the brick wall that gives the pub a nice industrial vibe. It just feels right, different than your usual.
Or maybe it’s the fact that the crew is different. That you aren’t with people that inevitably remind you of Jungkook, even though they shouldn’t.
Harrison’s English accent catches your attention as he says something to Ian – something about leaving work related conversation to the firm. As you turn your head towards the man at your side, he offers you a glance.
Harrison has clear blue eyes. Pale, like they hold the Caribbean sea in them. His eyes are beautiful, sparkling, and you offer him a smile.
He’s quick to smile back, and then he continues his conversation with Ian, who’s decided to speak about sports instead.  You decide to join in, even though you know practically nothing about sports, and the two men tease you for it.
There’s no bite to it, yet it feels familiar. Reminds you of someone that used to tease you all the time, and with the sangria coursing through your veins, you decide to jump on the occasion. To let the past be the past, and live in this moment, for once.
Perhaps it holds some sort of salvation for you.
“It’s not my fault if football is boring!” you insist. “It’s just dudes throwing a ball. Who cares about that?”
Harrison nudges you with his elbow. “Hey come on,” he says. “They don’t only throw a ball, sometimes they kick it too.”
He’s got a teasing smile on his lips, and to your surprise you find yourself rolling your eyes. “And the point system? Stupid.”
“It isn’t!” Harrison says, faking offense. “You wound me.”
You cock an eyebrow as Ian laughs, before turning to speak to Sam next to him as the guy asks him a question.
“Aren’t you British anyway?” you ask him. “Why do you watch football?”
“Because I like dudes that throw balls,” he jokes, before realizing that his sentence sounded wrong as you burst out laughing. “Well, not like that.”
“No, of course not,” you tease back.
“It’s just a fun sport,” he insists. “Used to watch it with my step-dad when I was younger.”
Now, the revelation eases the teasing mood that you’ve been diving into, and you offer him a small smile. “Sounds like fun.”
Because you can get that. You can understand the need to love something because someone you loved introduced you to it – dance was that for you, once upon a time. When your mother had introduced you to it, when you were too young to realize that to her, you dancing was just going to be an accomplishment.
Until it became a curse, as you chose to not pursue ballet the way she wanted you to. But that’s old history – even though you still don’t talk to your mother all that much, the hatred you’ve held for her for years after she’s kicked you out is lesser now. Practically non-existent, and you have your therapist to thank for that.
Years of therapy really did help, eventually.
You realize, tonight, how you haven’t really been living since you broke up. You’ve been a mere ghost, a mere winter wind, but tonight you think the air warms up. It warms up into a tentative spring breeze, and you cling to it.
You say yes when Harrison suggests heading to a club after, a VIP one where he’s a member along with Ian. Say yes to the shots offered to you, and you ignore the texts in the group chat with the girls saying that they want to meet up for lunch tomorrow. You focus on the now, focus on the fact that he’s not all you’re thinking of.
No, his big, doe eyes barely exist in your mind right now, replaced by ocean blue and an English accent. At least that’s what you tell yourself as Harrison says he’s a shit dancer, and you admit you were on a dance crew for years.
He cocks an eyebrow, says you’re full of shit, and that’s how you find yourself pulling him to the dance floor, not caring that his hair is paler than your usual, that his smile rings different.
Harrison is not a good dancer. He’s awkward, clumsy, and he steps on your feet more than once as you dance face to face, swaying to the beat of the club music. The flashing lights feel like a haven, like you don’t have to hide in the darkness left by Jungkook’s disappearance from your life.
You let Harrison put his hands on your waist, let him pull you closer, until he’s resting his forehead on yours. Your eyes shut from the proximity, and you can smell the alcohol on his breath. Somehow, that’s what makes you remember – not the dancing, but the intimacy of the position. It makes you crave another, makes you need to forget, and you’re the one that closes the gap.
You’re the one who kisses him first, and he kisses you back all wrong. There’s something missing – the piercing, perhaps – but you don’t let it deter you. Focus on the swipe of his tongue on your bottom lip, and you sigh as you let him in.
But Jungkook is there, in your mind. When Harrison’s hands tighten on your waist, it’s in Jungkook’s hair that you want to thread your fingers through. When he groans softly in the kiss, as you bite his lower lip, it’s Jungkook’s lips that you want to be sucking on.
And you think it’ll always be Jungkook. He’ll haunt you forever – a reminder of your weakness, when it came to the distance. A reminder that, after everything, you’re the one that ruined it.
You’re the one that put an end to what was supposed to be forever.
It aches, coldly. You think your heart barely knows how to beat anymore. It’s erratic, painful, and when Harrison pulls away from the kiss, his blue eyes finding yours, you think his irises are made of ice.
“Hey,” he says gently.
“Hey,” is all you can think to reply.
If he sees the torment in your eyes, he ignores it. Guides you back to the table, where he leaves you with Ian and the rest claiming that he’ll get a water for you. And he does – he comes back with two bottles of water, and he hands you one as he sits next to you.
You think that’s what undoes you. That’s what breaks you, spills the content of your aching soul right there on the club’s floor. You don’t know who’ll pick up the mess – the one it belongs to is far away from these flashing lights. Far, yet closer than he was when the ending came. Somewhere in the city, you believe, because you don’t think he’s gone back to Europe yet.
Would he answer, if you were to call him? Would he pick up right where you left off, whisper sweet nothings in your ear as if you haven’t destroyed his beating organ?
You hate it. Hate how, weeks later, the torture hasn’t diminished. Hate how you believed it’d be just a few rough days, when it’s been weeks and months and winter hasn’t changed.
So you do what you do best. You escape. Tell the table that you have to go, and make it outside before Harrison catches up to you. He asks if he can walk you home, which makes sense because you live in the same complex anyway. Not the same building, but Harrison lives in the one across the small square-like courtyard between the three condo towers where you’ve found a place to rent after Jungkook.
Up above, stars twinkle in the sky. They seem unaware that, after that cataclysm of a July night, the story came to an end. Like the universe never meant it, when it put you and him together. Or maybe it’s you – maybe you created a new cataclysm. Wrote your own fate, and all that crap.
You’re getting dizzy. Both with alcohol and spinning thoughts, but luckily enough the walk is short. Harrison grants you silence, sensing that you need it, probably. Because he’s gentlemanly. Not that Jungkook wasn’t – it’s just different.
And you shouldn’t be comparing him to Jungkook, but it’s far too easy. Especially as your treacherous little mouth asks him if he wants to share a drink in your apartment, as you tell him that you feel better now that you’ve breathed some air.
He says yes, though he seems unsure. He seems unsure all the way up to your floor, and even more so as you pull him in a kiss when the door closes behind you and him. Especially as you breathe against his lips, “Do you think you can make me forget?”
After everything is done, and you lie awake next to his naked form, both of you staring up at the ceiling in silence, you know the answer to that question.
And it’s quite simple – no. Because no one will ever be able to make you forget the one you were supposed to be with until you turned to stardust. Until all that would have been left of the two of you was etchings on a stone, and memories in the space between this life and the next.
Harrison is kind – he tells you that he senses you shouldn’t have done it, gently. Tells you that the only person that can make you forget is yourself, and time. And when he leaves, he tells you not to worry about anything. That he can be a friend, if you need it, but that he doubts you want anything more.
He’s right, and you cry yourself to sleep holding onto Totoro and Appa, hoping weeks ago you would have listened to Jungkook when he’d said not to break up. Hoping to turn back time, cursing the linearity of it. Remembering the punctuate events of you and him, wondering how the distance was enough to undo your timeline.
The sun winks at you when it rises, mocking you as night ends, with no answer for you. The what-ifs shine as brightly as the rays of the morning, all of them piercing through your darkened heart.
You shiver and hide your face in Totoro, hoping one day you’ll be able to evade winter.
Friday, August 18th
                Jungkook’s first thought when he steps into the restaurant is that it’s too loud. Too bright, with happy couples and smiling families sharing a meal as if life’s never ended, three months and ten days ago. He feels like an imposter – he hasn’t smiled since you left, and hasn’t laughed since before that.
He doesn’t know why he agreed to this, when Taehyung suggested it. Maybe because Taehyung and Jimin can be firmly persuasive, when they decide they’ll do something. Though, this time around, they’re not doing anything.
Anything other than having set this blind date with one of Taehyung’s coworkers.
Jungkook decides to find solace in his thoughts. Away from the bustling crowd of the restaurant, into the cool darkness where he’s been evading since he moved to his new apartment. Somewhere where the pain is lesser, where he doesn’t cry all the time.
That’s where she finds him. A shy smile, rosy cheeks as she voices, “Jungkook?”
He meets her gaze, finds her long lashes as she looks up at him innocently. He’s struck – she’s way out of his league. But so were you, and he’s got a whole story to tell about you now. He looks around as if to make sure the girl was speaking to him, as if she didn’t say his name, before he answers, “I assume you’re Emma.”
Another shy smile, and Emma nods her head. “The one and only.”
Jungkook wets his lips, and when the server comes to bring them to a table, he lets his gaze drop to the ground as he follows behind Emma.
He sits in front of her, feeling odd as she blushes and looks through the menu. Her shyness makes him feel awkward, and he doesn’t know what to say.
With you, he always knew what to say.
He shuts his eyes, takes a deep breath and then lets his eyelids flutter open so that he can look through the menu too. He thinks, he just has to make it through the evening. Doesn’t have to see the girl again, even though her shy smiles are cute.
She is cute, but she’s not you. No one will ever compare to you.
He takes a deep breath once more, tries to push you out of his thoughts. For the first time in weeks, it’s not as hard. Maybe because his awkwardness is winning over, making him all too aware of every glance the girl throws his way.
They order, barely exchanging a word, until the girl throws him a lifeline. She asks about his photography, admits Taehyung told her about it, and Jungkook settles in his comfort space as he tells her about it, as he answers her question.
It’s impersonal, almost professional, but at least it keeps the pain at bay for a while. He even thinks he’s enjoying himself – by the time they’re eating and he’s drank half of his beer, he does feel lighter. Like he can finally breathe, like the hand clutching his heart in his chest has loosened.
Or maybe he’s just been getting too good at burrowing his feelings deep inside of him. Still, he barely smiles, barely laughs. And he knows none of his smiles quite reach his eyes, and he knows the girl must have noticed. She doesn’t say anything though, focuses on telling him what she does for work, and then goes on to tell him about what it was like for her growing up.
He zones out, nods when he figures he has to, tries to smile when there’s a lull in the conversation. He’s clearly not good at that – he’s never really gone on dates before. Except with Laura, before you, but even that barely counted as a date. Perhaps because he already knew Laura, and he’s struck thinking that the girl in front of him is a stranger. A stranger, yes, but she’s kind. So when she suggests sharing a bottle of wine, claiming that it’s her favourite and that she’s wanted to drink it in a long time, Jungkook doesn’t have it in him to say no.
Even though they’re already done with eating. She does order dessert, and he watches her eat as he nurses his glass of wine, taking sips from it once in a while.
He hasn’t drunk in a long time, and the effects start to be felt faster than usual. Or maybe the beer he drank before the wine was strong. Either way, his head starts swimming with alcohol before they’re out of the restaurant, and he relishes in the feeling.
Revels in Emma’s suggestion to take a walk to clear their head, along the small river near the restaurant. The evening air is fresh, though clouds hide the stars from view. It smells of rain – there are leftover puddles from earlier today – but it doesn’t seem like the sky will cry again tonight.
A soft breeze plays in Jungkook’s hair. He hasn’t cut it in a while. It used to be a lot longer, but he’s not used to it anymore, so it feels weird whenever strands of his hair pass in front of his eyes. He tries to push them back but to no avail: the strands stubbornly always fall in front of his eyes again, and he ends up giving up after a moment.
Turns out Emma is a gamer. She suggests playing some games together the next time they hang out, and Jungkook doesn’t have it in himself to tell her that they, as a matter of fact, won’t see each other ever again. Not because she isn’t sweet – she’s just not what he wants. And he doesn’t even want the distraction.
He did that once, and it didn’t serve him good. Even if he managed to have you in the end.
“What’s your favourite game?” Emma asks as she stops next to some railing overlooking the water. She leans against it, forearms resting on it as she looks at the water, eyes following the ripples in the river.
“I don’t game as much anymore,” he admits. He shrugs, tries to ignore the way his lungs burn.
Because he used to game with you next to him, and he doesn’t need reminders of you.
“Mine is Valorant,” she says, and she smiles at him as if she expected that to make him happy.
“Oh,” he lets out. He offers her a tight-lipped smile, and feels bad when her face falls a little. So he quickly adds, “I took you more for a Sims girl.”
She fakes offense. “What? Why?”
There’s a twinkle in her eyes, and he’s struck silent as he watches it. She seems to take that as a cue for something else, because she takes a step closer to him, eyes dropping to his mouth.
He thinks he’s frozen on his spot when she tilts her head back, tiptoes, and presses a featherlike kiss on his lips. Eyes wide opened, he watches her, until he figures he should be kissing her back.
So he does, hesitantly, as lead forms in his stomach, making him think that he’s going to be sick. Because she kisses him all wrong. Tastes all wrong too, and suddenly you’re burning in his mind, bright magma that moves in his veins until pain suffocates his lungs.
He takes a step back, and Emma’s eyes shoot open, as if startled. They stare at each other for a time, and then she gulps.
“I’m sorry.”
He doesn’t care for her apology. Doesn’t care about anything other than the fact that he feels disgusted with himself. And for what? It’s not like he owes you anything anymore. As a matter of fact, he should be enjoying this. Should be enjoying that even though he was his most awkward self, he still was able to get the girl to kiss him.
Instead, he burns and he chokes on his saliva as he tries to swallow. He wonders why his vision is blurry, and he furiously blinks his eyes trying to keep Emma in focus.
“I’m so sorry,” she repeats. “Gosh, I read this all wrong. I…” she pauses, shaking her head slightly, and it seems she’s been wearing a mask all evening, because it crumples into nothingness. “I just got out of a long relationship, Tae said you too and I just… Fuck I just assumed we could comfort each other?” When he remains silent, she continues, “I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed.”
She’s rambling, and Jungkook just hears his blood pumping in his ears. When he still doesn’t speak, she apologizes once more, and then tells him that she should go.
He doesn’t try to stop her, doesn’t even look as she walks away, head hung low in what he assumes is shame. All he feels is the deep burning sensation, as it settles under his skin. Like a sunburn – he wants to scratch at it, wants to rip it from his skin, but he can’t.
He can’t because you’re gone, and this ache is all that’s left of you. It’s all that’s left, so he clings to it. Tries to keep it close to his heart, where you belong. Picks at the scab, at the wound, until he’s bleeding all over again, breaking out in the city, where anyone can see that he’s lost you.
He doesn’t know how he makes it home. All that he knows is that he’s in the shower, later, head pressed against the tiles as cold water runs on his back. It mingles with the tears streaking down his cheeks, mixes with the saltiness of heartbreak.
It doesn’t cool the sunburn ache, doesn’t ease the pain in his chest. And you’re everywhere then – in the cracks on the wall, he believes he can see you. Believes he can reach out for you, though what he ends up doing is cranking the temperature of the shower up, until it’s not cold anymore.
Though he reckons he barely can feel it anymore.
So he forces his eyes shut, chases memories of you like a dog chases its tail – round in round, in a circle, because he thinks he’ll always circle back to you anyway. He imagines you, in all your glory. Imagines you’ve never left, imagines you’d still run your hands on his back, still dig your nails in his skin.
He doesn’t even know how his hand finds its way to the base of his dick. Doesn’t even know why he’s horny, why the pain makes him crave you more. Why it makes him touch himself, imagining it’s your touch. And with his eyes squeezed shut, you’re everywhere. The goddess of the land of his mind, and he can almost believe you’re still here.
He grunts, perhaps in pain, and picks up the pace on his dick. He remembers words whispered on your skin, your spit on his dick as you’d swallow around the tip. He remembers your tight walls, clutching him, holding him in as you’d ride him like there was no tomorrow.
He remembers a hot tub and the night that followed, remembers breaking and healing with you. Remembers the darkness of the accident, and the light you’d shine on him. The light is gone now, and only darkness remains. It’s not the same – it’s lonelier, somehow. Because he had everything, and now remains nothing. Just the ghost of what once was, and he wishes he could be taken back to the night on the hotel rooftop, wishes you’d never left.
And when he comes, it’s your name that he moans. Like a blessing, though now you’re a curse. A curse to him, and he wishes the pain would go away, wishes it would stay. Wishes it would bring you back, yet knowing he’d push you away. Because he doesn’t think there is pain as great as what you caused him, and then he curses himself for the thought.
That night, he lies awake in sheets cold as winter, weakened by his broken heart as he chases sleep that never comes.
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kaynothanks · 28 days
Text
Behind The Sun
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Pairing: Finnick Odair x fem!Reader
Warnings: murder, a true killing spree really, angst, dark thoughts, it's dark in general (I need to call my therapist), Finnick is taller than reader, reader has hair, and a brother, this is my attempt at fulfilling my need for a good Finnick fic after the clips of the new movie have been haunting me everywhere (let’s ignore that this is basically a dead fandom)
Word-Count: 20k (it's worth it, trust me)
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You found getting your hair cut loathsome. It was unbearable any day but this day it seemed especially gruesome; sitting still and pretending for just a few moments longer that the day was like any other. Usually, you would think about how your mother kept pulling at your hair too harshly or that her hands were shaking far too much for you to even let her get close to your hair. Though on this day, all you could think about was the pair of scissors in her hands. Inconspicuous some might think, yet in your district you knew better.
Your hands shook at the thought of what the tributes from districts like One or Two could do with something as simple as a pair of scissors. You hissed in shock as your mother twirled your hair into a tight bun at the back of your head, frowning at hair through the mirror. She didn’t look at you, she didn’t look up at all.
Her shaking hands she placed on your shoulders, hesitating to face your reflection. The smile she forced was painful to witness. "It's going to be fine, after today, it's only one more year." Her smile faltered, realizing that your brother had to endure his first Reaping today and many more would follow.
She looked into the mirror, watching your brother who sat on the floor trying to get his light stick to work again. Some of the boys had built them themselves out of old parts the factories rendered useless. They would often sneak outside in the evenings to draw patterns into the air by swinging their light sticks—though your mother hadn’t allowed your brother to go recently, since his light stick blew up last time. Faulty wiring.
To redirect her attention, you laid your hand atop hers and smiled a forced smile, too. "It's going to be okay. His name is in there only once." Yours was in there over twenty times. You had signed up for Tesserae and claimed it multiple times throughout the last few years for yourself, your mother, your father, and your brother. "We should head out," you said and stood, grabbing your brother's attention. "The Reaping's going to start soon."
Your brother whined in protest. "I don’t wanna go. They're gonna hurt my finger."
You snorted and held your hand out for him to take. "It's just a prick, you'll barely even feel." Bidding his light stick goodbye, he grabbed your hand, letting himself be pulled up from the floor.
"You look funny," he commented, making you narrow your eyes at him.
"Yeah?" You questioned and tugged at his shirt, neatly stuffed into his pants. It was such a difference from his usual attire, consisting of dirt-stained trousers and ripped shirts. "So do you."
Walking beside your mother and brother, you could spot the red banners with the golden sigil hanging from the Justice Building from afar. A way for the government to proudly display Panem's power; forcing every citizen of District Five to attend—with the exemption of those too ill to make their way here. Dozens of cameras were set up around the premises.
Entering the square, you stood in line, waiting for registration with government officials. Giving a drop of blood was a strict requirement, a method used to identify the people of District Five. Your brother stood beside you, clearly fidgety. He hated needles and the sight of blood, too.
"Atlas," you whispered and your brother turned his anxious eyes to you. "Want me to slap you when the needle hits? You won't even notice the pinch." Laughing at him frowning at you, you gave his shoulder a shove. "My offer stands, just so you know."
You and he stepped up to the tables at the same time and you grinned brightly when he looked back at you, as though he was actually considering taking you up on your offer. Paying no mind to the man in white, you looked around. Many children stood already in their dedicated section, though none of them wore even just a hint of a smile. Understandably so, you thought. It was the first day of a fight for life and death and with just a little too much bad luck, it was one of their lives on the line. Your mother was already out of sight and when you were about to walk toward the front, where the oldest children gathered, a hand wrapped around yours.
You looked down at your brother—he was catching up to you rather quickly in height, you noticed.
"I don’t want to go alone."
 Once more you forced a smile. "It's only for a little while, okay? And after this is over, I'll help you make a killer light stick, how's that sound?"
"With flickering lights and all?"
"With flickering light and everything else you can think of," you agreed and saw his face lighten up immediately. He nodded excitedly and bounced off to the far back of the male section. You walked close to the front and stood beside a girl from your classes. On the stage in front of the Justice Building stood Mayor Ward Smith and beside him the district escort, Twila Hearst. Behind them remained two of the previous District Five victors. Ivette Li-Sanchez, victor of the 50th Hunger Games, and James Logan, victor of the 43rd. James Logan by now was almost completely bald and had a limp in his step. You remembered everyone telling you about how much that man was admired back in the day.
Ivette had won her games at fifteen, making her now thirty. Although she looked far younger. Perhaps the Capitol was treating her fairly well, after all.
Mayor Smith stepped towards the microphone and smiled, spreading his arms in welcome. He thanked everyone for their attendance as if anyone had a say in the matter and started reciting the founding history of Panem not a second later. He covered everything as though he himself was a history teacher before moving on to the beginning of the Hunger Games and its rules. Warden Smith spoke of it as if there was nothing more graceful than becoming a tribute, sprouting off his mouth what spoils and riches come with victory. His eyes shifted down to a piece of paper as he read off the names of your district's previous Hunger Games victors.
It was good to know he cared enough to remember them by heart.
Introducing Twila Hearst he waited for some kind of applause, although quickly stepped aside upon noticing none was to come. Twila, too, appraised all the potential tributes and made some idle comments to not seem too excited about what was to follow. "Whom should we start this year with?" She questioned happily, putting her hands by her ears to signal she wanted the crowd to decide. A few female voices called out men as if the few seconds they gained by the male tribute being picked first made any difference.
"The men this year?" She gasped and opened her orange-painted lips in shock, not being able to hide her smirk. "Whatever happened to ladies first?" Stepping over to the Reaping Bowl filled with solely male names, she clapped. "But I'll give what the people demand!" Sticking her hand in the bowl, she fumbled around for far too long; a meaningless and cruel try to build up any more suspense as though the hope to walk away alive wasn’t channeling enough tension as it was.
She pulled a slip from deep within the bowl and opened it, reading the name first for herself before leaning towards the microphone. "Atlas Thornbury!" She called out and peered out into the crowd of gathered males, trying to make out if anybody had started walking towards the stage. "Atlas Thornbury, come up here my boy!"
You hadn’t registered at first. Hadn’t even paid attention, really. That flicker of hope you had held within your chest kept assuring you that once again you would walk away. When your mind caught up, you felt as though you could breathe. Your heart thundered against your ribcage as your head whipped from side to side, trying to catch a glimpse of your brother. The girl from your class put a hand on your shoulder, trying to offer some kind of reassurance that all would be okay, though you knew it would not. He was barely a twelve-year-old boy, so thin he almost looked sickly. Atlas wouldn’t stand a chance. He wouldn’t survive. He would die. Die alone in a cage made for punishment and entertainment of the rich folk.
Peacekeepers were on the move the second your brother stepped out of line and escorted him to the front of the stage. You heard crying, you thought, or perhaps it was only your mind playing tricks, offering you a reaction of what you could do instead of staring panic-stricken. In your haze, you had missed Twila introducing Atlas to the rest of Panem and moving on to picking the female tribute.
She cleared her throat, the slip with the name already grasped loosely between her fingers. You swallowed and watched your brother in a state of paralysis. Even though you saw her lips move; you heard nothing. Nothing but your own blood rushing through your system, as you forcefully pushed the pitying hand off your shoulder and stepped out of line.
"I volunteer as Tribute!"
All heads snapped toward you as some Peacekeepers sprinted forward, keeping you from walking any further. You shoved them off, trying to get to the stage—to your brother, who was shaking so much you were sure he would break at any moment. Twila continued her blabbering but you ignored all. Ignored the whispers around you and pitiful glances and your mother's screams from all the way at the back, crying about both her children being taken from her in a split second.
You had barely stepped onto the stage when your brother's arms wrapped themselves around your waist. His cries shook his body weakly as you put your hands around his head. A tear fell from your eye before you could stop it.
Nothing was going to be okay.
When the ceremony was over, both of you were taken into custody and led into the Justice Building to a room that held more riches than perhaps the whole of District Five. Your mother was brought into the room by some Peacekeepers and you tried your hardest to soothe her wails and ceaseless cries. Though it was hard, when all you were left to feel was a shattering numbness. It didn’t matter anymore. You were going to die. And with that realization, you swore you would fight for your brother to your last breath and beyond.
---
You had never been on a train. Not that you had ever had the chance or permission to. Only those of the Capitol and those reaped had the chance. You didn’t know if you liked the feeling of not having still ground beneath your feet. The thought of moving so quickly without actually noticing the speed made you itch uncomfortably.
"Aren't you going to eat?" Twila asked, cutting herself a tiny piece of meat before bringing it to her mouth.
You looked to her, to your brother—who was stuffing his face with pastries—and to the two previous victors. "No."
"Well, then," Logan clapped and stood. He was the only one who, too, had refused to eat. "We should talk strategies." He walked over to a small table where different bottles of very expensive alcohol were arranged and poured himself half a glass of scotch. "Any skills or special talents we should be aware of?"
Atlas lifted his hand the same way he would in school and waited to be called on. "I make killer light sticks."
Logan looked confused. "What?"
"Toys," you responded in a hiss with half a mind to toss the table. "He makes toys."
 "What about you?" Logan questioned. "Any talents?"
"No."
"I think I'm getting a tummy ache," Atlas complained and put down the pastry he was holding. You told him to go to his room and lie down a bit since it wouldn’t be too long before your arrival at the Capitol.
When he was gone you fixed the adults with a stern gaze. "We can all go on and pretend that you actually believe we stand a chance or drop the act and acknowledge the fact that we are as good as dead already."
Ivette snorted and your head whipped to the other side of the table. "Oh, angry girl, if there is anyone I believe will win, it's you."
You ignored the nickname and scoffed. "I think we already established that I don’t have any skills or talents or even a chance. If I were you, I'd lower my expectations."
She put down the cutlery and leaned forward. "You have anger, and trust me, that's enough." Ivette didn’t give you a chance to respond as she stood and turned on a big screen hanging from the wall. "Why don’t we see who you'll be competing against, hm?"
Clips of other Reapings played; the Career Districts first, showing how they fought over who got to volunteer this year. "Many volunteers this year," Ivette commented as the next clip started to play. District Four. A young boy stepped out of line, and you thought he resembled your brother quite a bit, when another male stepped out of line, volunteering for the boy. When you stayed silent, Ivette sighed. "I didn’t have any skills upon entering, either. But I learned because I had to. And you will, too. We both know you have something to fight for."
You stared at her and she stared right back. Leaning back in your chair, you gripped the plush armrest tightly. "Tell me what to do to keep him alive and I'll do it."
---
Upon arriving at the Capitol, you and your brother were brought to the City Circle, the center of the Capitol, where the Remake Center was located.
A group of extravagantly dressed personas stood with broad grins on their faces, waiting for your arrival. You and your brother were handed a blue rope each and were hurried inside to change. They separated you then, bringing you to a room with a metal surface to lie on. You were hesitant but the prep team gave you no room to argue, tutting you as though you were no more than a mindless child. Laying there, you let them do your nails, wax your brows, and remove every inch of body hair you had before they stuck you in a tub with cold water. When you shivered, they laughed, tutting you again, telling you if you had hurried it would have been warmer.
Afterward, they did your hair and added make-up and then told you to wait for the head stylist to arrive. You had the prep team repeatedly tell you why they were dressing you up, and each time they replied with sponsors. According to them, getting sponsors was crucial to the survival of the Games.
You shook with anger at being presented to the Capitol like a piece of meat, dolled up ridiculously in order to meet their beauty standards.
When the head stylist arrived the other members of the prep team brought in a laughably big gown that was completely transparent. "I'm not wearing that," you argued but the head stylist only raised his brow. "I'll be naked."
"It hurts my feelings that you'd think my execution of the power district would be done so poorly." He clapped and walked away. "Help her get dressed."
The prep team sprung into action, pulling you along with them before they stood on stools to let the dress down onto your body from higher above. You frowned at yourself. Not because you looked like a cloud of translucent puffiness, but because you had never worn anything feeling as comfortable as this gown. The material was indescribably soft on your skin and so light you could barely tell it was there in the first place.
You moved the tiniest bit and suddenly the dress turned a solid silver color. The head stylist came back with a headpiece in hand that was a mix between a crown and a halo. Your mouth fell open in hesitation. "Isn't this a little too—"
"Provocative?" He grinned and picked up a spray bottle of silver body paint. "Good."
Everything on your body was doctored to perfection; your eyelashes now had the length of half your pinky finger, your lips were drawn to look fuller with a vibrant metal shimmer, and your body to your neck up was covered in silver paint, sparkling notoriously when the sunlight hit you directly. When you looked up into the sky, it was a clear blue with no hint of darkness and you wondered if District Five was as dark as it was because the Capitol had stolen the sun. When the prep team was finally done with you and your brother, it was the late afternoon and you were immediately led along to the center of the City Circle. The other Tributes were gathered there already, standing beside black chariots drawn by night-shaded horses.
Hundreds of Capitol citizens had gathered along the Avenue of Tributes, chanting their favorite districts or just simply the word Hunger. The shouts echoed in your ear as whatever your brother was telling you faded into the background. Your eyes fell from Tribute to Tribute as blood rushed through your ears. Whom of them would you kill? Who would kill you? The pace of your breathing picked up as your hand fell to your stomach; you felt like your lungs were granting no more air to enter and the dress now appeared to be nothing but a cage.
A loud laughter snapped you out of your trance and your head whipped to where the roaring sound came from. A tall blonde male stood beside an old woman, who playfully slapped him on the arm while gifting him with a stern look that held no anger whatsoever. You tried recalling the names of the Tributes, which Logan and Ivette had spent over an hour teaching you, yet you were not sure when it came to him.
The girl beside him, the other tribute of District Four, was Adella. Both Tributes appeared mature enough to be over sixteen at last, perhaps eighteen even. As though he could feel your eyes glaring into his back, he shifted his gaze toward where you stood. Curiosity taking over the slight feeling of shame, you continued mustering him, wondering if he volunteered because he wanted to partake in the games as a Career or because he had felt true compassion for the little boy who had been chosen.
A sharp pain coursed through your arm as your head flew to look at the spot. Your brother's fingers were lingering close by to the piece of skin he had just pinched. You scowled at him, but he only nodded toward the head stylist standing in front of you. Redness arose at the back of your neck as you noticed he had been talking to you all along. He held his hand extended toward you, a small device in it. You took it without asking and waited for any kind of instruction.
"Press it when you're about halfway along."
"Why?"
He blinked at you and took it back in a flash, grimacing at the fact that you had questioned him once again. "I'll do it myself." He hurried you onto the chariot designated for District Five and patted both your shoulders. "Don’t forget to smile." Your brother nodded in agreement, though you stayed still.
Rhythmic pounding of drums joined the echoing chants and suddenly it seemed your pulse thrummed only after their beat. Chariot after chariot got to moving. Your district was almost in the middle, not too far behind and not too close to the front, and yet it wasn’t enough time to prepare you for the sight of thousands of people surrounding you.
When you had barely made it three feet onto the Avenue, you gripped your brother's hand. "Don’t smile," you told him, not taking your eyes off the spectacle before you.
"But he said—"
"I know what he said. I just don’t care." You did care. You cared that you didn’t want to give anybody the satisfaction of seeing even a flash of happiness about what they were doing to you. You refused to play into sick games, refused to just accept a punishment you didn’t deserve since it was for a rebellion that happened decades ago. It had not been your fight and the districts losing it and being brought close to extinction, for you, seemed to be punishment enough. The districts did not have anything else to give anymore and still, the Capitol took and took, and you knew they would never stop. Not without being stopped.
You would not play along. You would fight, but not for their entertainment or promised riches, but for your survival, your brother's survival, and the slim chance to bring him back to your mother safely.
Something happened then. You hadn’t noticed it at first, too caught up in the stream of your furious thoughts when gasps sounded and the applause went raging. Looking around, you tried spotting the cause, when your brother looked you up and down with big eyes. You peeked downward, spotting the previously silver dress had turned into a stream of bright, flowing electricity. It wasn’t a mere dress anymore; it was pulsing with life—with power. The long hemline of the dress, which was so long, it was close to dragging on the floor, was sprouting sparks of electricity, just like the back of your brother's suit. You could see other tributes in front of you looking up at the screens, wanting to know what all the hype was about.
The chariots gathered at the end of the avenue, standing in perfect rows and you wondered how often these horses had gone through this process. President Snow stood, walked forward, and bathed in the attention he was getting from the citizens of the Capitol. He stood high above the Tributes and for a second you found yourself thinking about how long he would fall, if someone were to shove him.
"Welcome," he spoke, his voice sounding through all the avenue. "Tributes, we welcome you. We salute your courage and your sacrifice, and we wish you happy Hunger Games. May the odds be ever in your favor!" Not a moment after he had finished his little speech, the chariots were on the move again, drawing you back to where you had come from.
Stepping off the chariot, your dress was back to plain silver, though you had no time to ponder it when you were approached by Logan, Ivette, and Twila.
"Well, that was something," Logan commented and Ivette grimaced. "I thought the strategy was to—" He halted when he noticed other Tributes eyeing you curiously, and certainly not in friendly spirits. "Let's get you two to your apartments, we'll talk more when you don’t look like aluminum foil."
You were brought to the training center, where you would be staying in apartments for the week of your training. All the riches that were kept from the district were perhaps gathered in the Tributes' apartments—or at least whatever the parsimonious Capitol could bear to spare.
You had barely washed off the silver paint and slipped into some linen pants when there was a small, careful knock on your door. Opening it, you found your brother standing there donning clothes just as comfortable as your own. Smeared streaks of silver paint were still covering his face. He hesitated, towel in hand. "Can you help me?"
"Well, I'll need something in return."
He huffed annoyed. "What do you want?"
"You see, there is this buffet down in the cafeteria, and I'd really hate to go alone."
"There is more free food?" Atlas squeaked as if it was the best news he had ever gotten to hear. Which for him it might have been. Back home there wasn’t a lot of food to go around. "I hope they have more pastries. You have to try those!"
"We'll see." You still weren't hungry and the thought of eating any meal they served made you feel as if you were having an executioner's meal.
---
A lot of Tributes seemingly chose to avoid the chance to socialize with the enemy. A few empty metal tables stood spread around the room—you chose the one at the far back, not wanting to draw any more attention to you after what had happened at the Tribute Parade. Atlas was off before you had even sat down, going straight to the pastry table.
You rolled your eyes, wanting to mother him and tell him he should eat real food, but you didn’t want to take any specks of happiness he had left.
He came back with one or two pastries on his plate, saying he had found they had many kinds of meats to choose from and he wanted to try them all. You nodded along to everything he said, offering a smile here and there so you wouldn’t seem too disconnected from the conversation. With other tributes in the room, you just couldn’t focus on anything but the warning flashes in your mind, reminding you that danger was imminent.
Atlas pulled at your hand then, dragging you to the buffet, lecturing you on not eating all day. You snorted. Who was mothering whom now? Only because of his demands did you fill your plate with some of the many dishes to choose from. Atlas appeared content enough with the action and went on to load his own plate.
At the table, you pushed the food on your plate around aimlessly, poking some vegetables and cutting some meat without actually bringing it to your tongue. You felt sick to your stomach.
"You know," a voice said from behind you, amusement weirdly prominent in his tone. "There is a funny fact about food."
Peeking over your shoulder, you came face to face with the District Four male. And, seemingly, the arrogant smile was sewn onto his face. Not one moment you had seen him without it. A mask well crafted, you thought. You should perhaps hone your own; letting the Capitol know you loathed them wasn’t the smartest of moves to pull when you required their help. Sponsorships and all that.
"Interesting, truly," you said and turned back around, yet somehow you had the feeling you wouldn’t be able to shake him off so easily.
He sat across from you; plate loaded to the brim with maybe every kind of dish they offered. "It's supposed to be consumed with your mouth, not the eyes." Grinning, he shoved a piece of steak into his mouth. He groaned in exaggerated delight, making you raise your brow. "I've had fish for almost every meal for the past eighteen years, I'm going to spend the rest of it bathing in ribeye."
However long that may be, you thought, your eyes moving to find your brother still waiting in line. "You volunteered," you spoke then before you could think about it.
"Well, I guess I'm not the only one, am I?"
"Do you consider yourself a Career?"
The blonde snorted. "Does it matter?"
"Yes."
He eyed someone over your shoulder and leaned in. "Not yet." Leaning back, he brought another cut piece of red meat to his lips. The District Four male nodded to your untouched plate. "Why aren't you eating?"
"They are serving us our last meals day in and day out as if it's gonna change anything about the fact that they want to see us slaughter each other. I can happily do without their insincere gestures of atonement."
"You really do not like the Capitol, do you, Spark?"
"And you do?"
He didn’t answer, forking himself another piece of food before pointing at your plate. "Are you going to eat that?" Understanding his inquiry, you shoved the plate across the table just as Atlas reappeared.
"Hello," your brother greeted and surprisingly set his plate right next to the man. "I'm Atlas."
The male nodded as if he didn’t already know and extended his hand. "Finnick."
"I know!" Your brother exclaimed. "You volunteered for the other boy. That was nice."
Finnick smiled and yet, you could clearly spot the pity in his eyes. Perhaps his mask wasn’t so perfectly crafted after all. Atlas' eyes found your plate across the table, no item of food missing. He frowned at you and deeply so. "Mom would be so mad at you right now." You wanted to tell him that he could tell on you all he wanted when you got him home. But with Finnick sitting across from you, you didn’t dare speak the words and let him see the doubt written across your face. "Can you at least eat the vegetables?" Atlas whined. "You always make me."
"Fine, but you're getting yourself a serving of them, too."
"Deal!" He jumped off the bench, grabbing himself another plate, and stepped into the short line again.
"I'm sorry," Finnick said out of the blue, drawing your attention back to him.
You swallowed, the corners of your mouth dropping low as you gave a slight nod, eyes finding your brother's form. "Me too."
---
The gymnasium was huge. The diversity of stations ranged from simple survival training with plants and berries to camouflage and all kinds of weaponry you had never known existed. All Tributes had gotten an orientation by the Head Trainer, with a rundown of all available stations and rules.
You were allowed to move freely in the gymnasium, socialize or spend the time however you pleased, though, under no circumstances, were you allowed to fight any other Tributes while training. Strictly forbidden was partaking in any combat exercises with each other. Experts were available to partner up with if anyone fancied a session.
Surrounding the whole of the gymnasium was one balcony, from where the Gamemakers observed closely the skills and talents of each tribute.
You had been training for a few days now, though while the other Tributes actively used their time in the gymnasium, Ivette had been giving you private sessions. She and Logan thought it best to go with the strategy of deception—to make everyone think you were harmless, useless. You had learned the basics with every other Tribute; what the weapons were called, how they were used, and so on.
Though mostly while others trained, you stayed close by your brother, observing him when in training with the head trainer and when he was aimlessly throwing knives and other weapons around, too. Once or twice, you spared a glance toward the balcony, finding the Gamemakers eyeing the action of your brother in amusement. For them, his life truly was nothing more than a plaything.
On the last day of training, you stood by your brother once more, trying to help him with throwing knives, although you found you weren't the best teacher. Another knife clunked to the floor without sticking in the target and you huffed. Ivette made teaching look so easy. You had picked the movements up in seconds but now trying to explain them seemed futile. With the other Tributes close by, you couldn’t even show Atlas the correct way of doing it or you would be on the brink of blowing Logan and Ivette's whole strategy.
"You need more force," you said, causing Atlas to stick his tongue out toward you, clearly annoyed and tired.
"You keep saying that, but it's not working! Just admit you don’t know what you're doing!"
"Spark's right," a—by now—familiar voice commented and you lit up in appreciation for Finnick's affirmation. "If you draw your hand back further, you're gonna get it." Atlas positioned himself the way Finnick told him to, looking at the older male for approval. The blonde nodded with a wink, showing your brother the hand movement again, just in case. Without waiting for Finnick to give the go, Atlas hurled the knife straight forward, and to your surprise—and your brother's, too—it bored itself into the target. It was far off from the point where it optimally should have hit, but a win was a win.
Finnick and you stepped away, letting your brother try by himself. The District Four male frowned down at you. "Why haven't you been training?"
"I… I did train," you protested, pointing to the countless survival stations. "I finished all of those."
He seemed truly worked up over it. "Those won't help when anybody comes after you."
"Are you planning to?" You joked, yet you weren't sure you were joking at all. When no reply followed you huffed and flared your arms. "I had never held a weapon before the beginning of the week. There is no way I could learn how to handle any of them, so I just… don't." You shrugged, trying to ignore the furious disbelief in his sea-green eyes.
"I thought you would do everything to protect your brother."
Again, your shoulders raised and fell. "Reality triumphed hope."
He shook his head and stormed off, leaving you to stare after him speechlessly. You still hadn’t gotten your answer. Would he come after you? He had conversed with you every day at every evening meal since the beginning of the week. Though ignored you most of the time when other Tributes were in proximity. Under any other circumstances, you were sure he would have been a friend. Not a fiend out for blood. You shook off your dense thoughts. Of course, he would come after you. It was the game, after all.
---
You felt like a dog, waiting to dance and show off whatever training you had received, hoping to get some kind of acknowledgment—a treat, expressed in a score number, which wouldn’t completely tank your chances at getting more sponsors. Apparently, you had a good amount of them already, so much so, that Logan felt confident that you would at least survive a few days in the arena.
His explanation of the statement was, that if the other tributes didn’t want to lose sponsors at the very beginning of the game, they would have to let you live since all of Panem seemed taken by you from the moment your dress lit up. He and Ivette had decided to tweak their strategy for you after getting word of the number of sponsors eagerly awaiting your test scores. They had told you not to hold back.
Your brother went before you. Atlas was gone for about ten minutes, before coming out with a bright grin, whispering a quick assurance that each throwing knife had hit the target. When you went in, you were met with nothing but playful chattering. Looking up at the balcony, you found that not a single person was paying attention to you. You frowned. Yes, in the training sessions, you had barely taken part in, but they could at least show some goddamned respect. They were going to kill you for their pure amusement.
Your nostrils flared as you walked to the table holding the weapons. Picking up a spear, you turned the perfectly balanced stick of metal over in your hand and took place across from the human-shaped target. For the week, Ivette had trained you hour upon hour, making sure you knew every movement, every stance, every impression there was to take in. Drawing your arm back, you focused your eyes, found the middle of the target, and hurled the spear forward. It hit the target with such force a good part of it went all the way through and was now poking out at the back of the thick target. And yet, none of them even spared you a glance.
You scoffed in disbelief, looking around for anything else that would get their attention until your eyes landed on a silver box on the wall. Peeking at the Gamemakers once more, you checked if they had at least acknowledged your existence by now, but no. Gripping a small knife from the table, you went over to the box and broke it open. Fuses, wires—a lot of wires. It was all you had been schooled in back in District Five.
You ripped out the see-through plastic wall that the wires were tugged away behind and pulled a handful of them out. Sorting them, you lined them up, lifted the knife, and cut straight through them. Everything went black. Panicked shouts followed as all of them struggled to see. Hard thing to do with the cables cut not only from the main source of power but the backup generators, too. The fuses you turned off, as you pulled at the two cables you had memorized and connected them. Turning the right fuse back on, a single source of light, focused only on one spot in the gymnasium, turned back on.
Their eyes were on you now, as you stood illuminated in a pool of darkness and threw the knife you were holding straight at the target's head. Angered and interested their attention fell from the twice perfectly penetrated target to you as you bowed with an annoyed grimace and left the room. Peacekeepers pushed past you, probably thinking you had ambushed and killed all the Gamemakers and there was a part in you—not small, not unconscious, not obscure—that wished you had. The men in white suits eyed you suspiciously, but you paid them no mind, more focused on the red flickering lights in the hallway. You hummed. There were more generators. The rest of the Tributes still waiting to be called in for their evaluations mustered you as you went past with your head held high, not giving away if you were the reason for the power failure. You went back to the apartment which for the day remained yours, only to find Atlas already waiting patiently in front of the TV.
You weren't sure if your brother had spent even just a single day at his apartment. It was right across the hall and yet it seemed to be too far for him. "You know they will be announced in the evening, right?"
He huffed. "I just wanna know what they thought. I handle the knives so well—just like Finnick showed me! They have to give me an okay score." Atlas only then appeared to remember that you had had your evaluation, too. "Do you think yours went well? What did you show them?"
You hesitated, not sure if your action had ruined your chances at a remotely fine training score. "I threw a knife, too." You shrugged. "We'll see what they thought about my performance in a few hours."
Taking a look at the clock, you grabbed a jacket and signed for your brother to follow. You were to spend the day with Ivette and Logan for them to prepare you for your interviews with Caesar Flickerman. Both of your mentors thought you were in dire need of training when it came to proper etiquette. Logan and Ivette had schooled you for hours, trying to get you to show a somewhat flirty, yet mysterious persona, which Caesar Flickerman and the rest of the Capitol would eat up. Twila then busied herself with scorning and arguing with you over the ways of proper etiquette. Deeming you readied enough, they put their attention on Atlas, letting you off the leash that you were on—you weren't more than a lapdog by now, after all.
You couldn’t sleep that night. Atlas was peacefully sleeping beside you and every time your eyes remotely closed, you jolted awake, scared you would wake in the arena, where harm lured, waiting to take your brother. You knew, of course, the arena was yet another day away, you wouldn’t just wake there, but telling yourself it over and over again didn’t help one bit. Too anxious, you stood and slipped on a rope. Downstairs they had food, you thought. Perhaps after days of barely eating anything, you needed some sugar to calm your nerves. Peacekeepers were stationed in and around the building; the only reason why they allowed the Tributes to move freely within. Although they were a little weary now, since on day four, a District Seven male had tried to escape. They had caught him, naturally, and made an example out of him, too. He had been whipped. Cruelly and gruesomely, with no hint of mercy, only swings filled with content.
The Peacekeepers had no interest in peace, you thought. They were sadists to some degree, jumping at every chance to punish, and even to kill. Their title and position in the Capitol's food chain gave them no limitations. In the name of the Capitol, in the name of President Snow, they had said, and chained the poor male up—as if he wouldn’t be fighting for his life soon enough—and hurled thinly threaded metal cord across his back. They had left him to bleed there, unconscious and shivering.
The cafeteria stood empty, not even a Peacekeeper was bothered to keep watch. You hesitated as you gripped a plate from the high stack and went over to the different dishes. Some of them were stored away in coolers, while others still shimmered over low heat, keeping them warm and prepared, in case any Tribute experienced nightly cravings. You did exactly what Atlas had done the past few days, and went straight for the pastries.
"So, this is how you do it, huh?" An amused voice hummed. "You have tricked us all, pretending to starve yourself, when in reality, you sneak down here at night."
"Yes, Finnick," you played along. "You have finally uncovered my deepest, darkest secret." Cocking your head, you stalked to a table and set the plate down before turning to look at him. "What are you going to do with it?" Finnick's broad form was leaning against the doorway. His blonde locks were a clear mess, giving away that you hadn't been the only one tossing and turning.
He only grinned, turning his head downward, before pushing himself off the doorway. Finnick made his way over to the table, halting close to you. Closer than you had ever been, you noticed. Perhaps the nightly distress had made him unhinged, his impulses winning over the schooled restraint, which usually kept him so well in check.
Seeing Finnick's agents not totally in balance was a true rarity. There was only one other time he had let his guard down. An accident, you guessed, when he had slipped up and his frustration had gotten the better of him.
"I have always been curious about secrets, you know?" He went on, studying your face for any sign of discomfort at his nighness.
"Isn't that just a fancy way of saying you are nosy?"
Finnick chuckled. "I know a lot of them, too. The other Tributes'. They are quite open after some sweet-talking."
"Of course, if anyone were to get anything out of them, it would be you."
"Do you want a little pre-view?" In his grin you found true excitement, something you hadn’t seen too often from him. Finnick wearing anything true on his face was reserved more moments like this; moments of intimacy. Goosebumps arose on your arm, thinking that in the span of mere hours, all of it was gone. He wouldn’t be helping your brother perfect his fighting skills, wouldn’t help you righten your stance with gentle, cheeky touches, wouldn’t come at you with a grin, but a raised weapon, ready to tint it with your blood.
You wanted everything to be different. You wanted it so badly, it hurt deep within your chest. A stinging sensation you hadn’t felt since the day Atlas' name had been called by Twila on the day of the Reaping. It seemed like so long ago, though it had only been one week.
You shook your head. "Best to keep secrets to yourself. You don’t want them to lose their worth."
"Why do I feel like sweet talking won't get me any of yours?"
You shrugged. "Maybe I just don’t have any."
Finnick took another step closer and you turned your head up a bit, to be able to look him in the eyes. "I don’t believe that for a second."
"Then I guess you'll just have to live without mine."
"How gruesome of you, Spark," he said, leaning forward, putting his hand flat on the metal table behind you. It might just have been the first cage you did not mind being in. "To tease me so."
You swallowed; your throat suddenly dried of any words. A shaky breath of air flowed from your lips as your back pressed into the metal table. Out of reflex, you put your hand in front of yourself, landing it directly on his hard chest. You averted your gaze, turning your head downward. Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to compose yourself, though it proved challenging with his chest heaving beneath your touch just as quickly as your own. Rough fingers, prone by the hard labor of District Four, gripped your chin, turning it back upward. There was no way of escaping him now; no way of escaping yourself.
You caved then, with a defeated breath and he saw right through you. He kissed you, mouth hungry and tinged with the desperation of escaping the leering reality that none of you could change. With his strong arm, he helped you atop the table, his body slotting against your own perfectly. Finnick groaned against your mouth, as your thighs tightened around him, pulling his body closer to you. His arm wrapped around your hip and you gasped against his lips as you felt him pressing his crotch into yours. It was messy and heated and overwhelming until it all stopped. Both of you pulled away in order to catch your breath and Finnick let his forehead fall against yours.
Suddenly a tear dropped onto your cheek and a sob forced its way from your mouth. "I can’t let him die," you cried and shook your head so forcefully you were getting dizzy. Everything you had been holding back from the moment Atlas' name had echoed through District Five broke loose. "He's only twelve years old. He is a child. He can't—" You stuttered along as Finnick pulled you into him. The embrace wasn’t solely for your comfort, you knew, you felt it. Felt all the fear he kept so well hidden. You wrapped your arms around his neck, locking him in just as tight as his arms engulfed you so desperately you felt it seeping into your skin. For a second, you felt safe then, with his arms giving you just enough space to hide away in.
Finnick placed his hand on either side of your face, wiping your tears with his thumb. Opening his mouth, he was about to say something, when steps sounded outside of the cafeteria. Startled, he distanced himself from you, making it look like he hadn’t acknowledged your presence, as you hopped off the table. A Peacekeeper entered, followed by the District Eight male Tribute.
You left the cafeteria then, throwing a quick look over your shoulder only to find that Finnick was paying you no mind. Wiping whatever was left of your tears yourself, you hurried back to your apartment. Atlas was still sleeping peacefully as you sat at the edge of the bed, facing him. In this state, he looked so much like his younger self. It was all you saw in him now, too aware that his life might be cut short. Instead of seeing his future, you only saw his past. Remembered the first day your mother had put a fussy baby in your arms that you were so deadly jealous of. It was a weird feeling. Feeling such a surge of love for someone you had barely known half a day and yet, you had felt discontent when seeing your mother and father with him. Loving him the way they had previously held reserved only for you.
And then a few years later, your father had died. Your mother was so devastated she hadn’t been able to get out of bed for months. You were to one to take care of Atlas, you were the one to hold him while he was crying and your arms were the ones, he fell asleep in. Not able to help yourself, you extended your hand and brushed a strand of hair off his forehead.
You were ready, had been since the first day you had laid eyes on him. You were ready to die for him.
---
The next day, your prep team once again spent the whole day forcing a make-over on you, plucking hairs and eradicating blackheads, all the while shushing your complaints. It was only when they were done that the head stylist, Lazarus, made an appearance. In his hand, he was holding the dress specifically created for you. Top till mid-thigh it was black, with blue shimmering mesh fabric running down to the floor.
He held it out for you to take, knowing you wouldn’t argue this time—you wouldn’t have won the argument anyway. After the prep team had helped you get into the garment, they tugged long gloves onto your arms, made out of the same mesh blue fabric as the bottom of the dress.
Lazarus signed for them to leave you then and you frowned. Your eyes followed him intensely as he checked around to see if anyone was close by. Silver hair glimmering in the fluorescent lighting, he made his way back.
"A source informed me Caesar is dropping some big news tonight during your interview," he spoke lowly. "They didn’t say exactly what it was, but I didn’t want you to be too surprised."
"Is it about back home?" You asked, swallowing. Was your mother all right?
"No," Lazarus assured and tugged at the waistline of the dress to pull it into place. "Something about the Games." When he was done, he stepped away and stared at the piece of art he had created. "I was surprised by your score." At the sudden change of topic, the thoughts of your mother vanished.
"Why? Thought it would be low?"
"Yes, actually," he admitted. "District Five usually doesn’t score above a five. Let alone a ten." He looked almost proud, you thought. "A lot of people will be furious for betting against you."
"Did you?"
"Let's just say, if you die, I'm going to be a homeless man." Lazarus wore a small grin on his face, ruffling his silver locks until suddenly he turned serious once more. "You need to be careful with what you say or do from here on out."
Your forehead wrinkled in confusion. "Why?"
"Things have been different in the Districts since your Reaping." His voice got even quieter. "There is scattered talk that the Capitol is scared your death or your brother's might start another revolution."
"A revolution?" You asked shocked and shook your head. "That doesn’t make any sense. A lot of children have been reaped before and no one seemed to care. Why would anything change now?"
"It is already changing," he said. "Since the day of the Reaping the whippings in the Districts have more than doubled. A platoon of Peacekeepers has been sent to every District because they couldn’t keep the people down anymore." He took your hand and gave it a tight squeeze. "The Capitol has a target on your back already, only they can't allow themselves the shot. You can’t step out of line, not yet at least."
A voice shouted, letting you know a car was waiting to bring you to your interview. The car ride was silent, not even your brother or Twila were babbling along this time. At the studio, Peacekeepers were waiting to take you inside but before they could sweep you away, Logan stopped them. "Remember what we talked about?"
You huffed. "Yes."
"What did we talk about?"
"No swearing."
"And?"
"I really love the Capitol."
"Good girl," he grinned and stepped away to catch up with Ivette and Twila. "Go!" He called over his shoulder. "But don’t be yourself!"
Against your expectations, everywhere in the studio—except for the stage—was a cloud of grimness lingering. Not even the people working on the show carried the Capitol's flashy personas. The Tributes stood in a lean line by the wall, waiting to be called up and by the looks of it, you were the last to arrive. You cleared your throat as you made your way towards the front, halting awkwardly before Finnick and the District Six female Tribute. All the Tributes moved back to make space for you and your brother.
The Careers went first, talking about how grateful they were to have this opportunity to fulfill their dream. They raved about how great the Capitol was to come up with these Games and how excited they felt about the following day. You wanted to slap every one of them for even thinking such things. They were delusional, honed into this way of thinking by their Districts. The Career Districts had forced away the fear when it came to the Games and manipulated the children from a young age to have the same views. It was downright disgusting.
You watched every single interview pass by until it was Finnick's turn to take over the stage. It was like seeing a switch flipped inside of him the moment there were cameras on him. He was grinning from ear to ear, dimples on full display. The words he was speaking were not his own, but then again, yours wouldn’t be your own either. He, too, appraised the Capitol for its greatness and all the nice things they had done for him from the moment he had volunteered.
Caesar Flickerman called out for you and a surge of applause went through the audience. Walking out you tried focusing on the purple-haired male, but instead, the audience caught your attention. They were standing up—well, most of them anyway—with their hands cupped at their mouths, cheering your name. You swallowed at their crudeness. If they loved their Tributes so much, how could they watch them die, gamble with their lives, and hope for a few more coins in their pockets?
You wanted to watch them burn, all of them, for the things that they were doing to you. It should be their screams and cries reverberating through the arena, not those of children. It was them deserving of punishment for they hosted in their minds sickness far worse than any criminal.
Climbing the steps up to where Caesar stood, you were careful not to trip since Lazarus had forced heeled torture devices onto your feet. Bright lights from spotlights blinded you, making it impossible for you to make out anything beyond the stage and yet, you could not avert your eyes.
An excited voice called out your name as a hand plucked yours and pulled you down to your seat. You blinked at Caesar's white grin as the male patted your hand as if he were a close friend offering reassurance. He was not and you weren't quite sure if anybody housed by the Capitol could even be considered friendly, let alone tolerable. Caesar was a star amongst the Capitol's citizens, looked up to as though he was a rare gold coin in a sea of copper. People adored the man more than they adored Snow; you were sure of it.
"Now, I've got to admit, you certainly sparked the Capitol's interest with your entrance at the parade, isn't that right, folks?" Another round of applause and cheers followed his words and you forced a smile of gratitude. "And not only that, but you also had our hearts zapped from the moment the cameras caught you for the first time." Caesar turned serious. You wanted to laugh then; his sincereness was falser than the smile currently resting on your lips. "Would you care to share the reason for your volunteering?"
Your jaw clenched as you had to keep yourself from flaring your nostrils. Never in your life had you heard a question more unnecessary. What did he want to hear? That you volunteered solely for the purpose of killing everyone who had it out for your brother? That you thought Atlas wasn't strong enough? That you did not want him to be alone in his last moments? You swallowed, biting down on your tongue as your gaze went out to the audience. Thinking back, you should have paid more attention when Logan and Ivette tried to school you in self-control.
"I didn’t want my brother to be alone."
"All for your brother, I see." The crowd cooed with compassion none of them truly had. "And you love your brother?"
You stared. "Of course."
"You would do anything for him?"
"Yes."
"Kill for him?"
Blinking at Caesar, you suddenly couldn’t imagine anything but jumping over the table separating you two to strangle the man. Digging your nails into the palms of your hands, you pushed yourself to grin. "Well, Caesar, we will just have to wait and see what I'll do."
"You certainly are capable if your score proves right!" He roared enthusiastically, bestowing eagerness onto the audience. "Let me tell you, it came as a big surprise to us all when your score was published! For almost three decades, District Five scored below four, and there you go, easily bagging a ten. Quite the impressive lady, you are, dare I say." He leaned forward then. "Very impressive indeed. So impressive the Capitol just couldn’t help themselves." Caesar stood in one swift motion, microphone in hand, wearing a glowing smile. "For the first time ever, the Capitol has bestowed upon me to honor of announcing that this year there will not be one—" He stalled, lifting one finger to back his words. "But two… victors!" Your head snapped to him and back to where the other Tributes stood waiting for their interview.
Soon after—after Caesar had gone on about how your family could be reunited as if that hadn’t been your first thought— you were ushered along and off the stage to where the other Tributes sat, who had already completed their interviews. All you wanted was to get to your brother, to pull him close and assure him that both of you would see your mother again. Your body was pumping with adrenalin as you thought of what the future could be like if you got him out—and you, too. Faltering, you took your place beside Finnick. It was harder now, you realized. Way harder now that you had not only your brother to get out, but yourself, too. In all your time here, you had never even allowed yourself to consider it. Atlas and you surviving this hell. It had been futile until now. For the first time since the Reaping, you allowed yourself to feel hope.
You stared straight ahead, thoughts churning messily as you waited for Atlas to get off the stage, ignoring the way Finnick's eyes kept flicking over to you. Caesar treated him for what he was; a child. Asked him his favorite games, if he had many friends, and if he was sad about his score of three. And with every word slipping off Atlas' tongue, the audience laughed and cooed and awed as if he was no more than a circus monkey they could gawk at. They didn’t care that his life was on the line, neither did they care about any of you, only the money they had bet.
The Tributes beside you were celebrating the news they had just received with hugs and laughter. You couldn’t even muster to move a single muscle until you saw Atlas getting off the stage and heading towards you. He talked to you, you saw, but no word reached your ears as you stood and took him in; the little crease between his brows as he complained about his interview, the spattered freckles adorning the top of his cheeks and the glitter that had been put there by his style team, long mahogany lashes, a straight, crunched up nose, and ears just a tad bit too big for his head.
As he waited for your answer you suddenly wrapped your arms around him and pulled him close. Atlas huffed, arms hanging by his sides. "You are so weird. Logan told you not to be yourself."
"I wasn’t myself," you defended and smiled—a true smile. "I was being nice."
Following the interviews, you and all other Tributes were to return to your apartments. It was the end, you thought. The end to all the formalities and niceties. Now, all were going to show their real faces, real agendas. That night you were in your bed in a state of restlessness, Atlas sleeping beside you. But you could tell he wasn’t at peace. His usually wrinkleless face was contorted with concern, led by whatever dream he was currently having.
Morning came sooner than you had expected, leaving you with tremors in your limbs. Instead of spending hours in a chair getting your make-up and hair done, while the styling team chattered along, today a grave silence had taken over. Your hair was pulled out of your face, fixated by the stylist so it wouldn’t bother you and you were given the same clothes every Tribute would wear. By these, you could ponder what terrain you would be facing. Having grown up watching each and every game since your birth, you could guess the arena would offer a great variety of terrains. The boots were sturdy as though they were meant to ease the hardship of trekking or climbing but the fabric of the shirt and pants were thin—thin enough not to be a bother when engulfed in water or heat.
When you were done, Lazarus came, checking the work the style team had done and when he deemed it presentable, he nodded for you to follow him. Outside the building, a hovercraft was waiting for you with Peacekeepers surrounding the building in case you or your brother were planning on making a run for it. One of them held a device you had never seen. Though before you were allowed on the hovercraft, the device was lifted to your arm, followed by a sharp pain. You didn’t react to it, knowing there was far worse to come. The spot where the tracker was implanted was itchy and with every movement, you thought you could feel the foreign object in your arm.
The Tributes from Districts One to Four and their head stylists were already on the hovercraft when you boarded. The Careers—as always—looked ready for their first kills. Their chins were directed upward, apparently too good to look at everybody else, chests puffed and proud. The hovercraft filled steadily till it was ready to depart the Training Center for the arena. The one place without the simple rules set for humanity and where killing was (besides surviving) the one true goal.
Time seemed deceiving now, too. Or perhaps they were delaying on purpose, to boost the quivers of nerves and everyone's anticipation. It felt like decades until you finally arrived. Of course, in truth, the trip had only taken a mere hour.
Your eyes couldn’t find a single bare spot after arriving at the arena. Before entering, you and all other Tributes and their stylists were surrounded by Peacekeepers, who led you underground the arena; into the arena catacombs. Your brother gripped your hand tightly as he spotted the weapons they carried. In the Districts, the Peacekeepers kept them hidden. You knew it was solely for reassuring the citizens of Panem, to keep them down, to make them feel like the Capitol cared. Still, they were packed with weaponry on every trip they took outside the Capitol, ready to punish any stepping out of line.
Snow would have your head if he were able to catch a single thought that was rumbling around in your head. Treacherous, they would call them. When in truth it was the Capitol committing treachery on the people, they—as often stated by Snow himself—couldn’t function without. And it was true, of course. Panem wouldn’t be able to function without the grubby work forced on each District. But the people of Panem—the Capitol's citizens excluded—were no more than cattle in Snow's eyes. Everyone knew it. They were just too afraid to lose their heads admitting it.
You squeezed your brother's hand, jaw set in a tight line. By now you couldn’t even force a smile. No muscle in your face was willing to defy what you were truly feeling. Dread. Anger. Fear. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but whatever it was, it was enough to make you nauseous.
You halted when your brother stopped walking alongside you, hand still in yours. His stylist had his other hand in her grip, giving you a pitiful smile. "His Launch Room is through here. This is where you have to part." Both, you and Atlas, looked toward the dark corridor. You swallowed and nodded, noting that Atlas was resisting letting go of your hand.
"Can we… Could we have a moment?" You looked toward Lazarus and back to Atlas' stylist. Taking your brother's shoulders tightly into your hands, you pulled him closer—somehow feeling like the walls had grown ears. Other Tributes passed you and you kneeled on one leg, pulling your brother with you. "You listen to me now, okay? When we are up there, you run."
He frowned. "What do you mean?"
"When the signal comes, you turn around and run. You get away from the Cornucopia. That is the only way I can make sure you're safe."
"But I can help you! It's way more dangerous for you to go alone! And—"
"Atlas!" You gripped his shoulders tighter, forcing him to stop talking. "I'm not asking you, I'm telling you: you run."
"But I heard the others talking about the Cornucopia. They all call it the Bloodbath. What if you don't make it back?"
"I will. I will grab us supplies and come find you immediately."
"But what if… what if you don’t?"
Again, you forced down the lump of fear that had gathered in your throat. "You survive, okay? You…" Hesitating, you wagered whether or not the feeling in your gut was indeed a trustable one. It had brought you so far, might as well go with it now. "You find Finnick."
"You told me not to trust him!"
"I know, it's just… I know he won't hurt you."
"How would you know that? You don’t know him."
"Just… trust me, all right?" You did know him, in some way. By the look in his eyes and his seemingly stone-carved features, mastered to perfection, you knew him. You knew Finnick for what he was. The things you had been trying so hard to be, too. You related because, on some level, you two were unerringly the same. Only, somehow, Finnick had mastered everything far better than you ever would. For that, you admired him.
Atlas and you were separated then. Peacekeepers told you to keep moving, and, intimidated by the firearms they carried, you followed their demands without dispute. Brought to your own Launch Room, Lazarus' eyes followed you with hidden sorrow.
"You look like someone's about to die," you joked, suddenly close to heaving.
"I truly believe you won't," he assured. "But you aren't going to come back whole, either. The Games take far more than just lives. They take souls, too."
"Good to know you aren’t in a grim mood."
Something behind you moved and he stilled. "It's time." He signed for you to enter the launch tube, hugging you before stepping aside for you to be sealed in. No sound penetrated in thick glass of the tube, obliging you into utter awareness of yourself; your wildly pounding heart, the uneven puffs of air fleeing your lungs, and the uncontrollable quiver of your hands.
Without warning the platform beneath you shifted, slowly raising you upward, exposing you to the pressing air filling the arena. The lights were blinding for a few moments, a swift contrast to the dark catacombs. A countdown began, and after your eyes had adjusted, your eyes rapidly skimmed the tributes, searching for your brother. He was almost across from you, so far there would have been no way for you to protect him if he ran toward the Cornucopia. Looking to your right you found a dense forest; tropical, as far as you could tell. Turning your head back to the Cornucopia, you could make out a blue glistening behind it, far behind the other Tributes. A river or lake, you guessed.
Your chance of observing ended the second a shot reverberated through the arena. In sync, you and all the other Tributes jumped from the platforms. Almost all sprinted toward the Cornucopia, except for a handful deciding to take their chances without any supplies at all. You hadn’t seen if Atlas had followed your orders, all that was left to do now was hoping he was trusting you enough.
The Tribute beside you fell and in a second a Career was atop her slashing her throat. You stumbled shocked by how easily it seemed to come to them. No thought, no hesitation, no remorse. Close to the weapon stand, you were tackled, a dark head of hair entering your vision. You kicked her away with a grunt, still on your knees, trying to crawl forward to get your hands on one of the knives spread across the moist grass. Fingers wrapped around your ankle, pulling you back, just as your hand grazed the handle of a silver dagger. You turned then, sharp and quick, only to lock eyes with the girl from District One.
Her forehead was wrinkled, hand raised with a blade, ready to strike you down. You couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the word entering your mind, couldn’t help feeling it; cattle. Breeding cattle, you were no more than. Her blade sliced your collarbone and you hissed, all hesitancy giving way to the will to survive. The silver dagger jutted from the side of her throat. She sputtered, shaky hand reaching to the blade protruding from her body. Your eyes went wide, moving to stare at the hand you still held outstretched. You weren’t really thinking as it wrapped back around the dagger's handle to pull it free, allowing her blood to flow freely.
Gasping for air, she fell to her side, withering as the last seed of life within her ceased. Canons echoed. One, two—it didn’t stop. You scrambled to your feet, reaching for the bigger weapons within the Cornucopia, only to find the District Seven Tribute hiding behind the crates containing survival kits. The one who had tried to escape. You could only imagine how weakened he must have still been from his whipping. He stared up at you in shock, a small knife cradled tightly in his unstable hand.
"Run," you said, giving a look over your shoulder at the Careers fighting their way forward. They were packed with different types of weaponry already. And, unlike most Tributes, they knew exactly how to use them. Getting the spear and backpack you came for; you took a second one for Atlas the dagger, too, and ran behind the Cornucopia and toward the body of water. It was smarter than running back into the bloodbath. Running into trees surrounding the river, you made sure to keep looking over your shoulder once in a while. There had to have been at least one Career who had seen you run in this direction; who had seen you kill one of their own.
A twig snapped behind you. You faltered, breathing heavily. Turning around, you reached for the dagger sticking out of the backpack in your hands. A knife sailed past you and you dropped the second backpack in shock as you whirled around to search for the culprit. Not a second later a big hand wrapped around your mouth, caging your body. Spurred by adrenaline, you kicked the male in the shin, elbowing him and shoving him off, causing you both to tumble into the red soil. You scrambled forward, gripping the dagger you had dropped, only to throw yourself atop the muscular body, blade raised.
The sea-green eyes stopped you in your movement. Your lungs burned in exhaustion, fingers clenching anticipatingly around the dagger's hilt. Finnick eyed the blade then, tinted with remnants of blood. Instead of trying to wrangle the weapon from you, his hands rested gently on your thighs spread to fit his body.
Another twig snapped.
Finnick jumped into action, seizing the weapons from your hand, overturning you. Your back landed against the contents of the backpack strapped to you, leaving you flailing, trying to reach the spear fastened to your backpack. His hand found your throat then, shaking and you knew he was attempting to force himself to lock it tightly—yet, he couldn’t. Your hand found the red soil, clutching it in your fist before you threw it in Finnick's eyes. When he stumbled, you kicked him onto his back. Using your chance, you collected the things you had dropped and ran.
Picking up voices behind you, you kept moving until Finnick's joined in, telling them the exact way you had gone. Cursing, you threw the second backpack into some bushes and continued forward, till you reached the edge of the water. It was a weird river, you thought, with massive stones protruding not only from its midst but all around it, too. 
Thinking back to the survival station in the training center, you recalled the numerous pages of information you had studied—still, you praised the seemingly uninteresting information as it would now perhaps save your behind. Caves. Underwater Caves, one page had said. It had—in shocking detail—explained what to look for when there were many various stones nigh or in water. Checking each stone for the right markers, your gaze settled on a rock close to the other side of the river. Naturally, it had to be far from you.
Growling you pulled the backpack from your form, waging whether or not the supplies it brought were worth being caught. No. Definitely not. Hurling the backpack into the water, hoping it would drown soon enough to not give the Careers an idea of where you had gone. You seized your spear and dove headfirst into the river, showing not an ounce of vacillation. Bubbles of air escaped your mouth, making you fear that the Careers would spot you eventually. Hurrying along, you swam toward what you had identified to be a possible sanctuary.
The air in your lungs was getting scarce all the while the beating of your heart found no ceasing. Underwater, you were close to blind. In foreign territories, it was only a matter of seconds before you were to hit your head and drown.
Rolling your eyes at yourself, you noticed Atlas' voice piping up at the back of your head, shaming you for your negativity. The wasted time brought no favor, as you noticed there was no more supply of air. Dread crept into the fibers of your figure, that perhaps you had indeed made an error when picking the rock.
Tightening the bite of your jaw, the wrinkles between your brows grew in depth as you provided a ferocious push of your legs. At present, there was no circumstance for uncertainty. Frankly, there was no space for it. No space for it, when the last remnants of air vanished from your lungs, and no space when you could still make out the bustling of rancorous boots. Atlas was out there, stranded in the woods, with no rations of food or weaponry for protection at hand.
Your brother required your aid, your support; you. He needed you by his side if only to give him strength, give him hope. You had sworn an oath to yourself that you would not in this life, see broken. Unsighted by the darkness of the depth the water bore, you had only just reached the rock when wooziness overtook you. Skimming along the rough exterior, you shoved yourself further into the shadows beneath.
Were you any less filled with panic, you might have commenced speculation of what truly lurked blow, but now, wholly engulfed with fright, you came to the comprehension that there was no opening.
No opening, no cave, no sanctuary, no safety.
You had been mistaken. Tremendously so. Pulse spiraling, you couldn’t quell your wants any longer. You needed air. At the rock's backside, you dashed upward to where you perceived the sun piercing the dark, breaking through the surface, gasping for oxygen. When a cough inched its way up your throat, you pressed your arm tightly to your lips to quieten yourself. You hoisted yourself onto one of the rocks barely peeking from the water and cowered in a crouch, hoping—begging to whatever might was left to watch over you—that none of them would locate you.
Spying at them from your position, you obtained a glimpse of them walking in the opposing direction. About to run, your eyes caught on a package being carried by the river's fast flow. Making certain that the group of Careers was entertained by their hunt for another Tribute, you snuck further out of your hiding spot, on your hands and knees, extending the spear you held into the water.
When the backpack floated by, you caught it with your weapon, lifting it out of the river and toward you. You grinned; one out of two wasn’t a bad accomplishment. Looking around you tried to settle for a direction to go; you were left guessing Atlas' location. Bypassing the Cornucopia would have been imprudent. The Careers had secured it, meaning watchful eyes all over its proximity.
There was little to no prospect of making the correct decision. He could have fled into the tropical forest behind him, although someone or something could have gotten in his way, which would have caused him to differ on his way.
Your fingers dug into the roots of your hair as you cursed the Gamemakers with every bad word you held in your vocabulary. The arena was extensively large this year as though they had known of your plans all along, as though they had wanted to see you struggle in your quest of protection. They did, of course, yet the arena's extent added to the woeful cruelty of it all.
Keeping low, you eyed the tropical forest. To get there you would have to run across a vacant field. It offered no shelter, no safety, no way to take cover. A death trap, intent on segregating those reckless enough to risk their lives. You had never believed yourself to be one of them; how vastly the mind deceives. 
Ensuring that the Careers were still on the other side of the river, you strapped the backpack tight and hurried forward. Running while being close to a crouch proved to be immensely uncomfortable and strenuous, the muscles in your legs protesting painfully. You had barely reached the edge of the forest when a sharp pain cut across your cheek. Hissing, you clutched the bleeding wound, taking note of the knife that had hit the tree inches from your head. A young girl stood roughly hidden by the giant trees forming the rainforest.
The girl you recalled was only two years older than Atlas. You had pitied her, too, had felt a familiar stinging in your heart rewatching the clips from the Reaping. She had cried upon her name being called, refusing to step toward the stage. Peacekeepers had to drag her there, while she wailed and struggled and begged for them to end her life then and there.
You pulled the knife from the tree as you ignored the hidden girl, refusing to kill a child. Continuing on into the forest, you picked up the shuffling of footsteps at your back. You dodged the attack, causing her sword to hit nothing but air. She grunted as she took her next swing, the weapon lying unfamiliar in her hands. She had probably gripped whatever she could get her hands on before fleeing the bloodbath.
Before the girl could strike once more, you took hold of her arm, shoving her away. "Stop this!" You hissed. "I don’t want to hurt you."
She scoffed, finding her footing once more, ready to kill. "Then hold still and I'll make this quick," she grinned, throwing herself forward. Using your staff, you blocked the attack. Without warning she pulled out a dagger, slicing along the length of your arm with one quick swipe of her hand.
Kicking her off you watched as she tumbled to the ground, teeth on display as she growled in contempt. You pointed the sharp end of your spear at her in warning. "Stay down."
You moved past her, hoping she would stop and see the madness in it all, when all of a sudden, a weight on your back made you stagger. Caught off guard you grabbed at the arm tightening around your throat, catching the glinting of a blade out of the corner of your eye. Stopping the knife before it could slice your throat, you tried prying her off you. Throwing yourself back against a tree, the girl wailed in pain, letting go for just a second, before her sword found its mark in the back of your leg. You cried out, falling forward, causing her to tumble off you.
Scrambling to stand up, you were ripped from your feet and onto your back, as she launched herself onto you. Barely blocking her first strike, you couldn’t help but notice your wounded arm growing weaker with each moment you spent struggling. Her knife drew closer to your head, as the strength of your arm faded consistently. With your other hand, you searched for any object able to provide you with help, fingers landing on the cold handle of the blade you had dropped before.
"I'm sorry," you said, tears gathering in your eyes. She looked at you questioningly for a moment, until you urged your hand forward, piercing her chest. The pressure she had put against your arm ceased as she wrapped her fingers around the handle protruding from her body before yanking it out in one swift motion. Blood poured from her wound instantly, tainting the fabric of her clothes and yours. Her bloodied hands shook as she stared at the knife that seconds ago, had been in her chest.
Blood spluttered from her mouth. Small specks of warm liquid landed on your face as you watched the life slowly draining from her eyes. She fell, eyes wide though so terribly lifeless you could have wailed from the sight. You barely registered the sound of a canon, declaring yet another child’s death. The never-ending apologies forcing themselves from your lips soon turned into sobs muffled by nothing but your fist urgently pressing against your mouth. There wasn’t anything you could do but stare down at the child whose life had ended at your hand.
Footsteps sounded not too far off. You jumped in fright, snapping out of the state of shock you had lingered in. Looking for an easy way out, you wiped the tears from your face and eyed the trees. Taking the risk of trying to climb a tree probably would have caused you to fall to your death, since you had never once in your life attempted to climb a tree. Shuffling to stand, you pulled tightly on the strap of the backpack and took off running.
You did it for Atlas, you reminded yourself. Everything you did was so your brother could live. You ran until your lungs stung in discomfort and your legs throbbed, sure to be sore for the next couple of days. The next few days you spent hiding in the woods, all the while listening to the canon going off in an unrhythmic reminder that the Careers were close to wiping the arena clean.
The sun bore down mercilessly, its heat as relentless as you navigating through the treacherous landscape of the arena. Your heart was heavy with the thought of hearing another canon—and seeing Atlas’ face flash on the horizon, paying him tribute for the great sacrifice he made. Pushing through the dense underbrush, your mind racing, you felt a sudden sharp pain lancing through your leg. You gasped, shock coursing in your bones before stumbling back and falling. Mere meters away, you spotted a snake slithering back into the brush, its bite burning in your veins as though it had been laced with fire. Panic surged within you, the pounding in your chest instantly the only thing you could hear. Sweat gathered above your brows as you bushed yourself to stand, when suddenly, in your gaze state, you heard the childish laughter of your brother. Whirling around, a figure hushed past the trees, and you called out, changing the small shadowy form. Stumbling you caught up to the shadow, though upon touching his shoulder, wanting to turn Atlas to face you, he vanished.
White dots danced in your sight, a ringing in your head overtaking your senses, writhing in stark agony. In the midst of your haze, the sound of a parachute broke through, landing silently a few yards away. With every bit of strength left n within you, you dragged yourself towards it, unscrewing the metal cap of the item that had been dropped. Upon opening the cap, the sight of an antivenom greeted you, sent by your sponsor. The relief was instant but left you weakened and exposed. Knowing the dangers of the Game—the people within—had no consideration, no compassion, merely a drive to kill, you forced yourself to move.
In the far distance, foreign sounds drifted through the air and you stilled. Growls, you noted. You had never heard such a thing before, violent and vicious and terribly hungry for blood that you felt your lips begin to quiver. The growls of the mutts carrying through the dense brush hastened your escape towards the mountains, but vast expanse of no-man’s-land lay before you—nothing to shield you, nothing to hide you. You ran out of the brush and onto the orange soil, the ground crumbling behind you. A flitting gaze over your shoulder left you gaping, each spot that you had stepped on was caved in, leading into a dark abyss below. The look had cost you, you noted as a rip appeared in the soil before you. Mere meters in front of you lay the mountain range, so, so close but the ground gave away.
With the last efforts of survival, you leaped. Your fingers graced the solid ground at the beginning of the mountain range, gripping tightly as your body collided with a wall of hard rocks. Arms straining and teeth clenching, your feet pushed against the wall, trying to help you pull yourself over the edge. A gasp of relief fled your lungs as your eyes met the familiar glimmer in your brother’s wide gaze. He held a hand out for you to take, helping you heave yourself to safety. The feeling coursing through you was of overwhelming gravity, and in that moment, all fear and tension melted from your chest.
You pulled Atlas to you, arms engulfing the younger boy, lip quivering and eyes stinging. “I thought I’d lost you,” you whispered, holding him close. It was merely a second later that you recalled the situation you both were in—the hell they had forced you into. “We gotta climb up, find a cave or something,” you insisted, starting forward as Atlas nodded, his trust in you unshaken, even after the horror he must have witnessed. “We’ll just wait it out, okay? They’ll end up killing each other sooner or later.”
Luck had been on your side this once as you came up on a cave, its entrance no bigger than Atlas. It was a good place to hole up in—and you did for as long as possible until the grumble in both of your stomachs could no longer be ignored. The necessity for food driving you back down the mountain should have been something to anticipate, though after barely making it to the mountains, the thought of nutrition had fled your mind. A few days you had lived off of berries, though the bushes grew empty after a while. Telling Atlas to stay in the cave—scared you would encounter the remaining ranks of the Careers or whatever mutts had chased you. The cannon had sounded often in recent days and you guessed the mutts had done their jobs fairly well, taking out the majority of the Careers.
Wandering along the mountains, you kept your eyes trailing for any possible danger, they spotted the close rain forest instead. You had to be at the far east side of the mountains with how close the trees seemed to be. Turning back to the task at hand, you eyed the bushes for any edible berries, though ended up growing rigid at the sight before you. His figure stood broad as it always had, hair disheveled and perhaps just a little wet with sweat.
Within seconds, your hands found your spear and you charged. His betrayal had scorched a deep wound into your being, even when you would die rather than admit to it. The stark clash of your spear against his trident echoed loudly through the mountains, though his body moved with scarce efforts to keep you at bay. The ease with which he held himself, the ease with which he pushed you back, the ease with which he had stabbed you in the back on the first day in the arena caused you to burn from within. Fury in your eyes, you grunted, bringing the spear down once more. His hand went out, catching the spear and attempting to rip it from your grasp but you held on for dear life. Finnick pulled at it again and you stumbled forward, fingers still tightly wrapped around the perfectly balanced metal.
“Stop it,” he hissed, his warm breath flaring across your face and you flinched.
“So you can try and kill me again?” You shot back, staring up at the towering male, teeth clenching. “I won’t make it that easy for you, Finnick.” You, fueled by your burning rage, gave up on retrieving your spear, arm lunging forward and punching the male across his face. The impact made Finnick stagger and your hand spasm, but he still refused to release his ironclad hold on the spear. You stood, locked in the standoff, when a dark cloud began to form over the mountain range. Within moments, rain hailed down upon you and contentment filled you, knowing you had been running low on water. Though when the first drops, of what you had thought would be a salvation, hit your skin, you recoiled. Blisters appeared on your skin, each impact leaving behind a painful sizzling as you screeched in pain.
Finnick grabbed your wrist, pulling you along as he dashed across a tiny scrap of dried grass and into the nearby rainforest, seeking refuge from the corrosive downpour. Stumbling and feet sliding unsteadily against the wet floor, you tumbled into a small pond, about to righten yourself and run further, when you noticed the sudden grace the water proved to be. Finnick, after realizing it too, fell into the pond, hands splashing water onto his face and limbs in a desperate attempt to cease the searing ache. His hand came up, spilling water over your shoulder and back, washing away the blisters you hadn’t yet reached. The tenderness he was using to handle you was such a crass contrast to the earlier confrontation that it made your head spin.
“I’m sorry.”
Your head snapped toward him at the words that had fallen from his lips, though his eyes didn’t dare to meet yours. You hissed in pain, accidentally touching a part of sore skin. “Sorry won’t fix what you did, Finnick,” you stated coldly, feeling a suggesting tingle in the tips of your fingers to try and push him under the water, try and drown him. “You tried to kill me—"
At that, he snapped. “Don’t you think if I wanted you dead, you would be?” The frustration in his eyes was palpable, though something else lingered within them—a flicker of pain. Tension arose so vastly, charged with anger, hurt, and the unspoken truths of your situation, you could have sliced it with a knife. You were enemies thrown together by circumstance, yet bound by a thread of mutual survival and the remnants of what could have been.
The fleeting moment of uneasy peace was shattered by a scream that pierced the air, slicing through the heavy silence of the rainforest. It was a sound you knew all too well, one that ignited a primal fear deep within your chest. Atlas. Your heart froze, the confusion and turmoil that had clouded your thoughts moments ago swept away by a tide of sheer panic.
Without a second thought, you were on your feet, the pain from your burns momentarily forgotten. You didn't look back at Finnick, didn't see if he followed. Nothing mattered except reaching Atlas. The acid rain had stopped, leaving the world eerily silent in its wake, a silence now broken by the echoes of your brother's distress.
You sprinted with a speed you didn't know you possessed, your legs carrying you back toward the mountain range where you had left Atlas, where you had told him to stay hidden in the cave. Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat a thunderous echo of Atlas's scream. Why hadn't he stayed? Fear and guilt twisted inside you, coiling around your heart like the snake that had bitten you.
As you broke through the treeline, the scene that unfolded before you was one of your worst nightmares, you realized. Atlas was there, at the bottom of the mountain range, not in the safety of your cave but out in the open, struggling against one of the tributes No, not just any tribute—a killer, poised to end your brother's life. A Career.
You were still too far to reach him in time, your desperate cries for Atlas to run, to fight, to do anything, lost in the distance that separated you. Time seemed to slow, each of Atlas's desperate struggles etched into your memory with painful clarity.
And then, it time seemed to still. The Career tribute overpowered Atlas, and with a swift, brutal motion, plunged a knife into the chest of the person you had sworn to protect, the person for whom you had volunteered to face this horror. A scream, raw and filled with anguish, tore from your throat as you witnessed your younger brother's life being snuffed out like a candle in the wind.
The world narrowed to a pinpoint of rage, grief, and an overwhelming sense of failure. Your vision blurred, not with tears but with a fury so intense it threatened to consume you. Atlas, your kind, brave, and gentle brother, was gone, taken by the merciless game you had been forced into.
Every moment spent worrying about Finnick, about your fractured alliance and the betrayal that had seemed so significant, paled in comparison to this loss. In the face of Atlas's death, everything else was trivial, inconsequential. A deep, seething hatred for the Capitol and its cruel games took root in your heart, a vow forming from the depths of your grief; you would make them pay. Every tribute, every sponsor, every viewer who took pleasure in this barbarity would feel the weight of your wrath.
But first, you had a Career to kill.
As the cannon echoed through the arena, a solemn confirmation of your brother's death, the world seemed to stand still. Grief and rage battled within you, propelling your body forward with a singular focus—vengeance. The Career who had taken Atlas from you barely had time to register your approach before you were upon him, your weapon driven by a force fueled by loss and fury. He fell quickly, a testament to the skills you had honed for this moment, for this purpose.
But there was no time to mourn, no time to celebrate your swift revenge, as the rustle of leaves signaled another approaching. The last Career, drawn by the sound of combat or perhaps the cannon's call. Your heart pounded, not just with the exertion of battle, but with the realization of what was to come. You were ready to fight, to kill again if necessary, your resolve steeling within you.
Finnick's footsteps were close behind you, a rapid drumbeat on the forest floor. You half-expected him to call out, to try and stop you or to take the lead, but he remained silent, his presence a steady pressure at your back. The last Career appeared, sword raised, eyes wide with a mix of determination and desperation. He hesitated, his gaze flickering between you and Finnick, the confusion clear upon his face. He had expected to find Finnick chasing you, perhaps even fighting you, but not this—this silent alliance in the face of shared loss.
Without a word, Finnick moved past you, his trident gleaming in the dim light. The Career barely had time to lower his weapon before Finnick was upon him, the trident finding its mark with deadly precision. The man crumpled, and silence fell once more, broken only by the sound of two cannons firing in quick succession.
You and Finnick stood side by side, the realization that you had won, that it was over, sinking in slowly. There was no joy in it, no triumphant cheer; just a heavy weight of survival and the cost it had exacted from both of you.
The journey from the arena to the Capitol was a blur, a series of motions and procedures that felt detached from the reality of your victory. You were taken to separate rooms, the opulence of the Capitol a stark contrast to the brutality you had just endured. It was in this surreal state of limbo that Finnick came to find you, his own room abandoned in favor of seeking out the only other person who could possibly understand what he was feeling.
The moment you saw Finnick enter your room in the Capitol, the pent-up rage and grief you'd been carrying since the arena found a target. He moved with a cautious grace, a stark contrast to the turmoil churning within you. His first words were meant to be a comfort, but they ignited something fierce and painful inside you.
"We did it," he said softly, his eyes searching yours for something you weren't ready to give.
"We did it?" you spat out, your voice sharp, laced with anger and disbelief. "You think we did this together? You abandoned us, Finnick. You left my brother to die!"
Finnick's expression tightened, the sorrow in his eyes deepening. "I thought I was making the right choice—"
"The right choice?" you interrupted, your voice rising, a bitter laugh escaping your lips. "You thought abandoning us was the right choice?"
Without thinking, you stepped forward, your hand balled into a fist, striking his chest. It was a futile gesture, driven more by your need to express your anguish than to cause him any real harm. Finnick didn't stop you, nor did he try to defend himself. He simply stood there, taking your blows, his face a mask of regret and pain.
"You could have saved him!" Each word was punctuated by another hit, your anger flowing through you like a river bursting its banks. "You were supposed to be our ally!"
"I know, and I'm sorry," Finnick's voice was barely above a whisper, his arms tentatively coming up to hold you, not to restrain, but to offer solace.
Your strength faltered, the anger giving way to the profound sorrow you'd been trying to keep at bay. The punches slowed, then stopped altogether as the reality of your loss, of Atlas's death, truly hit you. Your hands fell to your sides, and you felt your knees weaken as the weight of your grief became too much to bear.
Finnick was there in an instant, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you close to his chest. You wanted to push him away, to scream at him for his betrayal, but the energy, the anger, had drained from you, leaving nothing but exhaustion and heartache.
"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Finnick murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion. "I would give anything to change what happened."
And there, in the opulent room that felt miles away from the horror of the arena, you allowed yourself to break. Tears streamed down your face, sobs wracking your body as you clung to Finnick. He held you, his own body shaking with silent cries, as you mourned not just for Atlas, but for all that had been lost in the games.
The anger had burned bright and fast, but what remained in its ashes was a deep, unyielding sadness. Finnick's embrace didn't fix the gaping wound in your heart, but it offered a momentary reprieve from the loneliness of your grief. In the aftermath of your rage, wrapped in the arms of the one person who could come close to understanding your pain, you found a fragile sense of comfort.
The games had ended, but the scars they left behind were fresh, painful reminders of the cost of survival. And as you cried into Finnick's chest, a part of you understood that this shared sorrow was the first step towards healing, towards forgiving, not just Finnick, but yourself as well.
After the tempest of your grief and anger in Finnick's arms, a precarious calm settled over both of you. The initial intensity of your emotions gave way to a weary, shared silence. As you pulled away, wiping the remnants of tears from your cheeks, you caught a glimpse of something in Finnick's eyes—a reflection of your own pain, the understanding that the games had taken something irreplaceable from both of you.
In the days that followed, the Capitol was abuzz with the aftermath of the Hunger Games. You and Finnick were paraded as victors, symbols of triumph and resilience, yet beneath the surface, you both bore the invisible wounds of survivors. The forced smiles for cameras, the scripted interviews where you recounted the horrors of the arena with a veneer of gratitude for the Capitol's 'generosity,' felt like another layer of betrayal, this time self-inflicted.
----
A few months after the Hunger Games, amidst another extravagant Capitol party celebrating the unity of the districts, the weight of your experiences in the arena became too much to bear. As the party's laughter and music echoed hollowly in your ears, you found yourself seeking refuge away from the crowd. Slipping unnoticed through a side door, you ventured into a secluded garden, a hidden oasis under the night sky.
The garden, illuminated by the gentle glow of fairy lights woven through the foliage, felt like stepping into another world. You moved aimlessly along the winding paths until you found yourself in front of a grand statue, an intricate marble piece that towered above the garden's natural beauty. Here, in the shadow of the statue, you leaned against the cool stone, allowing the tears that you had fought to keep at bay to finally escape.
As the facade you'd been forced to maintain since your victory crumbled away, the garden's tranquility contrasted sharply with the turmoil within you. The tears were for everything—the loss, the pain, and the irrevocable changes the games had wrought upon your life and Finnick's.
The sound of footsteps broke through your reverie, and you hastily tried to compose yourself, wiping away the tears with the back of your hand. When you looked up, it was Finnick who emerged from the shadows, his eyes immediately finding yours in the dim light.
He stopped just in front of you, concern etching his features. "There you are," he said softly, his voice carrying a weight of understanding and shared sorrow.
"I just needed a moment," you managed to say, though your voice betrayed the depth of your distress. You attempted a smile, but it faltered, betraying the turmoil inside. Finnick reached out, his thumb gently catching a tear that had escaped down your cheek, his touch tender. “I hate this,” you confessed, the words barely above a whisper, “pretending to be something we’re not, celebrating when all I feel is loss.”
Finnick stepped closer, eliminating the distance between you. He didn’t dare step away; instead, he lingered before you, offering his presence as a silent source of comfort. "I know," he responded, his tone gentle. "But remember, you’re not alone in this. I’m here, with you. Always."
You nodded, struggling to find words that could encompass the breadth of what you were feeling. Before you could speak again, Finnick reached out, carefully wiping away a tear that had lingered on your cheek. His touch was tender, filled with an empathy that spoke volumes of his own battles with the ghosts of the arena.
In a gesture that felt as natural as breathing, Finnick drew you closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders. The warmth of his body against yours was a stark contrast to the cool marble at your back. He kissed your forehead with such care and affection that it felt like a balm to your wounded spirit. Then, his lips brushed softly against your nose, a touch so light and comforting that it drew a half-hearted smile from you, despite the sadness.
Finally, his lips met yours in a kiss that was both a salve and a promise—a promise of shared strength, of mutual support, and of a bond forged in the crucible of unimaginable trials. It was a kiss that spoke of hope amidst despair, of finding light in the darkness, and of the unspoken vow to navigate the uncertain path ahead, together.
Leaning against the cool marble, under the canopy of the night sky, you found a moment of peace in Finnick's embrace, a reminder that, despite everything, you were not alone. You had each other, and together, you would find a way to heal, to rebuild, and to carve out a space for yourselves in a world that had forever changed you.
In the quiet of the garden, with the distant sounds of the party reduced to a mere whisper, you and Finnick shared a moment of profound connection, a brief respite from the chaos that had become your lives. The kiss ended, but you remained close, leaning into each other for support, finding solace in the presence of someone who understood the depth of your pain and loss.
Finnick's eyes met yours in the dim light, a silent conversation passing between you. There was an understanding that the path ahead would be fraught with challenges, both seen and unforeseen, but there was also a shared resolve to face them together. The world outside the garden was a maelstrom of expectations, responsibilities, and the ever-present gaze of the Capitol, but here, in this moment, none of that mattered.
"You know we can't stay here forever," Finnick finally said, his voice low, breaking the silence that had settled between you. It wasn't just an observation about the garden but about the bubble of peace you'd momentarily created. The real world, with all its complexities and demands, waited just beyond the garden's confines.
You nodded, taking a deep breath, bolstered by the strength you found in Finnick's presence. "I know. But for a moment, it's nice to pretend we can."
Finnick smiled, a genuine, warm expression that reached his eyes. "We'll have more moments like this, I promise. Away from the cameras, the parties, the Capitol. Moments just for us."
The thought was comforting, a lifeline amid the turbulent seas of your new reality. You straightened, steeling yourself for the return to the party, to the roles you were forced to play. Finnick sensed your resolve and offered his hand, a silent pledge of solidarity. You took it, and together, you stepped back into the light, leaving the sanctuary of the garden behind.
The rest of the evening passed in a blur, the two of you navigating the party as a united front, your earlier moment of vulnerability transforming into a source of strength. The Capitol's guests saw only the victorious tributes, the heroes of the games, but beneath the surface, you and Finnick shared a bond forged in the crucible of shared suffering and mutual understanding.
After the party, the journey back to your separate rooms in the Capitol's luxurious accommodation felt like transitioning from one world to another. The grandeur and opulence of the Capitol surrounded you, a stark reminder of the divide between the lives you once knew and the lives you were forced into now. The echoes of laughter and music from the party faded as you walked through the silent, opulent hallways, each step taking you further away from the façade you had to maintain in public.
Finnick walked you to your door, his presence a source of comfort in the overwhelming world of the Capitol. Despite the late hour, neither of you seemed eager to say goodnight, lingering in the hallway, caught in the bubble of tranquility you had created for yourselves. The intensity of the day, from the forced smiles at the party to the genuine moments of connection in the garden, had drawn you closer, a silent acknowledgment of the shared experiences that bound you together.
Standing before your door, Finnick turned to face you, his expression serious yet gentle. "Are you okay?" he asked, his voice low. It was a simple question, yet loaded with the depth of understanding and concern that had grown between you.
You offered a small, tired smile, appreciating the sincerity of his question. "I will be," you replied, knowing that the road to feeling truly okay was long and fraught with challenges. "Thanks to you."
Finnick's expression softened, and he stepped closer, his hand reaching up to brush a stray lock of hair from your face. The gesture was intimate, comforting, and you found yourself leaning into his touch, craving the connection and solace it offered.
"I'm always here for you," he said, his voice firm with promise. "We've been through too much to let the Capitol's games tear us apart. We're survivors, and we'll keep surviving, together." The weight of his words hung in the air between you, a vow of mutual support and resilience. It was a commitment not just to each other but to the future, whatever it may hold. Finnick leaned forward, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead, a silent echo of the affection and care he had shown in the garden. "Goodnight," he whispered, reluctantly stepping back.
"Goodnight, Finnick," you replied, your voice a soft murmur. As Finnick turned to leave, a sudden wave of vulnerability washed over you, the stark loneliness of the Capitol's luxurious rooms looming in your mind like a shadow. The thought of spending another night alone, surrounded by the echoes of your thoughts and the weight of your brother's absence, was unbearable. "Finnick, wait," you found yourself saying, the words slipping out almost without thought. He stopped immediately, turning back towards you with a look of concern. The hallway, with its grand decorations and the soft glow of the artificial lights, felt like a world away from the raw reality of your emotions. "Would you... stay with me tonight? I don't think I can be alone right now," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The vulnerability in your request was palpable, a stark contrast to the strength you had always tried to project.
Finnick's expression softened, his earlier resolve giving way to a deep, unmistakable empathy. He understood all too well the demons that haunted you in the quiet, the memories and fears that the Capitol's walls could not keep at bay. "Of course, I'll stay," he said without hesitation, his voice carrying a warmth that wrapped around you like a comforting embrace. There was no judgment in his eyes, only an unwavering support that seemed to bridge the distance between you.
He followed you into your room, the door closing quietly behind him, sealing off the world outside. The room, with its grandeur and excess, suddenly felt less imposing with Finnick there, as if his presence could somehow make the space more bearable, more like a sanctuary than a cage.
You didn't bother with the lights, the city's glow casting a soft illumination through the windows. The silence of the room enveloped you both, a stark reminder of the world you had left behind for this moment of solace.
Finnick's presence was a steady comfort as you prepared for bed, the routines of the evening taking on a new, less lonely aspect. When you both lay down, the bed large enough to maintain a respectful distance yet close enough to feel the reassuring presence of each other, the tension began to ebb away, replaced by a sense of peace.
Neither of you spoke much, the silence a comfortable blanket woven from mutual understanding and shared experiences. The sound of Finnick's breathing, steady and calm, became a lighthouse in the night, guiding you away from the shoals of your own turbulent thoughts. And for the first time since entering the Capitol, the night didn't seem quite so long, nor the shadows quite so deep. With Finnick by your side, even in the silence, you were no longer alone.
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sidsinning · 8 months
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the movie aint better ya goofs (don't read if you don't wanna hear my slander lol,,,)
"Movie!Gabriel is better than show!Gabriel because he actually cares for his son and gets redeemed"
istg this fandom's obsession with redemption needs to END
Morally better character ≠ better writing
Can I just get a piece of media that tells kids "hey, ur abusive parent was an asshole, and even if they had humanity you do not need to reconcile and forgive them in the end" bc I feel like that's what show!Gabriel leans towards which is great
Gabriel barely talks to Adrien in the movie and suddenly when he sees him under CN's mask his entire reign of terror, his determination to see his dead wife again ends in a tearful hug lmao come on now
("but the ending where Adrien suddenly loves his dad again???"- Astruc has been pretty blunt on Twitter that this perfect society you see in S5's ending is built off of a lie, so Adrien is def not gonna just keep that view)
"Adrien actually stands up to his dad in the movie!"
Movie!Adrien is legit a normal human boy, not a sentimonster who is literally physically incapable of fighting back against whoever has his amok
He DOES fight back (even in S1 as CN!), but people like to remember the show only up to S3. Guess what, he learns to fight back and stand up for himself through his growing bonds and relationships with those around him through character development ✨✨✨
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Also, he is an abused kid??? In the show?? How can you knock him down a peg for not fighting back,,, 😭 Adrien's lesson isn't that he needs to learn how to fight back, it's that Nathalie shoulda called cps sooner!!! In the movie they are much more of an estranged father-son pair than anything abusive. So obviously the back talk is much easier too. Movie!Adrien gets to go out alone and with friends unless his dad has specifically planted an enemy where he is. Show!Adrien has been beaten, mind controlled, forced to hurt Marinette, isolated and locked up, etc.- he has been TERRIFIED of his dad multiple times.
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"Marinette isn't an obsessive stalker in this!"
SIGH.
Man I am so sick of this complaint- the show has never rewarded Marinette for her obsessive behavior. BC IT IS A CHARACTER FLAW. One they use for cringe comedic purposes, but a flaw nonetheless. Every time she has done anything that hurts others in pursuit of Adrien she is punished by the writers. And bc the show has an episodic monster-of-the-week format, this plot is recycled a lot (which is its own complaint). And guess what? SHE STOPS BEING OBSESSIVE. YEAH. SHE STOPS DOING THAT SHIT- so what do you want now??? She grew out of it after it costs her the miraculous so why tf are yalls still hurling this at her like its a L,,,,
This Marinette is just a watered down boring version of show!Marinette. She's just a girl who gets insecure at times but grows confident bc she's Ladybug. Ok. So is our Marinette but MORE. Our Marinette is super smart, creative, resourceful, an overthinker, extremely kind and selfless to others, gets jealous and reckless when her emotions get the better of her, etc. She is fully formed even after watching just 3 episodes of S1.
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Like the fact that they didn't even bother to include the oh so important hook of the show- her lucky charm power- shows they didn't care about doing this story justice- its so transparently lazy writing 💀 (miraculous of creation where??? CN gets cataclysm for destruction but what is movie!LB bringing to the yin yang table,,,)
Legitimately all the comparisons I'm hearing from people saying the movie is better are from those who just aren't caught up with the show where Marinette is no longer toxically obsessive with Adrien, where the plot/lore is insane but 10000000x better and more creative than what the movie gave us, the love square was much better developed EVEN FROM JUST THE ORIGINS EPISODES, etc. Istg these people stopped at S3 where the show was at its worst (if I were to pinpoint it)
Everything is so watered down or changed for the worse
Adrienette bonding was 1 conversation and 2 seconds about his mom in a voiceless montage. Marinette didn't fall for him bc of his kindness after a misunderstanding, it was bc he looked handsome in the library's light lol. He called her weird and didn't think twice about putting on his earphones to listen to more alpha podcasts. You really do wonder why she likes this dude over her partner CN bc they have no connection at all.
Movie!Adrien was an asshole don't you dare do show!Adrien dirty by comparing him to this ellen degeneres alien lookin mf
When movie!Adrien is crying after Mari reveals herself as LB, unlike the show, here you're like "yeah no you only like her now bc she's LB lol"
Anyways feel free to enjoy what you enjoy but uuuuuhhhh this movie getting a 3/10 for me would not rewatch
Oh wait the good things
-Visuals
-Some Ladynoir scenes were cute, like them playfully fighting with the accidental wall pin
-I liked Ladybug moving away from CN's kiss- nice hint of angst
-Chloe's coffee stain scene
-Luka cameos were cute
songs were bad or mid
ya das it
I guess feel free to talk to me in my inbox about your own thoughts if you wish (respectfully plz)
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tsukinoakume · 5 months
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RW&RB MovieAlex vrs BookAlex: A Rant
I'm late to the party on Red, White, and Royal Blue for a dumb reason and now I'm obsessed with it. OMG I WAS SO WRONG.
I love the book. I love the movie. I also love the difference between them that I find myself obsessing over: the lack of June.
I love June. I'm also not mad that they removed her from the movie, because I honestly don't think they had the time to do her justice. The important thing is that when they removed her, they split her personality and scenes between Nora and Alex. And the result is fascinating.
Combining June with Alex gives us a calmer, more emotionally mature, competent version of Alex. He is definitely not the hot mess that BookAlex is. (Don't get me wrong here: BookAlex is my favorite character.) But now it's implied that MovieAlex is better at keeping his temper, handles his shit without being micromanaged, advocates for himself more, and I'm pretty sure the speech he gives is his own. Probably with help, but still. Also not having divorced parents means MovieAlex doesn't have BookAlex's abandonment issues. It's never said that his parents' relationship is perfect, but it's implied that he's had a stable family background. MovieAlex still has flaws and he's not Nora Levels of Competency, but he's definitely a lot more balanced. And this actually changes his relationship with Henry, just a little.
Namely in reference to my two favorite scenes:
1) Storming the Castle.
BookAlex is a ball of rage in this scene, and it's GLORIOUS. Yelling at the windows, aggressively dripping everywhere trying to ruin the rugs, making rude comments about Henry's ancestors. He is defiant. He yells, Henry yells back. It ends in tears, but there's a lot of anger.
MovieAlex by contrast is quieter, more hurt. He hardly yells at all. (I rewatched this scene like 20 times for Repeat to be sure.) He's determined, and he doesn't back down, but you get to see that split second of fear in his eyes that Henry is asking him to leave. There's a lot more emotion and tears in this version. It's ... sweeter isn't the right word. Bittersweet, maybe.
Downside: The lack of transition in the morning from the book. I miss Alex expecting to be dumped, and Henry realizing he doesn't want Phillip's life before deliberately making the choice to be with Alex. Also the comment on Alex's hair, which made me giggle.
2) The Museum Scene
I know a lot of people are disappointed with this scene, and I feel the need to argue about why it's brilliant the way it is.
In the book, they go to the museum because Henry has made his choice, and now he's showing one of his favorite places to Alex. He's the one who brings up the music. He chooses to fulfill his fantasy with Alex there, and he chooses to play a song that embodies the romanticism of their situation, about being in love and not being able to let anyone else know. Your Song.
In the movie, they go to the museum when Henry's still trying to decide if this is something he can have, and he's sharing a part of himself with Alex when he talks about his fantasy. Alex is the one who chooses to fufill it, so of course he chooses a different song. For him, it's a song about how easy it is to love Henry. I Can't Help Falling In Love With You.
I also love that they changed Henry giving the ring to Alex to Alex giving Henry his key in return. I love the symbolism of Alex keeping Henry's ring safe for him, of their two homes side by side. But I also love the idea of exchanging parts of themselves. I love that they have those pieces of each other when they're separated and the emails are exposed.
The book tells the story better overall because it has the time to, and the bickering and friendship between the boys is everything. The movie makes me melt over the flirting and affection between them. I can't pick one over the other because both versions of this story are wonderful.
But emotionally mature MovieAlex and how soft he is with Henry, making sure Henry's taken care of? I am WEAK for that.
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goosewriting · 4 months
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📮 You got mail!
Welcome back to requests!! Hope you’ve been doing well-!! may I request reader that does biscuits on Hobie? Like what would his reaction be? They’re human, but when they hug something or someone they’re close to their hands turn into fists and kinda knead/tap the persons back or wherever their hands are in the hug. I’m okay if you add anything else here, can be in any format you like :^D
💌 -BVA🐰🎟️
biscuits.
summary: reader “doing biscuits” on hobie.
relationship: Hobie Brown x GN reader
warnings: none, pure fluff!
word count: ~550 
A/N: BV anon my beloved<3 this request was so cute, thank you! by no means do i know how to write hobie’s accent so i hope i still made our boi justice :’D 
(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)
— — —
As you wake up, you keep your eyes closed for just a moment longer, enjoying the warmth of your bed. Taking a deep breath and stretching your limbs, you blink a couple of times to get the sleep out of your eyes. Your gaze falls onto the figure next to you and you smile to yourself.
Hobie stayed over after movie night, and you just stay there for a couple of seconds, watching his back steadily rising and falling with each breath. Overflowing with affection, and with your brain still partially fogged by sleep and lazy cosiness, you scoot closer to your boyfriend and start massaging his back. 
First you draw indecipherable figures, your fingertips warm against his bare back. Then you use the ball of your hands to gently knead him, like a cat would. The thought makes you smile, knowing full well that if you could purr right now, you probably would. 
Suddenly, the skin under your hands vibrates slightly as Hobie’s deep chuckle resonates through him. You pull back quickly, heat prickling at your cheeks.
“Sorry,” you apologise with a sheepish smile, and Hobie shoots you a sleepy glance over his shoulder. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
He smiles, turning away again and shuffling a bit to get comfy, arching his back towards you ever so slightly.
“Good morning to you too,” he says through a yawn. “Don’t stop. ‘S nice.”
“O-oh, okay,” you respond, and get back to work. You’re not really sure what you’re doing, and there’s no pattern to follow, but through his grunts and hums, you try to figure out what he seems to like, and adjust your pressure and direction accordingly.
“So,” Hobie says after a few moments. “What’re you baking?”
Your hands stop their motions for a second as your brows crease together in confusion. 
“What do you mean?” you ask, resuming your massaging.
“Well, you’re kneading me like dough, so you better be making something delicious.”
You laugh and warmth spreads through your chest, both at his comment as well at the fact that he’s playing along.
“Hmm, yes. There’s a busy day ahead,” you say in a serious tone, emphasising every word with a kneading motion. “Pizza, cinnamon rolls, biscuits.”
Then a thought occurs to you, and even though he can’t see you, Hobie can hear your smile in your voice, no matter how hard you try to bite it back.
“So many biscuits,” you go on. “Hobie biscuits. Hobiscuits, if you will. Spiderscones, some would say.”
Hobie snorts, then turns around to face you and hugs you to him. He’s impossibly warm, and you unabashedly snuggle into his chest.
“Now I’m hungry,” he states. “Maybe we can do some actual baking today? I’m craving some sort of pastry with all this dough talk.”
“Yeah, me too,” you reply. “Good thing I got my biscuit right here.” 
Before he can give you a warning “Oi!” you give his shoulder a loving nip, making an exaggerated biting sound, and climb off the bed, quickly slipping from his attempt to hold you. 
“C’mon, breakfast ain’t gonna bake itself!” you tell him standing at the end of the bed. 
“Oh, it is on,” Hobie smirks, and you laugh as you skidaddle into the kitchen, with your boyfriend hot on your trail, eager to unleash a tickle attack on you.
~~~~~
🐥 taglist: [link to join in my pinned post!] @galaxtic-writings, @dybynyght
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py-dreamer · 1 month
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So... I know I'm late...
But yea! I said I was coming back with some stickers and I kept my word! I would've hoped that I could've completed the sheet in like a day but as you can see...that didn't work out
I know I've been a bit MIA lately but burnout sucks. I do have a lot of WIPS I really want to work on but again, it seems that the ProcrastiNation hath struck my feeble mortal brain again.
But anyways:
I headcanon Aroace Mei, just a personal headcanon (disagree if you like) I also like lesbian Mei but thought I'd give some aroace appreciation
Silktea was only given 1 episode but OH BOY did it fuel our wild shipping habits. And I jumped on the bandwagon. It's a reference to that scene in She-Ra where Scorpia tells Catra she 'didn't want to do this' then wraps kitty up in the blankey and cradles her like a wee baby. And Sandy would do that for any friend, I will die on this hill
Saw a fanart where Mk had a pig nose themed pacifier and I just yoinked that idea. The pig hoodie and the pacifier seems like something Tang would do for Pigsy (also to get away with free noodles cause who can say no to that face?~)
Mac showing Wukong the lantern. What can I say, mans' fascinated by them pretty lights. Though our little performer's eyes seem to be straying from the show (^u ')
I know many people have issues with shipping with Nezha and such and I know the two had a rough history but y'know what fans do; they love to make the people who kill each other soulmates (platonic, romantic or otherwise) Even if it wasn't romantic, I still love the idea of them being buddies and just chilling, the danger noodle prince and the angy prince snuggle and watch a movie (mainly from Nezha 2019 but I also saw New Gods and can I just say, I want those two twinks to bicker then kiss awkwardly and I want Yun Xiang to BEAT. HIS. ASS) but in case anyone asks, I do perceive Nezha to be a consenting adult in general outside shipping drama and if the two are adults, it does make my heart squeal when I see these two hold hands and whatnot
HOW COULD I EVER FORGET MY SPICYBOIS, inspired by that one Ponyo kiss scene. I was actually gonna make a bigger piece but then I saw someone do it already in a much better fashion than I ever could and I just gave up on the idea but Ig here, its just like the two cakes mentality and I gave it a go. Hope I could do the concept justice
Have spider queen or scorpion queen ever interacted before? No. But they are both queens and I believe Spider Queen's confidence could rub off on Scorpion Queen and she'd appreciate the company of Spider Queen's children henchmen. Also she give yummy food so lesbian venomqueens for the win
Redraw of that moment with Peng and Azure. I normally detest that bird but these two do get some gears grinding and whatever anyone says. Neither of those two are straight. I'll tell ya that.
Toxicinsanity is another rarepair that had like 1 sec screen time. I don't think they'd ever work out in canon and had virtually no chemistry. I still love all the fluffy ship content I can find of them though and if it ever were to happen. I think the mayor would scare the sh!t out of Syntax
Let's get at least one hetero couple here, Chang'e and Hou'Yi are a couple of favorites ngl, I took most of their outfits from Over the moon cause both of them looked stunning, Chang'e especially. I've seen people ship mah girl with other people and while I do agree it's healthy to move on, in my heart she will always long for Hou'Yi
Also irl, on valentines, my mum took us out for lunch, she treated us to bubble tea and donuts. We walked home so I waited to drink mah drink in my room while I drew and I accidentally finished it all... I'm so sorry mum
f*ck I forgot ironbull. Uhh....I'll draw something later, rn I need to go to bed before I get yelled at...
click pic for less sh!ty quality!
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calmcoldevening · 5 months
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Do you write eric draven hc’s?
Eric Draven x reader, headcannons
Anyway, I finally got to this movie and watched it! Honestly? It was great. I really love such old atmospheric horror movies, just omg. So now I will try to state all my thoughts on this. I apologize in advance for the mistakes, English is not my native language.
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• Eric is a very romantic person. Each of your dates would be thought out to the smallest detail, literally. If it's a night out at home, you could sit in his arms while he played one of his songs on the guitar. Or you could watch a movie in the living room, the choice, of course, would be yours. The lights are dimmed, and there are a lot of burning red and pink candles around; the air is filled with the pleasant aroma of roses that Eric gave you this morning; and the sofa around you is full of your favorite sweets and snacks.
• Talking about details, Eric would remember a lot of little things about his partner. I mean, starting from just the zodiac sign and ending with your favorite nail polish color. This person would be good at remembering different dates and, in principle, would treat you with tenderness.
• In his eyes, you are a fragile crystal that can crack at any moment from any inaccurate touch. Therefore, he values him very much, and sometimes literally takes care of him. The main thing is not to be angry with him for this, the boy just has a little trust problems, and he loves you so much.
• Eric is very caring and gentle. You can play with his hair, and then he will give you a relaxing massage if you had a hard day at school or work. He has really strong and skillful hands, it's not for nothing that he is a guitarist. These fingers can do a lot.
• You are always in safe. Literally. His raven follows you everywhere to help you if anything happens. Eric could not forgive himself for the death of another person dear to him.
• It might have been difficult for Eric to open up to you at the very beginning. He has survived a lot, and now he is literally immortal. But his heart is lonely and broken. Before his death, he saw such a horror that happened to his beloved, and now his existence is filled with gray colors. And then you show up. Like a ray of light in his dark life. And his heart seems to start beating again, and his brain is wildly babbling something about how soft your hair looks to the touch and how cute you smiled at that salesman in the store.
• There may be little aggression issue, but he will never hurt you, under any circumstances. He'll just mumble something under your nose and get mad at himself. Or he will go to the roof to play the guitar and calm down. But he will never hurt you. He will not let some little things separate you, destroy your trust. Therefore, he will smooth out all sorts of conflicts.
• During quarrels, he always tries to just talk to you. It's better to calmly hear each other's opinions and later just make your relationship even better, right?
• Constantly compliments you. He loves your eyes and your smell, so Eric can lie on your lap or on your chest for hours and cuddle while you gently touch his hair.
• Quite an active and emotional guy, so you will never get bored with him.
• Eric has a rather acute sense of justice, so he will not tolerate injustice towards you. Especially from yourself. If you have any complexes, the guy will try to prove to you that you are beautiful, absolutely and in everything.
• But he is not only gentle and caring, but also quite teasing. He likes to make you blush and look away in embarrassment. He likes to make you feel special. Because you're his treasure.
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aemxnd · 1 year
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curiosity | modern!aemond x fem!reader
SUMMARY: Aemond Targaryen is an enigma you need to solve.
Inspired by an amazing request from @darckxlady for a modern mysterious Aemond based on Avril Lavigne’s “Hot” that’s haunted me ever since it arrived in my inbox. Thank you for letting me loose on your lovely idea Dess, I hope I’ve done it some kind of justice! 
WORDS: 5.4k (I know, it got out of hand)
WARNINGS: balls to the wall smut, v fingering, squirting, daddy kink, affirmation kink, praise, serious degrading, p in v sex, slight dubcon if you squint, Aemond being a dom asshole, language, fuckboy Aegon, very much unedited/not proofread, a tiny Easter egg for fans of the Greek alphabet, reader has a name for a plot point
DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the House of The Dragon/Fire & Blood characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.
My requests are open! 🖤
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You know what they say about curiosity.
The conundrum of Aemond Targaryen, the silently contemplative mystery man in your History class, was a red flag to a bull. You had exhausted your average detective skills to learn more about him, inactive Facebook account, unused Twitter and even an old Tumblr account included. There was nothing out there to learn about the silver-haired Adonis that his nonchalant countenance hadn’t already exposed. Either that, or he’s already worked out how to wipe his digital footprint clean off the web. 
The less you uncovered, the more entranced you became. Every enquiry’s door slammed in your face drove you further down the corridor. The Targaryen wasn’t going to get the better of you. Was he a lover, a fighter, a good kisser, bad kisser, or worse — a frat boy?
The end of class bell rang you out of your imaginative daze, not realising you’d been staring at Aemond across the classroom for an indeterminable amount of time. He gathered his things in an orderly fashion as normal, so it was safe to assume you hadn’t been caught red-handed. Hurriedly grappling your belongings in turn, you were the last to leave class. As usual. 
With the prospect of another gruelling hour in High Valyrian before home time, you idly pored through the remaining avenues of investigation in your mind while trudging the hallway before your ears pricked up to a salacious conversation.
“I had her up against the wall,” Aemond’s voice sliced through the hum of the busy corridor like a gleaming dagger, his skewed tone suggesting his lips were curled viciously as he described his forceful action. Stopping right in the middle of the hall, your gaze frantically searched through the crowds for a sight of the mysterious Targaryen. Finding the platinum curls of his brother Aegon, you scanned beside him to find Aemond making an example of his words, a demonstrative hand aloft in a clutching stance up against the locker beside them, knuckles white as he gripped nothing at all. “She wanted me, she was dripping for me,” he continued, confirming your worst fear — he was indeed a frat boy.  On the other hand, Aegon’s sarcastic expression beside him spoke louder than any words, both eyebrows knitted together as if he didn’t believe a word his brother was saying. 
“Sure you did,” Aegon scoffed, arms folded tightly across his chest. “Which wet dream are you talking about this time, brother? It’s a wonder we’re even related, I’m not even entirely sure you’d know where to put your cock.”
Aemond’s gaze darted to the floor along with his hands, anxiously drawing his bottom lip between his teeth. 
“Seriously bro, did you even watch that gangbang I linked you last night?” Aegon prattled on, completely oblivious to his brother’s indifference. Aegon’s extroverted approach was the polar opposite to his brother’s, he was the popular picked-first-in-gym guy in movies that you just want to sucker punch. “Don’t tell me, your notifications aren’t working again. No worries, I’ll send you ten more in a minute. You like chicks with a pulse, right? Don’t wanna narrow your chances down too much, you’ll get it wet someday.”
Suddenly, Aemond looked up from the ground and stared straight into your eyes across the hall. His gaze was menacing, predatory even, his eyes narrowed and his lips pressed together as he practically devoured you from afar. If it weren’t for the bustling school around you, you’d be mistaken for thinking he’d gladly slit your throat then and there for witnessing him being roasted by his brother. Despite the imminent threat of figurative murder in the hallway, you couldn’t help drawing further into his intrigue. In that moment, he became even more fascinating to you. But here you were, mindlessly staring at him for the second time in 10 minutes. 
Quickly looking away to any other distraction, you found a particularly interesting flyer pinned to a locker. Saccharine neon colours and graffiti-style text framing its main intention — frat party alert. Tonight. Kappa Nu Tau’s semester-saving opportunity to let your hair down, listen to the same tired songs from the radio and wake up regretting who you just slept with.
Maybe a house party would distract you from the droll of trying to find intel on the man who doesn’t want to be found, or maybe it’d be the perfect opportunity to find such intel.
You turned back to see if Aemond was still staring at you only to find both brothers gone, vanished into the class-bound commotion.
“Are you coming?” A sprightly female voice burst through the crowd accompanied by an arm entwining with yours. Baela, the kindest soul to walk Westeros High that always mistook frat parties for respectable gatherings of upstanding, hard-working students who shared her academic fervour and always bailed an hour and 15 indecent propositions in. 
“Uh… sure,” you caved tentatively, knowing full well being best friends with Baela meant the night never outstayed its welcome. “Not sure I’ve got anything to wear though.”
“Sure you do, you can go through my wardrobe!” She cheered in her usual bubbly tone, practically hopping on the balls of her feet with excitement. “I’ve got this really hot red Shein bodycon I haven’t worn yet, I don’t think it’s my colour but it’s definitely yours!”
Dragging you by your linked arms off to your next class, you made another intrigued turn to find Aemond, but he was gone. Once again, the mystery eluded you. 
The moment the booming party speakers assaulted your ears and snapped you out of your intense detective mindset, you bitterly regretted showing up. Swallowing thickly as you and Baela linked arms and stepped intrepidly into House Kappa Nu Tau, you pasted on your best game face, brushed down Baela’s loaned dress and focused on the matter at hand — find out more about Aemond Targaryen, at all costs. 
“The Targaryens are here already,” Baela half-shouted into your ear to be heard over the commotion. “The Snapchat group is going wild for it.”
You furrowed a brow, wondering why your friend would bring them up at the exact moment you were thinking about them, or more specifically one of the three criminally handsome blonde siblings. Aegon the fuckboy may have been the eldest in age, but their sister Helaena was by far the wisest, which left the baby Aemond to cut a name for himself in between. A name which you had yet to work out. 
“Dude, would I care what the Targaryens are up to?” You chuckled dismissively, stepping through to the kitchen and grabbing a red solo cup to cling to like your life depended on it. Whether you were aware of it or not, your slight lean against the kitchen island came accompanied by a nervous check of the faces in the room to ensure none had signature platinum blonde hair. 
“Oh come on Kat, you can’t stop staring at him!” Baela leaned up against you, planting her head on your shoulder. “Not that I blame you, he’s a certified babe and even I catch myself ogling that violet eye. Do you seriously not notice the way you look at him?”
“Baela, I have no idea what you’re talking about!” Laughing off her comments, you took a sip of your cup for a good few seconds before noticing your cup was still empty. A silence fell between you as you hoped she hadn’t noticed. “… Oh.”
“You’re down bad bad.” Baela dramatically swooned into you, inching closer to watch your every reaction through a suspicious squint. “Admit it, the thought of tangling your fingers in that beautiful blonde mane makes you all hot.”
“I’m not!” you dismissed vehemently. “Look, I hardly even know the guy. He’s a walking fucking mystery, I’ve tried everything: FB stalking him, searching up old yearbooks, he doesn’t even post stories on IG. His brother hacking his Twitter once in 2016 is the only interesting thing about him!”
Unbeknownst to you, a wave of poker-straight silver locks just mingled its way into the kitchen behind you, hearing every word with interest. 
“Then you’re looking in all the wrong places,” Baela sighed. “Have you even tried Tinder? Grindr? AO3?”
Aemond’s low chuckle to himself was fortuitously quiet enough to slip under your radar. 
“I wasn’t born yesterday, Velaryon, I’ve tried everything. Even VampireFreaks!”
Another splutter went unheard. 
“Damn, he really is untraceable,” Baela tutted, curling her lips into a pout. “I can always ask Helaena? I have Biology with her on Tuesdays, I can always bribe my way to sit by her. I heard Cregan Stark was struggling last week, he wouldn’t say no if I offer to do his homework this week.”
“No way, that’s too obvious,” you refused immediately. “I can’t let him know I’m interested. You’ve seen him, he keeps himself to himself unless his siblings are around. I have to face it, he’s a locked door and I need to find out where he threw the key.”
Another blonde approached Aemond from behind.
“If I’d have known I’d be bringing you to this party for you to sulk in the kitchen all night, I’d have brought cookies,” Helaena muttered to her brother, offering a solo cup which he reluctantly took. “Can you at least try and let your face know you want to be here? Lying comes naturally to you, can you give it a shot now?”
“Sure, sis.” Aemond forced a pained grin across his cheeks for a split second before dropping into his usual resting bitch face. His violet eye looked over his sister’s shoulder at a rising commotion in the next room. “Hey, isn’t that Aegon dancing topless on a pool table?”
“Not again,” Helaena snarked, storming into the distance and disappearing into the crowd, lost to Aemond’s vision but not to his ears when she screamed at the top of her lungs: “Aegon, this is the third time this week!”
Aemond returned his attention to your conversation. 
“Well tonight’s your chance to jump him,” Baela shamelessly encouraged you. “Want me to find him and put in a good word for you?”
“Hell nah,” you protested. “He probably doesn’t even know who I am, we’re only in the same History class.”
“Well in that dress, he’s bound to notice you,” she revelled in the way her dress fitted you like a glove, falling into your curves like it was made for you. “Come on, let’s get you some Dutch courage to go get your mysterious man!”
Before you both turned to pour drinks, Aemond made his escape through the crowd. 
An hour had passed and you still hadn’t spotted the violet-eyed puzzle of a man. Aegon, on the other hand, had already tried his luck with Baela and received a spectacular shut-down she delivered in front of a baying audience. Not that it phased him for long, he was already doing body shots off a cheerleader over the couch. 
“Back in a minute,” you leaned into Baela announcing your departure for the bathroom.
“Okay but don’t leave me for long, okay? The Targaryen brother’s got ten minutes before he forgets the last time and tries it with me again, he’s a rotation fuckboy.”
Tentatively navigating the staircase over scattered groups of teenagers making out and filming regrettable drunken TikToks, your eyes fell upon the bathroom door and lunged for the handle, only for your hand to clasp on someone else’s. A pale, elegant hand with long, slender digits that seemed all too familiar. Looking up at your obstruction, you discovered you were, in fact, holding Aemond’s hand. His features were stern as usual, but significantly less murderous than your last contact. 
“Oh shoot,” you flustered, yanking away and stepping back. A quick glance down his figure clocked his plain black skin-tight T-shirt and even tighter black skinny jeans. Mysterious as ever. “Sorry, um… frat boys first!”
Aemond clicked his tongue disapprovingly. 
“I may be many things but I’m not a frat boy,” he insisted, syllables dripping off his tongue like honey. He released the door handle and waved a demonstrative hand to usher you forward. “Anyway, the rule is ladies first.”
“Incredibly chivalrous for a frat boy,” you goaded with a cheeky grin, the only sarcasm you could muster once you clocked his violet eye, gleaming in the dim light like a precious gemstone. Taking his offer, you scurried toward the door and swung it open, before a hand pressed into the small of your back, pushed you in the bathroom and closed the door behind you. 
“Hey, what are you—.”
A click of a key in a lock suggested the door was locked, provoking an instinctive hard swallow as you turned to face him, his back pressed against the portal and blocking your way out. The moonlight glowing outside the small window was the only light in the room yet he seemed to radiate illumination in the dark, his features so clear as if it were daylight. A pale hand holding a key raised into the darkness, clicking his fingers together and sending the key firing off into the pitch black void with a distant chink.
“We need to talk, don’t you think?” He half-purred, gazing down at you like his prey, cornered and panicked. 
“What about, Targaryen?” You stuttered, cursing yourself for acting so nervous as if you hadn’t pictured doing the same thing to him countless times over. But this was real life, not a daydream in History class. “Don’t you have some girls to shove against walls or something?”
“What, like this?” His hand fired to grasp your throat, thrusting you against the cool wall, causing you to hiss sharply and clench your eyes shut in fear of slamming into the edge of the basin beside you. Once the shock of the impact settled in your spine, you looked up to see his violet gaze boring down on you once more as he settled his thumb into the hollow of your throat and pressed his fingers into your neck, applying just enough pressure to cut off your blood supply but not enough to make you choke. A wave of excitement spread through you, coming to the clarity that he knew exactly how to choke someone without hurting them — that’s already one factoid you couldn’t glean from his digital footprint. 
BookTok was right all along: this really was a turn-on. 
Aemond chuckled deep in his throat as he watched your struggles with glee, gazing down at your legs beneath him as they buckled gently, knees squeezing together to resist your core betraying your hardened exterior with jolt after jolt of anticipation. 
“Are you quite finished?” He scoffed and quirked a brow, gesturing south in case you weren’t aware you were visibly hot under the collar being slammed against a wall. “Do you notice any similarities in that tall tale to what’s happening right now?”
You swallowed hard against his pressing fingers, realisation hitting you like a freight train. 
“I had her up against the wall,” you recalled Aemond confessing earlier. “She wanted me, she was dripping for me.”
“So even if you’re not the best internet stalker, you can still follow simple instructions,” Aemond sneered through a crooked smile. Without warning, his free hand grazed your thigh, brushing the hem of your dress further and further northwards at a slow, agonising pace. If you didn’t stop him there, he would realise he was right about one thing — you really were dripping for him.
“Aemond, please,” you protested weakly, wriggling against his grasp, both hands clutching at his hand wrapped around your throat. 
“Please what, huh?” He taunted, snaking his hand higher up your thigh until he reached your hip only to discover your thin lace panties blocking his path. “Say the word and your wish is my command. Go on, what happens next is entirely up to you.”
“I don’t understand—.”
“Sure you do,” he grinned, toying with the flimsy lace as if he could twist his hand and rip the fabric clean off you in a heartbeat. You struggled to slide yourself away, determined to prove him wrong and resist his advances. “You know what they say about curiosity, don’t you Kat?”
With that, your protestations ceased immediately. Taking advantage of your surprise, he gripped your panties and yanked them straight down your legs in one swipe. 
“You… you know my name?” 
Reinstating his hand on your legs Aemond trailed his index finger between your clenched thighs and parted them effortlessly, finding no objection from you whatsoever. 
“I know everything about you. Whilst mine is scarcely visible, your digital footprint may as well be a fucking landmark. So tell me, why is it you’re so interested in the ‘mysterious Targaryen’? What one remarkable thing have I done to deserve your undivided, not to mention pathetic, attention?”
His lips curled into a half-snarl as he dominated you. 
“Seeing as you know everything about me, why don’t you tell me, Aemond?” Your sarcastic flair returned to the conversation in a desperate attempt to distract yourself from his finger’s intrepid yet glacial trail toward your soaking core. “What have you done to deserve my attention?”
In thinking up a witty comeback, you hadn’t noticed his adventurous finger had left your thigh altogether. 
“How about this?” In a blink of an eye, his free hand gripped your thigh, spread it to one side and propped your foot up on the faucet beside you. Somehow refusing to release the pressure on your windpipe at the same time, Aemond trailed that same curious digit back up your thigh and finally met your throbbing folds, the contact alone causing you to buck your hips into him. 
“Easy tiger,” he commanded by delivering a swift slap to your cunt, earning a gasp in response. “Now I’ve answered your question, you owe me a reply to mine and in return, I’ll be kind enough to have mercy on your pretty little throat. What do you want the mysterious Targaryen to do to you?”
He trailed the very tip of his finger over the borders of your folds, circling delicately and inducing goosebumps on your every limb. Your eyes roved to the ceiling, spine flexing wildly and crashing against the wall in a feverish attempt to quell your body’s natural instincts. Aemond closed the gap between you, hovering his lips an inch from yours as his calm breaths fanned your face. 
“Use your words, curious Kat,” he taunted, adding another finger to his agonising journey around your now-dripping entrance. “Tell me what you want from me.”
No matter the compromising position he held you in, Aemond was putting you in control. You could turn him down before he fucked you with his fingers, you could slap him across the face and he would obey. The big game he played was all a front, what he really craved was validation. Proof that you also wanted what he wanted to do to you in that moment. 
Gulping loudly, you waited patiently until his fingers danced over your clit before bucking your hips forward so far, his digits slipped neatly inside you. 
“I want you to fuck my brains out, Aemond Targaryen,” you declared, revelling in his deep groan as his fingers met your spongy walls, instinctively stroking and caressing at an already feverish pace. 
“That’s a good girl,” he praised you eagerly, tearing his grip from your throat and planting his free hand against the wall by your head. “I’m glad to see you know what you want at last.”
Clenching around his fingers as he worked your core like a master sculptor, you threw your head back against the wall, squeezing your eyes shut to focus on the searing waves of ecstasy flooding through you. 
“No you fucking don’t,” he snapped, curling his hand around the back of your head and forcing your gaze down to see his fingers disappear in your cunt. “Watch me ruin you until the only comprehensible thought in that pretty little head of yours will be my name.”
His breakneck pace plunging his fingers inside you was only increasing, the pressure on your head forcing you down acting as a counterweight for his other hand’s machine-like thrusts. The white heat igniting inside your core began coursing through your veins, Aemond’s brutal speed racing you to the brink of your climax far too soon.
“I’m going to… I need to…,” you begged pathetically through staccato breaths. “Please, Aemond.”
“Wanna try that name again, sweetheart?” He pressed, withdrawing his fingers and slamming back knuckle-deep inside you.
“Oh gods fuck… uh… sir?” His relentless pace stealing every strangled gasp you could muster. 
“Nice try,” Aemond chuckled, pressing on your neck harder and working you even faster. “Venture another.”
“Fuck, please, ah…,” you cried out in desperation, pleading for an end to your torment and the simple permission to allow your orgasm to wash over you. “M… master?”
“Now now little girl, this isn’t Fifty Shades Of Grey, this is real life,” he pressed, raising his voice to be heard over the explicit sounds of your slick coating his pummelling fingers. “One last try.”
“Oh gods please, I can’t hold back much…,” you strained to see Aemond’s determined grin beyond the glittering stars appearing in the corners of your vision. “F… fuck… please daddy—.”
“That’s it, baby girl,” he praised before slamming his fingers deep inside you, flattening his palm against your clit and pulling and pushing his digits within you from your back walls to the front. His combined friction against your bundle of nerves and his fingers pressed fervently into your walls built an unusual sensation within you at an alarming pace, searing hot tears tumbling down your cheeks until you couldn’t take the sheer pressure anymore.
“Now squirt all over my fingers like a good little whore,” Aemond purred, his permission sending you careering over the precipice with a strangled scream, releasing the pressure inside until a tidal wave of your juices gushed from your cunt and sprayed his fingers, lewd splashes filling the room as you shamelessly soaked the bathroom floor, your own feet and Aemond’s skinny jeans.
“Good girl,” he encouraged, his words drawling from his tongue as he devoured the sight of you coming undone on just his fingers, continuing his assault on your walls to ride you through your entire orgasm. “I knew you could obey orders eventually, you’re not as dumb as you seem.”
“F… fuck you Aemond,” you stuttered, already regretting the words as they tumbled from your mouth and his gaze met yours. 
In the afterglow of the most intense orgasm you were ever likely to experience, you had just committed a war crime. The silence that fell in the bathroom was practically pulsing between you, waiting to explode at any moment. 
“As you wish, curiosity killed the Kat,” he snarled like a wild animal, tearing his fingers from your cunt as you clenched around nothing, before gripping your hips and spinning you on the spot, bending you over the faucet and pressing your face into the countertop with one hand quickly balled into your hair, the other wrestling with his skinny jeans and shuffling the denim to his ankles. Your inability to see his next move both excited and terrified you, hearing only frantic shuffling as he presumably freed his length from its cotton confines. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you after that little stunt.”
Delivering a swift kick to your ankle to spread your legs for him, Aemond released your hair and ghosted a delicate trail down your spine toward parting your cheeks before him. A subtle squelching sound suggested he was palming at his cock, and within moments his tip was nudging at your waiting entrance. 
“Tell me what you want,” Aemond demanded, his hand returning to fist into your hair and pulling your head back to face him, while holding his cock just at the precipice of sinking into your depths. “Right now.”
Once again, he was handing you the reins. The control over his next move was in your hands, completely and utterly. You strained back to take in his wild, lust-blown gaze down at you. He was just as far gone as you, if not further. His legs gently quaked as his anticipation peaked, desperate to plunge inside you once and for all.
“I want you…,” you hesitated as your legs nearly caved beneath you with want, need, desperation. “I want you to fuck me unconscious, daddy.”
A filthy moan erupted in his throat as he allowed his hips to rock forward, sheathing himself inside you to the hilt and journeying both hands to grasp your hips, guiding you down onto his thick cock. Your eyes widened as your walls eagerly consumed him, his girth stretching you open so much that from that moment on, you would only be filled by him. 
“After I let you squirt all over me like a dirty little whore, that’s how you repay me?” Aemond hissed through gritted teeth, setting a relentless pace plunging his throbbing cock into the deepest points of your core. “Not even a ‘thank you daddy for finger fucking me so hard I can’t see straight.’”
“Thank you… thank you daddy,” you repeated mindlessly, overwhelmed by the pressure of his tip pounding your walls so deep you could swear he was hitting your cervix. “Thank you daddy!”
“You’re getting there, baby girl,” he cooed, flexing his hips to bottom out inside you at different angles with each devastating thrust. “All you can think about is my cock, hmm? How good it feels being filled up by me? How good it feels being used as my own personal cocksleeve?”
You nodded furiously, gripping the edge of the countertop and arching your back into his thrusts. Groaning pornographically, Aemond pressed a palm into the small of your back and caressed each peak and trough. 
“That‘s my brainless little girl,” he hummed contentedly, drinking in your every effort to please him and ramping up his keen thrusts deep into your soaking cunt. “All you want is me, all you need is me. You belong to me.”
It was all too much. His unrelenting pace blurred your vision of the room around you, the pressure building inside your rippling cunt robbed you of oxygen, the precipice of your second climax coming to view without any strength remaining to withstand it. Your stabilising foot slipped in the puddle of your juices from earlier pooling on the bathroom tiles beneath you, losing grip on the basin. Aemond’s vice-like grip caught you without missing a beat of his relentless piston hips, hoisting your legs back to a straightened position before quickly returning to his gut-wrenching pace, your hip bones grazing the edge of the counter with every pound into you. 
“Easy, easy, I’ve got you,” he reassured, curling a particularly devastating plunge inside you that made you wail out into the void, the edges of your vision blurring like a vignette. “I need you to stay awake just a bit longer, okay my little zombie?”
You could no longer respond, allowing your incoherent ragged grunts as he pummelled you to speak for you.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he chuckled in satisfaction, rearing his hips for the deepest thrust yet which sent you gasping for air that was simply out of your reach. “Daddy’s going to fill you up now, okay? Be a good zombie and take everything I give you, yeah?”
His nails were digging crescent dips into the flesh of your hips as he impaled you relentlessly, each determined thrust splitting you open so delicately before him like a daisy shedding its precious petals. You were putty in his hands, deliciously malleable and utterly defenseless while he used you to chase his own peak. Your powerless careering toward your own climax tightened a coil within you, mindlessly held back from pushing yourself over the edge until you heard his permission. 
“Oh gods, fuck, I’m…,” he stuttered, leaning down to press his chest against your back and purred in your ear. “Cum with me, baby girl.”
The tidal wave of ecstasy hit you both at the exact same moment, his faltering thrusts spilling hot inside you just as your juices gushed around him, your mixed fluids bursting the banks of your aching folds and joining the explicit pool of your previous climax. Your conjoined moans sang in harmony as you rode out your peaks through ever-so-gently rocking hips, not willing to withdraw from each other and accept that the rollercoaster had come to an end.
Aemond’s arms suddenly snaked around your hips, only this time their presence was gentle, tender, considerate. Raising you to a standing position, he turned you to lean up against the counter, propping you up safely as you both slowly regained composure together. His instinctive lean for a hand towel to clean you of his cum leaking from your folds took you by surprise, even dipping a corner under the faucet and taking great care wiping your aching entrance for you. 
“Are you…?” He muttered under his breath, carefully scanning your body for any bruising or injuries. His violet eye fell upon each side of your pelvis in turn, your hip bones had grazed against the countertop so furiously that your flesh was red raw, blotching with tiny beads of crimson and the smallest shreds of skin standing upright from your otherwise smooth frame.
Aemond swallowed hard, casting the towel aside and pressing a palm to each damaged hip and surveying the price of his own recklessness. 
“I’m… I’m so sorry,” he stumbled over his words for the first time. “I never meant to…”
“It doesn’t hurt, Aemond,” you dismissed with a wave of your hand in the limited space between you. “Forget about it.”
“How can I forget about it?” His tone was concerned. “How can I just overlook the fact I hurt the girl I’ve been head over heels—.”
He cut himself off by slapping his hand over his lips, but not soon enough. You quirked a corner of your own into a suspicious pout, brows knitted together. 
“What was that again, daddy?” Your sarcastic tone an exact mirror of his typical domineering approach, the adrenaline rush of discovering your newfound power over him going right to your head. “Spit it out like a good little boy.”
Aemond’s violet eye gazed into yours, his signature satisfied smirk creeping back. “It seems I taught you well, baby girl.”
As his smile beamed back at you, you couldn’t seem to tear your vision away from his lips, from his prominent cupid’s bow to the dimples forming in his cheeks as he grinned. Of course, Aemond noticed you were deep in observation and leaned in to press his nose against yours, his breaths fanning your face. 
“Tell me what you want right now, rūs riña.” Baby girl. 
Without a moment’s hesitation, you responded. 
“I want you to kiss me, Aemond Targaryen.”
As soon as the last syllable left your tongue, he crashed his lips into yours, nudging his nose into your cheek to ensure every atom of his lips embraced yours. The combined after-effects of the mind-blowing fuck and your eyes being closed while passionately making out with Aemond made a heady mix, leaving you lightheaded and as if your legs could cave beneath you all over again. 
Reluctantly pulling away to catch a breath, Aemond whimpered as you left and wrapped his arms around your waist to hold you close, refusing to let you go and willing you to stay in the moment with him just a little longer.
“You know, curiosity didn’t kill me in the end,” you smiled. “But I still wanna know what that mouth can do, daddy.”
Aemond beamed as brightly as his violet eye glistening with the excitement of a party worth showing up for, making a mental note to thank his sister for dragging him along after all. 
With the riddle of Aemond Targaryen finally solved, you were right about one thing — he was no frat boy. Because frat boys don’t fuck like that. 
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pascallftv · 1 year
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Dad’s Best Friend (Pedro Pascal x Reader)
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summary: as a retreat from your busy work life, you decide to stay with your dad and his best friend for a few days over the holidays. to your surprise, your dad’s best friend is much hotter than you anticipated. one night after the three of you play a drinking game, pedro waits until your father goes to sleep to make his move on you.
warnings: SMUT! oral (m & f receiving), edging, dom!pedro, dirty talk, some choking, rough unprotected sex, anal play
MY MASTERLIST
You never thought you’d be this excited to be back home. Since you’d moved to California, you had constantly been overwhelmed with work. You were thoroughly exhausted, and a short vacation back home was just what you needed to recharge your battery. As much as you loved the fast pace west coast lifestyle, you longed for the quiet of the midwest. You grew up in a rural area in the midwest, but moved to the city when you were a teenager after your parents split. Now your mother was off in Europe with a much younger man, and your father lived with his best friend in a quaint town house. Your dad had always sworn that if he never found his soulmate, he’d move in with his best friend, so that’s exactly what he did.
Your dad moved in with his best friend Pedro a couple years ago when they both decided they were tired of searching for replacement wives. You’d never met Pedro before, and had only heard stories about him through your father, and from what you could tell, he was a bit of a man whore. After him and his wife divorced, he fell into a routine of bringing home different women each weekend. When they moved in together, his habits didn’t change; your father said he’s sure there’s a mini Pedro running around somewhere that he doesn’t know about. Pedro wasn’t interested in dating, let alone having children. So at the age of forty-seven, he was living with your father with the tendencies of a horny, college boy.
You were sitting comfortably on the sofa of your dad’s living room with some sort of soap opera playing on the tv. You hadn’t realized you were zoned out until the front door swung open, and Pedro marched through the door, holding two handles of liquor. A wide grin was plastered on his face as he scanned his eyes around the house for your dad, but instead his eyes landed on you.
“I didn’t know you were here already.” Pedro said, setting the bottles of alcohol on the dining room table, his eyes still locked on you. You sent him a lazy smile.
“Got here this morning.”
“Well, I came prepared.” Pedro winked, gesturing towards the bottles on the table. “Figured we could play some drinking games to get to know each other better, maybe watch a movie or two.”
You simply smiled again. He was much more attractive than you’d imagined. You’d only seen fuzzy pictures of him on your father’s Facebook, and those did not do him justice whatsoever. No wonder he was pulling so many women.
Fast forward to that evening, and the three of you were sitting at the dining room table with a deck of cards playing ‘bullshit’. However, every-time someone lost, they had to drink. You were already pretty far gone, and your dad and Pedro weren’t far behind you. Your cheeks were red hot and sore from laughing, and the alcohol was only amplifying the heat in your body. You kept catching yourself gazing over at Pedro. You couldn’t help but admire his smile and laugh, it was intoxicating. You were convinced he would be an arrogant prick, but he was truly a pleasant person to be around. You couldn’t tell if you were only imagining things, but you could’ve sworn you kept catching Pedro staring at you too.
“You’re fucking cheating!” Your dad exclaimed, throwing his cards down on the table. Pedro was laughing uncontrollably.
“No, you just fucking suck at lying.” Pedro proclaimed through his laughter. He was absolutely kicking your asses at this card game.
“That’s it, I’m going to bed. I’m too old for this shit.” Your dad surrendered, running his hand down his face. He stood up from his chair and stumbled over to you, placing his hand on your shoulder.
“Goodnight, kiddo. Love you bunches.” He slurred, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’ll see y’all in the morning.”
Your dad saluted you and Pedro and stumbled his way to the stairs and out of sight to his bedroom. You bit your lip and smiled over at Pedro who was sporting an amused smirk.
“Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m not tired yet.” Pedro declared, stacking up all the cards scattered across the table. You handed him your cards and sighed.
“Me either, my body clock is two hours behind.” You said, leaning back in your chair.
“Want to watch a movie? Maybe the Hangover?” Pedro suggested, standing up from his spot at the table. His jeans were tight against his thighs, his button up shirt riding up slightly exposing his happy trail. You gulped, averting your eyes before you looked too long. But Pedro had already caught you staring, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.
“Sure.” You said, following him to the living room.
Pedro sat on the middle cushion, giving you only two options to sit, and either way you’d be almost touching. You sat down beside him, pulling the blanket off the back of the couch to lay over both of your laps. You stared at Pedro’s hands as he flipped through the tv settings to find whichever streaming service he was searching for. There was something so attractive about his hands, and your mind began to wander down a dangerous path. You envisioned his hand wrapped around your throat, squeezing at the sides of it. You swallowed hard, pressing your thighs together and the sudden heat growing between them. Little did you know, Pedro noticed your body language. He could feel the attraction radiating off of you. You were so fucking gorgeous, and here you were squeezing your thighs together in arousal all because of him simply existing.
He pressed play on The Hangover, setting the remote down on the coffee table in front of you. He leaned back, stretching his arms over his head, and coming down to rest an arm behind your head. Such a cliche move, but somehow it affected you like you were a teenager again. Your heart was thumping against your chest so loudly that you swore he could hear it. You hadn’t realized you were so fucking touch deprived that you were desperate for you father’s best friend. Your thoughts were running wild again, and you fantasized about Pedro bending you over the dining room table. You pictured his hand running up the bare flesh on your ass, spreading your cheeks in front of his eyes so he could admire your holes that were desperate for him touch. You yearned for him to fuck you senseless, making you scream his name, hoping your father wouldn’t hear.
You were already drenched under your shorts. Your core was lit on fire, throbbing so hard that it was painful. Pedro side eyed you. You wouldn’t stop fidgeting; you kept adjusting your legs, and you were playing with your fingers in your lap trying to distract yourself from the longing between your thighs. He smirked. He loved the effect he had on you. He didn’t even have to try and you were an aroused little mess beside him. He slowly moved his arm from behind your head to rest on his thigh. He slowly tapped his forefinger, deciding whether or not he should act on his desires. You were his best friend’s daughter. He wanted more than anything to bend you over the couch and slam into you until you were drenching his cock, but every alarm was going off in his head. Did he want to risk losing his best friend over a fuck? There was something so intoxicating about you, and it frustrated the hell out of him. There were so many women on the back burner that would throw themselves at him, yet he wanted you. Perhaps it was the thrill of the chase.
He felt himself hardening in his jeans. He cleared his throat, his hand sliding underneath the blanket, resting half on his thigh, and half on the hot, supple skin of yours. Your skin was so fucking soft. Slowly, he moved his hand to fully rest on your thigh, giving it such a light squeeze that you thought you imagined it. If your heart was ready to thump out of your chest before, you were nearly about to have a heart attack now. His thumb began massaging slow circles in your thigh, traveling dangerously close to where you were craving him the most. You began breathing harder, turning your head to look up at him. He stared back at you, his brown eyes full of lust. Your eyes traveled down to his mustache, then to his pouted lips. It was as if a magnet was pulling you towards him, and your eyes fell to his lips, getting closer and closer.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Pedro whispered, his gaze focused on your parted lips. He squeezed your thigh harder this time, resting inches away from your core.
You say nothing and move even closer to him, your lips millimeters from touching. You could feel his hot breath on your mouth.
“Touch me.” You breathed out so quietly that you weren’t sure he could hear you. You were proven wrong when his fingers traced along the crease of your tights, grazing over your crotch through your shorts. Pedro began breathing harder the closer his fingers got to your waistband. His fingers slipped beneath the waistband of your shorts, traveling down to your folds. You gasped when his fingers spread your folds, gathering up your juices.
“Such a dirty girl. Already so wet and I’ve barely touched you.” Pedro teased, ghosting his fingers over your clit that was throbbing with sensitivity. You whimpered at the softest pressure he applied to your bundle of nerves. You couldn’t hold yourself back any longer, you needed to taste him. You closed the gap between your lips and kissed him hard, trying your best to communicate your lust through the rhythm of your kiss. He moaned into your mouth, his free hand moving to tug at the hair at the nape of your neck. You were driving him insane. He pulled away momentarily to stare at you with hungry eyes.
“Do you know how wrong this is? Kissing your daddy’s best friend while he’s asleep upstairs.” He growled, slamming his lips back into yours while simultaneously slamming two fingers into your entrance without warning. You couldn’t help but moan a little to loud at his intrusion. His hand left your hair to wrap around your throat with a tight squeeze. “Keep fucking quiet. Wouldn’t want your daddy to hear, now would we?”
Your hand traveled down to his hardening erection and grabbed it firmly over his jeans as he fucked you hard with his fingers, a low groan escaping his lips. His hot breath was becoming more frequent against your mouth. He pulled away suddenly, his hand still gripping your throat.
“Can you suck my cock like a good girl?” He muttered, his fingers leaving your hole. You frowned at the loss of contact, but felt yourself throb at the thought of tasting his cock in your mouth. You nodded quickly, moving to get on your knees between his legs. Pedro was panting, his belly rising and falling quickly under his shirt. He unbuttoned his jeans with ease, unzipping his fly slowly. He lifted his hips off the couch to slide his jeans down his thighs, his jeans falling to his ankles. His cock sprung free from his jeans with no underwear constricting his erection.
You leaned forward, taking his length in your soft hand, admiring his size and girth. Your mouth watered at the sight of pre-cum dripping from his tip. You ran your thumb over his arousal, wetting his sensitive tip. You locked eyes with him, lowering down to slowly take his cock in your mouth. You teased his leaky tip with your tongue, swirling it around so you could get a taste of him. Moaning at the salty taste coating your tongue, you gradually lowered your mouth onto his length, soaking him with the mixture of his pre-cum and your spit. His head fell back on the couch, his hand tangling itself in your hair. He whimpered quietly and you began to stroke your hand up and down the leftover shaft that you couldn’t fit in your mouth. With your free hand, you cupped his balls, massaging them in your palm.
“Fuck.” Pedro breathed, sucking in a harsh breath. He gripped the nape of your neck, squeezing with his fingertips. “Taking my cock so well.”
Your hand moved from his balls up to his abdomen, running your fingers across his happy trail. You lowered your mouth even further, filling your throat with the rest of his length. You bobbed your head, the only sounds in the room being the wet noises of you sucking his cock, and his shaky breaths. You moaned on his length, the vibrations making his cock twitch in your throat. You lifted your mouth off his length, bringing your hand to the ridge between his shaft and his tip, stroking in quick milking motions. His legs began to shake, and a low moan escaped his lips. He grabbed your hand, stopping your movements.
“F-fuck, if you keep doing that I’m going to cum.” He mumbled, grabbing your wrist and pulling you up off your knees. He stood up from the couch, pushing you to sit in his spot.
“Take off your clothes.” He ordered sternly, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. He quickly undid them while he watched you strip down to nothing. No panties, no bra. You drove him fucking wild. His cock twitched at the sight of you completely bare in front of him. He stripped his clothes off completely, kneeling where you just were.
“I’m going to taste you, then I’m going to fuck you so hard that you won’t remember your name.” Pedro said, spreading your legs completely open. Cold air hit your folds, your arousal glistening before his eyes. “Look at you. So fucking wet for me.”
He lowered his mouth to your core, spreading your folds open with his fingers, thrusting his tongue in and out of your entrance. His other hand traveled to your clit, rubbing soft, quick circles into your sensitive nerves. You gasped, your hand landing in his hair. It took all of your will power to stay quiet. The last thing you needed was for your dad to walk down the stairs to his best friend eating you out.
Pedro thrusted three fingers into you, not allowing you time to stretch to the fullness before finger fucking you so hard and fast that you were seeing spots in your vision. You were so fucking full, but you wanted his cock more than anything. His tongue flicked over your clit, sucking on it lightly while his fingers slammed into you, curling perfectly to the rough surface of your g spot. You weren’t going to last much longer. You slapped a hand over your mouth and whined into your palm. You orgasm was so close.
“I’m gonna cum.” You whimpered through your fingers, locking eyes with Pedro as he finger fucked the life out of you. Your legs were trembling, and your toes began to curl. You were seconds away from reaching your high when Pedro halted his actions, and pulled his fingers out of you. You wanted to cry; you were so fucking close it hurt.
“Did I say you could cum?” Pedro slowly rose from his knees, his hand wrapping it’s way back around your throat. He pressed his lips to yours in a hasty kiss. You whined into his kiss. He pulled away, taking your bottom lip between his teeth briefly. “You’re going to cum around my cock like a good girl.”
His words went straight to your core. You were in pain. You needed release so badly. You didn’t have a moment to comprehend what was happening until Pedro slammed his cock into you, your walls spasming around his sudden intrusion. You cried out, grabbing his biceps to squeeze. You were full to the brim, and the oxygen completely left your lungs when you felt him hit your cervix from how deep he was inside of you. He slapped a hand over your mouth, his lips lowering to you ear.
“I don’t want to hear a fucking sound.” He growled, his fingers finding their way back to your clit. His fingers worked in fast circles, your eyes rolling back into your skull. He thrusted in and out of you at an agonizingly fast pace, his tip hitting the deepest part of you over and over again. You orgasm was near, and it was coming fast. You entire body trembled, and you dug your fingernails into Pedro’s toned back. Your face fell into his neck, your teeth lightly biting the supple skin there to refrain from screaming out.
“Are you going to cum?” Pedro breathed out, gripping your hips as he pounded into you. You nodded vigorously into his neck, feeling your vision starting to leave completely. With the nod of your head, Pedro slipped his cock out of you, and his fingers abandoned your clit. Tears began brimming at your eyes. You felt yourself on the verge of a meltdown when Pedro kept you from your orgasm for a second time. Without warning, Pedro flipped you onto your stomach, your knees propped up on the couch cushion, and your arms gripping the back of the couch to steady yourself. He slammed back into you from behind, grabbing your hips for leverage. He didn’t care how loud your skin slapping together was. He knew how terrible the acoustics were in the house, and how thick the walls were. He’d fucked so many women in this house to the point of screaming and your father still never heard.
You cried out as he somehow hit you even deeper than before. Pedro wasn’t kidding when he said he was going to fuck you until you couldn’t remember your name. In that moment, the only things you knew were how deep he filled you, and how perfectly he bottomed out inside you. His balls slapped against your clit, adding to the euphoria you were experiencing. Your nails dug into the fabric of the couch so hard that you thought it was going to rip. Just when you thought you couldn’t be stimulated anymore, you felt Pedro’s forefinger tease your tightest hole. He brought his index finger to his mouth, sucking on it until it was coated with his spit, then brought it back down to your rim, pressing it slowly inside. You groaned out at the foreign sensation.
“You like that?” Pedro leaned down into your ear, his torso laying against the curve of your back and he filled both of your holes. “Has anyone ever touched you here?”
You shook your head, lowering your head to bite down onto the back of the couch. You wanted to fucking scream. Your body was overwhelmed with pleasure. The feeling intensified when Pedro added a second finger to your asshole, alternating between thrusts there and your pussy.
“Such a good girl.” He moaned out, slamming into you even faster than before.
Your body couldn’t take much more. Your body was trembling, and there was no way hon would survive if you were denied your orgasm for the third time. Your eyes rolled back in your head and a hand reached back to the thick flesh of your ass to spread your cheeks apart, hoping it would bring Pedro deeper.
“God, you’re such a slut.” Pedro growled, placing his hand back to your neck, choking you harder than before. He lowered his mouth to your back, pressing a kiss to your spine. “I need you to come for me.”
His permission was all you needed before you were cumming around his cock, your walls clenching down hard around him, bringing him closer to his orgasm. Your jaw went slack as your orgasm hit you like a freight train, your entire body being set on fire. You’ve never came so hard in your life.
Pedro’s fingers left your asshole and he wrapped his arm around the soft flesh of your belly, continuing to fuck into you with all the energy he had left. Your walls were extremely tight from your orgasm, constricting intoxicatingly around his cock. He moaned as he reached his orgasm, coating your walls in thick spurts. He whimpered as he filled you full of his cum, both of his hands reaching around you to grab handfuls of your breasts, pinching your nipples as he came down from his high.
Your eyes were squeezed shut still recovering for your powerful orgasm. Your body went slack against the back of the couch as tried to recover.
“What’s your name?” Pedro asked breathlessly.
You didn’t answer. You’d heard him, but your mind was so far into the clouds that you didn’t comprehend his question. You chest heaved in heavy breaths.
Pedro chuckled, squeezing your tits once last time before pulling out of you. You whimpered at the feeling; you were way too fucking sensitive. He pressed a soft kiss to your ass as he left you alone to grab a towel to clean you up with. You were still coming down from your high when he returned with a damp towel, and began gently wiping up his seed that spilled from your entrance. You trembled as he touched your sensitive folds, and you whined out.
“Shhhh, almost done.” He whispered, holding the towel there for a moment longer.
When he finished cleaning you up, he lifted you up and sat you down on the couch facing him. He picked up your shorts and helped slide them up over your soft legs, then lifted your arms to put on your sweatshirt. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead then lazily dressed himself, not bothering to button his pants or shirt.
“Let’s get you to bed.” He said softly, picking you up. He cradled you in his arms as he carried you up the stairs, your eyes heavy with exhaustion.
He carried you to the guest bedroom, and held you up expertly with one arm while he pulled back the covers so you wouldn’t be laying on top of the sheets. He carefully laid you onto the mattress, tucking you in under the covers. He couldn’t get over how blissful you looked. Your cheeks were bright pink, and your lips were swollen and plump. He bent down and kissed you one last time before leaving you alone in the guest bedroom. You drifted off to sleep before you could even realize he was gone. Before you knew it, you were waking up the next morning with soreness between your legs and a longing for your father’s best friend.
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rkvriki · 1 year
Text
— being interrupted by the other members ! (hyung line)
hello everyone !
my first post !! i hope you enjoy it, i'm still not good at writing but im trying my best to improve, also english isn't my first language so there might be grammar errors :) i will also be making a maknae line one !!
make sure to leave feedback my asks are open and so is my inbox so let's talk !!
WARNINGS ! contains suggestive themes but not smut (heeseung and jake), swearing, it's proofread but might have grammar errors.
note; this was inspired by @delcakoo !!
word count: 2k !
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LEE HEESEUNG !
heeseung would straight up get annoyed at whoever doesn't even care to knock or whatever.
you two would be hanging out in his dorm after he came from tour. he was missing you a lot and today was the perfect day, since the others were all out, either at the movies or visiting family or friends.
the two of you were in his room, each playing on a laptop. you were finally having the kartrider match that heeseung said he would win after being a sore loser for losing to you at mario kart (in front of the other boys 😟)
you were going at it for almost 2 hours and always found yourselves in a tie. 
“ heeseung can you just accept that i am literally better than you at this and move on, please?”
“it’s bold of you to assume I would ever, in my life, admit that.” he said, focusing on the game again. you rolled your eyes at his statement, asking yourself again why you were dating him.
sighing, you kept playing, and even though you were tired of playing, you would never let him win obviously, you’re not gonna let your ego get hurt, like who would ever do that.
another round was over and you won again. 
“see, heeseung give up, honey, i'm no weak bitch and you will never beat me.” you said smirking and stretching yourself in your place. 
heeseung looked at you with an annoyed expression, quickly changing it to a smirk. you raised your brow at that, before he spoke.
“then let’s do this. you sit on my lap while you play and let’s see who wins, ok?” you rolled your eyes at his suggestion but accepted it anyways (like who would even refuse 🤒 i would fold so quickly for this man)
you were in the second lap of the game when you felt hee’s hand sliding up your thigh, while the other played skilfully. 
you tried focusing but you were quickly letting your mind drift to other things aka your boyfriend’s touch.
his hand started going upwards on your thigh, grabbing the skin there, making you squirm.
“look that’s not fair, hee!” you said pouting while still trying to play.
heeseung stopped playing completely, grabbing you and laying you on his bed.
he looked into your eyes, making you look away and covering your cheeks in a soft red tint.
he grabbed your face while hovering over you, admiring your features before kissing your lips softly. you put your hands on his cheeks, deepening the kiss, while he separated your lips with his tongue, making you feel your cheeks getting warmer. 
his hands started roaming under your shirt caressing your soft tummy.
that was until the door banged open against the wall, revealing a loud jungwon.
“hyung we brought- oh”
heeseung took his lips from yours looking at jungwon who was like 🧍‍♂️ by the door.
“jungwon get the hell out before i make you lick the toilet.” heeseung told jungwon who quickly mumbled a sorry and closed the door then going back to whatever he was up to.
justice for my man pls 😞
PARK JONGSEONG !
jay is just so used to being annoyed that he would just tell whoever to fuck off
like you two would be just hanging out in the han river sat in a towel you two brought, while eating the homemade meal jay made with so much love just for you (i'm getting delulu)
you were just enjoying the soft breeze going through your hair that was also refreshing, not too cold, not too warm, the perfect date for you guys.
the sun was hitting jay’s face just perfectly and you couldn’t help but grab your phone, snapping a quick pic of him looking so handsome.
that’s your man!!
you smiled to yourself going back to eating peacefully.
after you both ate, you cleaned everything up before laying down and cuddling with each other.
“was the food good?”
“it was perfect, thank jongseong-ie.” you told him pecking his lips a few times and smiling softly at him, making his lips stretch his lips into one and his eyes grow in two crescent moons, making him look adorable.
you laid your head on his chest as you two talked for a while. 
you two fell in a comfortable silence, now sitting down next to each other, appreciating the view before your eyes, just admiring the simple things that made others so unique.
you felt jay’s eyes on the side of your face, you looked at him, making him smile ever so softly ( i can’t take it anymore pls 😫).
as you were leaning into each other, you started listening to familiar voices into the distance.
“OMG aren't that jay and y/n??”
“what?? where? OH- YES it’s them, let's say hi!!”
you separated from each other making jay roll his eyes as he saw niki and jake run in your direction.
“hey y/n!!! we haven’t seen each other in such a long time!!! what a coincidence!” niki said running to hug you and sitting down next to you.
“yeah, should keep it that way.” jay mumbled quietly.
“hyung stop being such a party pooper you should be happy to see your beloved friends.” niki said, rolling his eyes making you laugh at the interaction between the two boys.
“it’s ok, jay. i won’t mind hanging out with them just for a while, we have plenty of time.”
jay looked at you with a dumbfounded expression not believing his own partner was betraying just like that.
one like, one piece for jay 🙏
SIM JAEYUN !
jake would honestly just be chill like that  🤙
you two would be in his bed at the dorms watching whatever show was playing in the background because, honestly, neither of you were paying attention, rather focused on other things.
you both were making out in his bed, with you straddling his lap with his hands holding your hips in place (pick me, choose me.)
the room was filled with the sounds of your lips touching.
you were kissing each other without a single care in the world. just focusing on the feeling of your tongues brushing against each other so hungrilly, making both of you let out quiet sounds.
“jake…” you said backing up from his lips, but he went straight to attacking your neck with kisses and soft bites (ksdfafjv)
“jake, the movie…and the others might come in…” you tried telling him to stop but honestly you didn’t want him to stop.
“don’t worry about that, right now. just focus on me yeah?”
interrupting your thoughts, jake’s lips found their way back into your, making you forget about whatever you were worried about.
your mind was blank just filled with jake and his sweet tongue.
jake jake jake jake jake jake (same honey, same)
jake’s hand started making their way underneath your shirt just softly caressing your stomach and keeping his hands there but the door suddenly opened, and heeseung made his way into the room, stopping in his tracks, when he finally took a look at what you were both doing.
you tried backing away from jake, but he put his hand behind your head, not letting you stop kissing him.
“uuhh…” heeseung said, still in his spot, rubbing the back of his neck while looking at his feet, because suddenly they were the most interesting thing in the world.
jake finally pulled away looking at heeseung like nothing was going on.
“hi hyung, you need something?” he said, smiling softly at him while you were still on top of him and his hands were still inside your shirt.
“umnh…yeah?? i was looking for my green shirt, maybe you have it??” heeseung asked, avoiding looking jake in the eyes.
“oh yeah, i think i left it inside my closet check it there.” he told the older boy while pointing to the said closet.
right after that, his lips found his way back to yours again, like heeseung wasn't in the room.
said man made his way over to the closet, almost tripping in his way, since he was trying to look everywhere but you two.
making a go fund me to buy heeseung new eyes 😕
PARK SUNGHOON !
sunghoon would get shy when somebody would catch him being a simp for you.
you two were in the dorm in the shared dressing room where skin care and makeup stuff were. 
you saw other people on tik tok making their partners makeup and you wanted to try on your princess aka sunghoon (he is such a babygirl, prove me wrong)
“sunhoonie…” you slowly started already hinting you wanted something from him.
“yeah princess? need anything?”
“so you know… there’s this thing going on tik tok an-”
“no.”
“sunghoon plea-”
“no.”
“oh come on, won’t you do it for me, pretty please??” you tried, giving the best puppy eyes you could.
“y/n, i already made my decision and i won’t go back.”
“ok, then i think it will be fine if i told the other guy about when we were in the pool and you pee-”
“OK! STOP THERE PLEASE!” he said almost screaming looking around as if someone might be listening.
you smiled innocently at him, getting up and grabbing his hand already leading him to where you were, in the dressing room, for more than 20 minutes now.
“OW- y/n it’s the third time you poke me with that stupid brush, can you just get over with it??” you rolled your eyes at him, somebody help you with your whiny boyfriend.
“sunghoon, stop whining and let me do my job goddammit!!” (annoying mf fr)
he just sighed, closing his eyes again, feeling the brush run over his eyelids again.
hoon was just hoping no one would enter the room and caught him lacking 🙏
“hoon, choose a color please!!” you showed him three lip tints in your hand, holding them with a huge smile. 
sunghoon resisted the urge to roll his eyes and picked a red-ish color. you smiled at his pick, making him smile at you because you were so cute.
you slowly swiped the lip brush against his lips tinting them in a red that fits him just perfectly.
you took a step back, admiring how pretty he looked with his almost finished look.
“now this! this will make you the prettiest princess!” you said taking something he couldn’t tell from your makeup bag.
“close your eyes, omg you're so not good at this sunghoon!!!”
he closed his eyes, making them flutter slightly, and you took a second to appreciate his pretty feature smiling at how pretty he actually is.
going back to work. you open the container of liquid eye glitter applying it under his eyes and brushing some in his eyelids making his eyes shimmer .
“ok!! i'm done now!!!”
sunghoon opened his eyes taking off his headband that was holding his bangs, letting them fall on his forehead slightly covering his eyes.
“you look so pretty omg hoonie!!” you said clapping your hands admiring your hard work
just as he was about to comment his looks
“OMG EVERYONE COME SEE THIS” 
he looked at the door and saw sunoo with his phone already up capturing pics of this precious moment.
“GO AWAY SUNNO I SWEAR-”
“OMG HYUNG YOU LOOK SO BABYGIR-” niki said but sunghoon interrupted him by throwing your make up brush at him.
“sunghoon my brush!!”
pray for my #1 babygirl 😞 🙏
check the maknae line version here !
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a/n: do you want a maknae line one?? hopw you enjoyed this one, leave suggestions, my inbox is open !!
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