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honeymoonjin · 4 years

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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ot7 x reader || ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 14.1k || ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: smut - rated 18+

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ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢs: filmed sex/voyeurism/exhibitionism as usual, semi-public sex, foodplay, a lot of sloppy making out, creampie is not the only type of dessert involved, very soft dom!jin, sub!reader, unprotected sex but who’s surprised, dom!hoseok, waxplay, painplay, very explicit discussion about consent since waxplay is technically edgeplay, restraints, cuffs, flogging, hobi in his element is a kink in and of itself, degradation, discipline, subspace, scratching, rough sex, hoseok going the extra mile honestly, still unprotected sex, cumshot

dedicated to my sfhs girls, everyone in the villa discord, and sponsored by the red room

FAN FAVOURITE

On the sixth Day of every Week in the game, the Audience Fan Favourite vote is released for 48 hours following the post of the fic. Please note, this is NOT the elimination vote, which is taken on the seventh Day of each Week.

The vote is at the end of this chapter.

DAY TWENTY

Though it’s the weekend (as if that has any real significance when you aren’t really working) you wake up tragically early, before the sun’s even risen.

Unsure of what woke you, you rub your eyes and duck your head out into the hallway. To your surprise, there’s the distinct yellowish glow from a light on downstairs. It’s hard to walk down the stairs when your head is full of cotton, your eyes still bleary and your mouth constantly stretched in a yawn, but finally you stumble down into the main space.

Frozen, with a metal spoon hanging out of his mouth and his eyes wide and red, is the oldest man of the house. He leans dejectedly against the kitchen counter, haunting a tub of ice cream that’s definitely not intended for one person. You quickly realise what may have woken you is the obnoxious whir of the microwave, something in a covered glass jar twirling round and round inside.

“What-” you swallow and clear your throat when the word comes out croaky, “what are you doing here so early? Are you okay?”

Still startled by your presence, he blinks a few times and removes the spoon from his mouth, letting it clatter to the table. “I’ve been better.”

Your face drops in sympathy, ignoring the freezing tile on your feet as you approach him. Without waiting for permission, you wrap your arms around his waist and pull him close to you in a tight hug. “What’s up, Jinnie? You can be honest with me. If you let me have some of your ice cream, of course.”

That manages to pull a weak laugh from him as he hands you the spoon and ruffles your hair. “I am, as it turns out,” he explains, “incredibly stupid.”

“Ah.” You dig into the tub of ice cream one handed, dislodging a chunk of what looks like brownie. “First of all, I disagree, but more importantly, why do you think that?”

“Do you have an hour?” Jin sighs at the poor attempt at lightening his own mood. “To tell you the truth, and this may come as a shock to you, but-”

“Is this about Yoongi and you fucking?”

Jin pulls back, staring you down with a bewildered expression.

You swallow a cold mouthful, furrowing your brows apologetically. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have interrupted. Go on.”

“I- How did you- Who knows?”

You hum for a minute, tapping the end of the spoon against your lips. “Oh, I’d imagine everyone,” you summarise. “Subtlety isn’t your strong suit.” You wince as you recall a few particular evenings. “Nor is volume control.”

“Right.” Jin has the good grace to look sheepish at that, but gently tugs the spoon back. The microwave beeps noisily behind you, and he curses, rushing over to pull the jar out. “Anyways, yes, Yoongi and I have been casual for a short time now, but things are messy. And I suppose I sort of thought they were good messy, but last night I realised how very not-good messy they were. I haven’t been fair to Yoongi. Or you.”

You tilt your head, watching him uncover a lightly steaming jar full of what looks and smells like caramel. “Me? What does this have to do with me?”

Jin opens his mouth, grimaces, and closes it again. After a few moments of silence where he stirs the sauce and tastes a bit of it, he finally faces you to speak. “After the fight, you didn’t really...say anything about what you found out. My feelings for you, I mean. Not that you were at all obligated to, of course, but I wanted to give you space. And… I wanted to have space too, but I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so when Yoongi expressed interest in me, I thought him and I could help each other out.”

He pours some of the sauce directly into the tub of icecream, but then puts it down and rests his forearms on the countertop, really leans his whole body weight onto them like it’s hard to stay standing. “Yoongi has feelings for me,” he explains. “I don’t know if you know that too, but- yeah. He said- even as recently as yesterday, he said he was fine, but I should know better. It’s irresponsible of me to take his words as gospel when I can so clearly see, as his friend and as a trained therapist, that he isn’t okay.”

You want to wait until he’s said his piece, but your chest feels hot, like your ribs are smouldering coals. You can’t stop your tongue. “I don’t need space.”

Jin blinks, caught off-guard. “Huh?”

“I don’t need space,” you repeat in a warm voice, “I don’t want you to be distant. Fuck Yoongi if you want, but don’t do it just because you’re avoiding me. You’re right; that isn’t fair to either of us.”

“I know,” he concedes, shoveling another spoonful of melted ice cream and sauce into his mouth to buy him some thinking time. “It’s getting out of hand, too. Just yesterday Jungkook asked to join and- God, this is such a mess. I should end it, shouldn’t I?”

Your tongue tingles with the urge to press about Jungkook. Feeling like that isn’t really Jin’s priority right now, you change tact. “Do you want to end it?”

Jin furrows his brows, deep in thought. Clad in blue and white striped pyjamas, his face seems far too serious for his attire, but it’s clear this is really eating away at him if he’s up so early thinking about it. Had he even gone to bed at all? “I don’t want to,” he admits, “being with Yoongi is so easy. And not like- not logistically, I’m not saying Yoongi is easy, but… God, I don’t know how to say this without it being soppy. It feels right. But at what point do I stop doing what I want and start thinking about others? I need to do what’s best for Yoongi.”

It’s hard conveying any semblance of intelligent thought when you probably have not even half of the whole story, but you do your best for him. “Is that a decision you should be making on his behalf, though? I feel like you should be having this conversation with him.”

Jin sighs, placing the spoon down so it doesn’t clatter. “Here’s the thing. I’ve been going over and over it in my head. My reasons for sleeping with him aren’t all noble or genuine or even fair. And I know he has feelings for me. I think if I let this continue I’ll be hurting him. So surely ending it is the right thing to do?”

You mull it over a moment. “It seems like you already know the answer, Jin,” you offer up softly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I do.” Jin bites his lip, eyes distant. “If I text him, if I tell him that we need to talk, or that we shouldn’t do it anymore, then… You said you didn’t need space. So can we talk? About us?”

“Of course,” you reply immediately, though your heart rate quickens at the thought, “that’s probably for the best, too.”

“Alright.” Jin wipes his hands on his shirt pants, whether it’s to get off the stickiness of the dessert or sweat you don’t know, but soon enough he’s slipping his phone out and hunkering down on the kitchen tile floor.

You join him, scooching up so that your shoulders bump. With your back against the cabinets and your lower half on those icy tiles, normally you’d be shivering. But Jin’s body is like a radiator, and he leans into you as he unlocks his phone and pulls up Yoongi’s contact.

For his privacy, you try not to look, but you can’t help but notice the name for Yoongi is Min City, and that their recent texts are calls for late-night rendezvous. Jin takes a deep breath, his thumbs hovering over the keypad. “What do I even say?” he muses out loud. “I’m a therapist; why can’t I even work out a good ‘we should talk’ text?”

You hook your hand under his arm, tucking it to your side. “Start off by apologising for texting him at ass o’clock in the morning,” you jibe.

Jin pauses. “I’ll probably rephrase,” he admits, “but that’s solid.”

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. |

“Okay, what next?” Jin says in a shortened breath.

You let out a light laugh. “This is your message,” you remind him, “but fine. How about this? Tell him that you’ve been thinking a lot, which you have, and that you just can’t keep sleeping with him in good conscience because you don’t feel like it’s wise. And maybe, like, tell him to come find you when he reads it so you can have a proper chat. It shouldn’t just be done over text, you know?”

“That’s true… Okay, here goes.” Jin swallows hard as he types away, and were it not for the fact that these were your friends who were involved, you’d laugh at the cheesiness of the moment. Like something off a trashy k-drama, though your life felt more and more like one every day anyway.

hey yoongichi, sorry about texting you so early. i’ve been doing a lot of thinking after our talk, and i just really don’t think us doing this is a good idea anymore. please let me know when you get this. we can talk it over a bit. |

“Is that all I need?”

You shrug. “I guess so. Unless you wanna add an ‘xoxo’ to the end of it.”

Jin bites his lip. “That may send mixed messages.”

“It was a joke, Jinnie,” you protest, shoving him playfully. “Anyway, are you gonna send i-”

A loud ding cuts you off, echoing slightly in the otherwise silent house. Above the box of text Jin had been crafting, a new strip of grey appears.

The both of you freeze, staring in disbelief at the screen. “Did he just..?” Before you can even finish that sentence, a second chime rings out again, and the screen shifts to display more grey, slightly smaller than the first.

“Looks like,” Jin murmurs, scrolling up to view the new message. “Holy shit.”

I’m sure you’re still asleep jin-hyung, so just text me when you get this but yesterday i was lying when i said i was fine, because i’m really not and jungkook has really helped to give me a little perspective so i’m sorry if you still need someone to distract you but i’m not gonna be that someone anymore

No hard feelings btw, i still feel the same way about you but i don’t think we should have sex for a while, i just need some distance. I like to think that you’d want me to put myself first and i’m doing that now. I hope you can understand

“That… I guess that’s that sorted,” Jin says slowly, tapping the screen to delete his message. “Should I reply now?” He thinks for a moment, then shakes his head as he locks the phone. “No, I’ll wait until later. He won’t be expecting a reply now, anyway. Hopefully he can get some sleep.” His eyes turn sad. “Do you think he was up all night stressing about that?”

“Hey,” you warn lowly, “don’t guilt yourself. The two of you can straighten things out later, and sleep better tonight. Yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah.” He releases a slow breath, his body heavy with unshed tension. For a moment, the two of you stay silent, you giving him time to process. When he speaks, he shuffles his whole body around to face you. “I know why you’ve been so hesitant,” he announces suddenly.

You frown. “Wait, what? Hesitant?”

“Yes,” he insists, “you haven’t really talked at all about if you return my feelings. I used to feel really confused and hurt by it, but I get it now.”

Your stomach rolls strangely, a feeling like being caught red-handed. “What do you mean?”

“Last night,” he explains, “I came up to tell everyone that dinner wasn’t far away. You weren’t in your room, and Taehyung wasn’t in his…” He trails off meaningfully, and realisation settles in your bones, not shock, but resignation.

“Oh.” You swallow, sitting up so you’re no longer leaning towards him. “You saw us? In Jimin’s room?”

“I won’t tell,” he begins automatically, “and it’s okay. I see that you’ve been answered for already. I’ll respect that.”

“It isn’t like that,” you say reflexively, “we - god, we weren’t supposed to let anyone know, I can’t believe we didn’t lock the door - but we aren’t together together. It would be too messy, and it was putting a strain on our relationships with everyone else, you know?”

Jin frowns, like he’s trying to work it all out. “So it isn’t a romantic relationship?”

You smile thinking of Taehyung’s loving brown eyes and Jimin’s gentle embrace. “It’s a promise,” you explain softly, wrapping your arms around your torso. “We aren’t making any commitments or ties now, and we obviously can’t be exclusive, so it’s a promise that once we’re out of here, we’ll try and explore our feelings. Do it right.”

The therapist takes in a deep breath, nodding. “Then where do I fit into all of this? Does that mean I have a chance?”

“I-” You bite your lip, avoiding his imploring gaze. “It would feel wrong getting into a relationship when I’d decided that I wouldn’t do it with them. If that makes sense?”

“It makes perfect sense,” he assures, “but that’s not what I mean. I don’t need to be in a relationship with you to treat you right, Y/n. I just want to know if there’s a chance in hell that you return my feelings.”

You lift your eyes at this, staring at the way his soften in response. Your heart thuds in your chest and there’s a liquid relief pumping through your veins that he’s willing to stay by you. If you didn’t already know it before, those sensations certainly make it clear. “I like you, Jin. A lot.”

He smiles in relief, a small and sweet one that makes his eyes crinkle. Rather than responding verbally, he slips one large palm around the nape of your neck and pulls you in for a kiss.

Eyes slipping shut the moment he comes close, you reach out blindly for him and fist your hand in the thin fabric of his pyjamas to steady yourself. His lips are so plush, and moving so slowly, that it feels like they could slow down time itself. There’s no urgency in the sensual way he kisses you, but you can nonetheless taste his elation sweeter than the remnants of caramel on his tongue.

In that same way, you have no idea how much time passes with your mouths locked together, slowly warming the kitchen floor with your body heat until your skin feels on fire. Even the slightest details, like his fingertips on the back of your neck and your inner wrist make you dizzy.

You break apart for air, still clinging to him like you’d drown without his touch. Panting, you try to slow your racing heart. Your lips still tingle, and reach up to brush your fingers against them in wonder. “Oh, wow,” you whisper dumbly.

Jin smiles, then, a brilliant one that warms his whole face. “Wow,” he repeats. “I’ve been waiting to kiss you like that for a long time, Y/n.”

Barely able to think, you find your eyes slipping down to his lips, how swollen they are, dusky pink. “You can do it again, if you want.”

Jin goes to lean forward, but halts, looking up to the countertop. “One sec,” he hedges, “I’m determined to continue my opportunist streak.”

“Your what?” You chuckle at first, but as he reaches up and drags the jar of caramel sauce down, your eyes quickly widen in realisation.

Jin catches your look, sending you a wink. “Open up,” he instructs, and you drop your jaw without hesitation, anticipation heightening your senses.

When he tips the lip of the container forward, and you feel that warm sweetness burst on your tongue, you moan, tilting your head back so it pools in your mouth. But instead of stopping, he continues to pour, until you feel it threaten to spill out. “Too much,” you try to say, but you can’t move your tongue or lips enough to enunciate it.

Jin only pulls the jar away when it begins to drip down your chin, and like a man starved, he leans in and licks into your mouth without abandon.

You moan as you feel his tongue cut through the molten sugar, running over yours, over your teeth and lips and even ducking down to messily swipe up the stickiness on your face. No matter how much he ravishes you, the moment you begin to kiss back, your tongue lifts and a thick wave of hot caramel slips between your mouths, no doubt getting on your pyjama shirt.

Jin doesn’t seem to care; on the contrary, he moans and clasps your face in both hands, nipping at your lips and deepening the kiss more than you even thought possible. Slowly, the sweetness of caramel gives way to his own taste, and you’re left licking each other filthily, entwined together on the kitchen floor.

Once your chest is aching with a lack of oxygen, you pull away with a gasp, wincing at the weird feeling of caramel on your chest. “So messy,” you groan, “sorry, I didn’t think you’d pour so much.”

Jin’s eyes just light up with mirth. “Messy is the point, baby. We probably have, what-” he pauses to consult the time on the microwave, “two hours before the early risers are up? Why don’t we make an even bigger mess? I’ve decided I’d like to have my dessert first.”

You press your lips together to prevent a moan, nodding frantically. “Fuck, please. I want you.”

The therapist’s chest hitches, but he reaches out to squeeze your thigh. “Lie back, then, baby. Can you take your shirt off for me?”

You’re in such a hurry to obey him, shivering violently at the cold tile against your bare back, that when you suddenly feel a cold burst on your chest you jump, getting a fright.

There’s not enough time to feel that burst of ice, however, as a hot tongue quickly laps it up, collecting every last drop. Jin even sucks the skin there, just above the swell of your breast, to make sure he’s cleaned you up.

You writhe on the floor, your panties uncomfortably soaked, but Jin just throws a leg and an arm over you, straddling you and caging you against the floor. His weight against you makes you moan, that delicious sensation of being trapped exactly where you most want to be.

This time, when he digs his spoon into the slightly-melted ice cream, he pops it into his mouth instead of on your skin. You almost assume he’s just taking some for himself, but then he’s dipping his head and wrapping those sinful lips around one of your nipples, making you cry out.

The cold is immediately overwhelming, tightening and stiffening your peak, and the dizzying mix of his hot tongue with that cold dessert has you clinging to his back, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt. “F-fuck, Jin,” you gasp, “so cold.”

“Is it?” Jin quips, his hand reaching to his side. “Oh, I’m sorry, baby.”

Without giving you a moment’s respite, he’s drizzling trails of caramel over your breasts, and lapping it up with ravenous enthusiasm. Though the caramel has gone mostly room-temperature, the contrast against your cooled nipple just makes it feel that much more electric, and you arch your back harshly until Jin finally reaches it and soothes it with his mouth.

You moan, wishing you had something to rut against, some type of friction where you needed it most, but Jin’s more focused on licking, nipping and sucking the sugar off of your body, leaving you trembling. “More,” you plead needily.

“More sauce? More ice cream?” he asks, panting as his own arousal presses stiffly against your lower stomach.

“More you,” you beg, arching up into him, making him curse lowly.

Like desperate virgins, you both quickly discard the last of your clothing, Jin just about popping the buttons of his shirt clean off, and it feels simultaneously like a second and a century before you feel his familiar girth pressing into you, stretching your dripping walls.

You groan, the back of your head knocking against the tile as you go slack, letting yourself focus fully on the sensation of him filling you up. “Fuck, Jin,” you gasp out, legs wrapping around his torso as he goes deeper and deeper.

When he bottoms out, however, Jin doesn’t begin fucking you straight away. Instead, he reaches for the jar. “Tongue out, baby,” he instructs.

Swallowing the drool that gathers in your mouth from the pleasure, you stick out your tongue until you feel it on your chin, awaiting the stream. Clearly wanting to be as messy as possible, Jin intentionally lifts his hand higher so that instead of a mouthful, you get whippings of sugar all over your neck, chin, and cheeks. Hardly any actually makes it in your mouth, but the therapist just chuckles and puts the jar beside him, bending down to run his tongue in a broad swipe up your cheek.

You squeal, turning your head to the side, but the surprise quickly bubbles into arousal as he laps up every last drop, sucking hickies into your neck all the way. The longer he goes, the more you need him, wetter and wetter around his cock. Rocking your hips just to get some friction, you whine into the silence of the kitchen. “Jin, fuck me already,” you plead.

Jin’s first thrust punches all the air out of you. He snaps his hips hard enough to push your body forward from the tile, then grabs your waist with a low growl, pinning you against the floor.

Though the tiles are still cold, your body heat is quickly taking the edge off, and being fucked against such a hard surface is a new feeling to you entirely. There’s no give, no bounce. When Jin begins fucking you at a greedy pace, you feel every inch of him stretching you open.

Your eyes squeeze shut and your mouth drops open, trying not to moan loud enough that the sound would travel upstairs, but barely able to even contain them at all. “Fucking me so go-mmf!” Your mouth is filled with a cold intruder, and you suck hard, swirling your tongue around the two fingers covered with ice cream. Jin curses lowly at the feeling, and suddenly he’s picking up the pace even more.

You cry out around his fingers, hands flailing to find something to latch onto and anchor yourself, but your knuckles whack into something solid. The ache in your fingers is quickly drowned out by the sudden rush of thick wetness on your stomach, and your eyes fly open, choking on Jin’s digits.

His thrusts slow down and he pulls his hand away and before you can say a single thing, the room is filled with the contagious sound of his laughter. Cock still buried deep inside you, and one hand dripping with caramel, holding onto the near-empty jar, Jin howls, shoulders shaking with the force of it.

“Hey!” you whine, pouting when the caramel disperses over you, soon dripping down onto your back and the floor. “Don’t laugh at me! You wouldn’t like it if your chest was drenched in caramel!”

Jin discards the jar beside him with a sticky clink, and composes himself, though that glint still remains alight in his eyes. “Oh, wouldn’t I?” Without a moment’s hesitation, he’s bending down until your chests are pressed together, separated only by that slippery layer of sauce.

A muffled squeak leaves your lips when he captures them again, his fingers scratching lines up your sides, making you shiver. You try to protest his attempt at tickling you while you were vulnerable, but then he’s rocking his hips, shallow strokes that grind into you so deep.

You moan, wrapping your arms around his back. Every time you feel his nails cutting through the syrup, you scratch his back. Instead of deterring him, however, he just groans into your mouth and doubles his efforts at fucking you.

Slowly, his hands move around from your sides to your back, and you cling to him tighter as he lifts you off the kitchen floor. Still delving his tongue deep into your mouth, he pulls you up until your torso is arched against him and your head tips back slightly, a perfect halfway point between horizontal and vertical, and uses the extra momentum to thrust up into you harder. The angle hits your g-spot roughly with every snap of his hips, and your clit grinds against his cock.

You cry out and lose contact with his mouth, but he just latches it onto your neck instead, dragging his teeth over your shoulder to let the cooled caramel pool in his mouth.

“Jinnie, I’m close,” you confess in a rush, your orgasm quickly building with a pressure between your legs. Something in the way your toes curl and stomach tenses warns you that this will be a powerful one, and your cries increase in pitch and volume, every breath a moan. “Jinnie! Fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna-”

“Make another mess for me, baby,” Jin groans, and with those words alone your vision goes white.

Jin curses when you lock up around him - legs and arms and pussy alike - but continues to rut against you as you ride the churning wave of your high. Burying your head into the crook of his neck so that you don’t wake the others with your keening scream, you feel a sudden burst inside you that leaves you trembling uncontrollably beneath him.

You feel Jin’s chin pressing into your hair as he glances down, grunting with exertion, and suddenly he’s freezing, holding you tightly to him as he cums inside of you.

The warmth of him filling you is the perfect soother as you come down from that intense climax, and you sigh as he leans forward, lying you back down on the kitchen tile. The two of you fight to catch your breath, the only sounds in the room your joint gasps.

Above you, Jin’s chest heaves, dripping with caramel just like yours must be. He doesn’t take any bother though, wiping away the sweat on his brow with a clean patch of his forearm. “Man,” he exclaims with a cheery chuckle, “you really did make a mess, huh?”

“What?” you ask blearily, weakly propping yourself up on your elbows to glance down. Thinner and clearer than the caramel, a liquid drips over yours and Jin’s stomachs, running down to the tile. You’d squirted. With a weak groan, you let yourself collapse back onto the sticky floor. “It’s too early for this,” you whine. “Oh, god. We have to clean this up.”

Jin’s smile is wiped clear off his face. “Oh, fuck. I didn’t even think about that, my notes didn’t mention it…”

“Your notes?” you ask curiously, grimacing when Jin slowly pulls himself out of you, a stream of cum following and joining the mess of liquids on the floor. “What notes?”

The therapist lets out a nervous laugh as he gets up off the floor, grabbing a clean dish cloth from the bottom drawer. “I did some research, that’s all. Like, no spicy stuff near any mucous membranes because of the sting, no sugar in the vulva otherwise you might get a yeast infection-”

“Eugh,” you cut in, “I’m glad you did the research, but that just makes me want a shower even more now.”

“Go shower, then,” Jin allows with a sympathetic smile, wetting the cloth and beginning to wipe off the stickiness on his chest. “I can clean this up for you.”

“Absolutely not,” you insist, “I’ll quickly wash this off, but I’m coming back down to help you. The sun’s about to rise, so if we work together, maybe there won’t still be cummy sauce all over the floor when the others come down for breakfast.”

“It is probably a safety hazard,” Jin admits. “Okay, then, we’ll clean it together. I’ll have a quick shower once you get back.”

You beam up at him but, before you grab your clothes and rush up the stairs, you rise onto your tiptoes and press a kiss to his sugared lips. “Don’t miss me too much.”

Jin returns your warm smile, ducking down to steal another kiss, and another, and another until you’re giggling and ducking away. “I’ll do my best.”

“You aren’t being particularly subtle.”

Hoseok shrugs at Yoongi. “I’m not trying to be subtle.”

The doctor’s eyes narrow. “Then tell us what’s in the box.”

Hoseok hesitates. “I’m trying to be a little bit subtle.”

Taehyung groans, reaching out for the heavy cardboard box and glaring reproachfully at Hoseok when he smacks his hand away. “Could we have a clue?”

Hoseok smiles sweetly. “No.”

“Then why is it on the table?” the masseuse whines miserably. “You’re just teasing us!”

“I don’t know why you’re so bothered,” Yoongi notes, “it’s not even for you.”

Perhaps you’d be more bemused by the antics of the boys at the table were it not for your own rampant curiosity. As usual, your days were measured by communal mealtimes (courtesy of the fact that six of you were too lazy to cook for yourselves, and the remaining too were perfectly happy to make enough for you all) but this time, as you enjoyed a pan-seared fish of some sort, the flow of the table was interrupted by the package that Hoseok had so dramatically dropped down in front of him. “What is it on the table for?” you ask in what you hope is a casual, unbothered tone.

Hoseok sighs patiently like he’s been through this before. “It’s to create an atmosphere of anticipation,” he explains importantly. “This is reality TV gold, guys, this is exactly what the editors would put a close-up of right before the ad break.”

Jin furrows his brows. “I don’t think there are ad breaks, Hobi.”

“You get what I mean,” he huffs petulantly before clearing his throat, “anyway, let’s change the topic. Any gossip? Love declarations, plot twists; what have I missed?”

Jungkook opens his mouth, beside him Yoongi quickly places a hand on his thigh, and the younger boy sinks back into his chair. “Just the usual for me.” If you weren’t already looking at him, you might have missed the slip of a smile that he presses his lips together to suppress. “Except for the extra dicks I’ve been sucking.”

“Jungkook!” Yoongi shrieks, before sitting up straight. “Wait. Dicks, plural?”

“Well, yeah, Taehyung can’t fuck Y/n anymore, so…” Jungkook deflects. Across the table, Taehyung wordlessly throws his hands in the air in a ‘what can you do?’ type gesture. “It’s like an emergency relief fund but sex,” the youngest explains, “I’m very generous like that.”

Taehyung’s mouth drops open, his breezy demeanour fading. “Hey! You only sucked my dick because you said my technique was off!”

Jungkook smiles glacially at the rest of you. “I’m a giver,” he continues, “much like Yoongi, I teach on the side.” He pouts at Taehyung. “And your technique was off!”

“It was better than your sloppy toppy!” Taehyung defends. “I wanted a blowjob, not a shower.”

“Listen,” Jin says sharply as Jungkook lets out an offended cry, “the only way you’ll ever know for sure is if you have an objective party to compare the two directly.”

Jungkook harrumps, crossing his arms. “What; are you offering?”

Jin pauses. “To have...my dick sucked twice by two very attractive and enthusiastic people? Yes, yes I am.”

Taehyung narrows his eyes at Jungkook. “You’re so on,” he threatens, “when I win, you have to let me join your stream.”

Jungkook’s already leaving the table, dragging Jin up by a handful of his hoodie. “Such a shame you’re not going to, then,” he taunts, “when you lose, you have to give me a full-body massage and no skimping on the back.”

The rest of you watch in speechless bemusement as Taehyung huffs and throws his chair back, hurrying after them. “Maybe if you didn’t slump in your chair so much, you wouldn’t have a sore back in the first place! Wait, Jungkook, not so fast, I just ate…”

Once the three have left, Yoongi clears his throat. “The gossips have left,” he states carefully, eyes serious as they watch Hoseok, “so what’s in the box?”

Hoseok giggles and claps his hands together, clearly delighted with the attention this box has given me. “You know, the more you ask, the less likely I am to show you.”

Yoongi immediately makes his expression sour, turning up his nose. “I don’t even want to see what’s inside the box,” he insists, “I don’t care at all.”

“Sure thing, hyung.”

The academic is next to have a go. With gentle eyes and shy fingers, Namjoon props his hands on the very edge of the table and looks over to Hoseok. “What if you just showed us one?” he bargains. “It just seems like such a shame to get them delivered all the way over here and not get to show more people.”

Hoseok purses his lips, still unconvinced. At the head of the table, Jimin lets out a scoff and stands up, picking his plate and cup off the table to go discard them in the dishwasher. “It’s going to be something boring,” he drawls, bending over slowly to put away the dishes, letting the table get an eyeful of the tight black jeans he’s wearing. “He’ll wrap Y/n up in rope like tinsel on a Christmas tree and call it BDSM.”

An indignant cry comes from the table as Hoseok watches Jimin reach into the fridge, pulling out a single raspberry from the fruit drawer in there, and grin rakishly at the older man. “That’s not true at all,” Hoseok defends insistently, “I’m just easing her into it. Besides; let me show you something from the box and then we’ll see what you think.”

“How- wha-?” Yoongi’s mouth drops open as Hoseok reaches for the box and uses a knife from the lunch to cut the tape down the middle. “He doesn’t even like you! Why was he the one to convince you?”

Hoseok barely takes note, shielding the opening from your eyes as he digs around inside. It’s near impossible to restrain your curiosity, but you curl your ankles around the chair legs and force yourself to stay seated as he shoves his hand in.

You hear clinks, thuds, and scrapes, before Hoseok lets out a triumphant gasp and pulls his arm up, retrieving a braided leather handle, which he lifts out of the box to reveal a whip of sorts, complete with a neat pile of clean-cut leather strips. Your eyes widen as Hoseok sets it on the table with a weighty thunk, closing the box back up.

“Too boring for you?” Hoseok asks of Jimin with a challenging stare. One finger lazily trails along one of the tails of leather, neatly folded in a gathered loop on the table, making you swallow harshly at the thought of what one of those might feel like lashing across your skin.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Jimin returns to the table, inspecting it slowly. “And what are you going to do with that, big boy? Such a big flogger; I must admit, it seems like you’re overcompensating.”

Hoseok scoffs, a smirk playing at his lips. “I’ve caught you staring enough times, Peaches,” he taunts, “you and I both know that’s not true.”

This time, Jimin seems almost expectant of the nickname, and just rolls his eyes. “I’m surprised you noticed, seeing as your eyes are always locked onto my ass. Bet you wish you had a handful, huh?”

Hoseok frowns, pushing himself away from the table. “Did I eat too much or did the thought of dirtying my hands with you make me physically sick?” he questions rhetorically, making Jimin huff. “Anyways, I’ve got a scene to set up. Best for last, and all that.”

With a flourish, Hoseok picks up the whip - or, as Jimin had said, flogger - handle between two fingers and throws the tail of leather strips over his shoulder, lifting the box into his arms with a light grunt of exertion. Suddenly, he turns his gaze to you, warm but firm. “The downstairs bathroom; be there in half an hour wearing your underwear and only your underwear.”

You suck in a breath when he suddenly leans in close, hoisting the box on his hip as he uses the opposite hand to reach out and fiddle with your bra strap, snapping it against your shoulder with a teasing smile. “If you want to make Master happy,” he says in a voice like crushed velvet, “pick something pretty.”

Hoseok disappears down the hallway with all the drama of a Disney villain, sans a cape to billow behind him, and Yoongi lets out a slow sigh, getting up from his chair. “Well, I’m going to go outside and try and forget about all the debauchery in here. Anyone else?”

Namjoon straightens up immediately, hips bumping against the table. “Sounds good to me,” he rushes out, still looking a little pale from seeing that sneak peek of Hoseok’s box of toys.

Jimin, on the other hand, glances up towards the ceiling with a thoughtful expression. “You two go ahead,” he states, “I think the little ones upstairs could use another judge.”

Yoongi’s eyebrows lift, almost looking like he’s about to reconsider his choice to leave, but Namjoon is already suggesting they could bring out some board games or a pack of cards, and as usual Yoongi is softer than he likes to think he is.

Once everyone has left you alone in the living room, you slump back onto the table, letting out a breath. Your skin is already tingling relentlessly wondering what those strips of leather would feel like raining down on your skin. And that tool must have only been taking up a small portion of that box. It was heavy, full with other surprises that you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

Taking a look at the time, you curse and scamper upstairs to track down something pretty for Hoseok.

It’s impossible to stop your mind from conjuring up countless images of what could be waiting for you. Big posts of metal or wood to tie a sub to, chains and latex and the Hollywood taboo of kink that comes to mind. But in the end, it seems trying to picture anything at all was a useless venture, as when you make it downstairs and knock on the door exactly thirty minutes after Hoseok let you, what’s inside is not anything you would have ever expected.

The bathroom itself is decently large, with flat tile all over, a row of showerheads without the luxury of cubicles, a large bath set into one corner, and a bench with a mirror.

But in the middle of the room, closer to the bench than the showers, sits Hoseok.

There’s nothing around him bar a single empty chair that he inclines his head towards, silently instructing you to sit. You glance around in suspicion, but the cardboard box is folded up just beside him and there’s nothing else to see.

Hoseok himself quite easily takes his spot as the centre of attention, though. As you sit gingerly on the wooden chair, grimacing at the scraping sound of the legs on the floor, you look him over. As usual, he makes his statement in black. Hoseok dons boots that lace up to just below his knees, tight leather pants, and a collared shirt that shimmers slightly in the light, like expensive silk. Around his middle is a belt that tightly cinches his waist, accentuating his chest and shoulders. With his hair parted and slightly curling to one side, you don’t miss the way his eyebrow quirks up. “Are you quite done?”

Your cheeks heat, and you lean back until you can feel the chair digging in. “Sorry.”

“Sorry, who?”

“Sorry, Sir,” you stutter out as quickly as you can, lowering your gaze.

“Dear me, I hope you haven’t forgotten your manners already,” he croons with a faux look of disappointment, crossing a leg over his knee. “Lucky for you, our scene hasn’t started yet. I want to have a little conversation with you first.”

You swallow, eyes darting down to that cardboard box, curiosity eating you up from the inside. “What do you want to talk about, sir?”

Hoseok’s eyes soften slightly and he laces his fingers over the top of his knee. “You and I are going to have a talk together as two adults, princess. I know we have the consent forms and safewords, but this one requires a little more direct communication. Normally in a scene, you’d be kneeling or I’d be standing right now, but I want you to be fully aware that we are having this discussion as equals. Understood? You can ask questions, raise concerns, anything you need.”

Though your heart hasn’t stopped racing, you feel yourself beginning to calm, relieved for a chance to properly prepare yourself and see what’s going to happen. “Yes, understood. Sir.”

Hoseok’s eyes fleck with mirth as he tilts his head. “First of all; are you allergic to soy or paraffin? I know we have the allergy sheets, but I’d feel safer double-checking.”

You frown, brows knitting in confusion. “Soy? Like soy sauce? And no, I’m not allergic to either of them.”

When Hoseok smiles to reveal his teeth, you catch a glimpse of his dom side, even as he maintains a friendly disposition. “Soy candles, princess.”

A flicker of alarm rushes through you, and you clasp your hands together, fiddling your digits to keep calm. “Is this like, pouring hot wax? I don’t know, Hoseok…”

“It wasn’t a hard limit you listed,” Hoseok reminds gently, “has that changed?”

You swallow. “I- no, it hasn’t but it’s still a soft limit, and I don’t know if-”

“That’s why I wanted to sit down and have a talk with you about it,” he explains without missing a beat, “and if, at the end, you want to keep it as a limit, we’ll do something else. I don’t mind forfeiting the challenge and taking a week in the bunks; they’re perfectly comfortable.” You still don’t answer, feeling scarily vulnerable in a bra and lace panties, nothing but a loose satin robe over top to keep you a little warm and covered. Hoseok’s warm expression keeps you anchored. “Wax play isn’t explicitly pain play, it can be sensation play just like running an ice cube over your skin. And I’ve been doing it for years, princess, if you know what you’re doing, it’s perfectly safe. Do you want to hear me out? There are no obligations.”

You suck in a deep breath, taking a second to think. “I want to at least hear you first,” you decide, “but I really don’t know.”

“I understand entirely,” Hoseok says, and a strange change overtakes his face as he bends down to slip open the folds keeping the box closed. It’s a slight lifting of his brows, pursing of his lips while still being relaxed. The almost stern look of a teacher as he pulls out a weighty red candle, rolling it over in his palm. He glances back at you, presenting it. The two of you are seated close enough together that you only have to lean forward to take it from him.

He lets you look over it as he speaks, his voice soothing and practiced. “This is a pillar candle,” he explains, “see how it’s quite girthy? When you light a candle like that, the molten wax pools in the middle. So when you go to tip it, you can control how much wax you want to pour and when. Some people will have at least two candles burning so that they can alternate. These ones are soy, but I brought paraffin too in case you had an allergy.”

Out of curiosity, you dig your nail into the top, by the fresh wick, and watch thick red wax build up under the nail. “Doesn’t it burn you?” you question. “Like it got melted because of actual fire, surely it would burn.”

Hoseok shrugs. “Not with the right wax.” He takes it back from you, flipping it up to show off the base where a small white sticker displays some information about the candle in tiny print. “Soy and paraffin both tend to melt at roughly the same temperature, and it’s low enough that it won’t burn you. The further away you drop it from affects the temperature when it gets to your skin, too. But candles like beeswax melt at a very high temperature. Those can be dangerous, and you’d never catch me or anyone at Red using them. Now-!” Slipping the short, fat candle back into the box with a soft thud, he pulls out a second one. This one is black, and thin with a pointed end at the top. “This one is a taper candle. There’s no room for the wax to build up, so when you light it, it’ll drop the melted wax one drop at a time. The advantage is that it’s handy for constant use, and very easy to maneuver. One of my friends at Red actually uses it in suspension bondage. She’ll tie up her sub and slip a lit taper into the rope somewhere so that it drips on, say, the sub’s back or stomach. You can imagine if you where tied up and blindfolded, feeling a single drop of heat at a time would be a pretty intense experience.”

The dom breaks off with a laugh at the look on your face, and promptly slips it back in the box. “For our purposes, I’m going to use the pillar. It means that I can easily stop at any time and let the wax just sit in that little divot at the top without it getting everywhere. Still with me?”

You nod quickly, shifting on the chair. Perhaps it’s the hypnotic, soothing lilt of his voice as he walks you through it, or perhaps you’re just realising that it’s not as scary as it seems, but that soft limit is getting softer and softer. “You can go on,” you state in a small voice.

Hoseok’s beam is addicting, brightening the room as he lets out a pleased hum and stands up. Instead of approaching you, however, he walks right past to the bench, fiddling with something in the sink there before he’s filling it up. “An important safety measure,” he explains, “is to have a water source nearby. In case it’s too hot, or the candle catches on anything. I’m doing it in here so that there’s not really anything flammable like carpet or curtains, but there’s no such thing as being too safe.”

You watch him shake the water off his hand with a fond smile. He returns to sit across from you, nudging the open box with his foot. “We have some other surprises in here, but nothing too wild apart from the flogger. How are you feeling about it?”

Your heart skips a beat when you recall it, the satisfying whip of air as he threw it over his shoulder earlier. “I’m nervous, but I really want to try it.”

“Excellent,” he says warmly. “And the wax? We can take it slow, try it out a bit and then I’ll check back in, yeah? Just because we’ll be in the scene doesn’t mean this communication is cut off.”

You suck in a slow breath, biting your lip. Hoseok gives you time to think, waiting patiently and without expectation, but you know that you want to at least try chasing that thrill deep inside you. “I wanna give it a go too.”

Hoseok’s look of pride makes your decision feel all the more right. “That’s my girl,” he chimes, “so brave for me.” Without further notice, his eyes darken, and his smile turns less sweet and more sly. “You know Master will make it good for you, right?”

You shiver beneath the thin layer of satin and lace. “Yes, sir.”

“Good girl,” he coos, “I want you to make a choice now, princess. I’ll let you choose what you wish to have first? Candles or the flogger?”

You feel slightly paralysed by the sudden decision making, brain already beginning to slow down. “Flogger please, sir.”

“So polite,” he praises, “alright, then. I want you to stand up and take that robe of yours off.”

You do so with a quickening pulse, but Hoseok doesn’t even spare a second glance at you, instead shifting the box over to the bench, pulling out… something that definitely isn’t the flogger.

Hoseok turns to you with a grin, dangling a chain on a single finger. At either end, leather cuffs twirl and bump each other, familiar to ones you’d used on the show before. Unlike the other pair, which were pretty simple and basic, this pair look beautiful enough to be a regular fashion accessory. The leather is thick but not stiff, and they’re done up with silver buckles, adjustable for size. What really catches your attention, however, is the gorgeous red trim of the softest velvet, a deep colour that makes it look unbelievably expensive. As he approaches, you notice that the insides of the cuffs are embossed with the symbol you recognised from the box. Two Rs facing away from each other, with delicately curled strokes.

“Pretty, aren’t they?” Hoseok asks rhetorically. “They’re from the dungeon, if you hadn’t already guessed. Show me your wrists.” You rush to obey, sighing when you feel cool velvet encase around your left wrist, Hoseok deftly fastening the cuff as he continues to talk. “We have a colour code for everyone that comes in our doors. All spectators wear a simple black wristband. If you’re there to play, doms get armbands and subs get cuffs. Green means free use, anyone inside those walls wearing a cuff or a armband can play with you-” he doesn’t miss the way you shudder at the concept of being totally at the mercy of a roomful of strangers, arms pulling closer to your sides defensively, “-blue means looking. You’re open to negotiation, but there needs to be a kink negotiation and mutual agreement before you begin to play.” Hoseok moves to your other wrist, making sure the cuff is snug, but not cutting off circulation. “Can you guess what red means, princess?”

You can’t bear to look away from the gorgeous cuffs that adorn your wrists. You can feel the weight of the chain that connects them as it swings below. “Taken,” you offer in an uncertain voice.

“That’s right.” Even though you aren’t looking directly at him, you can sense Hoseok’s grin. He gracefully hooks the chain on his finger, lifting it up and tugging it to watch your wrists jerk towards him. “And can you guess why I picked red for you?”

You think you know the answer. But you become overcome with the desire to hear him say it. You lift your gaze to his, shaking your head slowly. “I don’t know.”

Hoseok sees right through you, tilting his head. “I think you do,” he counters, “but I’ll happily tell you.” He yanks again, making you stumble forward into his chest. With an arm bracing you against him, Hoseok bends down to murmur in your ear. “Because you’re mine.” With the teasing slowness of a cat playing with its food, he brushes your hair back, fingertips light against the bare skin of your neck and shoulders. “Do you want to know something funny? The entire time you’ve been in there, you haven’t thought to look up.”

It happens quickly. Just as you lift your chin to seek out what he’s referring to, you feel a pull on your wrists. Hoseok’s grip on you loosens but the tug on your wrists continues until they’re stretching right up above you. The moment you set your eyes on the hook dangling from the ceiling - what looks like thick, industrial grade steel - you see the chain loop onto it and suddenly you can’t drop your arms anymore.

You tug them, a natural instinct to escape the hold, and the unforgiving way your body is stretched out makes your chest pound a little with alarm,heels only just resting on the floor. Hoseok’s hands are on you, palms hot as they smooth up and down your sides and back, soothing you. Your racing pulse starts to slow, even as your arms tremble.

“That’s better,” he remarks, tongue flicking out to lick his lips. “Would you believe that hook was there when we came?”

Your lips twitch. “Honestly? No, sir.”

He flicks you a wink, patting your ass fondly. “You would be surprised. Used to be a fixture for a chandelier. Who the fuck needs a chandelier in a bathroom?” You suppress a laugh, knowing that your nervous giggles will get the best of you if you give them a chance, but Hoseok sees that he’s managed to calm you down quite a bit, and slips back into the velvety depths of his dominant persona once again. His hand hasn’t moved from your ass, and you suck in a sharp breath through your nose as his fingers slip beneath the lace, gripping the flesh there, unable to move away from it.

“I’ve been waiting for this, you know,” he starts with a casual air, massaging your ass openly even as his eyes stay fixed on yours, monitoring your every expression, “been waiting to turn that pretty ass of yours red. Let’s take these pretty panties of yours off first.”

You relax your thighs to let the strip of fabric sneak past, and when he bares your bottom half, tucking the cream-coloured lace into his back pocket, you shiver for a different reason entirely. You feel the wetness between your thighs begin to run down now that it’s unhindered by your panties, and your nipples are stiff, begging to be touched.

Hoseok isn’t so merciful, however, and when he glances down and sees them, he flicks lightly at one with an amused chuckle. “Desperate little one, aren’t you? Now, princess, I’m going to go over to the bench and get my flogger. Are you okay here alone? I’m not leaving you; I’ll only be out of your sight for a moment.”

The tile feels so cold and unforgiving under your toes as you shift, the chain preventing you from going far. “Yes, sir,” you say, but Hoseok clearly senses your hesitance.

Eyes imploring, warm yet serious, he tips up your chin with his knuckles gently. “Do you trust me? I’ll be no more than ten seconds. How about this? In your head, chant ‘Master is a good kisser’ three times, and I’ll be back.”

Your eyes round, wetting your lips. “How would I kn-umph!” Your question is cut off prematurely as Hoseok ducks down and demonstrates; a firm, bruising kiss that’s only heightened by the bondage restricting your movements. You can’t touch him, or move closer. You just have to sit and take it, and your mind feels heady as his lips press roughly against yours, teeth tugging on your lower lip enough to sting. By the time he pulls away, you feel breathless, the tension of the cuffs the only thing keeping you on your feet.

Hoseok gently buffs you on the cheek with another wink. “Don’t forget the magic words, princess,” he chimes, “I’ll be right back.”

And, though only two weeks ago the feeling of having him out of sight and out of reach had freaked you out to the point of safewording, the tingle in your lips and that admittedly accurate mantra - Master is a good kisser - keep your mind occupied enough that before you reach the end of the third recitation, Hoseok has stepped back into your line of vision, giving you an expectant look. “Still with me?”

“Yes, sir.” You nod with it, though you can’t bring yourself to look at him, so captivated by the flogger in his hand. He holds it like a seasoned expert, which you don’t doubt he is. The handle is black braided leather, with two thicker balls on either end like a dumbbell, no doubt for ease of grip. His hand wraps around the narrower middle section, but loose enough that his fingers look relaxed around it. Though he holds the handle upright slightly, the strips of leather fall straight down in a single cascade, neatly kept together.

Observing your trained eye, Hoseok laughs and steps closer, sliding the leather over his palm to display it for you. “Shall we have a quick lesson? This here is a perfect beginner’s flogger. Perfectly balanced with a weighted handle and clean-cut leather. These strips here, they’re called falls. The less you have or the thinner they are, the more it stings like a whip would. This one has probably around 30, 35 falls. Proper garment leather. Expensive, but well-crafted.” His hand shifts, clasping around the ends, which he spreads apart with a thumb. “You see how the ends are rounded? Some falls have forked tips, pointed tips, or straight-cut ones. The pointier it is, the sharper the sensation. Rounded tips are best for a newbie like you.”

Suddenly, he drops the ends, letting them revert back to their single stream of leather spouting from the handle. The quick movement makes your eyes automatically jump up to his face, and you suck in a breath at how intense his gaze is on you. “You need to be very clear where your limits are, princess. Tell me if I’m going too hard. This is painplay, but it should still be pleasurable. Understood?”

You swallow. Now, with your body almost entirely naked, your body restrained and a very practiced dom standing in front of you with a flogger, the concept of pain is a little more concrete. But still, you trust him, and his ability to make it feel good for you. “Understood, sir.”

“Good.” Hoseok steps back, giving himself some distance as he eyes you up. With a smooth motion, his wrist begins to flick, and you instinctually recoil when the falls of the flogger start flying through the air in a graceful arc. They’re uniform in both width and length, probably just about as long as Hoseok’s arm, which stays perfectly still as he isolates the movement in his joint. Even if you weren’t in the metaphorical hot seat, this show of excellence and practiced skill would nevertheless add to the coil of arousal between your legs. He looks good like this, fully in his element. “Now,” he states, smirking at your telling reaction, “normally the best spots are the back of the shoulders, and the ass. But something tells me you’d rather see what I’m doing before letting me loose behind you. Would I be right in thinking that?”

You picture him going behind you and beginning to whip you with no context or warning. You nod your head quickly. “Yes please, sir.”

Hoseok smiles, slowing his wrist, before he begins flicking it the opposite way, the ends of the flogger curving downwards towards you instead of upwards. “Now, this flogger is a little thuddier than what I’d usually use on breasts, but since I’m only going to be very light, it’ll be just fine.”

You try to inch backwards, but the chain rattles and gives you away. “My breasts?”

Hoseok’s hand stills, his head cocking to one side as his brows come together. “Is there a problem, princess?”

His disapproval is clear, and you get the feeling that you’re treading on thin ice. But he said that communication wouldn’t stop here, so you forge ahead. “I’m not protesting, I’m just curious, sir. Why not somewhere easier like the stomach?”

Distaste wracks his features. “This isn’t going anywhere near your stomach,” he says firmly, “the organs there are unprotected. Anything vulnerable - joints, spine, the stomach and lower back, of course the head - they’re all off-limits. Do you understand that?” When he receives a nod, the line of tension in Hoseok’s shoulders relaxes. “Now, I need you to move your head back so that it’s between or behind your arms. Can you do that for me?”

Pushing your head through the gap in your upper arms, you shift until your whole face is between them, chin tilted slightly up. “May I ask why, sir?” you request in a small voice. Why did this whole thing feel so technical? And why were you still so wet from it?

“You may,” Hoseok replies bemusedly, “it just distances your face from the swings. Don’t worry-” he interjects quickly when your eyes widen in alarm, “the falls will be nowhere near your face. It’s just for our peace of mind. Do you still trust me?”

You manage to nod with your face bracketed by your arms, and with a rush of anticipation, watch Hoseok start up those quick circles, the leather whipping through the air in one bunch. Instead of stretching his arm forward, he steps in slowly, moving the falls getting closer and closer until the smooth stroke of impact flicks across your right breast.

You gasp, out of shock more than anything, but those strokes deliver a regular pattern, and it’s already lacing across your skin again, and again, an odd feeling that certainly isn’t unpleasant. There’s a distinct feeling of impact, without any real weight behind it, and the slightest hint of a sting that just serves to gradually warm the skin. Your chest is heaving, but Hoseok lands each blow with perfect accuracy, even stepping side-on between arcs and switching breasts.

The constant snap of contact helps you get used to it and calm down, and you can’t deny that it feels kind of...nice? There’s something satisfying and freeing about feeling those split second granules of pain and tolerating them, overcoming them. It doesn’t take long before you unconsciously arch your spine, seeking out something more than just light swats from the very tips of the falls.

Hoseok notices the moment you move and, frustratingly, he stops with a chuckle. “Did that turn you on, princess? Do you want more?”

You whine, tipping your head back further so he disappears out of your sight. Against the skin of your inner arms, your cheeks are raging hot. “Yes,” you admit in a defeated voice when he refuses to move on.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir?” you quip with a hopeful tone.

“Nice try,” Hoseok replies flatly, “I want you to say it, princess. Yes, what?”

You bite your lip, squeezing your eyes shut. There’s only silence. The heat has already left your breasts, and they feel strange without that lick of leather on them. “I want more, please, sir.”

“Good girl,” Hoseok coos, and in reward you feel the now-welcome flick of the falls on your breasts. This time, however, he stands directly across from you and twists his wrist over, casting figure eights, alternating left and right. You tremble at the feeling, squirming under it. Though it’s still light, every strike feels even more intense on your nipples, shooting sensation right between your legs.

“Sir,” you gasp out, “I w-want some more, sir.”

Hoseok answers without faltering, and his voice easily carries over the sound of the flogger. “Oh, do you? I can’t go any harder on these pretty little tits of yours, princess.” He pulls away, ceasing the motion. “If you want to continue, I’m going to have to go behind you. Are you okay with that?”

You push your reddened chest forward to no avail. “Fuck! Hoseok, yes, I’m okay with it,” you whine, unable to resolve any of the need in your core, needing more. Hoseok clicks his tongue in disapproval, and you curse internally at the slip. “Sir! Sorry, I’m okay with it, sir.”

“You better not forget your manners,” Hoseok warns, taking one step at a time, boots thudding on the tile as he circles you. “I’m flogging you for pleasure, because I like to treat and train you, but if you do that again, I can easily turn this into a punishment.”

The thought makes you moan, and your wrist jerks as you fruitlessly try to cover your mouth. Actually relieved he’s behind you for once, you let your head duck forward, cheeks burning with embarrassment.

Hoseok chuckles. “It seems like you’re more of a painslut than you realise, princess,” he teases, and you’re given no warning before you feel a strike against your ass, making you jump with a yelp. Though it’s the same light figure eights as just before, these ones whip up from the bottom, so that every hit lands on the meat of your ass, avoiding your lower back. If the ones before were easy, these feel like child’s play. Whether you’ve gotten more used to the sensation, or the skin on your ass just isn’t as sensitive, you find yourself immediately wanting more, trying to lean back into it.

The dom isn’t pleased. “Did I say you could move?”

You don’t answer, hands reaching up to grip the chains that bind them as you bite down harshly on your tongue. “I can take more, sir,” you begin, but Hoseok cuts you off with a gruff noise of disapproval.

“Did I say you could move?” he repeats sharply.

You whine low in your throat. “No, sir,” you admit, “but I can-” You yelp and flinch when a single swat hits below the swell of your ass, across your thighs. It feels different there, stingier and less hazily pleasant. “I’m sorry-”

“That’s right, I didn’t,” Hoseok’s voice comes from behind you, cold and unforgiving. “In fact, I hung you up here to keep you still for me, so that I could play with you as I wished. If you insist on defying that, I’ll quite happily fetch a spreader bar so that you can’t move an inch.”

You furrow your brows, hating the feeling of making him mad. Hating even more that the sharpness in his tone and the filthy word he says just make you even needier, tightening your thighs together. “I’m sorry, sir, I’ll behave,” you mumble shamefully.

You jump slightly when you feel something on your ass again, but it’s just his hand, cupping the flesh. “I’m doing this to warm you up. For your own safety. I’ve been doing this for years, princess, don’t forget that Master knows best.”

“Master knows best,” you repeat mindlessly, feeling yourself begin to slip. It’s a comforting thought just as much as it is an arousing one; Master knows what he’s doing, and all you need to do is take it.

“Exactly.” Hoseok sounds pleased, and just as your heart lifts in relief, the hits resume.

Eyes slipping closed, you let yourself tune everything else out. When you focus, when you really actively feel it, you can recognise every shift in his posture, or change in angle by how it feels on your skin. The strips of leather lash up, gradually causing the skin to heat up as the thuddy feeling stays longer and longer after each strike.

Before he ups the intensity, he simply speeds up his strokes, and you let out a pleased whine as the constant ebb and flow of pleasure-softened pain lull you deeper. The more you take, the less it hurts at all, even as the skin on your ass feels like it’s radiating heat.

The warmth floods to the rest of your body until even your toes aren’t cold against the tile. You feel like you could stand here forever, strung up and lost in the sensations he’s giving you. In fact, those dull edges of pain are so soothing that it feels almost therapeutic, worries and aches melting away, irrelevant in this space.

Hoseok finally deems your skin is sufficiently warmed up, and you whimper when the hits shift. Instead of friendly, playful flicks of leather, every strike echoes in the room, the thud of impact delivering a bolder note of pain.

Not that it’s bad, though. On the contrary, if the earlier flogging was lulling you into a sleepy bliss, these ones wake you up like a burst of energy with every swing. Without even realising, a dopey grin stretches your cheeks, and you find yourself no longer trying to muffle the pleased sighs that stutter out with every flick of Hoseok’s wrist.

“Fuck, look at you,” the dom croons, “a painslut indeed. You’re dripping onto the tiles, naughty girl.”

You moan openly, knuckles aching with how tightly you’re gripping the chains that hook your cuffs to the steel loop above. Your pussy aches with the need to be touched, but to do that Hoseok would have to stop whipping you, and your mind hisses at the thought. All you want is more, you can take more, you want to show him, to show yourself you can take more. Every burst of pain on your flesh is another victory, and it feels euphoric.

You stay in this headspace for a while as Hoseok maintains the same, regular hits. Eventually, the scream for more overwhelms you, and you seek out something more intense the quickest way you know how - disobedience. “Hoseokie,” you whine, “hit me harder.”

You could sob when his hand freezes, the next strike coming down without any bite, just a loose draping of the leather falls. As they linger on the skin, you realise just how sensitive and raw it’s gotten, feeling every edge of leather in sharper clarity. Hoseok holds it there for a moment, then drops, the silence in the room palpable. “Are you giving me orders? And without the proper title, no less.”

Pain bursts across your skin like a line of fire, the sharpest and strongest hit yet. Like the one across your thighs, this comes at an angle instead of the upstrokes of his circles or figure eights. You can imagine him holding it back, and whipping it down with a single, swift flick. The residue heat on your ass just makes you want another.

Instead of another hit, however, you cry out when you feel nails digging into the flesh, not scraping, just groping the globes of your ass in each hand. You can even feel the stiff leather of the handle pressing into your flesh on one side, and you whine at the sensation.

“I know what you want, princess,” Hoseok growls, his voice startlingly close as his breath wafts hot on the back of your neck. “And if painplay was the purpose of the scene, perhaps I’d whip you until you cried like you deserve.”

You sob. “Master, please-”

“It’s too late for that,” he cuts off sharply. “The time for begging is over. You’ve disappointed me. I was going to lift up your legs and fuck you right here, but you’ve showed me that you don’t deserve that yet.”

Unprecedented, your eyes brim with tears. Hoseok slips back into your line of sight, face stern as he tucks the handle of the flogger in his belt at the back, and reaches up to unhook you. Your legs are weak, but he carries your weight with ease, letting the chain dangle around the back of his neck as he walks you over to the bench.

Instead of propping you up on it, or sitting you on a chair, he helps you lie down on the cool tile, an immediate balm for the deep-set heat radiating from your ass. Even as his face is stiff with disapproval, he handles you so gently, ensuring you don’t knock your head on the way down.

“Just stay here a moment,” he murmurs, brushing your hair out of your eyes, “calm down a little bit. I have some candles to light.”

You feel strangely floaty, your emotions all over the place, but Master had asked you to calm down, so you try your best to settle them. It’s not a bad sensation once you relax a bit. Need burns fiercely between your thighs, but the last thing you want to do is upset him by breaking the rules, so you simply let your eyes slip closed and your thighs clench together. You’ll wait until Hoseok comes back to you, and then you’ll make things right by being extra good. The thought of pleasing him makes you smile, and when Hoseok’s voice wraps around you, checking that you’re still with him, it’s only too easy to chirp a contented, “yes, sir.”

When he returns, he’s slipping one hand under your head and the other behind your back, lifting you ever-so-slowly so that your head doesn’t spin. Once you’re up, you lean forward and cling to him, wanting nothing more than to be close. Hoseok lazily cards his fingers through your hair. “You’ve misbehaved,” he states slowly, “you haven’t earned an orgasm, princess, but I’m soft on you. I’ll give you the chance to win one, how about that?”

You blink dazedly, feeling clarity begin to seep back in. “Win?”

Pulling back, Hoseok smirks down at you. “We’re going to play a little game, you and I. Come; I want you on your hands and knees.”

Hoseok guides you over, though you’ve mostly gotten your strength back. On the floor, near the box, are two lit pillar candles. The flames dance cheerily, leaving behind wells of molten wax. One is the red candle you’d inspected earlier, and the other is a pure white, the wax melting clear. You prop yourself up on your hands and knees beside it, but the dom quickly corrects you, leading you to instead assume the position over the box, which almost reaches your stomach.

Upon receiving your questioning look, Hoseok rubs one hand over your reddened ass cheeks, soothing the flesh. “I don’t want you losing your balance and creating a large angle,” he explains shortly, “the wax could drip forward into your hair or, worse, drip back where I’m sure you don’t want it.”

You shudder at the thought, your pulse steadily quickening as the reality of what he’s about to do sets in. This feels even more unfamiliar and alien than the flogging did at the beginning, but you feel safe beneath his touch.

Hoseok gets on his knees behind you, and you could cry in relief when you hear a belt buckle clink, and then a zip lower. It takes no time at all for you to feel the blunt head of Hoseok’s cock pressing against your entrance until it begins to sink in.

You moan, arching your back enough that you fee the texture of cardboard on your stomach. After only receiving external stimulation - pain, nonetheless - until now, suddenly being speared on his tongue has you speechless, tongue heavy in your mouth and drool pooling in your cheeks.

“Feel good, princess?” Hoseok questions, giving your raw ass a playful swat when you cry out the affirmative. “I bet it does.” But when he bottoms out, leaving you deliciously full, he remains perfectly still. “Sadly, that’s all you’ll get for now. Do you want to hear the rules of the game?”

You sob lowly in your throat, elbows almost buckling as your walls clench around the unmoving intrusion. “Please, sir.”

“I’m going to write a word on you, princess. A special word. But it just so happens that I don’t have a pen on me, so I’ll use this wax instead.” The glimpses of red and white blink out of your peripheral as Hoseok drags them closer to himself. “You can guess each letter, and if you manage to get the word right once I’m finished, then I’ll let you cum. Does that sound fair?” Your reply is garbled, incoherent, but Hoseok doesn’t seem bothered. “Then let’s begin. Pay close attention, now.”

Your body naturally tenses up, eyes squeezed shut as you wait for a burst of pain, of searing heat. When something touches your skin, you automatically cry out, but quickly realise that it doesn’t hurt at all, instead, it’s like viscous warm water that slowly stiffens on your skin as it cools. The tightness in your chest loosens.

“That was a test patch, princess,” Hoseok says in a calm voice, devoid from his usual dom smugness. “Too hot? Not hot enough?”

You swallow. “It wasn’t hot,” you admit, “it’s not bad.”

“Understood,” he confirms, squeezing your hip in reassurance as you clench again around him, but the safety monitor Hoseok quickly takes a backseat to the Master persona. “First letter, princess. I’ll only do each one once.”

This time, when lines of warmth bloom on your back, concentrated in the top corner by your shoulder blade, you focus your mind on picturing the shapes they create. Something straight, then a small loop. The wax isn’t painful; on the contrary, it doesn’t feel hot when it first makes contact. As it sits, the skin heats up, but before it gets too warm, the wax has already cooled to mostly solid. Your fears melt away fully, and you tune back into the game. “D?” you guess.

“Close,” he allows.

You rack your mind. “P?”

You moan when Hoseok’s cock suddenly moves inside you, pulling out slowly and giving you a single, snapped thrust. “Correct,” he confirms, “next letter.”

This one feels similar, starting with the same straight line, slightly to the right of where the first patch fell. A straight line, something wobbly again with a line to end it. Your breath catches. “R? Is the word ‘princess?’”

“Guessing so soon,” Hoseok chimes, humour lacing his voice, “but wrong on both counts. It’s a vowel.”

You go down the list, comparing them against the already-fading memory of thick warmth on your skin. “E- no, A?”

“A is correct. This one’s easy.” After fucking into you once another time, he does a single stroke that you easily identify as an I, and then you hear the thud as he puts down one candle and picks up the other. “Let’s see how you look in red, princess. Next letter.”

It gets harder and harder to correctly name the letters as you go on. With every right answer, you’re rewarded with a second of pleasure before it ceases, and that paired with the arousing feeling of warm wax drizzling over your skin just has you feeling hazy. It takes you whole minutes to guess N, but lucky it’s followed by simple strokes of S, L, and U.

By the time he’s switched wax a couple times and is readying you for the last letter, you already know the word. But Hoseok drops the wax from a little lower every time, and you relish the heat more and more with each letter, and you’ll take whatever else you can get.

At this point, the only space left on you is low on your back, just in from your waist. You squeeze your eyes shut, already knowing that he’s going to paint two strokes: one horizontal and one vertical. So instead, you allow yourself to just feel it for what it is.

He tips the pillar candle - red or white, you’ve long since lost track - and you moan openly as you feel fluidity, then heat, which crests and settles into a seal of solid wax. Hoseok wastes no time before completing the letter, one longer line going down in a thick trail that threatens to drip down your side.

“‘s T,” you slur out before he can even ask, tightening your walls around him as he snaps his hips a single time so that you can feel every inch of him. Even the sound of the one movement is obscene; you’re so wet that it runs down your thighs and soaks his cock, but Hoseok’s not complaining.

Instead, you whine as you feel his nails on your shoulder, dislodging the fully hardened wax from the beginning. It’s a strange sensation, there’s a minute suction to breaking that seal, but it lifts off so smoothly when he’s careful like that. “And can you tell me the word, princess? I picked it out just for you.”

Sighing out, you nod shakily. “Painslut,” you gasp.

“That’s right,” Hoseok replies warmly, even as his nails curl and drag down rough enough to crumble the wax in his path, leaving stinging lines over your skin. “You’re my little painslut, aren’t you? Say it, and I’ll give you your reward.”

“I’m your little painslut,” you moan out, back arching under the relentless way he dislodges slivers of dried wax, exposing the sensitive skin beneath.

Without further preface, Hoseok bends over to quickly blow out the two candles, shift them further away, and then straightens up to grip your hips with hands slightly slippery from the soy.

When he begins fucking into you properly, with the full force of his powerful hips, you’re pushed forward onto the cardboard box, a cry punched from your throat. He doesn’t wait this time, just as steady and unforgiving as the circles his flogger made earlier.

You feel the weight of his balls slapping against you, his hip bones pressing into your sensitive ass, and his nails dig in sharply to give you that delicious pain that had become just as potent as pleasure. You feel him inside you, too; mercilessly parting your walls and stretching you around him until it feels like you can’t breathe.

Your mouth spills a constant stream of garbled moans and pleas, doing your best to fuck yourself back on him to feel him deeper. “Fuck, Master, I’m so close,” you manage to make out, “can I cum, sir?”

Hoseok growls deep in his throat, and you squeal helplessly as his pace picks up until you can’t even stop yourself from drooling onto the tile, jerked about within his grip. “Cum for me, princess,” he commands, “cum on my cock now.”

In your body’s final effort to please your Master, your orgasm follows only a few thrusts later, and you go limp and shivery against the support of the cardboard box, clinging to it as Hoseok chases his own high.

Having cum from g-spot stimulation alone, the orgasm seems to reach as deep as your bones, and you ride the wave longer. By the time you’re finally beginning to come down, pleasure slowly turning to oversensitivity, Hoseok’s thrusts are stuttering, and he’s suddenly pulling out of you, grunting as a different kind of heat spurts over your back.

You’re panting, hugging the box you’re curled over as you feel Hoseok’s cum run down the divot of your spine, slowly cooling. You can still feel the dry flakes of wax that cling to you, and even as Hoseok gently helps you off the solid tile floor, you see shavings and slivers of red and white falling to the ground.

Hoseok’s dropped the Master persona entirely by now, and you hum happily as he checks you over, fingertips running across the skin of your back and ass. “No pain still persisting?”

“Well, my ass still kinda stings,” you admit, “but nothing seriously painful, no.”

He furrows his brows in concern as he straightens up in front of you. “And the wax was okay?”

You smile shyly and a little dopily, still coasting on the endorphins the pain and temperature play had released. “I’m probably going to go to Sejin and get him to change it to a definite interest, actually. It was great, Hoseok. You were great. Thank you.”

Hoseok’s eyes warm as he fondly buffs you on the underside of your chin. “Well; I say we have a nice shower and clean you up, and then we can go into the kitchen for some ice cream. Get your sugar levels back up, how about that?”

You could laugh, but you feel too blissed out to even exert that much energy. “I’m not sure there’s any ice cream left, actually.”

FAN FAVOURITE

Please vote for your favourite member in the house according to Week Three only. Vote here. You need to sign in to prevent spamming, but I delete the survey after the 48 hours is up. All I take note of is the pie chart at the end. I’m very excited to see what the results will be !

And so we meet our fourth guest... Confused? Check bonus content four, five and six for the other three teasers ;)

#cypherwritersnet #bts smut #jin smut #hoseok smut #bts x reader #hoseok x reader #jin x reader #yoongi x reader #namjoon x reader #jimin x reader #taehyung x reader #jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #ot7 x reader #ot7 smut #taehyung smut #jimin smut #namjoon smut #yoongi smut

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sly-merlin · 4 years

Text

Killing Me - 3 | n.y

pairing : law student!reader + yuta

genre : angst , mafia au/ arranged marriage au , smut

warnings : curse words, mention of murder, guns, knives. smut and drinking.

new entries : yugyeom, jungkook , wonwoo

words : 4.2k

summary : “life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can . it is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

curiosity got the cat hitched!

K.M masterlist

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taglist ::t :: (not tagging the old ones because they have read it already bt if u want , lemme know! ) @yiyi4657 @sorrywonwoo @sillywinnergladiator @suhweo @exfolitae @minejungwoo

{ 11:15 }

Look before you leap. Had you remembered the saying, you’d not be sitting in front of a mafia boss, regretting your former imprudent actions. Taeyong was sitting on a high back executive chair, aura screaming authority, his high and mighty self, making you feel inferior. His eyes bore into yours as if he could read your soul with his intense gaze.

Your stare equally harmonized with his fierce one.

A loud fake cough from someone interrupted you from ogling at the boss. He indeed looked like a feast, anyone would falter! Getting your much needed attention at this point, taeyong dismissed others from his office with a flick of his hand. The only ones to stay behind in the vicinity of the four walls were you, taeyong and a blue haired man. Out of all, he looked most annoyed with your presence.

“Jaehyun, sit down, it’s going to take a while.” taeyong directed him and the man occupied the empty seat beside you. You could already feel him eyeing you down.

“Miss y/n. I’m not going to beat around the bush. So, listen sensibly.”

Your blood ran cold at his cold and blank declaration. The fierceness of his eyes was seeping through his words making you cower in your position. Your firm resolve to fight for your life was already breaking down and this was just a start.

“I know this is too sudden and It’s normal being apprehensive of this situation but you are not on a very strong front here. Marry yuta or - you know the consequences. And I don’t want you to choose on impulse. This is going to be your last opportunity, so be wise! Nobody wants to die y/n and you certainly don’t! I have a proposal for you. It’s for your own good but if you still decides against me, I promise I’ll grant your last wish without any hesitance and believe me, I always keep my word” he finished, placing his gun on the table to prove his point. You nodded briefly after taking in everything. He continued-

“You will marry yuta, say by the end of this week. But as you sign the registration papers, I’ll provide you the ownership of 3 exclusive properties in gangnam with only one small, harmless condition. You’ll hold title not as miss y/l/n but as Mrs Nakamoto. Moreover, you won’t have to do any job. Your living expenses, all will be managed from our side. Yuta alone is capable of providing you a black card. You can live hassle free. A house, security, what else could anyone want! You won’t have to change a thing in your life. Think of it as an up-gradation.”

You felt like being kicked in the teeth. This man was trying to bargain your whole future with his riches.

“Sounds promising?” He enquired. You pondered over what he said to find any single error to turn the tables but that was out of question until you knew his demands fully. And it wasn’t very promising. when did choosing between life and death became so difficult!

“You can’t assure me my freedom! connecting me with neos is more like booking a room for me to rotten in jail. The security you are talking about is for you I guess. And yuta is more like a noose for me. I’ll be dead one way or another” you uttered, releasing the air you were holding while speaking.

You heard jaehyun snort beside you.

“Your safety will be my top priority and yes, you will be associating with neos, but that is something you don’t need to be worry about. For the outer world, you will be the wife of yuta”.

“What difference would it make?” his explanations going beyond your head.

“Let me explain like this. Have you ever seen a neo member’s face prior to this or heard anyone getting caught?”

“I guess no.”you answered without hesitation.

“Neos doesn’t have faces .…but these faces do have names for commoners like you.”

“You mean double-life?”

“Have you ever heard of moon industries?”

“Who doesn’t have? Moon industries are the 3rd biggest sponsors and investers for almost everything in Korea.”

“Yeah, yuta works there. Anything clicks for you?

You refuse with motion of your head.

“You’ll not be marrying yuta from neos but nakamoto yuta who works in moon industries. Like that, you won’t be getting in any trouble . A legitimate life. You can do anything you want except open your pretty mouth”.

you didn’t like being called that!

“I don’t understand, you said nobody knows you people then what am I even doing here. How that officer did even recognise yuta. I shouldn’t even be here, if your identities are so hidden.”

“See jaehyun, I told you she’s more than just book smart. Listen y/n, mafia doesn’t work like the way you might be thinking. We can’t spill everything to you even if you decide to die the very next moment.

It was hard to believe that he planned all of this while you were held captive, within 9 hours. Taeyong was extremely meticulous and expeditious as well. But there was one more question left and you knew he couldn’t answer it. Nothing came without flaws afterall!

“Why are you being so ‘generous’ to me? My bio data of few pages can’t make you trust me so definitely. You are practically giving me an offer to rant you all to police. I’m sure you don’t grease the palms of all officers and if I-

“Me and you both know that you won’t do it unless you are fed up with your life and that would leave to start de novo!” his words indicated conclusiveness, his raised brows challenging you to refuse him. For now his surety signalled safety, but you still had one defence left or as everyone called it – a plea. It was better to beg than to be between Scylla and Charybdis.

“Is there no other way. I promise you with my life I won’t ever say anything. You can put spies over me or do whatever you want to keep a check on me.” your desperation to fight for your life was evident in your appeal.

“Yes! There is one more solution!” jaehyun chimed, facing you from his seat. He was grinning eye to eye. “We can sell you to an underground escort ring where you’ll happily live until you die and there’d be no neo or yuta or police or career. I’m sure you are shrewd enough to survive there”. nobody mentioned this before!

“If you can’t shut your mouth, then leave jaehyun.” taeyong scolded and he went back to his original position. Jaehyun seemed to be enjoying your state. He hit you with harsh reality you were still unaware of. Maybe,you were really on their mercy now,

“He is joking right?”

“No, he is telling the truth but I want you to make a choice. That hell-hole is not for someone like you. You can do better. Take this as a shortcut to a nice life.”

“How can I believe that you won’t be putting me in the some escort ring as he said to shut my mouth?”

“If I wanted, you won’t be sitting here anymore.”he deadpanned

You were silent. Your mind went blank. No words came to grace your lips. You were trapped and though there were plenty of options, there was none for you. Either you live and marry yuta or die. There was no other way to live.

“And what if my life doesn’t turn out all good?” you asked timidly.

“Then I’ll let you leave. And without any condition”

Finally some hope. You could leave. You would definitely leave.

“Is yuta okay with it?”

“His position is not better than yours.”

“I’m not going to leave university then.”

“Suit yourself! Just don’t convert yourself into a nuisance for us.”

You nodded with head hanging low. You had been beating the air till now, which resulted in nothing but defeat. Taeyong got what he wanted in the end.

“Call jaemin and haechan. Before she goes home, we need to give her a gift. And you made a good choice, you won’t regret it, take my word for it.”

[1 p.m]

Twelve hours has passed. As you were walking towards your dorm, you pinched yourself several times but your reality was now a nightmare from which you’d never wake up. Defeated, you entered your dorm only to lie down in the bed, to regret your life decisions. Graciously, chelin was out till midnight with her boyfriend, so you had all the time in the world. The last 12 hours kept playing in your head like a broken record. You were happy in the club drinking yesterday. if maybe you’d not left them behind, you’d still be incharge of your life game. then that police officer, living off of some mafia group, doyoung , johnny,jaehyun , taeyong and him, the source of your plight. You were suddenly feeling like a kite which till now was flying freely in the air but its thread was now in the grasp of someone who wanted to tie you down by the same, if you think of it, the scales were never balanced! You were always at the losing end. Beggars are never the choosers after all. Sleep unknowingly took over your tired limb while you were wallowing in self-pity.

A ping.

The notification of a text woke you up from your peaceful sleep. You were out for about 4 hours but it felt good as your head was no more pounding. The text was from Jungkook about a party his friend group was organising to celebrate the upcoming finals. they were just partying yesterday with you and now this.

Another ping.

Same text from yugyeom. You sighed in frustration.

Both of your best friends lived in the same place and were always joined by the hip and you were sure they were together at the moment as well but where there’s a question to annoy you, they won’t let the opportunity pass.

You deliberated about telling them everything but you refrained as taeyong’s threat was not a gun without bullet. He warned you before coming and you were supposed to keep your mouth shut. It was better to keep them away from trouble. You were extremely alone.

Another ping.

They were asking about your whereabouts. You never informed them you reached home yesterday. Their worry was visible through their multiple scolding motherly texts. You would have laughed at their antics but your own humorous state rendered you incompetent to feel any joy.

It was not difficult to make them believe that you overslept as everyone knew your shitty professors treated you more like a slave and less like their researcher. But refusing to meet them and declining free alcohol was making them sceptical. You had no option other than going but you’d be anywhere than at a party right now. But maybe some commotion of drunk university students and blasting music could take your thoughts away for some time.

However, first there was another task to be taken care of! You searched ‘Moon Industries’ on naver. There were numerous articles praising their new successful new ventures. You opened their official website, the list of board of directors and associates was not too long. The photo of head director looked too familiar. Maybe it was that short man. And then him. There was no photo but his name was written just few places below moon tail. Taeyong was not bluffing. Nakamoto was an important name and maybe everyone there was, however, it was beyond your intellect as how they managed to do it. There was no way out now. One thing that wasn’t adding up was the properties .your brainwaves couldn’t find a conclusion to those. There was no reason for him to do that when you weren’t left with any choice ultimately. Maybe you’ll find out tomorrow.

You got out of clothes that adorned your body since yesterday. Their smell was enough to make you gag. How could someone fell asleep in these! The cold water of the shower eased your mind fairly. Your eyes were drooping again but sleeping would do you no good. You could run away from your problem like everybody else. Just this once. After showering, you took a brief look at your wardrobe. It was just a college party, with same people so dressing up to impress them was out of tone for you. Not that you were dolling up anyways. You could just wear your pyjama and still outshine any flashy titties out there. At least that’s what kookie and gyeom had been feeding you till now. You took out a black full sleeve v- neck blouse with white shorts. It hugged your upper body tightly leaving just enough space for some air. You looked good and felt good too. Being in no mood to do makeup, you opted for a nude lip to complete your look. You wore the bracelet that you were not supposed to part with but out of habit, you had removed it earlier to shower. Now it adorned your wrist again. It was a band. A gift by taeyong. The bracelet was a tracking device, not that jaemin wasn’t hacking your phone already but they needed to be double sure, just in case. Not like you were going to rant them out. you felt like Taeyong’s threatening voice would never leave your ears.

Yugyeom’s call replaced the voice. They were already waiting for you. You decided to drown yourself in alcohol for one day and enjoy with your friends. The party was at nearby club situated at 10 min distance. Your dorm was nearer to the gates so it was always easy to go out. Slipping into your shoes, you made your way out.

“You will regret this, taeyong” though yuta didn’t show in front of you in basement, he was furious at taeyong for making his life decisions. “First her and now this! the mistake I made was not that big. Slip ups happen with everyone here, including you. So why it’s only me, who’s getting –

“Not a slip up but a blunder yuta” taeyong fumed at him. “Last time, mark almost died because of you. It was my mistake I let it slide. You aren’t getting any more chances. My decision is final” his voice went deeper as he spoke.

“I regret it tae, you know it” his voice filled with guilt. “But don’t feed me the lies. This is not the only reason you’re doing this for. There is something you aren’t telling us”

“There might be. But you already know what you need to! So celebrate your month long vacation. Go to work with taeil hyung. She’s coming tomorrow again and we’ll discuss other matters with her. Be present here. Don’t disappear like you did in the morning.”

Yuta huffed and decided to leave instead of wasting his time on his leader.

“And leave your gun here”

“WHAT NOW?”

“Don’t shout and leave your gun. Corporates don’t carry guns in this country.” taeyong replied calmly, almost in a mocking tone. Yuta removed the gun from holster and handed it to taeyong before turning towards the door.

“Other one as well” taeyong demanded with a smirk.

“Huh, now you’ll ask for my dagger as well!” yuta sneered at him while removing the other pistol from back of the pants.

“I’m not that cruel, yu. Keep your sweetheart with you. It’ll remind you of the absence of your other toys.”. “And don’t forget. Tomorrow at 4. sharp.”

Instead of responding, yuta showed him a middle finger before actually going out.

Mark was standing at the end of the hallway, waiting for yuta already.

“What happened hyung?” he asked curiously.

“Nothing. You are going to be the best man in my wedding” yuta replied nonchalantly. But mark knew there was more to it. Yuta won’t settle down just because he was told to!

“To her?”

“Yeah, who else. Taeyong is getting short on his brain. We might need to replace him soon” he joked but mark could see right past him.

“Hyung. What are you thinking?” he asked cautiously in a scared tone.

“Ruin her life. I’ll make her regret being alive.”

And yuta walked away, leaving worried mark behind him. He didn’t go after him. He knew better not to.

The party was at full blast when you reached. It was always a nice change watching studious snu students washing away their worries. Your soulmates were nowhere to be found but you spotted chelin sitting with her friends on the stairs. It seemed like everyone who knew was there. Your classmates, juniors. Club was filled with students of all ages. Being multi-storey with a parking lot and near the uni., these factors were enough for making it a perfect party spot. After talking to a few fellow classmates, you went upstairs, brushing past chain’s group, who seemed to be too drunk to notice you. There were Jungkook and yugyeom with few others sports physiotherapy students. Being master’s students, you all just went to parties for alcohol and hook-ups and nothing else. And that’s what you were planning to do from the start.

“y/l/n” as yugyeom noticed you, he and Jungkook ran to give you a bear hug.

“I don’t want to smell your armpits, losers. Get away” you huffed while struggling in their tight grip.

“sowwyyyy, we forgot you are under average” jungkook teased you, gyeom giving him a hifi in return.

“You both are so damn irritating.”

“We adore you too, darling” Jungkook knew how much you hated being called that. But alcohol in his system was making him daring. After giving a fist hit to his gut, which did nothing to his sculptured abs, you made your way to the drinks. One, two, three, and within 5 minutes you had enough alcohol in your system to provide much needed numbness to your brain.

“Whoa shortie, what’s with you today? At least wait for us to join you.” kook chimed in with another nickname you hated with your guts.

“You both are already drunk, meaning kook your boyfriend is here and gyeom, your girlfriend. You both are going to forget me in few minutes anyway.”

As if on cue, yugyeom’s girl yeong came into view, giving you a proper hug.

“I’m so sorry y/n, but we have to go. Our department has to work for the fundraiser tomorrow and I’m a designated driver here.” she explained sheepishly. Not like you were dying to talk to them today. The loner, the better.

“Plz take them away. I’ll send you a thank you card tomorrow for your act of kindness.” you said sarcastically, resulting in both of them making faces at you.

“Bye y/n we’ll mwisss uuu” Jungkook lunged at you with a back breaking hug. Then came gyeom and in a minute they were both out of your sight.

Those being out of your way meant no one was there to stop you. Once your body was flooding in alcohol, You made your way to the dance floor. You loved music and dancing came mechanically with that. You were swaying your body, mingling with the music when you felt a pair of hands controlling your movements. You accepted his well-known touch. You both moved side to side for a few minutes before he impatiently lead you towards the back of the club. He was always an eager one, not that you ever denied him. Noticing few people already in each others faces, he moved to the other side, heading towards the car parking. Sprinting towards his car, he hurriedly opened the back car door to lead you in.

“Not here, wonwoo.” he viewed you with his raised brow. “Back!”

“Who am I to refuse you, baby” he said, directing you towards the trunk. He opened it with one swift motion. His legs were swinging outside as he sat on the edge. Pulling you towards him, he kissed you hungrily like hadn’t feasted on you a few days ago. Wonwoo loved your touch, and same was the case with you. That was it, nothing more to description.

“Looks like someone missed me” you whispered in between the kisses.

“You are at a perfect height for me here. God, why didn’t I think of this earlier” and kept attacking your lips until they were plump enough to satisfy him. His tongue asked for entrance, which your lips provided without any hesitation. Your hands were mingled in his hair tugging at the hair roots, earning few groans from him. Somewhere while kissing, you ended up on his right thigh which you were roughly grinding by now.

“As much as I would love you to cum on my thigh, I want to take you raw. So please be patient” he requested while stopping your movements with one hand. His other hand was caressing your back and waist, making you bite him on his lips.

“Shit, you can’t wait huh” he jested at you. he dropped you on your feet, one hand resting against your wet core from behind, other angling your neck to place wet kisses on your collarbones. You whimpered and squirmed against his touch. He had that effect on you. You weren’t sure what drew you both back towards each other after each week but the pull was compelling to you.

After gratified with his artwork he stood up to replace your positions. You were now sitting on edge while he towered over you. Hastily your hand went to remove his belt but seeing you struggling, he took up the task for himself. You removed your own shorts in meantime and placed them where his pants were now. Fortunately for others, the party inside was still lively to engage them and there was no fear of getting caught, not that wonwoo cared. He could take you anytime, anywhere.

He had to lower himself to hold you but he was so used to it by now. Without a warning, he slided you towards his standing body to kiss you ravenously. Your hands did their work on his boxers and started pumping his already hard length. No words were spoken as your silky underwear was removed from your hips. He backed you against the surface to the point you were lying down, his hand on back of your head to support you. His length slipped into you making you whimper loudly. He was big, from everywhere. Skin slapping was the only sound that could be heard in the quite parking lot at this hour of night. His hand on your hip was holding you tight, your legs wrapped around his waist while he fucked and kissed you in his brute mode. If it was not for his arms, you’d have collapsed then and there.

“Fuck y/n. how can you be so tight” he hissed against your lips.

“Shut u-up.” your voice got stuck in your throat. The only thing in your control were your hands on wonwoo’s nape, holding him towards you. The muscles in your abdomen, which could be felt by him, went stiff, your back arching at familiar sensation. His own kisses went sloppier indicating he was also closer. You both released at the same time, warm liquid spilling out of your conjoined bodies. He placed a sweet kiss on your forehead before removing himself from you.

Before you could touch your panties stuck between your legs, he stopped you.

“Wait lemme find something to clean you up” he quickly got dressed, while you sat there with your intertwined legs. He came back from front with a handkerchief. He cleaned you before helping you with your shorts. You were glad for wearing loose shorts as they were easy to transfer with your shoes. With his arm on upper side of trunk, his hunched figure stared you down suspiciously.

“What’s up with you today?”

Not him as well.

“Nothing, I overslept and I’m still tired. So I’ll be going now.” you declared implying that you won’t tell him.

“Okay, as you say. Are you free next Friday though” he asked taking his chances. Again.

“Don’t start again woo? At least you can leave me in peace. I’m going .bye bye. See you after finals. maybe.” you slipped away from under his arm towards the gate of parking lot, only looking behind to wave him goodbye. His followed suit.

You were gone but he’d never stopped trying.

You mentally thanked your friends for giving you an invite as many things were clear in your head now. It was definitely the alcohol and wonwoo but you were much calmer now.

A ping.

Jaemin: don’t forget about tomorrow, noona. Taeyong hyung told me to remind you.

You scoffed at his text. Noona. Some overhyped kid he was!

But his message made you understand that all this was permanent. Sober you or drunken,Your life was changing forever. The tomorrow you were waiting till now was altered.

You went home with same dejection. Taeyong’s last words echoing in your head.

“Life’s never fair y/n. realise it as soon as you can. It is the only secret for living a regretless life.”

feedback is appreciated. it serves as motivation for writers! so please leave some honest feedback to help me improve! thanks for reading!!

#tag are not working #nct #nct 127 #nct yuta #killing me yuta #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct arrange marriage #nct smut #nct mafia #nct angst #yuta scenarios #yuta imagines #yuta mafia au #yuta arrange marriage #yuta smut #nct series #yuta series

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yutahoes · 3 years

Text

Otou-Chan

Yuta Nakamoto x Reader (Y/N) Smut

(Chapter Fourteen)

Summary: 𝐁𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐚𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐡𝐰𝐚 𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝. 𝐁𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐘𝐮𝐭𝐚’𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐬.

Warning: Fluff (?), Sexual Thoughts, Shower Sex

Word Count: 1.9k

Masterlist

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

14. Bungeoppang

Yuta jolted awake when he felt the side of the bed cold. Did she leave already? Is this like Paris all over again? But she was so clingy last night that she even forced him to sleep next to her on the same bed. Now, she’s already gone? That girl, really. But when he went outside, he could hear her In the kitchen. “Hey.” He greeted, seating by the counter to watch her. She smiled at him while transferring the rice on the plate.

The girl placed a plate of rice and omelet on the counter, in front of him. “Sorry. I figured I should at least cook breakfast.” She claimed then handed him a spoon. “It isn’t that good but I think it’s pretty decent.” He nodded then took a bite of the food. Omurice? “That’s the only Japanese recipe I remembered.”

He laughed at that thought. “And why are you remembering Japanese recipes now?”

“To cook for you.” She answered, leaning by the counter. “I thought you might miss home-cooked Japanese food.” Why does she keep on surprising him? “I have to go to work. Can I borrow your clothes?” he nodded, even offering to drive her to work but she declined.

Yuta was cleaning up the plates when she went outside his room in his shirt and jacket. “Isn’t it hot?” he asked, mentioning the jacket she put on. When she removed the jacket, he realized why she needed that. Now, the thought that her naked breasts is touching the fabric he once wore is not leaving his mind. How hot is that? “I can just drive you to work.” But she shook her head, saying that she doesn’t really want to bother him. “Is this the last time I’m seeing you again?”

(Y/N) giggled at that, shaking her head. “Well, Lucas is still here in Korea so I can’t stay at Jungwoo’s. Can I stay here tonight?” Yuta nodded. “I’ll just cook dinner tonight. What do you want?” He stepped closer, pulling her by the waist. “I think I know,” she mumbled that made him grin. “Then we’ll have sushi.” A confused look was all Yuta could muster. Sushi? Is she that oblivious?

But the possibility of her serving him sushi naked is high. He remembered reading a scene like that from the manga that their publishing house created. And it made him giddy the whole day that Doyoung is eyeing him weirdly. He honestly wished that time can get faster and he wouldn’t get stuck in these meetings. To his annoyance, Doyoung announced that he had another meeting since he didn’t attend yesterday.

He even drove fast just to get home earlier but the house was too quiet, no signs of her. Where is she? All this excitement for nothing? Is she even coming over? Or his hunches were right once again? He won’t see her again. Instead of pondering over it and obsessing over her, he decided to finish the work he left in the office.

But he is really worried about her. He should have insisted to buy her a phone. Or maybe, he should plant a microchip to track her always. No, he thought, that’s another level of obsession. He shouldn’t be like that. The doorbell disturbed his thoughts and he quickly stood up to open the door. The girl was standing there, smiling timidly and he opened the door widely for her. “You’re here. Have you eaten already?”

But the girl stopped in her tracks, slowly staring at him. “Oh yeah. I promised sushi. Sorry.” But Yuta shook his head. “I’ll cook something for you. Wait up.” And she quickly disappeared to the kitchen.

Yuta followed close by, watching her. Something is not right. “Are you okay?” he asked, sitting by the counter stool. “We can just order take-out.”

“Can we?” she asked, turning to him and Yuta nodded. “I’m really sorry.”

“What do you feel like eating?”

“Bungeoppang.” She answered quickly then stared at him when she realized what she said. “Nevermind. Let’s just order something nearby.”

But Yuta was typing things from his phone already. “Can you wait for me?” he asked that made her blink in surprise. Wait for what? He took the keys for his car and a jacket before going out of the house. Where is he going this late?

Hours dragged by and (Y/N) was already sleepy when Yuta came in the door with a plastic bag at hand. “I hope they’re still hot.” He claimed while pushing a bag full of fish-shaped buns to her.

“Where did you get this? This late?”

Yuta sat beside her on the couch. “Myeongdong.” She was surprised. Did he travel that far just to get this? “The ahjussi said that he made that extra special.” When she asked why they’re still open, he confessed that they’re not. “I have to tell him that my wife is pregnant and is craving for buns.” He said with a grin that made her chuckle. All this hassle just because she wants some bungeoppang. Yuta is really something else.

He was working on his laptop while she’s eating the red bean filled buns. Why does this food really comfort her? And why did Yuta have to bother a person just for this? “Yuta…” she called and he hummed without taking his eyes away from the laptop. “Something happened at work today.” She heard the laptop close but she focused on her buns. “My work got rejected today.” The guy tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I don’t want to disappoint them but Johnny said it’s still lacking. I also don’t want to waste Taeyong’s money in sponsoring me.” She admitted. “I don’t think I’m cut off for this job.”

“That’s a bummer. You’ve been doing so well.” Yuta claimed. “I remembered reading the one you made on the plane and that is pretty good. You have real talent.” He said sincerely that made her smile. Why is he so comforting? “It might not be your time yet but I know you’ll be a really great manga artist someday.” She actually never thought of being a great manga artist and she only dreamed of publishing her own manga. Who would have thought that Yuta will be the one to make her realize this impossible dream? “If you need help with anything, just tell me. I can drive just to get you those steamed buns.”

(Y/N) giggled at that. Now, her mood is lifted. Yuta’s smile is really infectious. “Sankkyu…” She said cutely in a Japanese way that made him laugh. “Otou-chan.”

When (Y/N) woke up that morning, Yuta was still snuggling in bed like normal times. She remembered Yuta’s smile when she begged him to sleep next to her. She remembered him fully clothed last night but now, his shirt was already discarded. Well, the weather is kind of hot. And Yuta is kinda hot. The image of a God is still etched on Yuta. It will be a blessing to have kids with the same look as him.

The guy’s eyes opened and he smiled when he saw her watching him. “Good morning.” he greeted and she smiled. “You didn’t leave the bed, that’s a good sign.” She giggled then sat up that made him pout.

“Yuta,” she called. “Do you want to shower together?”

The guy didn’t need to be asked twice as he stood up almost immediately, following her to the bathroom. She brushed her teeth first and he marveled at how good she looked in the morning. How seductive she looked with white suds surrounding her mouth. He wanted to replace those with something white as well and wanted to replace that toothbrush in her mouth with the muscle hardening on his body now.

When she bent down to spit out the toothpaste in her mouth, her ass lightly grazed on his hardening cock that made him moan. Showering is really out of the question now. She pulled him inside the shower stall, removing his pants then her clothes. "Can I fuck you?" But she giggled. “So we are just going to shower?” he asked when she turned around that her back is facing him.

The girl giggled, “I did ask you to shower. Do you have something else in mind?” she turned on the shower that water started cascading down their bodies. Yuta smirked, the audacity of this girl to tease him. “Then let me clean you up.” He claimed as he held her closer, wrapping his hands on her waist. His hands traveled upward to her breasts, rubbing the hardened nipples using his thumb as she moaned at the sensation.

Yuta’s hands were warm compared to the cold water from the showerhead. And can she miss his hardness poking her from the back? “Do we have time to do this, Yuta?” she asked, smiling when his right hand moved down to her core. He smirked, “Time to do what? I’m just going to clean you.” He claimed, inserting his fingers inside her core. This fucker, really.

His left hand alternated in rubbing her breasts while his right hand curled inside her, earning moans from her. “You’re so wet for someone who doesn’t want to do this.” He whispered, bending her forward that her hands automatically held the tiles from the bathroom in an attempt to hold into something. His fingers were quickly replaced with his hardening cock.

(Y/N) had to bit her lip to prevent her from moaning too much. She can’t believe that it is Yuta, once again, who was giving her the sex she wanted. He thrust so hard that if not for her arms, she might hit her head on the bathroom wall. Why is Yuta this wild in the morning? Is this the sex she missed when she left that morning in Paris? She should have stayed. She came in that position, then another one in Yuta’s embrace. “Let’s not do this again.” She claimed while breathing hard, recovering from her high. The guy only had to raise an eyebrow at him. “Shower sex looks so hot in manga or in porn yet it is so slippery.”

He only laughed at that. “Well, we have a tub.” He said gesturing at the tub located next to the shower stall. “Next time.” She claimed then reached for his body wash, slathering it on her body. Yuta grinned, this is just like being married to her. If she lives here with him, will this be an everyday scenario?

Instead of eating at home, they decided to just grab breakfast on the way to work since they’re both late for work. Maybe they should refrain from having sex in the morning, they’ll have trouble at work if this continues on. “Are you coming over tonight?” he asked and she shook her head, explaining that since she needed to do her illustrations from scratch she needed to stay late. “Can you promise me that you’ll eat lunch and dinner properly?” he asked and she smiled. “No, I’ll just order food for you. What do you want?”

She giggled at that. “You are such a dad, Yuta.” She teased. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.” He shook his head when she went out of the car. How can he not worry about her? When she’s this stubborn? Before he could start his car, he caught glimpse of Jaehyun’s car parking. Maybe there is a way to really take care of her.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ ❤️❤️

Chapter 13 / Chapter 15

A quick thank you to @puzziw for telling me about the proper tagging and for uplifting my confidence to write. Also, thank you @markresonates for telling me about the word count. Also to @scentedbabybreath for liking the story, I hope I haven’t disappointed you yet.

Happy Holidays to everyone! 🎄

#yuta smut #yutasmut #nct smut #nctsmut #yutanakamoto #yuta nakamoto #yuta nakamoto smut

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ilguna · 3 years

Text

Redamancy - Chapter Five (f.o)

summary: it’s time to forgive and repair.

warnings; swearing, GORE, MURDER.

wc; 12.2k

NOTES; I give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

You take your time getting ready, slightly comforted by the idea that Finnick has it handled. If he’s down there, and a situation arises where your tributes need something, he’s there to send in the sponsor gift. You’re sure that he’s even got other mentors to keep him company if he gets bored.

Still, you find yourself unintentionally moving quickly anyway, a deep feeling in your gut that not everything is what it seems. You rush through your shower, barely get your hair done. When you get dressed, it’s very simple clothing since you’re not expecting anything special today.

You turn on the tv to catch up on what you might have missed while you eat. Knowing that you’ll be in the betting room for a while, you eat until you’re completely full. Even then, you grab some snacks for later. Cashmere and Enobaria might have brought lunch yesterday, but there’s no guarantee that the same happens today.

As far as you can tell, all the tributes are just waking up or still sleeping. Annie and Marsh are inside of the shack, dividing up supplies and quietly discussing what they’ll be doing today. It’s hard to know exactly since there’s no volume and no motioning this time around.

You think that they’ll either continue moving parallel to the dam to the right, or set up some snares for whatever animals that lie inside of the woods. You know that would be one of the first orders of business, especially when you don’t have an endless amount of supplies to count on anymore.

The careers are sleeping in the cornucopia, not a big surprise. The girl from One is sat upright, hand gripping a knife, clearly supposed to be on watch. But she’s out cold, the early morning air tends to make a lot of people drowsy inside of the arena. They don’t really have anything to worry about too, so that just worsens it.

As for all the other tributes, they’re in their own little bubbles. District Seven is still asleep, under the cover of spring green leaves and sticks. A feeble shelter, and it’s pretty obvious that they’re there. District Nine girl is awake, she’s laying in the middle of the grass, hands over her stomach. You don’t know how she’s so nonchalant. She’s got no supplies.

Six boy is asleep, the map that the Capitol provides shows that he’s far enough away to not even worry about others finding him. Sometime in the afternoon yesterday he stopped wandering and started hunting for food. You have a feeling that he’s going to get right back to it today, it only makes sense.

The other tribute in the village is asleep, as well as the District Eight girl, who’s in the woods. No one died last night, which is a good sign. It just means that today is either going to go very slowly or too quickly. After the first day of the games, tributes slowly get picked off. When and what order is always a toss up.

You leave the apartment and head down to the betting room, forcing yourself to take your time. Finnick will be there, your tributes just woke up, there’s only one other person awake in that arena right now. However, it’s still worrying that no one knows where she is exactly. Well, the gamemakers have to know because she has a tracker inside of her, but they’re purposely not showing you guys to add some sort of suspense to it.

The betting room is fairly empty, only a few mentors mill around. Most are still in their rooms sleeping, same goes for every other Capitol citizen in this city. The first day of the games is always the most exciting. The days following is when the boring shit really starts.

Your eyes sweep the room, looking for Finnick to tell him to get to bed before the sun rises too high. But you’re only met with the friendly sight of Gloss half-asleep on the couch. Finnick is nowhere to be seen in here. You press your lips together. Maybe he just left? But the clock says that you aren’t late, and you didn’t even see him in the hallway.

He left early, didn’t he? You asked one simple job from him, all he had to do was sit here all night. And he’s not even here. Oh, it seems as if he’s suddenly forgotten just how awful you can be. He thought threatening was the only way you could get what you wanted? He’s about to see something new.

Two can play at this game. Cat and mouse won’t be fun when you’re cornered with nowhere else to go, Odair. You don’t do second chances.

If today is slow and boring, that just means tomorrow is going to pick up. It’ll decide how the entire rest of the week is going to go for the tributes inside of the arena. You’ll give Finnick one more day, let him think that he’s in control and you won’t have any sort of leverage. But then he’ll be trapped.

You’re not sure when or how Finnick forgot that you create master plans, but he’s going to be reminded that anything he does, you can do better. You’re always two steps ahead. This is like your own personal game, you already told him you’re in control. It’s just time to prove it.

You pat Gloss’ knee when you pass in front of him, taking a seat on the couch. He hums slightly, opening his eyes to see you. A smile creeps onto his face, and he turns his head away from you.

“Good morning.” You toss a snack bag at him, and then curl your legs up beneath you, “How long have you been out here for?”

“Only a couple of hours. I’m regretting it already.” Gloss mutters, taking the snack bag and opening it up, “Thanks.”

“Figured one of us would need it.” You smile, looking at the Morning Line Odds. Only a few changes, all of which belong to the careers. Annie is still at 6-1, Marsh is at 7-1, “Is there any chance you saw Finnick down here this morning when you came around?”

Gloss thinks for a moment, “No, I don’t think so. Why?”

The confirmation from Gloss is really all you need. Even if Finnick were to bribe Gloss to keep quiet, it wouldn’t last. Gloss would take the bribe but still come around and tell you. You and him have known each other longer, he’s not going to lie to you. Much less keep information like that from you. It’s fairly important, and they all know your annoyance when it comes to Finnick.

Your silence, and probably the look on your face, tips off Gloss, “Oh, you talked to him last night?”

The smile you give Gloss isn’t exactly warm, “I waited in his room for hours until he finally came back. He didn’t even look tired. I told him to come down here and wait until eight just in case anything were to happen in the arena and…”

You motion, there’s no Finnick. No trace of Finnick, no memory lingering. He flaked. You warned him not to do it, just to wait it out. It was only a couple of hours, and he couldn’t do it.

“Does he realize that it’s easier than he thinks?” Gloss asks, chewing.

You stare, shrug and then fall back onto the couch slightly. You’re tired, and disappointed. He’s mentored before, he knows the severity of being there just in case. The arena is a mystery, sometimes it’s even unpredictable to the gamemakers. There are hundreds of thousands of different scenarios that could happen.

One tribute could run into another. Will they fight? That means injuries, the tribute might need a sponsor to make sure they get through the night. Capitol escorts can’t confirm or deny gifts, and other mentors can’t do it for you either. Maybe the tributes will silently agree to an alliance for a minute and leave each other alone.

Or maybe, they’ll confirm an alliance, then you’ll have to work with other mentors. The sooner you get that line of communication going, the better the connection will be. The more likely it’ll be for your tributes to get along and get the things that they might need.

Mutts are constantly around the corner, and the gamemakers have endless possibilities of what they can send inside of the arena. They’ve been working at this for decades. One dull moment inside of the arena could cost a life. Also, accidents happen too. The tributes don’t always intend to self-sabotage but you’ve seen tributes get too used to the knife on their belt and forget that it’s there. You move the wrong way, and suddenly you’re impaled.

All of this and more happens at inconvenient times. You could be just waking up, in the middle of a nap, eating, talking to someone important. Maybe you’re already sending in a different sponsor gift for another tribute and have to switch gears out of the blue.

You need a second hand, you’re so fucking tired of running on two percent. Finnick is here for a reason, it’s to look over the tributes. He’s supposed to want to help! Those tributes have no choice but to rely on you guys, and he’s making it out to look like an option.

And if it’s the nighttime shift that’s the problem because of how boring and slow it is, you’ll switch. The problem is, you’re not sure why he would want to do that. With his current problem still going on every single year, he should want the night shift. Basically no one is here, everyone goes home for the night except for a select few.

You should be taking the daytime anyway, because you’re on your toes better than he is. He’s gotten sluggish, he isn’t as quick as you are. It’s just what happens when you’re out of practice, or refuse to do your job for so long. You’ve picked up the ability to work quicker. But you can’t sleep quicker, or eat quicker, or speed up what’s going on inside of the arena.

You close your eyes and rub your face. There’s several ways you can go about this, with one taking more time and potentially putting your tributes in danger. And the second one being not as self-respecting, you’ll turn heads, but it’ll get Finnick to come around quicker.

The answer should be obvious. You should want the one that will get Finnick to start as soon as possible. You’re not exactly sure what you’re subjecting yourself to if you do it, though. But you also don’t want to put the tribute in danger if it’s not needed.

You’ll start tomorrow. You’re already down here, so you probably shouldn’t leave for the rest of the day anyway. Especially since Annie and Marsh are awake now, who knows what kind of trouble they can get themselves into. For all you know, they could come across the other tributes and immediately pounce.

“Well, you’ve got to have some sort of plan, right?” Gloss asks, you look at him, “You’re not the master planner for nothing.”

“Ha.” you let out, cracking a smile, “Oh, I’ve got plans. And I’m going to do the one I know will work first.”

“Straight to the point. Care to share?”

“You’ll see tomorrow morning.” you wink.

Around noon is when the rest of the tributes start to get up and ready for the day. By then, Annie and Marsh have moved pretty far away from the shack. They were sure not to leave anything behind that might show the others that someone was there. It would be an open invitation for a stalker for the rest of the games.

It was smart for them to move away too, since there’s no doubt that everyone is going to start looking for water now. With the exception of the boy from Six, who’s still traveling but not as efficiently today. He probably thinks that he’s in the clear, so he can take his time. The only person that doesn’t seem to be looking for water is Three boy, who looks like he’s searching for food.

The career pack has moved to the woods, narrowly missing the Seven tributes while they’re at it. Unfortunately, the careers find the stream of water pretty easily, but it wasn’t through tracking, just pure luck. The Seven tributes follow them, so that also creates a problem. Five unwanted people now know the vague location of where Annie and Marsh had stayed. It's probably not safe to be there anymore.

While the careers aren’t in the cornucopia, the Eight girl sneaks in and gets a backpack. That’s going to change her whole game, especially since it’s a backpack from far back inside. It’ll be carrying everything she could ever hope for, with the exception of water. She’ll still have to find that on her own.

Enobaria comes around with lunch, but there’s no sign of Wade. She lets you know that they’ll probably be taking the night shift from now on. Cashmere doesn’t mind sitting here in an empty room, and Wade doesn’t like dealing with the Capitol citizens. And Enobaria is much better at communicating what she wants from them, or getting to do what she wants.

Either way, you’re glad to have her. You, Gloss and Enobaria enjoy yourselves for the rest of the day. Like you expected, it’s a slow day. Annie and Marsh set up snares and manage to catch a single rabbit to share. They’re a couple of hours away from where they’re staying, so they have to make the entire journey back and be careful while they’re at it.

The careers tried looking for other tributes, but the District Seven tributes are smart enough to keep out of sight. The girl from Nine is still on her own little mission, she doesn’t seem like quite the threat just yet. Eight girl doesn’t find water and takes shelter flush up against the dam. While Five boy wanders aimlessly, getting to know his surroundings.

And finally, the two tributes in the village are so far apart from each other and the people in the woods that they don’t have to worry about anything. It makes for an uneventful evening, but that just means tomorrow is going to pick up. The gamemakers won’t let this go on for very long. The Hunger Games is supposed to be a show, after all.

Since you’re the only one that seems to genuinely care for your tributes, you stay well past dinner to make sure that they’re in a good position before leaving. Annie and Marsh cooked their rabbit while there was still daylight. They also didn’t move from the snares, just in case someone were to spot them. You watched as Annie applied s little more of the healing cream to her cuts before deciding that she didn’t want to use anymore just in case she needed it in the future.

After they were done eating, they moved all the way back over to the shack. With it being unoccupied by others, they have shelter for another night. You wonder how long it’ll be before someone finds the shack and decides to make it into their own place. Maybe that’ll be the push for Annie and Marsh to relocate in the village.

Either way, once Annie takes watch, short blade by her thigh, tying and untying the rope, you think that it’s as good a time as any to leave. You hug Cashmere goodbye and wish them an uneventful night. Wade does the two-finger wave from his eyebrow as a goodbye.

The apartment is still pretty lit up when you get inside. There’s no sign of Elysia as far as you can see. Knowing her, she’s probably gone to bed already so that she’ll be up early tomorrow. And Finnick is avoiding you, there’s no question about it. It won’t last long, you know he’ll be talking to you in a day or two.

You head straight to your room and order small meals on the food transport thing. Chicken, vegetables, fruits, soups, ice cream, cake, everything appears within a couple of seconds. You take your time eating, letting the drowsiness come to you. You’d rather be tired before going to bed than just laying down for hours and hoping that you’ll magically fall asleep.

When you’re full, you stack the plates in one spot, change clothes and brush your teeth before falling onto the bed. You stare off into the dark for a little while, dreading what you’ll be wearing in the morning. That doesn’t keep you from sleeping though, as much as you would have liked it to.

—

You spend a while in the shower, scrubbing your skin even after the soap is gone, trying to stall getting out. The longer you spend inside, the more you’re left to think about what you’ve agreed to. Well, ‘agreed’ to.

“It’ll only be a day.” You say, letting the machines dry your body and style your hair, “Maybe two if it really comes down to it.”

You put on shorts and a shirt first to eat breakfast, sitting at the table all by yourself. Still no Finnick, but Elysia saw you before she left this morning. She wanted to tell you that she’d be stopping by in the betting room to help you out somewhat. She can relate to the Capitol people, she can convince them that Annie and Marsh are worth betting on.

You brush your teeth, and find yourself staring at a coral pink dress. One that’s just long enough to be modest, but still shows as much skin as possible. The last time you really dressed up for the Capitol was during your Victory Tour. You don’t think you’ve worn a dress purposely since. Even during the reaping, you stick to long pants.

Either way, you pull the dress of the hanger and carefully put it on. It takes you a moment to pull the zipper up to your mid-back, since reaching is a pain in the ass. You slip your feet into white flats and then make your way back over to the bathroom.

Without focusing too much on the outfit and just how breezy it is, you carefully go through the makeup, only applying what’s necessary. Mascara, a small bit of eyeshadow, concealer if it’s dire. By the time you’ve worked through it all, you’d say that the makeup Leo does is excessive compared to what you’ve done. Then again, that’s his job.

You put on the ring, brush your teeth carefully, and then head down to the betting room. There will be no snacks to bring today, you’ll actually be eating at a place with the others nearby. And since the Hunger Games is the primary interest, you won’t miss a single thing.

It’s half past nine when you get into the betting room. Gloss and Enobaria sit across from each other at a table, one chair open for you to take. As soon as Enobaria even catches a glimpse of you, she’s doing a double-take to make sure that she saw correctly. Gloss has his back turned, so he waits for you to come around.

“Hey,” you tuck the dress under yourself and find that it doesn’t provide as much protection as you thought.

You looked in the mirror before you left, and you definitely can’t see anything unless you twirl. But you thought that the fabric would semi-protect you from the frigid ass chairs. It doesn’t, your face twists once you sit down. The back of your thighs are fully exposed.

“What the hell are you doing?” Enobaria laughs, eyebrows quirking inward.

Gloss stares for a second, and then snorts, “This is your plan?”

“What plan?”

You lean against the table slightly, “Okay first, the plan is going to work really good, and you’re going to realize that when Finnick comes down here tomorrow.” You give Gloss a look, he shakes his head. Moving onto Enobaria, “Second, Finnick has been avoiding me and this room so I’m forcing his hand.”

She nods, “By doing what exactly?”

“Jealousy.” You smile, “You’ll see. Just wait until it starts to get busier.”

In the meantime, you have to focus on your tributes. Annie and Marsh are already on their way to the snares, the gamemakers tune in to allow you to hear them talking about moving spots. Annie doesn’t want to stay near the dam, Marsh isn’t sure about a good time to leave.

If you were them, you’d leave early in the morning while everyone is sleeping. It’s almost a guaranteed safe path to the village. There’s no doubt that the careers are going to be sleeping in the cornucopia; it has all of the supplies and they wouldn’t want to risk anyone else getting their hands on weapons. And from what you’ve observed for years now, the lookouts always fall asleep.

If they leave just before the sun rises, the darkness will cover them. The only reason why you’d think that they wouldn’t want to move to the village is because of the water. They’re not sure if there’s water around the houses, while on the other hand, the stream is right there if they need it. They’ll be able to find it a lot quicker.

It’s only the third day, though. They can probably take another day or two before deciding to leave. The gamemakers don’t want to end the game too early, so they’re probably pretty safe by the dam. However, comparing the dam to the village, the village would be preferable. There’s only one tribute that Annie and Marsh would have to worry about. The dam has four--potentially five--tributes. And with the careers knowing about the stream now, it bumps it up to seven.

Still, your tributes get up, refill on water, and leave for the day. With that, the perspective switches to the only other group that’s really important: the careers. They’re gearing up today, getting backpacks, placing weapons in spots that you’d think is uncomfortable. Looks like they’re looking for a slaughter today. You’re not sure if they’ll even be able to get that far.

The girl from One seems to be hellbent on going after Annie and Marsh, but that’s for a good reason. Annie literally killed her counterpart, Colt, you think his name was. It’s obviously a revenge thing, it happens a lot inside of the Hunger Games. You kill a member of an alliance and naturally the alliance is going to try and come back around.

It’s a problem, though. If it were only Annie, there’s nearly a one-hundred percent chance of all three of the careers making it out alive. Even with Annie’s knowledge in fighting, she won’t be able to hold all of them off. Same thing with Marsh, he’s an excellent fighter, but at some point you’ve got to draw the line.

However, it’s not just Annie, it’s Annie and Marsh. They’re a duel package, both you’d consider at the top of their classes. There was one time you put them head to head in a fighting match, out of yours and Anchor’s pure curiosity, and you had to call it off a couple minutes in. They would have killed each other.

If the careers even dared to come at them, especially when the both of them are prepared for a fight, the careers would not leave unscathed. In fact, you think that Annie and Marsh could overpower them easily, kill all three of them and the only people they’d have to worry about in the arena after that, would be the nobodies.

It wouldn’t be an easy job to do, they’d probably get hurt in the process. You think that if they were to do it, they’d have to be the ones to initiate the fight. The problem with that is, Annie would never do that unless her life was in immediate danger. And Marsh wouldn’t want to start it by himself. A good example of this is when Colt had his eyes locked on Annie during the bloodbath. She knew that it was fight or die, so she chose fight.

Hell, if they just ambushed the careers while they’re sleeping in the cornucopia, they’d only have to worry about killing one person. Especially if they killed two at the same time. Again, the problem would be solved. It would make for a quick Hunger Games, but no one ever wants to be inside of the arena for more than a week or two. You were in there for three, and look at what it did to you.

The arena slowly begins to come to life when it hits eleven, which is also when the influx of Capitol citizen starts. You take one look over the Morning Line Odds to see that it was the same as yesterday for everyone. No one has moved up or down, probably because there hasn’t been a chance for any tribute to show off what they know.

And with that, you start your plan of moving around the betting room, talking to everyone that you can. Most you haven’t seen in a while, so it’s basically catching up like old friends. Except, you aren’t friends and you don’t really care what they’ve been up to. But as long as they think that you like them, the more likely they are to sponsor.

And with the people that you haven’t seen before, you introduce yourself and let them have their moment of realization. You’re not a living legend, you haven’t done anything special enough to even earn a title like that. It’s more like you have a habit of not opening up your horizons and allowing people to talk to you often. You approaching them is a whole new chapter of the story.

They seem to enjoy your presence, it’s not before long you’ve got your own little circle made. People of all different classes, different colors and thicker accents stand around you. They ask questions about your tributes, you give off more information than necessary in the hopes that they’ll get attached to the idea of Annie and Marsh. They ask if the interview was planned, and you tell them that you were just as shocked as everyone else. Which is obviously a complete lie, and anyone who had actually been paying attention to you or Finnick would know that.

That part doesn’t matter. What does is the fact that you’re gaining attention, and therefore people are taking notice of what you’re wearing. The mentors normally wear casual clothes, they don’t dress up nicely. Appealing to the Capitol is always the last thing that they want. Which you can completely understand why, but you’re going for the opposite today. And it’s working.

It’s sometime around three in the afternoon when the gamemakers suddenly square in on the Six boy. The room falls silent enough for you all to actually hear what the boy is saying--er singing. He’s singing some song to himself, one that you don’t recognize, so it’s probably native to District Six.

That’s not what has you all quiet and confused, though. Everyone could care less about the singing. In fact, no one really cares about the tribute in general. But if the gamemakers think that he’s important enough to get a full screen all by himself, then there’s something wrong.

He’s wandering along a dirt path, hands swinging by his sides. He almost looks happy, being out there all by himself. You wouldn’t ever wander that far, not without knowing that there’s food or water nearby. It’s literally the only thing that can keep you inside of the arena. But as long as he’s having fun… right?

Yeah, well, one moment he’s just fine and looks like he could actually be inside of his home district instead dof the Hunger Games. And the next, there’s some sort of electrical explosion, with the audio blasting loud enough to even startle you. The boy flies back, hits the ground hard and a cannon goes off. He’s dead. District Six is going home.

You look over to Enobaria and Gloss, who look just as confused as you feel. You excuse yourself from the Capitol people and join them, “Guesses?”

Enobaria opens her mouth, closes it, and then reopens, “Maybe he reached the end of the arena?”

“But has that ever happened in the past?” Gloss asks, you turn so you can watch the screen again.

It’s full of reactions to the cannon. Annie and Marsh pause, debate, and then get back to going around their snares. The careers are unsure, One girl hopes that it’s Annie, you can’t help but roll your eyes and wait for the gamemakers to move on. As for everyone else, they’re either indifferent or they’re thinking what the rest of you are: just one more tribute out of the game.

“There had to be one before, right?” you look at Gloss, “The arena can’t be infinite.”

“Do any of us know any older mentors that’s left out here?” Enobaria asks.

Your eyes find Cecelia, the female mentor from District Eight. She’s sitting on some chair, hands resting in her lap while she watches the screen. But she’s only in her thirties, so it wouldn’t be that far before you and Finnick. Actually, you think all the older tributes, the ones that you’d consider dinosaurs, has gone home already. District Eleven had two mentors from twenty years or more before you were born. And Haymitch isn’t that old, but he’s got more than fifteen years on you.

“Cecelia…?” you loosely suggest, and then turn back towards them, “I don’t know.”

“Well, at any rate, your Capitol friends are missing you.” Enobaria says.

You all look over to see that they’re beckoning you over, waiting for you to join them. It’s only been a couple of hours and you’ve already left a lasting impression. Enobaria says that she’ll ask Cecelia, you go ahead and go back to what you were doing before.

You stay with them, but don’t pay as much attention. The tribute dying like that shouldn’t be this important to you, but you’ve never seen it before. Knowing stuff like this for the future of the boarding school is important. The more you know, the more you can advise tributes. It increases efficiency. Plus it’s something you’d never expect, so you wouldn’t really think of it in the first place.

Maybe Mags will know, or Anchor. You’ll just have to ask them when you get back home. It’s not worth the phone call. Plus, you’re sure that all the times that you’re available, they won’t be. Unlike you, they actually go to bed at regular times. They don’t need to stay up at all hours of the night.

And if Cecelia knows, then she can give you an answer. Sometimes she has the older male victor, whatever his name is. He won a couple of years after Mags, but he’s not doing so hot. While Mags only had a stroke, you’ve heard about his medical stuff in passing. He’s basically deteriorating. Well, in that case, he probably won’t have any recollection.

When the evening starts to become more prominent, people start leaving for supper. You find yourself saying more goodbyes than holding conversation at all. You’ve learned a lot today, like how you’re not exactly in Finnick’s shadow as much as you thought you were. And Annie is actually pretty adored for her mannerisms.

You find yourself back with Gloss and Enobaria, falling onto the couch and rubbing your feet because they hurt from you standing for so long. Enobaria tells you that Cecelia hasn’t seen anything like it before, more like heard about it. Coming across reruns of previous Hunger Games is hard, mostly because the capitol is all about the Hunger Games that’s happening right now.

But that doesn’t mean that it can’t be passed from mouth to ear. With that, Cecelia briefly joins your table, pulling up a chair with a polite smile. You’ve talked to Cecelia before, she’s got a motherly aspect to her, and that’s because she has a couple of kids of her own. She got married after her Hunger Games, which is not something a lot of victors tend to do. No one wants the chance of their children going through what you’ve already been through.

Unless something happens, you think that you won’t be having kids, either. Worrying over Alyssum is already giving you grey hairs, and she’s seven. You’ve already decided that she’s going to start the training early, as soon as she hits nine, she’s going to be in the boarding school as often as you can get her in there. And unlike the other kids, she won’t be starting slow.

Anyway, Cecelia starts at the very beginning by asking you three if you know Haymitch’s Hunger Games, which is an obvious yes. He was a Quarter Quell winner, he went up against forty-seven other tributes. And while his arena looked like heaven, it was a disguise for the worst imaginable nightmare. He couldn’t trust anything inside.

Well, Cecelia says that Haymitch briefly teamed up with one of the girl tributes from home. The two of them wandered for a while, even forcing themselves through hedges with fire. But when they got through, they found out that it was a cliff with jagged rocks at the bottom. Cecelia immediately relates this back to your games, saying that the cliff was basically a copycat.

Haymitch wanted to stay at the cliff, the girl wanted to leave. They said their goodbyes, but it wasn’t long until the girl was dead because of some pink birds that speared her throat. Later, two more tributes would end up dying in their own horrifying ways, leaving just Haymitch and a girl career to fight it out.

“It was a gorey fight.” Cecelia says, her voice quiet as if she doesn’t want to offend Haymitch. But he’s nowhere to be seen, in fact, he’s probably back home by now.

The girl had lost an eye, but not before Haymitch’s stomach had been completely cut open. Haymitch ran through the beautiful landscape, holding his intestines in while being chased by the career girl. He led her all the way to the cliffside, ultimately cornering himself.

You picture yourself side-by-side with Haymitch back when you were in your own Hunger Games. Half-dead, suffering from typhoid, the only thing running through your body anymore was adrenaline. It was fight or die, and you didn’t want to die. You were so close to going home.

And Haymitch, holding in his stomach, back to the cliff, knowing that he led her there for a reason. It was to stall, to tire her out and have a sliver of a chance at making it back home by some miracle. You and him were practically the same age when you won the Hunger Games. While Haymitch was sixteen, you were fifteen.

Cecelia says that the career girl threw the ax she was carrying just as Haymitch collapsed to the floor. The ax flew over the side of the cliff, officially getting rid of the only weapon she had. While she tried to stop the bleeding from her eye, Haymitch was seizing on the ground. He was probably minutes away from death.

She pauses for a moment, “And then the ax came back.”

“What?” you three ask at the same time.

“The ax came back up and killed the career girl, making Haymitch the victor. It happened because Haymitch reached the end of the arena. The forcefield or whatever it was at the bottom threw it back. It’s the same technology that’s used with the balconies to keep tributes from jumping off.” Cecelia says.

She’s right. You even showed Annie and Marsh yourself. You knew that the arena wasn’t limitless, that it had to stop at some point but you didn’t think that it would be built like that. You thought it would be some sort of unbreakable wall that the tributes wouldn’t be able to get through.

Okay, well, this changes a lot, actually.

Cecelia wraps up the story, telling you that Snow thought that Haymitch collapsing was an act of rebellion. Because of it, Haymitch had his entire family and girlfriends at the time killed because of it. This is just another puzzle piece to the misery that is Haymitch Abernathy, but at least some of his actions nowadays can be explained. If you were him, you’d probably turn to drinking too.

You all bid Cecelia goodbye when she leaves, thanking her for the information. Annie and Marsh have just reached their shack again when the sun begins to set. You don’t want to stay in the betting room for any longer than you have to. Plus, now you’ve got to ask Elysia why she didn’t make it down at all today, not that you really mind. You’re sure she would’ve had a mouthful and a half to say about what you’re wearing.

You hug Gloss and Enobaria, “Finnick will be with you tomorrow, right?”

“More than likely.” You give them a slight grin, “If he doesn’t look very happy, don’t be surprised.”

“Evil genius.” Gloss mutters, you elbow him.

“Goodnight, good luck with your tributes.”

“Thanks.” Enobaria waves, you leave the betting room while you can.

The dress wasn’t all that bad by the end of the day. It was hard to get used to at first, and the paranoia of others staring was a constant in your mind. But after you got into conversations, it was easier to forget what you were doing. If the Capitol wasn’t the way it is, you think that you’d like to stay here permanently.

Laurel is sat at the table when you get up, and you guess that instantly answers your question about where Elysia has been. They’ve probably been working together at Laurel's place. As much as it doesn't seem like it at times, Laurel actually enjoys the company of others, especially when she’s sketching out new ideas for the tribute parade and whatnot. Normally she relies on Pleurisy for the company, though, so something must’ve changed.

At first, no one seems to actually comprehend your presence until you’re standing at the table in front of them. Only then does Elysia stare at you, Laurel minimally raises her eyebrows before going back to sipping on her red wine. She doesn’t care, you’re sure that she actually enjoys you putting her designs to use for once.

“Finnick around?”

“Just left. You missed him.” Elysia says.

He must’ve taken the other elevator, which brings him to a different part of the building. It’s away from the betting room, and it’s a long walk to get to. But with his determination at avoiding you, you’re sure that anything is possible when it comes to him. Hers managed the couple of days thus far, who knows how long he’d try and keep it up for if it was his choice.

Fortunately, you’re smarter than him sometimes. If it were you, you probably wouldn’t have tested your own patience and wit after the reaping on the train. Really, it doesn’t take a genius to know when someone isn’t fucking around. After the whole week that you just went through, you’d think he'd know that by now.

At any rate, you eat dinner with Elysia and Laurel. It’s not at all quiet like it has been the last couple of days. In fact, the entire reason why Laurel is here in the first place is to discuss whether or not you think that Annie or Marsh is going to win. She wants to start preparing the outfits now, because the sooner they’re done, the better. It’ll leave room for you guys to focus on other matters.

Of course, your answer is yes. There’s no doubt that your tributes have a fighting chance. There might be half the arena still in the game, but it’ll only be a matter of time before they’re gone too. At the beginning rate that they were dying at, you knew that the games would be over quickly. A week and a half you said, and the half is already over.

Laurel’s glad to hear that you have confidence in the tributes. After dessert, you stick around them for a little while, only leaving when you've been assured that they won’t need your opinion for anything else. With that, you go to your room to wipe off the makeup and go to bed.

It’s a rinse and repeat the following morning. You think that it can’t hurt to get ready just in case Finnick hadn’t caught the word yet. But you’re sure by now that a lot of the Capitol has heard how vulnerable you made yourself yesterday. Either way, you wash your hair, do it in the same style it was before you pulled it out last night, and then put on the dress.

Yesterday it was a coral pink, today it’s long-sleeved and has white lace. You use the same white shoes, since they’re not scuffed and they actually match today. You take your time in the bathroom, slip the ring over your finger, and make your way out of the hallway. You haven’t put this much effort into what you look like since after your Hunger Games, when the reporters were everywhere and taking pictures. You didn’t really have a choice.

You’re two steps out of the doorway when you see that the table isn’t vacant this morning. You pause for a moment, staring at the bronze-colored hair. His back is turned to you, which is unfortunate since you have a smug grin on your face. You’d love for him to see just how victorious you are.

See, Finnick can run and hide, but you know how to bait and hook. It took one day of showing skin and getting the Capitol riled up to draw him out. A part of you wishes that he would’ve stayed back a little while longer, just to see how much he could tolerate before it was too much. But you’re glad that he’s made it easy for you.

You head down the three steps, passing by him to take your seat at the other end of the table. You can’t even do that, Finnick grabs a hold of your wrist tightly, spinning you towards him. When you make eye contact, you see that he’s glaring, straight-faced. You can’t say that you’re surprised, you knew that he wouldn’t be happy. Having your hand forced is never a pretty sight.

“Go change.” He says, not letting you go.

Your face twists, “No—“

“If you want me to help, you’ll go and change.” Finnick says.

You squint at him, “You’ll help me for the rest of the games.”

Finnick nods, letting you go. You stand there for a moment. If he goes back on his word, you can just try the second plan. This also gives you an excuse to not wear this in the betting room. Without a word, you go back to your room.

You don’t have a lot of time, so you end up changing into jeans and a white shirt, slipping on laceless tennis shoes. The makeup can stay because it’s not all that noticeable anyway. It’s just there to accentuate what you already have. You join Finnick at the table again, eating in silence.

When you’re done, you quickly brush your teeth and meet him at the elevator. He jabs his thumb into the button, calling the ride to you two. You get in first, press the button to the betting room, and head all the way down. At some point, Finnick crosses his arms, staring at the door in front of him.

“You’re so stupid.” Finnick says.

You look at him, eyebrows raised, “Excuse you?”

He shakes his head, “You can’t just go out and do shit like that. You’ll cause problems for yourself.”

“Finnick, as much as you like to think I’m oblivious, I’m not.” You snap, “You think I dressed up without knowing what the Capitol would say? What they would think?”

“Well, you were stupid enough to try it a second time!” He bursts.

You stomp towards him, swiftly grabbing his shirt collar to pull him to your height. Much like how you grabbed Wade, but this time Finnick can’t push himself away to escape. Not when you slam his back against the glass wall, trapping him here.

“Do not speak to me like that.” Your voice is measured, but you’d love to beat him to near death in here. If there is one word that doesn’t describe you, it’s stupid. You’re not stupid. If you were stupid, you wouldn’t have made it out of that arena alive with Finnick, “Do it again, you won’t like what happens. After all your shit that I’ve put up with, you owe me some respect.”

“I don’t owe you anything.” Finnick’s confidence is admirable, but he should really learn when to keep his mouth shut. The fact that he doesn’t seem bothered at all pisses you off more.

You let go of Finnick’s shirt with one hand, seeing the wrinkles that you’ve left behind on the collar. But with the one hand that still has a tight grip, you twist your hand, and throw him to the other end of the elevator. Your hand slaps the button that’ll keep the elevator in place. Finnick might have been able to catch himself, since the elevator is so tiny, if it weren’t for your foot that you kicked out in time to trip him.

He hits the floor, turns to sit against the wall, and stares at you with wide eyes. Your breathing has increased, a tightness growing in your throat, “I am so fucking sick and tired of your fucking attitude!” Your voice is loud, “I have done nothing but let you off easy for the past week, and this is how you treat me?”

Your fingers curl into fists, “All I wanted was help. I asked for your help. I even gave you the fucking nighttime to make it easier for you. There’s no one in there at night, which means that you’re not put in any sort of danger. And I get it that it’s a little hard to trust me and realize that I’m working in your best interest, but it’s true.

“So do me a fucking favor.” you suck in air through your teeth, relaxing your hands and pressing the button again, “And stop acting like I’m beneath you. I’m not, and if I was, I would’ve stooped down to your shitty level and stopped paying attention to our tributes too.”

The doors open, you place your hand out to keep them from closing, “This is not a game, and if it was, you would’ve lost by now.”

You start off without him, getting more than halfway down the hall before you finally hear him following. When you get inside of the betting room, you see that neither Gloss or Enobaria are sitting on the couch. In fact, they’re standing in a small group of people by the sponsor table.

You check the Morning Line Odds to see if anyone has died. They shouldn’t have run out of food already, and they know where water is. If they’re getting sponsored right now, that means they got into some sort of fight. Which means that someone should’ve died but there’s no new faces greyed out.

The only real difference is the odds, Marsh has gone from a 7-1 to a 6-1. Same goes for a few of the other tributes, they either increased or decreased, with the exception of the careers, who still hold the same odds that they had yesterday. The girl from One is a 4-1, the girl from Two is a 5-1, and her district partner is a 3-1.

You head towards them, wanting to hear what’s happened. The screen is showing anything too interesting, it’s the same thing it’s been for the past two mornings. The only change is that the careers are awake this early in the morning, and they’ve got a bigger spot on screen than usual.

Enobaria sees you through her peripheral, and moves slightly so that she can talk to you. She also spares a minor glance behind you, and you do the same to make sure that Finnick hasn’t found a way to disappear into thin air. He hasn’t, he’s actually still coming towards you.

“What happened?” you ask.

Gloss looks over at the sound of your voice, and then does the exact same thing that you and Enobaria just did to see Finnick, “A scuffle.”

Enobaria snorts, “A lot more than a scuffle--Sanguin would’ve killed Geare if it weren’t for Vanilee!”

You blink. “Who?”

“Sanguin is my tribute.” Gloss says, “She got into a fight with Geare, Enobaria’s male tribute. It was a disagreement, and it escalated a lot more than it should’ve.”

“And Vanilee is the girl, who nearly got killed for stepping in.” Enobaria glares at Gloss for a second, and then she turns her eyes on Finnick, “Do you know what personal space is?”

“Don’t you have something more important to focus on?” Finnick retaliates.

Enobaria doesn’t say anything else to him, turning her back, “Anyway, no one died but they’re hurt so we’re organizing two separate gifts to send. Sanguin went off by herself to the village.”

Well, you’re not sure what she’ll be trying to find at the village. There’s only the Three boy hiding out there, and there are far too many houses to just start randomly searching. It’s not like she even knows that the tribute is out there, anyway. Your best guess is that she went to clear her head.

When they start talking about who’s to send first, Enobaria immediately interjects, “I should send mine first because Sanguin attacked Geare.”

“Oh, give it up.” Gloss says, “If your tributes had a shred of common sense, they’d be listening to Sanguin.”

“Except Sanguin just wants revenge.” Enobaria bites back, bearing her sharp, white teeth, “Annie and Marsh don’t pose that big of a threat, anyway. They’re in the woods surviving, not actively killing anyone. Annie got lucky that Colt was a fucking moron.”

Gloss opens his mouth, but Enobaria’s moved onto sending the sponsor gift. He gives you a look, “She acts like her tributes wouldn’t be desperate to do the exact same thing if Annie killed one of them.”

“True.” you mutter, “I don’t think your alliance is going to last very long.”

“Neither do I.” Gloss says.

The two of you look up at the big screen. It’s focused on Sanguin, who has her sword’s blade flat on her shoulder so it’s easier to carry. She must’ve started walking only recently, because she still has a few hours to go. It took the careers basically the entire day to get to the village on the first day.

There’s a small video of the Three boy going on in the corner. He’s no longer inside of his house, and with the sun shining on him, he looks extremely pale. He places his hand against the nearest wall to keep him upright, squints through the sunlight, and then starts his way out of the village.

“Oh shit.” you say.

Enobaria sends in her sponsor gift, her tributes get it just fine. And even though it’s technically his turn, Gloss doesn’t move from where he stands. He clearly wants Sanguin to run across Three boy, and sponsoring her would ruin that. She’s in a specific mindset, he’s unarmed. And you suppose this could be a way for her to blow off steam. The poor boy is a pacifier to her growing agitation.

You take a step back, wanting to find a better place to stand, and find that Enobaria wasn’t exaggerating about Finnick’s close presence. You bump straight into him, his hands find your shoulders, directing you around Gloss. You try and shrug off his hands, but he doesn’t let go. So this is how today is going to be, a fucking irritation.

Sanguin is still a while away from the village, if anything is going to happen between her and the Three boy, it’s going to be an hour or so away from now. At the pace she’s walking now, she’ll be there before or after noon. So, until then, you can focus on your tributes and the Capitol people around you.

You move around the betting room, Finnick keeping close behind you. You try not to be annoyed with it, silently wishing that he’d chill out and sit somewhere if he’s just going to hover like this. But you don’t brush him off, you wanted him down here, so now you’ve got to put up with it. Not to mention, you have two older brothers and a younger sister, you’ve dealt with more than your fair share of annoying people.

Still, you can’t help but to wonder if he’s being like this on purpose to try and make you tell him to go away. He stands too close, he’ll have his hand on your arm, shoulder or elbow while you talk to people. The good thing is that the people don’t ask about it. Hell, they hardly seem to notice it in the first place, or they’re just being extremely polite, which is a whole new ordeal.

Annie and Marsh go out to their snares for lunch, the District Seven tributes catch their own animals to skin and eat. The other two--potentially three--tributes in the woods are focused on getting water and finding food. Whether it be an animal, berries or some roots from an edible plant.

At around ten, Sanguin has almost made it to the village. Three boy was further in than all of you thought, and at the pace he’s going, he’s clearly miserable and out of his mind. He drags his feet through the dirt, creating a literal snail path behind him. If Nine girl were inside of the village, all she’d have to do is find the path and follow it to him.

You’re also able to watch your tributes come around to their snares, moving from one to another. They’re used to seeing some empty by now, there’s not always going to be some rabbit or squirrel strung up in the air. However, every single one that they’ve come across this far is bare. Either they’re not going to eat tonight, or they need to start a plan b.

Or, you can always start your own plan too.

You give Gloss and Enobaria a smile, “I’ll be back.”

“Going to make sure your tributes don’t starve?” Gloss asks, snorting slightly.

“Yup.” you turn to Finnick, “You don’t have to come, this’ll only take a second.”

He’s got this dead look in his eyes, partially because he clearly didn’t get enough sleep. He was obviously banking on the hope that you wouldn’t go and pull something like you did yesterday. Sleep during the day and be up all hours of the night. Another whole reason why you think that he’s not the brightest light bulb in the box.

Anyway, he pushes himself up from the couch. You start your way towards a certain group, you’ve known them for a while now, but Finnick places a hand on that arm to keep you from going.

“What the hell--”

“Not them.” Finnick says.

“They’re fine, I’ve worked with them for years.” you turn towards him, grabbing his hands out of irritation, “Quit it.”

Finnick doesn’t look bothered, “(Y/n), we’ve spent time in the Capitol in two different ways. You know your way around mentoring and how to get the best possible result out of the week, and I know the way that the people think and what they want to do just by how they look. For once, trust me on this. You want to stop being around them before it’s too late.”

You let go of his hands, taking in a deep breath. There can’t be any collaboration without cooperation on both parts. You know this. And he’s not wrong, either. You both have two different areas of expertise at this point. If he’s sure that the second group will give you the same outcome, then you might as well.

“Okay, thank you.” you flash him a smile before heading towards the group he wanted you to be at.

They’re not so bad, they just don’t know you as well. But after a couple of minutes of talking with them, even Finnick has pitched in a few times at some points, they’ve warmed right up to you. A man mentions how he wishes he could be more of a help to them, and you jump at the opportunity in the most responsible way possible.

In no time, you’re sending in a feast to your beloved tributes. You thank the group of sponsors a lot, and spend the next hour talking to them about what foods Annie and Marsh seemed to have liked while they were here. It makes the hour go by faster, you go and join your friends on the couch once you're done. And it’s just in time for Sanguin to make it to the village.

Unfortunately, by then the Three boy is visible. Sanguin catches sight of him, he sees her, and suddenly a hunt has begun. The boy ducks out, disappearing into an alleyway, Sanguin doesn’t waste time running after him. Even with the state that the boy is in, he still manages to move quickly. There’s no doubt that it’s adrenaline.

He’s weaponless, might even be hopeless when it comes to defending off Sanguin. If he can lose her in the maze of houses and find a good hiding spot inside of one, you’re sure that she’d have a harder time finding him. She’s already seen him, so there’s no point in thinking that she won’t just go ahead and search. She’s got plenty of time on her hands, and no motivation to go back to the cornucopia just yet.

He’s more awake, running but not running. He’s trying not to be loud, but Sanguin is following him without a problem. He turns a corner, she follows it moments later. It’ll take more than just running to get away from her, and it doesn’t look like he has any other option than to run. He’s going to get tired eventually, all Sanguin will have to do is outlast him.

Well, Three doesn’t even get that far. He’s getting reckless with swinging his foot around corners, trying to cut them. One bad move from him, and he’s sprawled across the dirt, a cloud of dust getting kicked up because of how hard he hits the dirt. As if that weren’t bad enough, he starts coughing, gasping to breathe. It doesn’t take a genius to know he has asthma. No wonder why he was having a hard time breathing quietly while he was running.

Sanguin comes around, sword swinging off of her shoulder. It clips the wall next to her, a chunk of cement goes flying. She pays no attention, eyes on the boy. His face is red from running, he’s got his shoulders pressed to the dirt but his head has risen enough to see Sanguin. He watches her come closer, not moving.

She doesn’t say anything to him, just lifts the sword and swings. You all watch in silence, prepared for it to be a quick death, but then he rolls out of the way. The sword hits the dirt, he wraps his foot around the back of her ankle, lifts, and she fails to catch herself before falling.

He’s smart, scrambles to his feet and takes off as fast as he can. It’s not quick, though. Sanguin is tired of the running, she gets out of the alleyway, and then throws her sword diagonally. It’s over for the boy, then. He can’t see the sword coming, which means he can’t move out of the way. The blade flies right into his back, next to his spine.

Blood splatters against the wall in front of him, he collapses face-first into the dirt. Sanguin takes her time going over there, now. You imagine that if he hadn’t run in the first place, he wouldn’t have suffered like he is now. Gloss gets up from where he sits, heading to get the sponsor gift in life, three and a half hours later. Sanguin grabs the hilt of the sword, lifts, and then slams the tip through the back of the boy’s head.

One cannon, ten tributes left in the games. Three in the cornucopia, seven in the woods. Annie and Marsh should move soon.

Sanguin gets her healing cream, which is paired with a bottle of water. Sanguin sits against the wall where she killed the Three boy, trying to catch her breath before she heads back. It’ll be another three hour walk, it’ll be late afternoon by the time she gets back around.

All that’s left to do today is sit, wait, and watch. Annie and Marsh keep rationing out their food, enough to keep them energetic, but still saving some for tomorrow. They spend their time setting up extra snares, lower down into the woods as a backup just in case tomorrow is an empty day too.

District Two stays in the cornucopia, they’ve got food and water, they’ll last until tomorrow. The Nine girl is eating some berries she found in a bush, which makes you all think that she’s in the forest, but Enobaria points out that there’s bushes near the village too. However, that means she’s pretty far into the village, and it’s not completely cleared yet. And that just doesn’t seem likely. And since the Nine girl is resourceful, she’s found other ways to get water.

The Seven tributes eat soft bark off of the trees, sticking to their stick and leaf covers. They seem like they’ve adjusted to the woods pretty fine, talk about a stereotype. If they weren’t cliched before, they are now. The Eight girl has made it to the stream, she drinks water out of her hands, splashes her face and sits there for a while.

Five boy has found his own source of water, he’s on the verge of being exposed, though. If you were standing by the outside tail of the cornucopia--as the mouth is facing the field--he’d be on the far left. Which isn’t a bad place to be, since the right is pretty crowded with people because of the stream of water. But it makes for a problem because he’s still seeable.

The tributes left right now seem to be the ones that know what they’re doing. If you die in the bloodbath, clearly you have no common sense. The four that died in the village were straight unlucky, but it was ultimately inevitable because the careers were hunting. They’re going to kill more tributes after the bloodbath. And it was also lucky that they came across that many tributes.

Six boy was too smart for his own good with trying to run away. He couldn’t have known that there would be a barrier like that at the side of the arena, so he’s not really the one to blame here. And Three boy might have been the only stupid tribute that was left because of how long he waited out getting water. Plus, he was probably pretty hungry by then too. He almost had Sanguin, but then again he wouldn’t have made it very far anyway.

With all the tributes in their own spots, away from each other and hours away from any conflict, you think that it’s calm enough to go out and get food real quick. You know a place just down the street. Of course, you’re nervous to leave the betting room, every single year that you mentor, you stay just in case anything happens. Even if you’re hungry, or thirsty, or need to use the bathroom, you stick it through.

On your way out, you invite Cecelia to go with. She declines at first, but when she sees that her girl tribute is doing fine, she comes along. You introduce Finnick and Cecelia, and then explain yesterday’s events to him so that he understands why you know her. Afterwards, she’s telling the story of Haymitch’s games so it all makes sense to him.

The restaurant has tv’s set up so that you’re able to see if anything happens. And with choosing a table by the door, it makes for a quick and easy escape if need be. You enjoy yourselves in the meantime, sharing food and making predictions as always. With Cecelia added, her experience with the past games is actually pretty insightful.

The only problem is that she’s the last winning tribute of her district, so she doesn’t know what to do when it comes to training tributes exactly. Her mentioning that was probably the worst idea ever, because suddenly you, Gloss and Enobaria are giving her different pieces of advice. Eventually she has to start writing down what you guys say because it’s too much to remember.

She can’t get a boarding school started, so instead she’ll just have to work her ass off during the Capitol week. Districts One and Two have been established for years, so their advice is a little harder to understand. But since District Four has just recently gotten on their own two feet, you’re able to relate to her level. Cecelia is genuinely grateful, and she never stops thanking you guys for the help.

This time around, you pay for lunch since Gloss paid last time. Since your tributes hadn’t been up to anything important, you don’t have to rush back to the betting room. Sanguin should be arriving at the cornucopia in the next few minutes, Annie and Marsh are exploring further to the right, away from where everyone is currently. And Eight girl--whose name is actually Bauhinia, after the flower--was up against the dam.

It’s four in the afternoon when you get back, and it’s only an hour later when the Capitol people begin to leave. Annie and Marsh make their way home to the shack, the careers make up and apologize to each other. Sanguin tells Vanilee and Geare that she was the one that set off the cannon, she couldn’t tell who it was though, only that it was one of the guys and definitely not Marsh.

By seven, only a couple of Capitol people are still around. You, Enobaria, Gloss, Finnick and Cecelia sit around a table talking to each other. At least you’re friendly with Cecelia now, you’re not sure how that’s going to hold up next year. But then again, she’s used to her tributes dying in the arena. After a while, it’s hard to hold a grudge. Unfortunately, that might mean she’ll end up like Haymitch in a couple of years.

For a while, Enobaria and Gloss play the same get-to-know-you game that they played with Finnick, with Cecelia. You end up learning a lot about her and the district that she’s from this way. It makes for interesting conversation when Enobaria asks her the weirdest way that Cecelia can probably kill someone, and she says a sewing needle.

Which only starts hypothetical situations in which you all are back inside of the Hunger Games, and have to get creative with items to use to kill people. Rocks, tree bark, water, dirt. Enobaria says that she genuinely considered shoving a tributes face in the dirt and holding them there until they died.

“Wouldn’t they just be able to move their mouth off to the side?” you ask, feeling a little ridiculous for asking the question in the first place.

“I don’t think so.” Enobaria says, “They’d be face down.”

“No, (Y/n) has a point.” Gloss shakes his head.

“Do you want to test it out?” Enobaria gives him a look.

“Is there any dirt nearby?” Gloss asks back, “Because I bet a thousand that I’m right.”

“Oh, you’re on.” she says, looking behind her.

There’s a planters box on the far side of the betting room. Enobaria and Gloss get up and go over, which means that you, Finnick and Cecelia follow. Gloss gladly hops over the cement wall that keeps the dirt inside, and lays down face-first as nonchalantly as possible. He looks awkward doing it.

“Alright, if you feel like you’re dying, just kick your feet and I might let you go.” she says, sitting on his back.

“I won’t call uncle.”

“You will eventually.” she says, and then shoves his face into the dirt.

While Enobaria tries to kill Gloss with one of the five elements, Cecelia talks, “I used to do stuff like this with the other mentors, but that was a while ago.”

“You’re welcome to join us any time, Cecelia.” you give her a polite smile, “Even in future games. We can’t really blame the tributes for killing each other, everyone wants to survive.”

Well, the careers--including District Four this year--all do it to themselves on purpose for the fame and money. With the other districts, they typically have no choice and they’re the ones being picked during the reaping. But you get what you’re saying, right?

“Thanks.” Cecelia says, and then looks to Finnick, “Haven’t seen you in a while, how are you doing?”

It’s friendly conversation, you listen as Finnick tells her that he’s been busy. She doesn’t pry, taking his word for it. It’s better that way, you’re not sure what he’d say if she did ask, anyway. Finnick’s still got a hand on you, too. You guess that the very last people inside of the betting room aren’t all that great. Otherwise you’re sure he would’ve let you go by now.

“Are you dead yet?” Enobaria asks.

“I’ve been breathing the entire time.” Gloss says, and then he starts coughing and spitting because of the dirt in his mouth. Enobaria gets off of him, he closes his mouth and grits his teeth, and you can literally hear the crunch of the dirt between his teeth.

“Oh,” you laugh, covering your mouth, “Gross.”

Everyone is laughing, Gloss struggles to find a glass of some sort of liquid to wash it out of his mouth. There’s dirt down his shirt and pants, and it’s even ruined his clothes to some extent. When he’s finally able to rinse and spit the dirt out, he looks at Enobaria, “As long as they don’t speak and breathe through their nose, I’m sure they’d be able to survive.”

It’s a good way to wrap up the night, so you hug your three friends goodnight just in time for Cashmere and Wade to come around. Back on the Four floor, for the first time in a while, you’re actually able to eat with both Elysia and Finnick. You don’t talk much with each other, just tell Elysia what you had done today.

After dinner, Elysia goes to her room, leaving you and Finnick alone.

“You should go back down there.” you tell him.

“I’m not.” Finnick says, and you let out a sigh, “(Y/n), you can’t be down there. As nice as it probably is to be with them--did you even notice the way they were looking at you.”

“Finnick, I’ll be last week’s news by the time the new victor is announced. I’m not going to be the center of attention for much longer.”

“Except to some extent, you’ve been in their sights for a while now.” he shakes his head, “I used to hear things about you while we weren’t talking. And I thought it was all lies and rumors until I got to see it for myself.” his voice is surprisingly calm, eyes on you, “They’re mistaking your friendliness for flirtation. You’re laying it on too thick, and it’s confusing them.”

You open your mouth, and then close it.

“I would rather you take the night shift, so I can take the daytime. But I know that you won’t let that happen so we’re going to have to compromise.”

Still being hung up on the flirting thing, you nod slowly, “What are you thinking?”

“You go from afternoon into most of the night, I take late night into early morning.” he raises his eyebrows, “Sometimes evenings if I think I can handle it.”

It makes the most sense, “Okay, yeah.”

“Yeah?” he lets out a breath, “That was easy.”

And once he thinks that, he’s suddenly squinting at you, “You’re not going to backstab me, are you?”

You squint back at him, “Unlike you, I’m a respectable human being.”

He laughs, “Respectable! You nearly killed me in the elevator.”

“And you would’ve deserved it, don’t even fucking lie.” you roll your eyes.

“Maybe a little bit.” Finnick admits.

REDAMANCY IS PART 2 OF A TRILOGY //MASTERLIST//

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Text

Warmth

Cuddling with Avdol? You bet

Words: ~ 1.2K

Sponsors for this work are lil bit of wine, Avdol needing love, milk chocolate and a lil bit of sadness

(also, could be AU, depends on how you look at it)

Thanks to @oraoraora-ariariari for helping me with the idea of Avdol’s hair. And ama also partially dedicate this work to @giogio-gucci-gangstar cuz they are vibin and I adore talking to them.

Enjoy~

As the early cold morning approached, you found yourself shivering slightly. Opening your eyes a little, you noted the open window, remembering to have forgotten to close it. While yesterday the fresh breeze was welcomed with open arms, now you felt a small shiver going down your back as you itched closer to the person next to you.

Speaking of which, you now took the whole majestic view of your boyfriend’s strong back as the he was still sleep next to you, turned away. It was a rare sight to see Avdol without his usual hairstyle. His natural hair now free of his complicated hairstyle. You couldn’t help but to smile at the sight in from of you, gently letting on of your hands to run through his curly hair. His hair, where not heavily styles, was a medium-length curled hair. As you carefully run your hand through his soft hair, you felt his shift a little, yet not waking up.

You felt his soft locks under your hand as you itched closer to your boyfriend, noticing how much heat he was radiating. Exactly what you needed at the moment. Avdol hair felt very soft due to the man taking a good care of it, frequently using natural oils, and giving his hair generally enough attention for it to survive any heavy styling as well as a simple bun or a ponytail.

Feeling the cold breeze hit you again, you stopped caressing his hair, now moving closer to Avdol, taking in his strong back and neck. Carefully, you wrapped one arm around his torso from behind, burying your nose into his neck, taking in his warmth form. You were careful to not accidentally wake him up, instead hoping to maybe go back to sleep, now that you have obtained the sweet warmth. Closing your eyes, you relaxed, hugging the man closer.

However, it seems like the life had other plans.

“What a lovely feeling to wake up to,” suddenly a deep voice spoke, making you swiftly open your eyes, surprised. Quickly relaxing, you moved even closer to him.

“How long have you been up for?” you asked Avdol, now burying your face further into his neck, tightening your hold around Avdol more. Your boyfriend chuckled a little.

“Well, since I felt someone playing with my hair,” you could hear the cheeky tones in his voice, as you felt his body rumble a little.

“Ah, sorry, I couldn’t help it. The sight was equally as beautiful,” you decided to use this chance to fluster him a little. Hearing the response, Avdol’s smile widened as he turned to face you, his curly hair covering his eyes slightly. Quickly eyeing his body upfront (Avdol sleep without a shirt and bless him for them), you moved closer again, running your hand through his hair and brushing them aside as much as you could, so you could see his eyes.

Feeling his leaning into your touch, you chuckled a little. Perhaps, he searched for your warmth just as much.

Looking around, Avdol noted that the room didn’t look at bright, realizing that it must be quite already. And his lovely chicken seemed to be sleeping, instead of their usual walks outside.

“Why were you awake so early, my love?” he asked, placing a hand on your hip as you stopped playing with his hair.

“I forgot to close the window yesterday so I kinda woke up because of the cold wind,” you shrugged, explaining. His hand felt warm against your skin, further reminding you that you started to feel cold again, making you shiver lightly. Noticing that, Avdol opened his arms a little, motioning for you to move closer with a smile on his face.

“You could have just asked,” small chuckle left his lips. You felt his strong arms wrap around you as you moved closer.

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” you explained, sighing at the welcoming warmth of his body. You wrapped your arm around his neck, bringing yourself even closer to your boyfriend, taking in his scent and the feeling of his muscles.

“Waking up beside you would be a blessing upon me,” Avdol commented, grinning a little. He heard a sight leave your lips as you then chuckled at his cheesy remark.

“I could say the same,” you answered back, feeling your boyfriend further covering you two with a warm blanket. Avdol tightened his hold around you, one hand drawing lazy yet comforting pattern son your back, while you massage his scalp, hearing him groan a little at a welcoming touch of yours.

You felt his head move a little, planting a kiss on the side of your head, then moving to nip at your earlobe. You answered by mirroring his action and lifting yourself a little, kissing his now warm cheek. You could feel his cheeks lift a little as the man smiled. You felt Avdol intertwine his legs with yours, bringing you as closer as it was possible, one of his hand still around your waist while the other moved to your head, crawling you as he started to plant multiple kisses across your face, his soft lips against your quickly warming up skin.

Mirroring his actions, you turned your head a little, catching his lips in a quick kiss, making the man sight happily.

“Are you warm now?” he couldn’t help but to ask, the tiniest of smirks present on his face. Avdol was fully aware of the effect he had on you.

“And you have the audacity to ask me that, my love?” you chuckled, squeezing the man a little as you felt your cheeks warm up from his sweet actions. You decided to leave the questions unanswered, instead kissing his nose and nuzzling into the crook of Avdol’s neck further, also planting a kiss there, hearing the man laugh a little at the tickling sensation.

“Are we going to get up or are you planning to trap me here?” his deep voice, asking, planting a kiss on the top of your head, moving a little so he could lie on his back, you still wrapped in his strong embrace.

“Well, it doesn’t seem like you are too eager to leave the bed either,” you noted, now facing him as you draw gentle patterns on his chest, smiling at him.

“Of course, how could I? With a such sight lovely sight in front of me,” Avdol answered, chuckling as you rolled your eyes a little. He never missed an opportunity to let out a cheesy comment.

“What about our precious little babies?” you asked, motioning to the window with our head “our chickens cannot wait for too long,” you reminded the man, seeing his smile widen at the mention of your lovely group of birds that you two take care of.

“Well, of course, I won’t leave them alone but I’d say they would be okay with waiting a little,” your boyfriend noted, bringing you closer so he could fully see your face, as you stopped tracing patterns on his chest, instead just leaving your hand, feeling Avdol’s heartbeat. You felt him itching closer as you mirrored his actions, pulling him into a kiss. Feeling him nip on your lover lip, you wrapped your arms around Avdol’s strong neck, bringing yourself even closer to him. You felt his arms wrap tightly around your waist, his soft touch warming you up as you felt yourself being lost in the sensation, a much-welcomed morning starting for the two of you.

#jjba x reader #jjba headcanons #jjba #jojo x reader #jojo scenarios #jojo #avdol x reader #mohammed avdol #avdol #SDC #jojo part 3

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wandaluvstacos · 4 years

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Chapter 28 of Pretty Things is up!

Chapters 1 & 2 are free.

Pretty Things is part of the Sponsors universe, but you don’t need to have read The Sponsors to understand it (hopefully!). Please forgive the poorly photoshopped cover. :( I plan on doing it as a digital illustration at some point.

Summary:

As zhalja to the eldest prince, Rhazaaq Samir has the most enviable position a slave could boast. Yet with all the glamor and prestige that comes with being a royal zhalja, Samir isn’t living the luxurious life other see. While his sponsor Rhazaaq Zhafal is fair despite his cold nature, Zhafal’s half-brother Uyhem harbors a terrifying obsession with Samir that flips between adoring and violent at the speed of a changing wind. To ensure an illusion of safety, Samir begins building a coalition of valuable allies, from servants to ex-smugglers, who can help him cement what little control he can possess. Despite all his efforts, Uyhem’s overbearance cannot be denied, which is how Samir ends up at a gladiator fight, where thieves and prisoners of war are forced to battle it out for the amusement of the Empire’s populace. It’s at a fight that Samir meets a Mulli soldier captured from the Hahnar Empire’s rival, someone who claims to know him from a past life— one that Samir has tried to forget.

Forced together at Uyhem’s insistence, Samir grudgingly learns more about this Mulli soldier, and in the process, develops the first glimmer of hope for escape.

Artwork and a chapter archive can be found HERE.

Excerpt:

Taleen rolled out of bed and climbed the first few rungs of the rope ladder that hung between his bunk and Mamoud’s. Mamoud’s limbs hung over the sides of his bunk, as the platform was too small to contain him all. He looked rather silly, splayed out as he was, head tilted back and mouth gaping open. Taleen fought back a giggle. Such elegance. Despite his amusement, he was glad that Mamoud’s sleep had deepened over the past fortnight. He’d been in a lot of pain that first week, but now he complained mostly of dull aches, and while his bruises were still present and discolored, they were no longer so tender. His appetite had returned with a ferocity, but the captain was insistent that the rations were what they were, and there would be no exceptions made for Mamoud simply because he was bigger. That meant Mamoud often talked about food, to the point that Taleen had to chastise him for it. Taleen wasn’t used to twice-baked biscuits, potato soup, and arak for every meal, and he was extremely grouchy about the affair. He didn’t need Mamoud talking about honey-glazed leg of lamb or fenugreek pudding when they filled his dreams at night—or at least the good ones.

“Mamoud.”

Mamoud woke with a snort, and Taleen chuckled. He sounded like a goat.

“What?” Mamoud rubbed his face and blinked a few times. “Something wrong?”

“No, I’m just bored.”

“Oh, so it’s an emergency.”

“Of course,” Taleen laughed.

“Come up here.” Mamoud patted the platform beneath him, then pushed his back up against the wall so there was a small sliver Taleen could fit into. Taleen did not feel safe at all lying on the ledge like that, at least until Mamoud wrapped an arm around his waist and pressed Taleen against him. Contact like this would have petrified Taleen a few months ago, but the only thing to interrupt his calm today was a thrill racing up his spine.

“Do you need me to entertain you?” Mamoud asked.

“Yes, tell me more stories about magical whores and their dead army of ex-lovers.”

Mamoud laughed. Yesterday he’d seen fit to share some stories that he had heard from fellow Mulli soldiers around the firepits at night, and Taleen was not shocked to learn that nearly all of them involved some kind of beautiful prostitute with an enormous bosom. It was a good thing the Mulli armies were fighters and not storytellers, because they were much better at the former.

“You did ask to hear those, may I remind you.”

“I’ve recognized my folly and I don’t wish to revisit it.”

“Alright then, what other thing do you wish to do to pass the time?”

“Surprise me.”

Mamoud lowered his head so that his black eyes could meet Taleen’s. They then darted down to look at Taleen’s mouth, a silent request.

“How is your nose?” Taleen asked.

“Sore, but mostly fine.”

Taleen lifted a hand and placed it on the back of Mamoud’s neck. “Then what are you waiting for?”

“You.”

Taleen couldn’t help but smile. “Kiss me.”

#my writing #excerpt #update #Patreon #Pretty Things

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roswellroamer · 4 years

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Day 8. February 6, 2020. Owaka to Invercargill (the long way). 275km

Woke up and commenced packing. When staying at a place for more than one night, most of the gear and clothes get unpacked so it takes the better part of 45' to reorganize and repack then reload and secure the gear in and on top of the bike. It was about 50° this AM so left a polartec layer to soften the chill and a perusal of the NZTA government site showed the southern route directly west to Invercargill was open. Yeah! We rode out about 8:15 and cruised on what was now a somewhat familiar scenic ride westward. We made it to Papatowai and once again, as we saw yesterday, there was a police car in the road. Immediately the pit of your stomach churns. Having checked out and a reservation awaiting in Invercargill for the next three nights along with the Burt Monro rally fun all contributed to some anxiety that we might not be able to make it happen. Every other thought was about the more than a meter of rain which fell in 48 hours earlier this week and where and how would ALL that water make its way south. But the NZTA site said the road was open! The officer was very nice and explained that we needed to return to Owaka and make a left turn at the Lumber Jack (last night's tasty dinner location). Then we'd proceed over a gravel road through the Owaka valley and up to Clinton and head west to Mataura en route to Invercargill. We rode back the 27km to Owaka and then proceeded through the scenic valley and westward to Mataura. We should've been more suspicious of the lack of bikes within 150 km of Invercargill. As we pulled into the central area of Mataura the main Hwy 93 was completely blocked by sand bags at least 4' high. Although the road was dry, it was apparent that floodwaters had swirled there in the recent past. We saw three other bikers who approached us and explained that they weren't able to bypass the flooding in town. It's heartening to wake up to What's App messages complaining/wondering what happened since I fairly abruptly ended my blog as I was just too tired to continue. (Richard!) At least I know someone is reading... I don't write this for others, mostly for myself to have a record of these adventures so I don't forget the little and interesting things that happen on a daily basis. One of the daily pics shows the sand bag barrier on route 93 and the fire/rescue folks who described for us the next route to take to attempt to get to Invercargill. We rode again eastward on the opposite direction of our destination to Clinton and found the only cafe open for a quick drink/bite and a bathroom break. At Clinton we noticed one thing right away. For the first time in days we were on a busy road (Hwy 1) and it was steadily streaming trucks and more interestingly to me, bikes! Now, with a brief stop, we joined the flow again towards the elusive Invercargill after a 170km double detour. At least we got some fantastic scenery and rainbows so no complaints.

The highway from Clinton to the next town of Gore has prompted a humorous gesture by the NZ transportation agency. They have a sign as you depart Clinton heading the 44kms to Gore that proclaims it the "Presidential Highway". 😆 Very funny! Gore was surprisingly large with loads of bikes getting gas and finding one of the dozens and dozens of restaurants there to eat. We continued on after passing over the Mataura River bridge where the railroad trestle immediately downstream was nearly submerged. The road continues along the river and was closed due to flooding so all traffic was diverted about 30km on a series of more western roadways and eventually we met up with 1 again for the half hour ride remaining into Invercargill. Mother Nature opened up on us for a while but only hard for 15-20 minutes and it abated just prior to entering town. We rode in by the much discussed transport museum and into center city. We got an apartment in a Quest building right next to the central traffic circle in the town's center. Fantastic location. Not a full service hotel, but a building of nicely appointed apartments with a front desk that is manned for check-in hours only. Only a couple blocks from both the Classic Motorcycle Mecca museum and then the other way to the famous and historic E. Hyde hardware store. The store that is not only huge but houses Burt Monro's workshop (behind glass), loads of vintage bikes on display interspersed with their merchandise, a full Indian dealership within and of course anything you could think of to purchase! The motorcycle museum was also visited and did not disappoint. Over 300 very significant bikes of marques that extended beyond my knowledge base. They also have in their basement a collection from a NZ motorcycle racer named George Begg who became a car designer (he didn't race the cars). He made stunning and well known cars which won races around the world. We decided to then ride out to the official rally site towards the beach. About 9 km to Oreti Beach. There was a tent and a steady line of people filling out registrations. I opted for the $60NZ rally pass which provides access to the rally site which includes camping and the vendor and food tents as well as evening entertainment tents. It also provides a 50% discount on all rally event tickets which are normally $20NZ (less than $13). I bought all the remaining event tickets. Drag races today, beach racing tomorrow, Saturday's sprint races and speedway races ending with Sunday's street races.

We toured the motorcycle safety tent and picked up some safety swag (earplugs, visor cleaning cloth, kickstand pad) and were then drawn into a discussion with a researcher from Australia who is trying to promote two things. One was a geometric design that allows urethane to be produced into a much more flexible design than the D30 armor. It is much more ventilated, flexible and lighter than the armor used by most manufacturers. He had printed it up on his 3D printer and it slowly crushes under pressure. Made great sense to me, hopefully more companies will adopt this. Also he was promoting "MotoCAP". This is a way of testing all motorcycle protective gear in three modes (abrasion, impact and a third one involving energy dispersion that I can't remember now that I'm typing this the next day!) in the same way that cars in the USA get a crash rating, clothing would all be ranked and consumers would be informed about which items perform well in which modes for their information. This guy is conducting the tests on various items. He did say that the Klim Badlands jacket (one version heavier than the Latitude I wear) was the best textile jacket they had tested to date since he saw me wearing my Klim. We strolled through the entertainment tent which was largely empty save for a stage and an official merchandise vendor. We got in line and bought a couple items to remember this event by in the future. There was also a food tent with 5 food trucks set up to deliver to campers and anyone wanting some unhealthy treats while on site. Who am I to talk! 😉 The drag races we're getting ready to start at 6 or so it said on the ticket so we rode the short distance over to Teretonga race track. They have a gravel road that connects the rally campgrounds directly to the track area so the rally campers don't need to put a helmet on for the short ride to watch the race. We strolled through the paddock area and saw a large diversity in the bikes. Some modified Hayabusas, some extended swing arm bikes with wheelie bars behind and some 150cc Vespa scooters rusting out! The drags were sponsored by Harley and we met the Harley agent in our apartment/hotel as she unloaded flags destined to the track event we were now attending. Speaking of unhealthy foods, we both decided to support the local netball team by purchasing a sausage from them for $2NZ. What a delicious bargain. Complete with Cole slaw, cooked onions and mustard and wrapped by a piece of bread. Best deal ever. The track was not really that organized. I don't think the first racers went off the line until 6:45 and it was not warm but the setting sun kept the hard chill away. Maybe it was 56° but very windy. In fact they discussed shortening the 1/4 mile distance due to the risk of blowing racers across the track but they kept it at the standard length. The races were fun to watch. Especially the unmodofied and less experienced riders with incredibly powerful machines that had difficulty keeping their front ends on the pavement. One guy went nearly vertical and somehow managed to save it! A grizzled biker with a nearly as grizzled brown duster unloaded his brown duffel from his shoulders and spent the time smoking hand rolled cigarettes by us. There was also a Maori with full face tattoo art by us. And some rubes as well. (Rich urban bikers) Varied bikes and diverse crowd. A little bit of everything here and lots of eye candy. Even saw a "new" Triumph Rocket 3 R down the street today. The guy should've cleaned it up! It was showing loads of dirt from riding in the rain. I just picked up my new Triumph Rocket 3 TFC two days before departure. I had placed a deposit on it when they announced over 6 months ago and I am very impressed with that machine... 🤩 Ah, I digress.

With the sun setting on the Twilight event, we did decide to leave before it was over after standing for more than 2 hours (no bleachers/seats) and the cold setting in. We found a mini market to get a few essentials for the apartment and headed back to town. After some vino and snacks we meandered down the street to find a cafe that was part of a hotel and we enjoyed a mushroom pizza and a beer before the day caught up with me and I was unable to put much down on the blog before nodding off.

https://www.transportworld.co.nz/motorcycle-mecca/

#newzealand #advrider #motoadventure #invercargill #burtmunro

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artistic-writer · 5 years

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Sparking the Pavement :: CS Moto GP AU :: E

Title: Sparking the Pavement by @artistic-writer Rating: E (eventually) Summary: Killian Jones has everything he has ever dreamed of. He likes fast bikes and even faster women, that is until almost losing his brother makes him rethink his life choices. And then a chance encounter with a blonde bombshell on the race track gives him the chance to change and find love, but as usual, team politics get in the way and for the first time in his life, Killian can’t just get what he wants. Moto GP racing AU. A/N: Ch 2! Sorry for the delay guys, my real life has been a bit...stressful to say the least, but here it is! Much thanks to @hollyethecurious who agreed to beta this, and to @doodlelolly0910 who regularly listens to me ranting about wanting to write when my fingers don’t want to work.

Taglist: @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @kmomof4 @hookedonapirate @winterbaby89 @courtorderedcake @initiala @cocohook38 @branlovesouat @teamhook @snidgetsafan @sherlockianwhovian @shireness-says @wingedlioness @lenfaz @therooksshiningknight @ilovemesomekillianjones @bmbbcs4evr @blowmiakisscolin @deathbycaptainswan @onceuponaprincessworld @chinawoodfan @seriouslyhooked @snowbellewells @wordsmith-storyweaver @jennjenn615 @delightfully-difficult-pirate @doodlelolly0910 @tiganasummertree @hookedmom @thejollyroger-writer @rachie1940 @unworried-corsair @cs-forlife @notoriouscs @killian-whump @darkcolinodonorgasm @mariakov81 @strangestarlighttree

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Emma Swan had endured. Her life had been a rollercoaster of ups and downs beginning with the death of her mother when she was just five years old, something that set her father into a protective frenzy. She could barely breathe with how much he loved her, not letting her out of his sight for even a second. Emma woke up, she went to school, and she came home. Anything else in between was always under her father’s watchful eye down to every minute of the day.

Emma’s family were the Nolan’s and they had carved their name out in the motorcycle world by making some of the best quality crash helmets any racer could own since 1988. David Nolan had started the company after his twin brother, James, had been killed during the famous Isle of Man Tourist Trophy race. The TT, as it is known, is one of the most dangerous motorcycle races in the world, having taken the lives of over two hundred riders since it began in 1907. James’ helmet had been poor quality, the impact of his head with the asphalt at such a high-speed something he would never recover from.

David and James had a bond, a twin bond, that was severed the instant James’ heart had stopped. David had been unable to fly to the Isle of Man that week because of Emma’s school commitments, but he knew the second his brother had died without even so much as a phone call. The TT is one of the most gruelling road races of its kind. Thirty-eight miles of winding roads around the island that have killed both riders and spectators because of the unpredictability of the circuit, weather, and unmaintained terrain, and now James was just another statistic.

High velocity impact trauma resulting in death. That was how her uncle died, officially, on paper. Emma remembers that day like it was yesterday because it hadn’t been long after her mother’s death. Her father’s soul already crushed from the loss of his wife, she wasn’t sure he could take anymore, so she let him smother her for a time, knowing that it was all that was keeping him going. The Nolan crash helmet company was founded some months later and it gave David a renewed sense of purpose that he needed more than anything.

Emma, on the other hand, although happy for her father, was lost. She wasn’t like other girls. Her whole life she had been allowed to do whatever she liked, as long as it was safe, but that wasn’t what Emma wanted. She wanted excitement, thrills, action, and so, through contacts her family company had made in the business, she began riding motorbikes.

It was exhilarating. The wind in her hair as it pulled strands from beneath her leathers and whipped at the shaded visor of her helmet. The way her spine shook as she leaned over the fuel tank, the vibrations of the engine shaking every bone in her body, and the way her heart beat in time with the movement of the pistons between her legs. It was everything Emma had wanted, her escape, her refuge, and when road bikes became too mundane, she set her sights on bigger prizes.

It didn’t take Emma long to get her foot on the racing ladder. She dropped her father’s name a few times, his prestige enough for people to take her seriously when, as a tiny, blonde haired wisp of a woman, she had guaranteed her abilities to some of the sponsors. And she was as good as she promised, at first in small time with the odd race here or there when she could slip away from her father’s protective net he had cast around her life.

But she was a one of a kind and it quickly became evident just how brilliant Emma Nolan was.

She changed her name, without telling her father, to continue to soar under his radar. Emma knew that it wouldn’t be long before somebody in the racing world put two and two together and realised, that with the surname Nolan, she was David’s daughter. She changed it to Swan in the late 90’s and continued to race her way through the ranks just like she had dreamed of.

The world of motorcycle racing is not like any other sport on the planet. It is unique in the fact that there is no gender split, or prejudice, and both men and women race on equal terms. It’s unusual to see many women in the sport, and Emma wanted to change that. The lowest class, Moto3, was a breeze. The small engines were no match for Emma’s ability, her weight distribution almost perfect because of her size against the power of the 125cc engine, and soon she was being headhunted for Moto2 before she even had a title under her belt.

Everybody wanted a piece of Emma Swan. She was approached by no less than four different teams in 2000, all wanting to represent who they felt would be the first female MotoGP championship winner. It had never been done before, and whilst Emma couldn’t wait to rise up to the next level in the Grand Prix competition, she never would.

Ducati, another big name in the race scene, decided to offer Emma the best incentive for her abilities. They were also one of the only teams to not use Nolan helmets for all their riders, so Emma’s secret would be hidden for a while longer. She wasn’t scared of her father finding out, but she wanted to be in the top ranks before he did, because then there would be no way back for her and he would have to support her. Maybe it was a little bit like blackmail, but Emma knew her father wouldn’t be able to cut her career short if she was so invested.

Ducati already had an established team of riders, and even though they were not winning big in 1999, their two front runners had won them enough to stay just above last place. Neal Cassidy and Oswald ‘Oz’ Walsh were the one/two riders for Ducati, and the season had just ended when Emma was signed. The second the guys laid eyes on their new team mate they were impressed with both her beauty and her talent, and when she gave them both the flirtatious cold shoulder, they were smitten. That was, until pre-trial times showed that Emma was consistently faster than Walsh and the team decided to bump him to third rider status before the season had even begun.

The team that Ducati announced for the 2000 season was Neal Cassidy and Emma Swan and it wasn’t long before Ducati was a team up in the top tier of Moto2 once more, and it wasn’t long before, in the thrill of winning, Emma and Neal became an item. Neal was more than just her teammate. He had become Emma’s first love, sharing every win with her, celebrating in both the pit lane and in the privacy of their trailers. It was whirlwind by romance standards and in the buzz, Emma was blindsided by Walsh’s growing greed right under her nose.

Before long, Emma was at one with the bike given to her by her team, and was surpassing Cassidy in every race. Cassidy was becoming second to not only his second rider, but also his girlfriend, something that did not escape the attention of Walsh. He had never had a problem coming second to Cassidy and was happy to take the second seat. He still got paid, he was still making money from sponsors, but when Emma started winning, less and less people knew his name.

Walsh wanted to be back where he was. His revenue was drying up and where other people were being offered contracts for the next season, he was not. No one came knocking on his door, no one was calling his cell phone, and the only way he was going to get his name back out there, was if Emma wasn’t racing anymore. She was Ducati’s top rider and if Walsh wanted to be back in the team’s good graces, something had to be done.

“Think about it,” Walsh whispered into the shell on Neal’s ear as the music around them throbbed out its beat. “I’m just saying-”

“I know what you’re saying,” Neal snapped, a little irritated. Walsh had been going on and on about getting his second seat back all night and it was starting to wear Neal’s nerves thin.

“Then listen to what I’m saying,” Walsh added, slapping his friend on the shoulder. “If she can’t race then that means we can.”

Neal studied his fellow rider with a raised eyebrow. “Obviously,” Neal said with a roll of his eyes. He rolled his fingers over the cold outside of the tumbler glass he was caressing idly, the drink inside starting to warm under his touch. “That’s how race politics work, Oz.”

“Don’t you miss it?” Walsh continued eagerly, leaning forward over the grubbing dive bar table between them. “The crowds chanting your name, the feeling you get when they wave that chequered flag for you.”

Neal gave Walsh a sideways sneer and snorted a laugh through his nose. “How would you know what that feels like?”

Walsh ground his teeth in frustration, his fist balling beside his now empty glass. “I’m just saying-”

“Damn it, Oz, I know what you are saying!” Neal roared. The bar fell silent, all eyes on the two men huddled in the corner for a few seconds before resuming its usual activity none the wiser.

“Do you hear me though?” Walsh insisted desperately.

“Loud and clear,” Neal scoffed. He threw his head back and poured the last remaining remnants of his drink into his mouth, swallowing the tiny amount with disappointment. “What do you propose?”

Walsh grinned, his teammate’s attention full grabbed. “You know these piss tests they make us take?” He nodded eagerly. Neal glanced his way with a narrowed stare. “You can’t race without a clean result, right?”

Neal laughed in the back of his throat, a grunt escaping his mouth. “You know as well as I do, Emma would never jeopardize the chance to race.”

“Not willingly.” Walsh’s words drew Neal’s full attention, his tongue tracing the point of his canine.

“Go on,” Neal nodded.

“The next two races are back to back, so there is no time in between to celebrate a win properly. At the next race, you let Emma win,” Walsh continued quickly, his finger drawing insignificant lines along the dark surface of the table.

“No one lets Emma Swan win,” Neal laughed.

“And then, during the after party, she drinks too much, fails the piss test and you and I get a seat upgrade.” Walsh’s grin was pure elation, like a chimp with a banana.

“Emma would never drink before a race,” Neal said definitely, waving a finger at the barman for another drink.

“Not intentionally,” Walsh shrugged. “But maybe her boyfriend can persuade her to take a sip.” His hand dug into his inner jacket pocket and pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. He pressed it to the table, sliding it across to Neal who eyed it suspiciously before lifting one of the flaps and spying the small pill inside. It was oval in shape, chalky and would easily disappear into the bubbles of a celebratory glass of champagne.

“Maybe I can,” Neal agreed in a small voice, a grin spreading over his features as he screwed the paper back up in his palm.

It wasn’t a plan that Neal thought they could get away with, but it did appeal to him. Neal had already been approached by Ducati’s MotoGP division for the next season, depending on how he finished his current season. So the real question was, did he want to race alongside his friend, who he knew he could beat and would win a title easily, or his girlfriend, who was a far better rider than he ever would be? The plan was simple and his only role would be getting Emma to partake in his drink. She would never have one of her own but she might be tempted by a charismatic smile and a boyish wink from her boyfriend. And she was.

After winning the mid-season race in first place, the team threw a party for her success and Emma was more than happy to attend, sipping bottled water for the entire evening. The next race was the very next day, a gruelling mid-season back to back that tested the limits of every rider on the track. A race was physically and mentally demanding on every rider, so Emma had established early in her career that she would do her utmost to ensure victory each time.

If only she was as strong as she thought she was.

Emma trusted too easily and it was perhaps her biggest flaw in character, something she had inherited from her mother. Walsh had approached them with two glasses, handing one to Neal with a slight nod. A kind face and a smile from Neal was all she needed to lift the glass to her lips and take a sip of the bubbling champagne, a celebratory tipple Neal said she deserved. It tasted good, fizzing on her tongue, but when she swallowed there was an aftertaste of something she didn’t recognise. She had searched her boyfriend’s face for an answer, but it became blurred through the haze of her eyes and the next thing Emma remembered was her disqualification from the next race.

Heartbroken didn’t describe how she felt. Rules were rules, and somehow, despite two extra tests that she insisted on, Emma’s urine analysis said that she was under the influence of drugs. It was impossible. Emma didn’t do drugs. She was a highly tuned athlete; she ran, she swam, she cycled and barely even drank alcohol. And then it all came back to her in a flash of blinding white light.

Walsh had handed Neal the drink. Neal had persuaded her to take a sip.

Before Emma had time to confront them both about how they had sabotaged her, there was an accident. Neal had taken the first rider spot, her rightful place, and Walsh had taken second, but in his arrogance had managed to high side his bike not even halfway through the race. A twist of his wrist had increased his acceleration out of the corner too quickly, his back wheel losing traction before suddenly regaining it again, the torque along the bike’s axis enough to throw Walsh clean over the handlebars.

He would have survived, had he not held onto the throttle, wrenching his shoulder out of its socket and rendering it useless. His limb flopped around as he had flown through the air, landing on the asphalt head first with an almighty thud right into the path of his own bike. Walsh had no chance. The motorbike was still at full speed and his leatherbound ragdoll body was no match for the force applied to it on impact.

Walsh’s death didn’t matter to Emma, but it did to the team. They needed a second rider to finish the season and when asked, Emma said she would have to think about it. First, she wanted to confront Neal, her so-called boyfriend, about how and why he and Walsh had felt it prevalent to wreck her chances at a championship title. She got it.

“No one remembers second place, and I sure as hell ain’t coming second to you. When the season is over, the only name people will be chanting from the stands is Cassidy. Not Swan.”

The more Emma listened to him the more she realised what kind of man her boyfriend was. He was small and manipulative and he would even stoop so low as to blame a dead man, insinuating that Walsh was responsible for her disqualification during the last race. His true colours showed on his face, in his excusatory words, and Emma was nothing if not good at reading people.

She could spot a scumbag a mile away, and Neal was definitely that.

Even worse, he looked her dead in the eye and told her that no one would believe her. It was her word against his and he wasn’t saying a word that might jeopardize his race career.

Emma never raced professionally after that.

It took her two years to find her passion again. Emma felt cheated by the racing world and turned her back on it, but the bug never left her. There was something missing in her life. It was more than a want, it was a basic need to be going fast again. A need to feel the engine against her thighs and her chest pressed against the fuel tank again, body as flat as it could be so that there was almost no wind resistance to slow her down.

Emma missed bikes, the smell of fuel and oil, even the way her cheeks got squashed inside of her helmet, but she couldn't go back to racing, not all the while Neal Cassidy was on the circuits. Two years had been enough time for Neal to make it up to MotoGP and for Emma to leave behind what had happened between them, but the yearning for bikes never left her and she spent the next year training to be a mechanic.

It was easier for Emma than it was for most. She knew bikes like the back of her hand, inside and out, and she could take them apart and put them back together again with her eyes closed. Mechanic school was a piece of cake. Getting a job after she graduated was the hard part. Neal hadn’t just sullied her good name in racing, but he had managed to get her ghosted by the entire race world, and nobody would hire a junkie. Luckily for her, she had completed all of her qualifications in the surname of Nolan, so all she needed was a little help.

#sparking the pavement #stp #cs ff #cs au #motogp au #cs fanfic #motorbike racing #ch 2 #killian jones #emma swan

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hjh-ceilo-monster · 5 years

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Laboratory Boy (Jungkook ff)

Prompt : “You aren’t suppose to be here.You were created in there.Sooner or later,they’ll find you.”

Y/N POV.

I’m walking back home.It wasn’t any day special,I’m carrying the bags from shopping.The weather was cold,well of course since it’s winter now.I walk along the alley that lead the way to my house.

“Where’s my key?” I mumble with myself while searching for my key.I’m so sure that I didn’t drop anywhere.When I find it,I open the door.However to my surprise,the door didn’t lock.‘Maybe I forgot.’ That’s what my thought.I then enter my house.

“Wait what happened?” I notice the light in the kitchen.I swear that the light was off when I’m gone.I got out of the house since afternoon.I then drop the bags on the couch.Garb a vast on the coffee table and carefully walk to the kitchen.When I arrive,I see a figure leaning the counter.I grab tight on vast and going to throw it until a voice stop me...

“Don’t hit me,please!” My eyes that close now open and look at the figure.He’s a young man probably younger than my age.However he also has long ears like rabbit? I put down my vast on the counter.

“Who are you?Why are you here in my house?You are a theft,aren’t you?Get out of my house!” I speak out everything in one breathe.My eyes still glare at him like I gonna kill him soon.All of sudden,his ears drop down.Those makes my eyes soften.

“I’m sorry,I’ll go now.” He apologize with soft voice and walk away.Why do I feel bad for him now? He looks innocent and just need someone to help.The feeling of regret wash me like a huge wave.

“Hey come back.” I call him but it was late.He already gone out of my sight.I sigh and then settle everything in the bags into their places.

7.00 am.

“New day begin.” I encourage myself after wake up.I walk around the room to find my jumper and legging.It’s morning and first thing in my routine list is exercise.When I find them,I start dressing up myself.

“Hi mr.Carl.” I greet the uncle who watering his plants like always.He’s my neighborhood and help me with a lot of things especially gardening.He takes care my garden like it was his own.That’s why I’ve beautiful garden with fresh friuts and vegetables.

I jog all the way up to the alley,the same one I walked yesterday.Humming some songs to make me feel delight while jogging.Well that happen for awhile until I heard whimper from the alley.

“You filthy trash!” I hear the shouting and then a whimper sound afterward. Curious get the best of me so my feets bring me there in no time.I then witness a group of men use a chain and try to drag someone with it.

‘Wait isn’t it a boy form yesterday?’ I try to see his face.When I get a view,his face show clearly.I then run toward that group of men.Then shout on the top of my lungs.“Police,here!”

The group of men then start running.Putting the hood on and then disappear in no time.When I reach that boy,I see briuses and marks everywhere.The boy looks at me.His eyes clearly speak to me,begging me to help him.I then help him from the chain.

“Thank you.” He bows and then start walking.I quickly grab him and drag him with me.‘What am I doing just now?’ My thought of asking myself but continue the action any way.I drag him along the way till we reach my house.

“Sit here.” He then sits on the couch.I rome around my house for the first aid until find it.With the white box and me,I start treating his bruises and marks. Gently apply the oinment and bandage anywhere I think it necessary.Well I’m not a doctor or nurse so don’t judge me.

When I finish,I put the box in there place.Walking back to see the boy falls asleep on the couch.I then grab my blanket from my bedroom and tug him in.

Jungkook POV.

My nose catches a smell of something.I then awake and see I’m in a blanket.It’s so fluffy.I wrap it around my body and stand up,start walking along the way that smell lead me.

My nose twitch when I arrive the kitchen.The smell is really good and then I see where it come from.Many ditches lay in the matress of the table.Every one of them look delicious.I take a seat and just stare at them.Don’t dare to touch anything further more than just suit still.

“You can start eating the meal,you know.” I look up to see the owner of this house smile at me.“You look like you didn’t eat all day.” I only nod along her word.She still smile and gesture me to eat.

“Okay then I’ll start eat first if you don’t trust me.” It isn’t like a don’t trust her.I just don’t want to get scold later.She then take a bite and put some on my plate. She even use a fork and stab in the salad before put it in front of me.Does she try to feed me right now?

I take a bite of it.Woh it delicious,I start munch up everything in my plate.I’m starving for awhile so don’t judge me.I munch everything until nothing left.I swear it delicious that makes me wanna lick the plate.But will she give me more?

I glance at her.I donn’t know if I should ask for more or not.“Umm miss can I...” She immediately turn toward me.Will I get scold now.My ears start to drop and I mentally prepare for the scold.

“Oh want more?You can take it from the plates.” Wait no scolding? My ears then rise up with joy and look at her.I see her finger point at the plates in front of me. The whole meal time then continue.

I stand up and pick up the plate also the others.I walk to the sink and start watching them.I don’t know where she goes after she finish.Also I didn’t want to bother her as well since I eat a lot.

“Well you don’t have to.” I turn around and see her with a box.I put the last plate in place before help her with the box.She refuse and put it on the counter.Telling me to choose whatever I want or even take the whole box.

“You want me to stay?” I ask out with confuse lookon my face.She then nod and tell me to change.She’lll show around later.“Oh don’t forget to take your cosplay on your head.” She points at my ears.

“Umm it sin’t a cosplay.It’s real.” Her eyes widen after I reply.She seems to not believe me at any cost.I then take her hands and put on my head.Let her touch my ears.It feel ticklish but I try to stay still.I’m the one who start this but why I feel shy all of sudden?

Magical Timeskip

“So what you try to tell me right now is you’re a hybrid?” I nod.“The human-animal like that create in the lab?” Again I nod along her word.She look at me up and down.I know,who would be lieve a man that you only met like yesterday, telling you that he was a hybrid that escape the lab.

“Okay let me comprehend all of this.” She sits down the opposite side and look at me.Trying to absorb and understand everything that I just said right now.When she look up,she then speak.

“Why were you here then?” She asks me.I suppose she mean yesterday that I break into her house.

Flashback

“Is subject 010997 ready?” I heard the conversation between the scientists.I didn’t like this at all.I really want to escape but I didn’t know how.Then one of them release me from the cage.Drag me by the chain that connect to my neck.

All of theput me in the room,well an empty room.I didn’t know what is going to happen to me.Last time they gave 3 injections and that made me knock out for a week.I woke up and find myself in a human form but with ears and a tail.It wasn’t disappear since then.

The light in the room got brighter and brighter.It actually blinded my sight.I then felt lasers burnt my body.Scream escape my mouth,the burn seemed not stop any moment until I heard someone scream.

The room blasted.I got myself free from the chain by grab it and tug hardly on it.I felt light head but well how in the hell I got stronger.With the oppotunity,I successfully escaped from the lab.

End flashback

Author POV.

“That’s why you saw the group of men chased me in the alley.” Jungkook finish his story.Your eyes widen when you know the whole story.“You aren’t suppose to be here.You were created in there.Sooner or later,they’ll find you.”

You remember hearing one of your friend talking about this project.She was the secretary for the sponsore company.After she knew what they were up to,she quit her job.You are now afraid,not him but what will happen next.Yes,you want to help him but you didn’t want to face any problem after this.

“Please help me.I know this is insane and a big deal but help me.I don’t want to get back there in the cage.” He’s now begging you.He start crying all of sudden when he see your reaction.You don’t know what to do right now.What should you do with him and his problem.

Keep or Leave ?

HI ya sorry I just come back from my grave *kidding*.I actually just finish my collage course.I’ll be free for awhile.Sorry for this slow update.It finally here guys.Thanks for readers and see you next story.

#jeon jungkook #jeon jungkook fanfic #bts jungkook x reader #bts jungkook x you #bts fic #kpop bts #kpop bts fanfic #Hybrid Verse #hybrid au #rabbit hybrid #rabbit hybrid jungkook #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #hybrid jungkook

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whattoreadinsteadofdrinking · 5 years

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Today

*Yesterday I successfully took a 20 minute nap, which never happens, because I used to take naps when I was deep in grief/trauma and then wake up having forgotten what happened and remember all over again and go straight into panic mode. I have not been able to really nap since three years ago. Yesterday I took a nap and woke up and just felt rested. It’s weird how little things like that feel like incredible progress, a big deal, a beautiful gift that my recovering brain has given back to my body.

*Spanish class was a mess because, I swear, I forgot every word in the goddamn language. It was somewhat hilarious.

*After class, my friend J and I got Sprites from a food truck and then sat in the early evening darkness at the library park, rocking in rocking chairs and having deep talks. We could see exactly 4 stars (urban light pollution, booo) and kept referencing them and then cracking up. Nothing was as funny to us as saying “the FOUR STARS of Philadelphia” and then almost spilling our drinks on ourselves. Nonsensical humor at its best.

*We talked about how we both feel that trusting intuition is a growing skill, a way we are developing individually. She introduced me to the phrase “spiral development” and I love that. It feels like the term I need for where I am in sobriety-- spiraling around to the same types of struggles again and again, only each time I develop and learn a little more. Hearing about that made me rethink so much of what I’ve been experiencing in the now almost a year since I started trying to get sober. It felt like a gift she gave me, without knowing I needed it.

*My date was lovely and kind and easy to talk to, and I haven’t had a date that good in...an embarrassingly long time. I can already tell we have some differences that would mean I couldn’t be in like, a committed relationship with him-- and that’s okay. I still want to see him again. We had that easy comraderie that usually you only get with old friends, but really, is just a sign that your souls speak the same language. That’s rare. On our date I was sipping really, really cold peppermint iced tea, and it was sweltering hot outside so it was extra refreshing. Having had no good dates in the last two years and then talking to a soft-spoken, thoughtful man with expressive eyes and a lot of thoughts on art was equally refreshing, if not more.

*I am meeting with my sponsor today. I am excited and nervous because every step I take down this path takes me further and further away from relapse, and while that is literally, truly the ONLY THING I WANT, it is also what the addict part of my brain wants MORE THAN LIFE ITSELF. It’s weird existing in direct opposition to my own welfare.

*We hatched baby chicks at school and I could write a million awful, overused metaphors about how watching the chicks hatch and their struggle to be born has made me feel, but I think you’re all intelligent enough to a) guess that I’d really be talking about myself exploring my new sober life and b) probably not up for hearing such hackneyed bullshit if you even were kind enough to make it this far, so I will abstain.

*Non-metaphorical chick information: JESUS CHRIST THEY ARE SO CUTE. FLUFFY YELLOW CHIRPING HANDFULS OF FLUFF. I am overcome by their preciousness!!!!!!

Today will be a good day. I am grateful to be alive and sober, I am grateful to not have drank the beers my roommates parents left in the fridge for graduation, I am grateful for J and her kind wisdom, I am grateful for chickens, I am grateful for the upcoming summer, I am grateful for uninterrupted sleep. I love being alive, even when it’s hard.

#sober #reflection #intuition #date #chickens #baby chickens #did i mention they are babies

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vantemei · 6 years

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taehyung sighs as he enters his apartment, throwing his bag to land somewhere hopefully not hazardous and pulling his belt off to throw it in the same direction. as much as he loves working his dream job, modeling is not as easy as it seems. his limbs ache from holding awkward poses all day and his stomach growls with hunger from not having time to eat. on that thought taehyung drags himself to his kitchen, discarding his pants along the way so he's left in his black briefs and the silk button up he got to keep after the shoot. it's a nice off white color that goes well with his current grey hair as the stylist had pointed out. the pattering of small feet on the hardwood floor draws taehyung's attention and he smiles tiredly as yeontan comes dashing down the hallway, small puppy making a straight line to where taehyung is now crouched down to welcome the small pup.

"tan ah, i'm home. did you miss me?" it's an obvious question because the minute yeontan is in taehyung's arms he's jumping up and licking at his face and yipping happily. it makes taehyung laugh with fondness and he feels a little lighter already but he wants to cry when he opens his fridge. a head of lettuce, a tub of kimchi, a sad apple that sits bruised in the back of the second shelf, and a nearly empty jug of milk is what greets him and taehyung remembers the grocery shopping trip he blew off yesterday to get boba with jimin.

his mouth suddenly tastes like boba and bitterness and taehyung sighs heavily, too tired to work up the tears he feels stinging his eyes from frustration. "tan ah, you daddy is a fool." taehyung pouts at the puppy in his arms and yeontan yips and licks his nose, drawing another fond giggle.

his bare feet pad over the plush carpet to his bedroom and he barely strips off his shirt before he's falling onto his silk sheets, tension leaking out of his body in waves as he rolls to the middle and let's himself be enveloped by the sweet embrace of sleep, smiling as he feels his puppy wiggling himself under taehyung's arm to curl up against his chest.

an hour or two later taehyung jolts awake suddenly and sits up groggily, rubbing his eyes and looking around to try and see what woke him up. his curtains aren't drawn in his room (or anywhere else in the apartment for that matter, he much prefers natural light over artificial) and the golden ray's of the evening sun filter in through the window. yeontan still sleeps soundly beside him and taehyung idly runs a hand through his fur.

a sudden thump makes taehyung jump and his eyes go wide, suddenly very awake as he looks at where his door is cracked very slightly. he can't see his living room from the crack because of the small hallway where his bedroom is but that's definitely where the sound is coming from.

slowly getting to his feet taehyung's eyes flicker across his room. on his left draped across his closet door is his dressing gown, a gift from gucci, and on his right on the wall is his aesthetically pleasing realistic samurai sword he bought undercover at an anime convention.

another thud from the living room and taehyung jolts, grabbing the sword and pushing silently into his hallway. there's a voice mumbling something and what sounds like a muffled curse or two paired with a few more noises of someone moving stuff around.

fear chills taehyung's blood despite the warm summer breeze and taehyung bites his lip, terrified. he doesn't want to die, he has so much to do. he's hasn't been to the louvre yet! he's never been in love! jimin still owes him twenty thousand won for the time he bet taehyung to eat a ball of wasabi. yeontan still needs him!

summoning all the courage he can and sending off a last minute prayer that jimin makes sure gucci sponsors his funeral, taehyung jumps around the corner with a vicious battle cry, sword held high and ready.

when jeon jeongguk signed up to be a fireman he signed up for a life of saving lives and helping people. sometimes that does mean being the heroic man who runs into a burning building and comes out carrying a sixty year old woman and her cat but sometimes it also means doing routine fire alarm check up and being shouted at by a man in his thirties who thinks he's a government spy putting a camera in his house to spy on him. those days feel significantly less heroic but someone has to do them and jeongguk is really bad at kai bai bo.

it's a nicer complex in gangnam today which means instead of a hallway full of doors, jeongguk takes the elevator up and presses the entry code for each floor. the lower five floors have multiple apartments and as the floors go up the bigger the apartments get and the less there are per floor until the top floor that is a single apartment. most of the people jeongguk has had to deal with today have been at least politely hospitable, leaving him be to do his job and offering the rare drink.

"hello, this is the fire department. i'm here for a routine fire alarm check up, is anyone home?" jeongguk buzzes the intercom in the elevator for the last floor. it's on the highest floor so the person who lives here must make a lot. another stuck up rich person. jeongguk sighs at the thought and waits a few more minutes, trying twice more before giving up and pressing the nine digit security code into the panel in the elevator thinking the tenant must be out.

the elevator doors open into a massive room, floor to ceiling window surrounding it and the apartment is nice. it looks like more than jeongguk could afford in his life and it's decorated beautifully. the kitchen is modern and neat with white marble counter tops and an open layout. the living room is spread out with a massive tv in the wall. the living room itself looks like it's the same size as jeongguk's entire one bedroom apartment and he can't help but be amazed. far to his left is a small gated area with a bunch of small toys in it and a little bed. the gate comes up about to a little under jeongguk's knee so it's must be for a small dog.

there are various paintings on the walls and jeongguk only recognizes one of them as van gogh's almond blossoms but they're all beautiful. maybe it's an art dealer that lives here?

jeongguk shakes himself out of his marveling and makes his way to the kitchen. the kitchen is just next to the elevator and against one of the only walls that isn't a window. the fire alarm is about a third of the way up the wall and jeongguk is once again taken aback at how high the ceiling is. it must be five meters high at least.

there's a bag that's looks a bit out of place with the cleanliness of the rest of the apartment and jeongguk glances at the lion on it he recognizes vaguely as gucci. he picks the bag up and places it on the counter, out of his way as he sets the step ladder he's had to carry around all day against the wall and climbs up to begin fiddling with the alarm.

a few minutes go by of him working peacefully. there are three alarms in the apartment that he knows of. two by the kitchen and one in the hallway. jeongguk is halfway through finishing the second one when it happens.

there's a sudden scream and jeongguk whips around only to be faced with a man in briefs wielding a sword. jeongguk screams and he jerks, stool suddenly wobbly beneath him and he's falling, back slamming into the ground and air rushing out of his lungs.

"oh my god! i'm so sorry!"

jeongguk gasps for air with wide eyes as a face suddenly appears above him. honey gold skin and wide amber eyes swim into focus followed by cloud soft grey hair and plump cherry stained lips. jeongguk's feels his breath knocked out of him again, this time for a different reason.

"i though you were a sasaeng or a burgler! i'm so sorry! i didn't mean to make you fall! i mean i did but that's because i thought you were gonna steal my stuff or kidnap me! oh god im so sorry! are you ok?!"

jeongguk just gapes dumbly, mouth opening and closing like a fish as he tries to remember how to speak but he can't think of anything but the way the beauty in front of him sounds like his voice was a thunderstorm dipped in chocolate and jeongguk felt like he was drowning.

"oh my god you have brain damage don't you- i've ruined your life! i can't believe i-" the beauty looks over jeongguk's head, presumably for injuries and jeongguk suddenly remembers the mostly naked state of said beauty and can't stop himself before his eyes are wandering down. he looks like he takes bathes in honey is all jeongguk can think as he scans over his toned but slim figure, choking when his eyes come to rest on the golden barbells running through dusty pink nipples.

"ok ok you wait here and i'll get dressed and i'll get you some ice!" the beauty is gone before jeongguk can even gather himself to form a single word and no he does not stare at the way his ass moves as he disappears down the hallway ('goddamn what a snack').

by the time the beauty is back, this time dressed in black sweatpants with a red black and white snake down the left leg and loose cream button up that shows his collarbones, jeongguk has managed to make his way to the unfairly comfortable couch in the living room where he gapes just as lamely as he did on the floor as he holds the back of his head.

the beauty passes the cold pack he grabbed to jeongguk and takes a seat beside him biting his lower lip in worry.

"i'm so sorry about this, i didn't know anyone from the fire department was coming today and i thought you were a sasaeng who managed to get in. do you need me to take you to the hospital? how are you feeling?"

"i-i'm ok i just- i was surprised by the sword," jeongguk finally manages to choke out and the beauty flushes. jeongguk feel's like he's looking at the eighth wonder of the world.

"ah that. i don't really have an explanation for that? i just grabbed the first thing i saw?"

"a sword?"

beauty shrugs. "i have hobbies."

this draws a laugh out of jeongguk and the beauty looks relieved to hear it, smiling in relief.

"i'm jeon jeongguk, i'm a fireman- i guess you can tell from the shirt," the black shirt he's wearing with his jeans that says 'SEOUL FIRE DEPARTMENT' in big white letters. wow jeongguk, smooth. "i came here to check you fire alarms and make sure they're working."

"oh my god i haven't even introduced myself yet. i'm kim taehyung i'm sorry i almost attacked you with a sword." jeongguk laughs again and this time the beauty, taehyung, joins him. his laugh is just as amazing as his blush was. jeongguk's heart skips a beat.

"are you sure you feel oka- OH MY GOD!" jeongguk barely processes the horrified look on taehyung's face before his head is grabbed, gently, and pulled forward. "jeongguk-ssi you're bleeding! oh my god we need to go to the hospital!"

there's a sudden small bark and they both jolt, taehyung releasing jeongguk's head to crouch down and pick up the small dog that appeared by their feet.

"tan ah, i'm sorry baby, daddy's gotta go again ok? be a good boy for me until i'm home," taehyung presses a kiss to the puppy's head and jeongguk tries not to faint as taehyung's words hit him full force, a blush taking over his face until it must resemble gochujang.

"let me grab my keys and i'll drive you, i'm so sorry about this jeongguk-ssi." taehyung sets the puppy down in the play area jeongguk notices earlier and he dashes down the hallyway again, reappearing with a leather wallet he slips in his back pocket with his keys, dialing his phone in one hand while he helps jeongguk stand with the other.

now that they're moving jeongguk is suddenly more aware of the feeling of wetness sliding down the back of his skull and how suddenly dizzy he feels, grunting in surprise as the elevator doors open and he topples forward. strong arms wrap around his waist before he can fall more than a couple centimeters and jeongguk is pulled into a strong chest, one arm still around his waist and the other now holding a phone against taehyung's ear.

"jin-hyung! are you working today.....i need help......no i'm fine but i accidentally attacked this really hot fireman with a sword- no! that is not a euphemism!"

jeongguk giggles a little drunkenly and leans his head on taehyung's shoulder, the one his arm is over, inhaling the scent of eucalyptus and chai with a ditzy smile.

"no hyung, seriously i think he has a concussion, he's bleeding!.......yes.....yes....ok, thank you so much hyung i owe you! we'll be there in fifteen minutes."

taehyung hangs up the call and looks worriedly over at jeongguk. he seems ok aside from the dizzy look on his face and the blood that has now begun to drip down his forehead. taehyung yelps and brings his sleeve up to wipe at it, any idea of a stain not even concerning him.

they make it through through the lobby and to garage relatively easily with taehyung supporting a solid amount of jeongguk's weight before he's sitting him down on the curb and telling him to 'wait here, don't move!'. jeongguk doesn't think he could do much moving anyway, his head is really starting to throb.

jeongguk doesn't even take a second glance at the car that pulls up next to him until taehyung is by his side and helping him into it and jeongguk openly gapes as he's ushered into the black porsche. he doesn't remember much after that. he can hazily recall getting to the hospital and being helped onto a gurney but the next time he wakes up he's greeted again by wide amber eyes and the most beautiful man in the world.

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cancerstress · 2 years

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11/23/2021

After work yesterday, I went home and slept. Actually, I laid in bed realizing how filthy my house was, yet too dead inside to get up and do anything about it. I barely got my makeup off before dozing on the couch. I did get the gifts wrapped for the kid I sponsored for Christmas, so there’s that. Woke up this morning, slapped on some makeup and made it to Starbucks for a dose of caffeine. The cashier told me I reminded her of her mother. I think she missed her.

Spoke to my mother this morning. The guinea pig survived. I’ll take small blessings. There are times talking with my mother that she acts like her former self, the woman I remember who would wake me up out of my grandmother’s cold bed after she worked a 20 hour shift in ICU. There is one distinct memory of her doing this, except in her hand was the newest Harry Potter book. After work, she went to Barnes and Noble and waited in line just to surprise me. I cry thinking about that. It’s so hard knowing she is not who I grew up with, but having those flickering bits of my mom come through.

My godmother sees this, too, thankfully. It makes me feel less crazy. I have to have the outside recognition that there is something different about Mom. Dale only delights when we fight, so he’ll take any chance to discourage me to Mom. Dale is...I pity him, but not enough to get over my hatred. Sometimes, though, I wonder if my filter of him is tainted by Mom. Then I remember him grabbing me, shaking me, leaving me alone with his asshole children who spent the better part of their time telling me how stupid I was or choking me. Robert choked me in Dale’s truck once. Dale went into the gas station to get drinks. Robert put me in a headlock and I had to bite him to get out as spots came into my eyes. He told Dale when he returned, who said, “You don’t bite people.”

I don’t like to talk of my step siblings. The living hell I went through with them permanently scarred me, changed how I viewed people. Knowing what I do now, I could’ve easily been a CPS case. Mom would never confront them for what they did to me in order to avoid fighting with Dale. She acknowledged how they treated me, but said I had more “common sense,” was “more mature,” so I could handle it. “They weren’t raised like you. Just let it go.”

The incident. The incident that made me doubt myself for the rest of my life. Backyard at my grandmother’s, kid’s swimming pool half-filled with slimy water. I had on a Scooby-Doo two piece. Robert sat across me in that water. “Since we’re basically family, it’s okay for us to see one another.” He told me to go under the water and kissed me on the lips. I have been naïve my whole life, so trusting, always wanting to see the good in people. This was the beginning of building my walls. He convinced me to take off my bathing suit top, splashed me with water. I thought that was what it felt like to be a woman; wanted, attractive. I’m not sure how much farther he would’ve pushed if my grandmother hadn’t come around the corner and yelled at me. Why did I do that? I knew better. She accused me for the rest of the day. She never told my mother, though.

My mother never talked about sex. To this day she cannot stand seeing me with someone or acknowledging my adulthood. Not that she would have cause for concern. I’ve become too ashamed of myself to be with anyone in any form. It’s so lonely, but I wouldn’t even know where to begin to let someone else come close to me. James was my last boyfriend, another attempt to settle down with a man and please my family. The only person I’ve ever wanted to have a life with was Thalia, who has transitioned to Victor, and transitioned beyond to a whole functioning person whom I would never ruin with the bad luck of ending up with me. Not that he wants me.

I watched A Muppet Christmas Carol last night. Thought it might cheer me up, and for a few minutes it did. It also reminds me of being a child, feeling so vulnerable and lonely. After Mom married Dale and tore my life apart, I spent a good amount of time trying to become tough. When I would get in trouble, up until my teens, Mom would look at me and say, “What happened to my sweet girl?” It was like she was begging me to be someone else. I felt like the shadow of a child who died, who didn’t know her own potential, but feared she’d never get out. I’ve always had a sense of “almost” within myself. I could be this or that, could have a home, a family, but I never would. Why? Well, because. I just knew it would never be. I would never be.

My coffee’s gone cold writing this. There’s too much to say at one time, and I am trying to pace myself here. I want to recap the thoughts and memories that pop up through my day to be recorded the next morning. I feel much more comfortable doing it at my office than at home. Maybe because it feels like work? Pulling something out of my center. All I need now is my stapler.

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lefoy · 7 years

Text

Not Some Damsel

The Post-Civil War scene Marvel forgot to add where Tony gets the fuck over Steve.

Posting here just in case I’m an idiot and my Macbook dies. Don’t mind me. :’)

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The crunching sound of glass shattering under sheer pressure sliced into the wintery air. The surrounding metal bending under the force of the vibranium as it pressed further, embedding itself into the brunet's chest plate.

He held his breath. His honey hued eyes staring up into wild, cerulean ones. There wasn't an ounce of remorse flickering about in the others gaze. Just a little more deeper, a little more pressure, and he'd be dead. With that very realization, Tony's frame began to tremble as air rushed into his lungs.

He woke up with a startled gasp, hand reflexively reaching up to press into his sternum, desperately checking to see if it was still in tact. “It was a mere nightmare, sir. You are currently in New York, safe in the Tower." FRIDAY's voice promptly chimed in.

Safe. He was safe. New York. Not Siberia.

A sigh left Tony's lip in both relief and exhaustion, a drop of sweat trickling down the side of his temple to pave a path towards his jawline. It was a distant reminder of how often this occurred. How often he’d wake up gasping for air, how often those steel, blue eyes would bore into his, reminding him he was indeed a man who had everything, yet nothing.

Nothing back then, at least.

The Avengers are back, the Accords are in play, and the charges against Steve Rogers and his team were lifted. All thanks to Tony Stark, an ex-Avenger. He’d retracted all his fundings from SHIELD and The Avengers after the war. The only contact remaining between the two and him were for the weapon and gear upgrades needed for the team. All paid by SHIELD. Nothing more, nothing less.

SI shouldered a financial hit after the war, stocks plummeted and sponsors pulled left and right. Not to mention the UN made it extremely difficult to grant immunity to the other team. Thus, the genius stayed up night after night polishing the three-thousand-something-paged Accords to fit both parties. If anything good came out of the ordeal, it was that Tony was no longer the buffer between the fuck-ups and General Ross. If The Avengers wanted something done, they’d have to get it from Ross themselves.

Putting everything aside, the billionaire needed a drink... By a drink, he meant five. He'd met with Steve yesterday morning, and the Norns forbid such a thing re-occur.

Placing his palms against the mattress, Tony pushed himself off the bed, languidly trudging across the marble flooring as he made his way to the kitchen. Somnolent, still, the brunet clumsily grazed the tips of his fingers across the rim of a shot glass, sending it diving down to kiss the floor.

[——————————————————————

The steaming liquid seeped into the beige carpet as Tony cursed, quickly picking the porcelain cup off the ground to place it on the counter, listening to the beeping of DUM-E as the robot wheeled itself in to clean up the mess. “Sorry, it’s not often I see a super-soldier sitting on my couch in almost complete darkness. Coffee?”

The soldier’s face was stoic as he stood, hands clasped behind his back in a military stance while he turned to Tony, shaking his head. “No need. Sorry for arriving earlier than expected. I didn’t mean to startle you.” His voice was steady, calm, purposeful. Like Captain America.

Not Steve.

“It’s fine, just reminds me how much I need to upgrade FRIDAY.” The brunet spoke as he rolled his wrists, wincing just a tad. Hours of coding wasn’t exactly relaxing, not after finalizing his spat with the Accords. “Take a seat, this won’t take long.”

The blonde nodded as he watched the engineer slip a familiar package off the counter. After settling himself back onto the couch, he continued to notice the small changes in the other. Tony seemed younger. His brown locks curled at the nape of his neck whilst the top of his head held a disheveled mess, a few strands sticking out from the heap. That too, was familiar.

When the genius got within a reasonable distance, he set the package down onto the coffee table, shrugging. “I don’t need it.” Tony was tired. Tired of sitting in Steve’s room. Tired of going through the man’s sketches. Tired of staring at the god-forbidden phone. Tired of holding onto the shield as if it were the past. Tired of trying to keep something that wasn’t his…

Was never his.

Steve nodded wordlessly as he glanced at the package before shifting his gaze back to Tony. “Anything else?”

Empty. His baby blue eyes were empty. Just like his finger.

Tony almost shook his head, but stopped himself.

He was done.

Done holding onto something that was long gone.

“I…” Tony trailed off before his voice began to waver, reaching into his pocket. His slender fingers trembled in the slightest as they wrapped around a small, navy blue box tied with a white ribbon. “This…Belongs to you.” He set the small box down on top of the package, stepping away after. “I know it’s mine to keep, but,” Tony paused, flickering his brown orbs to the man on the couch. The man who was silently staring at the small box. “I don’t want to have anything to do with it.”

A moment of muteness passed. The faint ticking of Tony’s watch infiltrating the soundless air.

“I miss you, Tony.”

A somber smile tugged at the blonde’s lips. His cerulean eyes flickering up to hold warm, coffee toned ones. These were the very same eyes Steve once woke up to. They’d gaze up at him while a sated smile painted itself onto those rosy lips, their owner splayed out on his chest as rays of the morning sunlight cascaded over the brunet’s rich, olive skin. The bed sheets crumpled up at the soles of their feet.

Home. They were once his home.

It was Tony’s turn to nod as he turned to head back to the bar. Scotch. He needed some scotch. “Good to know, Rogers. Shouldn’t you be leaving me now?” It’s not like you haven’t done it before.

Steve remained quiet for a moment more, knowing the words left unsaid. His fingers itched the grab the velvet box, to put it back into Tony’s hands and tell him everything would be like it was before. But he couldn’t. Nothing would be the same. Not after what had happened. It’d be a lie.

“I know I hurt you, but I still care about you. If I could have saved Bucky without hurting you I would.” His blue eyes searched brown, searching for a mere ounce of trust. Trust in what Steve had said was true. “You know I would, Tony. Don’t you?” Perhaps, just perhaps, he thought, there was a chance.

The brunet smiled scornfully as he poured the amber liquid into a shot glass. He had tried numerous times to negotiate The Accords. To negotiate Bucky. To negotiate The Avengers. All for the team. All in vain.

"Does it matter?"

Did it matter?

Would it change anything?

Would it erase the past?

Steve returned the ghost of a smile, shaking his head.

"No, I guess it doesn't."

"Your goal was to keep Bucky safe no matter the cost. Even if it meant smashing your shield into my suit's reactor. A shield my father made to protect." A disdained laugh slipped passed Tony's lips as he set the empty shot glass down. "The press would have a field day if you had killed me with it. Can you imagine? I can already see the headlines, 'Tony Stark Killed by Captain America Using The Very Shield His Father Created!' "

"I wouldn't have killed you!" Steve hissed, eyebrows knit in trepidation as he clutched onto the velvet box. "I...I wasn't thinking when I... I just-"

"Wanted Bucky safe." Tony finished for him. His grip on the glass tightening, jaw clenching as he forced a smile in Steve's direction. "Well, he's safe. You won, Rogers. Congratulations."

The Captain lifted a hand up to haphazardly run his fingers through his blonde locks. “Tony, I loved you.”

"Yeah? Where the fuck was that love when you left me to die in Siberia?" The brunet calmly inquired despite the growing lump in his throat that threatened to cause his voice to waver. Traitor. His body was a traitor. "Where in the actual hell were you when Vision found me going into hypothermic shock? If Vision had found me ten minutes later I..." he trailed off, not wanting to dwell on the memory. For the very memory was the reason for so many sleepless nights. Nights filled with pillows soaked in cold sweat and bed sheets ruined with tears. Nights of damned-

A beep came from below.

DUM-E was holding out a towel for him to take. His hand was bleeding. The shot glass had cracked under his grasp, a single shard pressing into his palm. "Remind me to buy thicker shot glasses..." He muttered to the robotic claw.

Steve seemed to be alerted by this as he instantaneously made his way to the brunet, "Let me-"

"Get out."

"Tony don't be ridiculous, I-"

"Get out, Steve. I don’t need you to take care of me. Not now, not ever."

The bleeding had already begun to cease, but Tony wanted to get his point across. His love for the other stopped the day he slipped the vibranium ring off his finger and locked it away. Six months ago. He'd been holding onto the loss of friendship since then, but no longer. He was Tony fucking Stark. Not some damsel from the nineties that squandered for affection.

“Are you sure?” Steve paused for a second to let his eyes roam over the brunet’s features. Tony’s umber orbs burned into his with ferocious certainty, the underlying fierceness of his very being simmering under the painted expression of nonchalance. It was then he realized he wasn’t dealing with Tony, no. He was dealing with The Tony Stark, owner of Stark Industries. Genius. Billionaire. Philanthropist.

“Always.”

——————————————————————]

A pale arm clad in black leather and green silk materialized beside him, a soft tsk-ing sound following the appearance.

“My, my, how careless you are, dear mortal,” the melodic voice of the God waltzed in, emerald spheres emitting a voiceless inquiry as he set the glass into its place, reaching for a teacup instead. His remaining arm found its way around Tony’s waist, pulling the man back flush against his chest.

With a sharp intake of breath, the engineer turned in deity’s hold, his injured hand resting on the God’s shoulder while the other gripped at the leather covering his arm. Tony’s nostrils readily invited in the scent of leather and mint, the familiar smell sending a wave of calm through his mind, washing away the remnants of the nightmare he had not five minutes ago.

“You’re back...I...” he buried his face into the juncture of the others neck, willing himself not to break into a sob. “I missed you.”

Lissome fingers found themselves treading through the bedraggled hair of the other, a simpering smile tugging on the corner of his lips whilst he looked down at the other, watching the sleep-deprived genius melt into his embrace. “As I, you. Now,” he lifted the tea cup, wafting it through the air as a tea bag levitated itself out of a cabinet, a few other items following suit to begin a fluid dance. “Lavender is known to induce sleep, and you, my sweet, need a frightfully heavy dose of it.”

Tony parted his lips to make a remark, but was quickly muted by Loki’s index finger before being lifted into a pair of robust arms. Begrudgingly, the brunet kept quiet, opting to lean his cheek against Loki’s torso as he was carried to his bedroom. With a gentle nudge of the God’s arms, Tony found himself airborne as he floated towards the circular bed, watching the comforters in amusement when they unraveled themselves and lifted up to drape over his frame, folding once to leave his upper body uncovered. “Sap.”

The word brought a grin to Loki’s lips while he waved his hand, using his seidr to change into a pair of dark green sweats. He then moved to settle in beside Tony, who quite easily conquered a seat on the God’s lap, curling into the deity's bare chest, cheek firmly pressed against a defined collarbone. He wouldn’t be moving any time soon.

Nevertheless, the textbook lying on the nightstand reminded Tony that he needed to help Peter with his Chemistry Report. Bruce's white lab coat hung over the chair told him he needed to start on the upgrade for Rhodey Bear’s legs. The small notebook set on the countertop said Vision would be back in a week after exploring the world with Pepper. Lastly, the gold band fit snug around his finger whispered that he’d be loved for all of eternity. The chaste press of lips to the nape of his neck only reinforced the last statement.

Yet, the man couldn't help himself from lifting his hand to admire the band encasing his finger, watching it glint in all its golden glory with the faintest movement. Swirls of silver held three stones securely in its embrace. A single red stone protected between two green ones. They gave off an unearthly glow for they were of a different realm. Charmed by the God himself.

Needless to say, for once in his life, Tony was content. But most importantly, happy.

Not like being hand-fed lavender tea by his fiancé at four in the morning hinted at the idea or anything.

#bless one fic has been transferred.#tony stark #steve rogers #loki #frostiron #stony #stucky #tonyloki #tonysteve #tonyxloki #tonyxsteve

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ilguna · 4 years

Text

Belamour - Chapter Five (f.o)

summary: they say the odds tend to favor those who need them. well, they were wrong.

warnings; swearing, murder plot ig

wc; 8.7k

NOTES: i give reader a last name to fit the world.

–

The second that you walk into the apartment, you’re surprised to see that the place is entirely clear, except for the avoxes that stand off to the side. There’s not even a note left behind. You find yourself grateful that you aren’t being bombarded with questions right as you walk in.

Finnick is, of course, nowhere to be seen. Assuming that he’s in his room like he normally is after long days, you head straight to your room, dreaming of a cold shower and a moment alone to your thoughts. After what happened this morning, you think you’re in need of a good moment alone to your thoughts.

The second you step in, you see that Finnick is sitting in front of your window. You know Finnick said that you have a good view and all, but that doesn’t mean that he has to come in uninvited, especially when you’re not here. You don’t say anything, and he barely acknowledges your presence.

He watches you disappear into the closet, and you don’t peek your head out once to get a look at him. Instead, you gather your clothes for after the shower. When you step out of the closet, Finnick is now turned to you, legs straight in front of him.

“Are you still going with the careers?” he asks.

The entire wording of the sentence makes you bite the inside of your cheek, staring right at him. He can’t be serious, right? But the longer that he stares, without saying a single word and not laughing once, makes you boil.

“That was the original plan, wasn’t it?” you ask sourly, throwing your clothes onto the freshly-made bed. Your right hand forms into a fist, and you place it on your hip, “That was our original plan.”

“It was, you’re right. But I think I’ve changed my mind.”

“I know, and I knew days ago. I’m not stupid, Finnick. In fact, I’m a whole lot smarter than you think.” when his eyes drift to the window, clearly not wanting a lecture, “Your alliance is going to get you killed.” you snap, watching his eyes find you again, “But you don’t know that, because you’re too caught up in making best friends with people that are going to die.”

“You don’t know that.” he says back.

“You’re accepting defeat.” you gather your clothes in your arms again. You don’t need him around you, not with that mindset. If he accepts the fact that he’s okay with dying and letting his friends win, then that’s his problem, “You’re a sinking ship.”

“No, you are.” he says, and you turn your back to him, “What would your brothers say?”

“They’d say to do whatever it takes to come back alive. If that means teaming up with the people that’ll carry me for most of the games, then so-fucking-be it.” when you look at him again, he’s halfway to the door.

“No, they wouldn’t.”

“You don’t know a damn thing about me, Finnick!” you shout, slamming your hand into the wall on your way out of the bathroom, “You’ve talked to me for years and it’s like you’ve learned nothing. They told me I can win. And I can, and the process will be a whole lot fucking easier without you in the picture.”

His eyebrows push in, mouth opening, but you finish, “So yeah, I’m with the careers, and I fit in just fine. Get the hell out of my room and stay on your side of the hallway.”

You watch to make sure he leaves, and then for good measure, you lock the doors shut. Your shower is cold, and it feels even colder after what had just happened. You sit on the floor, forehead on your knees as you close your eyes. Your body begins to cool down, no longer feeling so warm.

You’d really wanted to come in here to think about this morning, worried about the nightmare resurfacing only days before the games. It’s recurring, and typically happens when you’re about to enter a part of your life that you’ll never be able to go back and change.

The first time that really happened was when your mom died giving birth to Alyssum. You went from having her around in the house after school, to her being gone completely. She was replaced by a baby that you loathed for months, until you realized that she wouldn’t be so bad once she got older.

There was a tension between you and your brothers even before your dad died. When he did, it broke it entirely. All of you were broken, and you buried a casket without a body. It was a fishing accident, a handful of fishermen had died. No bodies recovered, the boat was never found. One day you had a parent, and the next you didn’t.

The recurring nightmare is normally drowning out at sea. The boat malfunctions and sinks, and you swim for as long as possible, sometimes trying to get back to land. But it’s always too far away and you never seem to find it. In fact, you’re turned around most of the time. So, you could be swimming away or parallel to the land and you’d never know.

You’re a fantastic swimmer, it’s the worry of getting tired and giving up, slowly sinking into the deep blue depths. You run out of air and will to swim, limbs becoming heavy. By the time you take in your first breath of water, you always seem to realize that you don’t want to die. But it’s impossible to swim back up to the top. You drown every single time.

It’s exhausting. There’s some point where you always recognize that it’s a nightmare but can’t wake yourself from it. You have to go through with drowning, and wake up with puddles of sweat on your sheets. Normally after them back home, you won’t bother with a shower or bath. Instead, you’ll go out and do some mind-numbing task that you’d never do willingly. Like fold the laundry or do the dishes.

You scrub your skin free of all the grime of today, and when you’re dressed you go ahead and lay onto the bed, back turned towards the window because of the sunlight. It takes a long moment before fatigue finally drags you under, and when it does you’re so incredibly grateful.

Anchor is the one to come and wake you up this time. He tells you that dinner is ready, and that Laurel and Pleurisy are here so don’t be shocked. You thank him, and when he leaves the room, you go straight to the bathroom to fix your messy hair. After trying to brush through it, you give up halfway through and pull it up.

At the table sits everyone but Mags and Finnick. You pick the seat furthest from the two open spots, and slowly but surely, the others settle in, leaving two open spaces. You pick at the lamb stew and rice, not too hungry because you just woke up. Mostly, you listen to the conversation between Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy, until they all turn they all turn their attention to you.

“How was the session?” Anchor asks, he’s playing around with red wine, you think, “We couldn’t ask earlier.”

Your eyes move to the hallway, you see no shadows, “I don’t want to give it away if he’s listening.”

“He’s not, I promise.” Elysia says.

You take a deep breath, stirring the soup, “Well, I had their full attention the entire time. They kinda laughed at me when I stopped in front of the knife throwing because of how bad I was yesterday.”

Elysia gasps your name, and Anchor seems disappointed too. This is exactly the same reaction that the gamemakers had earlier. Until they saw you throwing the knives, the room went entirely quiet and all you could hear was your heart pounding in your ears and your quick breaths. It was entirely satisfying to leave them speechless like that.

“But out of the nine knives I threw at the dummy, I only missed two, above the shoulder and between the legs.” you twirl the spoon handle between your fingers, “I got a few vital places, that’s all that matters. I was mostly focused on the legs towards the end because that’ll hinder running away.”

Laurel’s got a smile on her face, “Is that it?”

“No, I used the tenth knife on the spear throw and I still nailed the middle. It had to be at least fifty feet or more.”

“That was smart.” Anchor says, “To keep that as your skill.”

“Really, it was my first time throwing. I’m surprised I didn’t miss more.”

Before they can ask anymore questions, a door is opening and Mags appears in the hallway first with a quiet Finnick trailing behind. Automatically, the mood seems to sour. When they try to drill Finnick next, he shuts them down immediately, making it all the more worse. You think it’s clear to them now that you and him aren’t getting along. It was a matter of time.

After dinner, you’re brought to the living room where you sit next to the arm on the right side. Anchor sits to your left, yawning and eventually leaning on his elbows on his knees. Mags and Finnick sit together on the other side, talking about something. And Elysia, Laurel and Pleurisy share their own couch, talking excitedly.

Then, Caesar Flickerman comes across the screen with a wide smile, saying that it’s time to get started. Naturally, it starts with District One, boys first. They’ll pull up a picture of the tribute, and have the numbers flash beneath. You watch as Lennox and Trink both get ten’s.

With Allio, he gets a nine, and Eytelle manages an eight. It’s typical for the careers to get anywhere from between eight to ten. So, Eytelle isn’t that far off but she’s teetering on the edge. You’d say it’s a way to make people underestimate her, so that they think she’s useless and therefore won’t be as worried about her, but the careers don’t work like that.

They want people to be worried, they want the sponsors to have their eyes on them. She just did something wrong inside of the session, and you can imagine that she’s not exactly happy right now. The next time you see her, she’ll probably talk about it.

Blaire scores an eight, Verda a six. The only reason why Blaire’s number is so high is probably because of the hand to hand he did on the second day. That was the only time you really saw him do anything physical, and he likely did that again inside of the private session. Verda isn’t much of a surprise, she’s small and pretty weak.

Then up comes Finnick, scoring an nine. There’s cheers for him, shaking his shoulder and congratulating him. The only reason why it’s impressive with him, is because of his age. It’s expected of the both of you, though. You’re District Four, not District Eight or whatever.

Your face appears on the screen, and you hold your breath. Heart pounding in your chest, you beg for anything above an eight. Something that’ll impress the sponsors, your career friends and everyone back home. Show them that you’ve learned something while you were here. Prove to your brother’s that you’ve got a fighting chance.

Below your picture flashes a ten.

You let out all the air you were holding in. The whole room seems to explode with excitement, feeling your shoulders shake, praise falling upon you. You guess it was for a number of things, the spear, the climbing, the hand to hand and the knives. All of those things combined did something to them.

You’re allowed to leave the living room. You give Laurel a hug and she assures you that tomorrow you’ll be beautiful and looking like you deserve a ten. Before you can actually leave, your arm is grabbed by Anchor, holding you back until Finnick has left entirely, and then turns you to him and Mags.

“You and him aren’t allies anymore, what happened?” Anchor asks.

It’s just the three of you here, and hopefully Finnick isn’t eavesdropping.

“I thought we had a plan with the careers, and I guess I was wrong. He changed his mind and never told me. I saw the people he was trying to be allies with, saw what he was trying to do, and decided that I’d rather go on my own. And I told him that earlier, after the session.”

Anchor nods, letting you go and looking over to Mags, “This is going to sway the citizens.”

“They still think they’re allies.” Mags agrees.

“Let it be a surprise, then.” you say, pulling on your fingers, “They all like a good plot twist, right?”

They don’t have a chance to say anything else, because you’re heading back to your room. You change into pajamas, steal a bowl of ice cream from the food station in the corner, and curl up by the window. You’re not all that tired because of the nap you took earlier. So, you’ll sit here and fantasize about being back home instead.

Your brothers and sister were probably gathered in a house with Naida’s family. Calandra probably brought sweets from the sweet shop in preparation of a high score. Even if you did score low, they’d eat it anyway. But you can imagine that they’re all thrilled right now, with some guilt mixed in too.

You’re only fifteen. So young to be scoring so high. And you’re about to be losing that precious innocence that you’ve been preserving for so long. Actually, you thought you’d get longer. That either you wouldn’t get chosen at all, or you would have been older and more knowledgeable about things.

They all must be conflicted. Celebrating the dangerousness of a fifteen year old child. Caspian is probably cracking jokes about it, much to Naida’s chagrin but Reed’s finding it funny anyway. It’s lightening the mood, and they all nibble on the sugar and try to ease the anxiousness in their bellies.

If they’re nervous, you can’t imagine how you’re feeling. You have tomorrow, the interview night, and then the morning of the games. Two and a half days before you’re inside of the arena.

After you finish the first bowl of ice cream, you go ahead and get a second one. There’s no point in worrying about a sugar rush. The higher you are, the better the crash will be and hopefully it’ll happen soon. You don’t want to stay up too late, but going to bed now will just mean you’ll be laying there for a while.

You hope that the score will ease their worries for one night and they’ll sleep soundly. One full night of sleep with no nightmares. Something that you’d like too.

When you’re done, you set the bowls together in a neat pile and then brush your teeth. You curl up on the bed, facing towards the window this time. You stare out of it, blinking occasionally until your eyes grow tired. Only then do you close them, and find yourself falling asleep quickly.

You wake by yourself in the morning. A look at the clock tells you that it’s nowhere near early, it’s fairly late. It’ll be reaching the afternoon in an hour or two. You should probably get up and take a shower.

With a groan, you stretch your muscles and stiffly make your way to the closet. You pick out an outfit that will be comfortable, and then move your way back towards the bathroom. The shower is quick and warm. Not wanting to deal with your hair in your face all day, you pull it out of your face once it’s semi-dry.

At the table, there’s one empty spot, far away from Finnick. You sit down, watch as a sandwich is given to you, and listen to what Mags and Anchor have to say, now that you’ve appeared at the table.

“You two will be working with Elysia today.” Mags says, “(Y/n) will start.”

You look over to Elysia to see she’s got a polite smile on her face, but when the corners of her mouth twitch, you feel hesitant all of a sudden, “For how long?”

“A couple of hours.” Elysia says, “Then I’ll work with Finnick.”

After eating, you’re brought right back into your room. Elysia disappears into your closet, and when she emerges, she’s got a floor-length dress and a pair of heels in hand. As you change, you watch as she moves some chairs out, and when you’re done, she immediately gets you to work.

You both quickly found out that you’re not half bad with the heels. You’re a little wobbly on some things, but the second after she corrects you and shows you a better way, you’re not wobbling anymore. She tells you that you shouldn’t ever pull the bottom of the dress up farther than your ankles if you need to. After walking, is literally everything else.

She makes you sit up straight, has you smile on almost anything you say. If you were to make hand gestures, they have to be gentle and lady-like. And then she has you doing a series of sentences that are so drilled into your head that you’re sure it’ll be hard not to use them during the actual interview.

“How did I do?” you ask the end of the session.

“Better than the girl tribute last year.” she rubs your back on the way out of the room, “If you remember all of that tomorrow, you’ll win over sponsors just with your smile.”

You’re traded for Finnick, leaving you with your mentors. You have a small snack before sitting down in the living room with the two of them. You cross your legs, feeling the ache in your feet after walking in the shoes so much earlier. By tomorrow, the feeling will be gone. But for now it hurts.

They stare at you for a long moment, until Anchor snaps his fingers, “Sweet.”

“Sweet?” you ask.

Mags has a smile on her face, nodding in agreement, “Yes, that’ll work.”

“Sweet.” Anchor confirms.

You feel stupid, “Like, kind and nice?”

“Exactly that.” Anchor says, “You’ve already had that air since the tribute parade, it’ll be easy to play on.”

“What about my score?”

Mags has the answer this time around, taking a seat in a long armchair, “Mysterious.”

You hum, it can work. You can make it work.

With the interviews, tributes tend to play up a certain act. Cunning, mysterious, stern, dangerous, sweet, sexy, stupid, decieving, the possibilites are endless. It’s not a surprise that this is what they’re doing, finding an adjective that will fit you, and then demanding you to play that role.

Sweet is easy. As long as you don’t over-sell it, no one will suspect a thing. And Caesar can’t ask you why you got the score you earned, he can allude to it, though. That’s where the mysteriousness can come in. You can change the subject and make sure you leave everyone on the edge of their seat.

“Easy peasy.” you tell them, they look pleased with your compliance. It makes you wonder if Finnick was a nuisance, “So, what now?”

“Mags will ask you questions, and I’ll pretend to be the audience.”

The questions that Mags ends up asking, reminds you of all the years before. All those other interviews of hundreds of now-dead tributes. She’s definitely reusing some, and making some up by herself. You make sure to cross your legs, do the gentle hand motions and smile when you get the opportunity.

You give up information about back home, you know that’ll capture some of the audience’s heart. It always seems to scoop them up, you have family back home and they’re waiting for you. They’ll be at the train station with open arms and tears in their eyes. When you say this, Anchor’s got a wide smile on his face and encourages you to keep going.

You don’t push your luck. Mags then asks the golden question about how you, a fifteen year old, could have scored so highly. And you smoothly and slyly answer the question without really answering it, “Yes, it was a surprise to me too. I’m sure my family back home is excited.”

After the first round of questions is an intermission. “Very good,” they tell you, “now try complimenting the Capitol.” and so you do your best to try and make the Capitol admirable. But it’s hard, and it’s definitely a weakness. The entire time your mind keeps going back to that magazine on the train, and you struggle to not use the titles of the sections directly.

They see that this is hard for you, and instead suggest to keep it all vague. Mags starts again, and you’re doing much better this time around. By the time you’re done, you’ve got a headache, and your thighs hurt from all the chaffing of switching back and forth on your crossed legs.

At dinner, you eat a lot, enjoy the chocolate lava cake that’s served, and even get seconds while requesting ice cream. An idea pops in your head then. Since you’ve grown so comfortable, what would the harm be in trying to align yourself with the Capitol? When you ask your mentors this, they tell you that it’s a good approach, but will be hard with what you’re supposed to be doing.

Nonetheless, you note this and call it a night. You fall asleep easily, feeling exhausted after the day’s work.

When you wake, it’s because Cleo is ringing some annoying bell in her hand. Once she realizes that your eyes are open, she gives you an innocent smile and orders you out of bed. Today is the interview, and you need to get to it.

They shower you, pressing buttons that you’ve never considered before. Once your hair is like silk and your body is sore again, they pull you out. They lather you with the lotion, dry your hair and get to work. Laurel is nowhere to be seen, and Cleo tells you that she won’t be showing up until last minute, when you’re supposed to be wearing the dress.

You watch as they work together. Beth is sitting on the floor, holding onto your hand, applying baby blue nail polish to them. After one finger, she’ll spray something onto the nail, order you not to move it much, and then move onto the next finger. By the time she’s done with the first five and has moved onto the next, your nails are dry. She goes from your hands, to your toes.

Cleo blows bubbles of pink gum. She’ll pop it without flinching, ignoring the loud sounds that it makes. When she had first started the body spray paint, you were confused on what she was doing. Now you realize that she’s spraying on shimmery purple-blue scales here and there. A sort of mermaid effect, you guess.

Leo sits back at first, watching it all come together. Every now and then he’ll point out a spot that Cleo had missed, and she’ll go back and fix it. Soon, your nails are done and dried, no more scales are needed and they’re all heading to work on the most important part. Beth straightens your hair, and then curls the ends of it. When she sprays the hairspray it smells vaguely of vanilla and cinnamon, a smell you remember from when you first came onto the train. She pins half your hair back with a silver, wave-shaped comb. She lets a few hair strands occupy your face, but not enough to overwhelm you.

You don’t know what Leo does. For most of it, he makes you close your eyes. What he does comes in layers, until he’s eventually working at your eyes. All you know is that it has something to do with blue with the way Cleo is swooning over the color. Leo mutters something about glueing silver sparkles to the corner of your eyes to symbolize tears.

They put on fake eyelashes, and that’s the first time you’re allowed to open your eyes in thirty minutes. Before they actually let you get a look in the mirror, they cover your body in a soft glitter. Every time you move, you catch light and sparkle. One look into the mirror, and you’re instantly denying that it’s you.

They’ve accentuated a lot of aspects to your face. A sharper jawline, a slimmer nose and high cheeks. The blush makes you look childlike, but the blue makeup around your eyes with small pieces of glitter and big eyelashes completely ruins the idea. When you move your face from side to side, you can see a blue shimmer. They tell you its highlight. You’re not allowed anymore time in the mirror when Laurel arrives.

You’re not allowed to face anything reflective, so you end up in the corner of the room, facing the wall as you slip the dress on. There’s a clear difference in weight, considering you’ve been walking around in underwear for the past couple of hours. Cleo puts the shoes on for you, and when they’re done, they get to gawk at you before you get to see yourself a second time.

“Oh Laurel, she’s gorgeous.” Beth’s voice is soft, and she leans into Cleo.

“She’s going to completely sell it tonight.” Leo says, “There’s no way she won’t.”

“You’ll have them lined up around the block, (Y/n).” Cleo assures you.

“Give her the last of the accessories.” is all Laurel says.

More wave-themed jewelry. A silver necklace, a pair of earrings that look like water droplets, bracelets that are simply round or continuing the theme. And Laurel pulls out your mother’s engagement ring, slipping it onto your right ring finger.

“It’s been approved.”

In the mirror, you think you look like a princess from one of those books you read as a child. The dress is unreal, the whole experience feels unreal.

The dress is off the shoulder, a beautiful baby blue, around the same color as your nails. It relies mostly on your upper arms to stay in place, and no matter how you move, it never slips. There will be no readjusting tonight. Your collarbones are clearly out for show, but there is no cleavage. That’ll be a win for your brothers, but a loss for the sponsors.

Around the top of the dress are gems shaped like water droplets. They’re irregular in both shape and where they’re placed, making it look unpredictable. It makes you think of the days in Four where you’ll watch water droplets race down the window, always unpredictable on where and how fast they’ll go.

It’s long-sleeved but the material is mesh. It’s extremely breezy, and you know that you won’t be feeling hot on stage. It’s poofy, nowhere near skin-tight. The fabric on the top half of the dress creates wrinkles that end at the middle of the dress. More gems appear at the waist, before the bottom of it flares out. There’s a leg slit on your right leg, showing off the fake scales that don’t seem to smudge no matter how often it rubs against the material.

The inside of the dress is made up of silk, while the outside is mesh to give it volume. All together, the dress reaches just above the floor, so there won’t be any holding onto it when you move around. The heels that they had you step into are while, around the same height that Elysia had you walk around in. There’s thin, criss-crossing straps around your ankles, and they’re open toed too.

Cleo makes Leo apply highlights to your collarbones, and then all four of them circle you like a pack of vultures to try and find anything out of place. They don’t find anything, Laurel is satisfied, and you’re allowed to leave the room now. You resist the urge to play with your curled hair, and instead go for your ring.

Your team is the last to arrive at the elevator, because everyone else is standing there already. Elysia gasps and immediately launches into compliments that you accept humbly. Deciding that it’s a nice time to practice what you had learned yesterday. Even Mags and Anchor are dressed up for the occasion.

You all squeeze into the elevator, with you and Finnick promptly up front. Finnick wears a snowy white suit, with an undershirt that’s the same color as your dress. You guess that Mags and Anchor have taken the plot twist idea into consideration.

At the base floor, you’re greeted with some of the tributes already lined up against the wall, ready to get on stage. The way it works, is that you’ll all be sitting behind center stage, but still in sight of all the citizens. When it’s your turn, or your name is called, you’ll get up and join Caesar in the center. When you’re done, you go right back to where you sit.

You’re going to be on stage for a long time. You’re just glad you won’t be standing the entire time.

You line up right behind Blaire, still playing with your ring. Him and Verda turn slightly at your approach. Verda is wearing a deep green color, and Blaire is in an all-black suit. They utter out a few quiet compliments to you and Finnick, the two of you returning the gesture.

Once everyone has arrived, you’re walking towards the stage in a single-file line. Even though you were sure you wouldn’t have to bring the dress up when you walk, you were thinking about solid ground. Not actual steps. You bring the bottom of the dress up just high enough to get up, and then quickly drop it back down again.

The seats are comfortable, and the gamemakers, and Capitol citizens point and whisper among themselves, excited about how you all look. You tuck the dress beneath yourself when you sit down on the soft, comfortable bubble chair.

Staring out to the people is enough to make your heart jump in your chest. The entire place is packed, it’s like the entire population is here. For the ones who couldn’t make it, there’s cameras ready to catch every angle. People in the Capitol and districts have their tv’s on. Betters are eager to see their competitors, families anticipating the moment their member gets on stage.

Reed is probably huddled up right next to Mox and Caspian at Naida’s house. Just like the day with the training scores, they’re all together. Waiting for the moment they finally get to see you again, this time bedazzled and grown up. You look nothing like you did during the tribute parade. Then, you looked young. Now you look old.

Then, Caesar Flickerman is coming onto the stage, a white smile and a friendly wave to the crowd. This year, he’s got green all over his body. A light green suit, emerald green hair. The makeup on his face is some sort of medium between the two colors.

He warms up the audience first, and right after he’s calling up Trink. Her blonde hair is in waves over her shoulders, she wears a maroon dress that’s complemented with black and sparkles in the light. For an entire minute, she twirls a strand of her hair around her finger, until the fun questions are done and Caesar’s taking a dip for a more serious air. Now, you can see the viciousness.

“I am going to win Caesar. There’s no question about it.” and then she smiles, and lets out a laugh, and the tension is automatically diminished. She made it seem fun, but it’s like a threat. She’ll kill anyone in her way.

Lennox, Eytelle and Allio are all the same way too. You start to get nervous when Verda is called up, because it’s Blaire and then it’s you. She blushes her way through her interview, but leaves a lasting impression on the audience even after she sits. Blaire makes a performance, even you’re on the edge of your seat. He’s so easygoing that it makes him look like the interviewer and Caesar the tribute.

Blaire takes a seat, and you take a deep breath. Eyes are on you now. You sit up a little higher, letting the smile naturally come to your face.

“Now onto District Four, with (Y/n) Gallows!” Caesar introduces, you carefully uncross your legs and stand from where you sit. His arm is outstretched in your direction. Every move you make towards center stage makes you feel nervous.

Three minutes starts the moment you stop in front of Caesar, shaking his hand. Your hands are surprisingly dry, even if they were wet, you wouldn’t be able to dry them off anywhere.

You take a look out to the audience. So many people to impress--no. Actually no, not a lot of people to impress. You’ve already done that with your abnormally high score. Now you just have to sell it to everyone. Sweet and mysterious. Two things that can mix if you do it just right.

Your eyes glaze over the camera. Your brothers are watching.

You can do this.

When you look at Caesar, he’s already giving you a daring look, “(Y/n), you are absolutely stunning tonight.”

“Me?” you ask, eyes widening, “Caesar, I am nothing compared to you.”

“I have to disagree. Don’t you, folks?” loud cheering follows.

You’re a little surprised that he isn’t taking the compliment. Normally with others, he takes it gratefully and ends up spinning it back to you. He’ll share the spotlight somehow. There’s a difference here. Something is different.

“I love that outfit. The running water effect is absolutely gorgeous.”

“Yes, I think so too. My stylist is very smart with her themes. She was even kind enough to incorporate my token.”

“Where?” Caesar asks, the audience seems to rile up at the thought. You hold your hand out for him to see, and he takes your hand in his delicately, turning to see the ring. Then, he shows the cameras and the audience, which projects onto a bigger screen for those who are too far away to see, “Does it hold any sort of significance?”

“Of course.”

He laughs, “Besides the fact that it represents District Four.”

“It was my mother’s engagement ring.” you begin to explain, “She wore it all the time before she died. My brother’s gave it to me as a surprise when they said goodbye. I think they were anticipating the day I’d get reaped, which is why they were holding onto it.”

Caesar looks sullen, as does the audience, “Do you think they’re watching back home?”

“I would hope so.” you laugh, he does too.

“Do you have anything you’d like to say to them?”

This is perfect. A perfect lead up to steal the hearts of everyone, and show them that you can be more than just sweet and slightly mysterious. You can be mean too, just like the other careers.

You find the nearest camera, smiling lightly at first, batting your eyelashes. You lift your chin, staring right into the lens. They better realize that this is personal, “I will come home to you. I will win for you. I miss you. I love you. And I will see you soon.”

Caesar doesn’t have a chance to say anything else, the buzzer is going off. The audience is loud, cheering and screaming. They jump to their feet, clapping and some even demanding for a little more time. Caesar pulls you in for a side-hug.

“Ladies and gentlemen, (Y/n) Gallows from District Four. Best of luck to you, (Y/n).”

“Thank you.” you smile, waving one last time to the crowd and turning right around to head back to your seat.

You’ve got the eyes of a lot of tributes. All either captivated or suddenly intimidated. Maybe they’re suddenly realizing what they’re up against. Everyone wants to get home, but you just told your family outright that you will win, after scoring a ten. You know something that the rest of them don’t.

Hopefully that’ll keep them on the edge of their seat.

Next up is Finnick, and you spend most of the time fidgeting with the ring, unfortunately not being able to tune him out. You try to get your thoughts to stir, imagining what your brother’s look like back home. But your mind is blank, and you’re forced to watch your former ally dazzle the audience.

It’s only a minute in and they’re already swooning over him. When Caesar asks if he should expect any surprises inside of the arena, you think Finnick alludes to the fact that you and him are no longer allies by saying; “Not everything is what it seems.” and then moves on before Caesar can ask.

Caesar doesn’t even skip over the fact that he’s handsome, “How many girls do you have falling over you at home?”

“More than you’d believe.” Finnick says, “Would you like me to name them?”

You realize then that his motive is casanova. There’s no other way to describe it.

Him and Caesar shake hands at the end of his interview, and Finnick sits down next to you with a smirk. Under his breath he mutters, “That’s how it’s done.” and you bite the inside of your cheek, resisting the urge to embarrass him right now by leaving him a nice, red handmark on his cheek.

At the end of the interviews, you stand for the anthem, chin directed upward because it’s required. At the end of it, you’re all filing off the stage, starting with the first district and others following behind it. By the time you reach the lobby, it’s crowded.

Before you can even make your way over to an elevator, Trink is slithering up next to you, tucking some hair behind her ear, “Here’s our formal invitation to have you be in our alliance.”

“I accept.” you smile, “I’ll see you tomorrow at the cornucopia?”

Allio lets out a laugh, “Are we going to race?”

“I’ll easily beat all four of you, don’t even dare.” Eytelle, and suddenly a small argument breaks out between you all. Lennox tells her that just because she’s tall, doesn’t mean she runs faster.

She tries to back up her claim, but it’s too late and she’s rolling her eyes. You all have to split anyway, so you bid them goodbye and good luck, to which they do the same. The lobby has mostly cleared then, so you get onto an elevator with a couple of tributes you don’t know the names of, and get off at the first stop.

Inside of the apartment, you’re welcomed with the sight of everyone already at the table. Your mentors, the stylists, the prep teams, your fellow tribute and Elysia.

You skip up the steps, a smile on your face. You gracefully take a seat at the table, and it’s hard to make the smile go away. Not with how you were confirmed in an alliance with the deadliest tributes there is. You are golden. All your ducks have been lined up since the beginning, and now all you have to do is execute it.

When Anchor finally cracks and asks why you’re so happy, you tell them, “I have an alliance.” and let their thoughts take it from there. Dinner is loud, and animated. You listen as the prep team and the stylists talk about what they did and didn’t like on the other tributes.

You decide it’s a good time as any to bring up the fact that Caesar didn’t accept the compliment, and Elysia agrees that it was a little odd. Then, they’re moving on to how well you sold the part, and how you didn’t even need to worry about the training scores. Cleo says, “Just because he didn’t mention it, doesn’t mean that people aren’t thinking about it.” which eases worries you didn’t even know you had.

After dinner, you’re allowed to watch the interviews over again. You have to admit that everyone sells their part very well. But the second you’re bringing up your dead mom and brother’s back home, you can hear Beth hold onto her breath and Leo is eating every moment up. You did good.

You part with your mother’s engagement ring for the final time, Laurel assures you that you’ll get it back when she sees you tomorrow. Her, Pleurisy and the prep teams all leave after that. The only people left are Mags, Anchor, Elysia, you and Finnick.

Elysia won’t be seeing you in the morning, neither will your mentors. She hugs you and Finnick tightly, and you want to apologize for the glitter on her now, but she doesn’t give you a chance to. She disappears off somewhere.

“Find water.” Anchor says, “Remember the three rule.”

The three rule, yes. Something one of the experts at a survival station had taught you the first day of training. Back when you and Finnick were still sticking next to each other. You can go three weeks without food, three days without water, three hours without shelter and three minutes without air.

You already know that water will be at the top of the priority list. You hope that it won’t be a struggle to find any. A while ago, the gamemakers seemed to have learned their lesson about not providing water for the tributes. They’ll all slowly die off like flies from dehydration. It doesn’t make much for a show.

“Right.” you agree, yawning.

They don’t offer much else besides luck. You carefully hang up the blue dress in the closet, and then you scrub your body in the shower. You watch as the glitter runs down the drain, as the body spray nearly stains your skin.

Your hair goes from stiff to silky smooth again. You try to take care of your hair the best you can when you step out, but you’re so tired that you give up halfway through and collapse onto the bed. With your back to the window, you can hear the distant celebration of the citizens.

You’re done with living easy. Tomorrow you fight for your life.

And your win.

In the early morning, it’s only Laurel that wakes you. She has you brush your hair and teeth, but tells you that there will be no breakfast in the apartment. You’re to be transported to the hovercraft immediately, and she’ll meet you at the arena. She hands off a yellow shirt and black pants that are similar to the outfit you wore on the first day of training.

It’s only a temporary outfit. What you’ll be wearing inside of the arena will be given to you in the catacombs below the arena. Either way, the outfit is comfortable and you have no complaints. She brings you to the roof of the Tribute Center, giving you a slight feeling of vertigo and wobbly legs.

A ladder falls from a hovercraft above. You think you’re expected to climb the entire way up, but the moment you’ve got up the first rung, you’re shocked in place. No matter how hard you try to move, you can’t. It’s a good thing. The ladder is pulled up, and no matter how hard it’s jerked, you don’t fall off.

Inside of the hovercraft, you’re fully prepared to be released, but it’s not the case. A man in a white lab coat with a syringe in his hand gives you a polite smile, “This is your tracker. It’ll only hurt for a second.”

You grit your teeth, still very frozen as he inserts the needle deep into your forearm. You can feel the metal tracking device being pushed in. If you weren’t kept in place, this would have made your toes curl and teeth break. When it’s in, you’re released and helped to your feet.

The ladder is dropped once more, and this time Laurel is helped up. Once she’s on her feet, she directs you to a backroom where breakfast is laid out. You go ahead and load up on as much as possible. This is the last real meal that they’re going to provide you with. After this, you don’t know when your next meal will be.

Once you’re sure you’re full, you go ahead and drink a lot of water, too. Laurel lets you know that the ride is going to be long. For a while, you just watch as the city flies beneath the hovercraft, and then it eventually turns to a forest. You cross your fingers under the table, hoping that they’ve got an arena in favor of District Four.

Really, it could be anything. A frozen wasteland, a dry desert, a tropical island. Forest, city ruins, an old village. Every year, it’s a new place. This arena will only be used once, and after that it’ll be a playground for the Capitol citizens. To take vacations, go on tours, reenact fights.

Their deaths are always turned into some sort of joke. They don’t honor the dead, and you hope that one day that comes and bites them in the ass. It’s disrespectful. Back home, if you even did half the shit they do in the Capitol, you’d be yelled at until Reed’s face turned blue, and then be grounded for however long he feels like it.

Eventually, the windows black out, indicating that you’re almost there. You drink more water, and try to breathe evenly. The games start at ten, and you’d take a good bet right now that it’s an hour away. An hour before you’re inside of the arena. Now, the nerves begin to sprout.

The hovercraft lands, Laurel directs you back towards the ladder. She’s lowered into the catacombs first. You take this time to thank whoever is around you, just trying to be polite. When it’s your turn, you get frozen and you watch as you’re brought through a tube, down to the cement catacombs. From there, Laurel leads you to where your Launch Room will be.

The second you step inside, you begin to feel sick. You take deep breaths, reassuring Laurel that you’re fine and you just need to get a hold of your stomach. You pace, and press your hand against your forehead. She comes around with a cold water after that, and you mostly press it to your forehead, afraid that drinking it will trigger something in your throat.

When you feel better, Laurel makes you take a shower and offers last minute food. You take a small roll that’s the shape of a fish and tastes like salt. It reminds you of the time your mom bought you pretzels from the bakery one afternoon as a treat. You didn’t really like the salt, and had to brush most of it out. But you ate it anyway, and later you discovered just how much you liked it.

You brush your teeth, Laurel pulls your hair out of your face into a ponytail that you requested. You can’t have your hair in your face. You’ve seen all the years before where some tributes during the bloodbath will get their hair in their face while running. If you’re focused on getting your hair out of your face, then you’re not paying attention to your surroundings.

Finally, your outfit comes through in a box. Everything inside is brand new, and not even Laurel knows what’s inside. She didn’t get to choose this outfit, she tells you that you’ll be wearing the exact same thing as the other tributes. There’s complete fairness between all of you.

First is a sports bra and high-waisted underwear. She hands over a pair of black stirrup pants. It takes you a moment to get used to the feeling of the pants being directly attached to your feet. You’re worried about them being pulled down when you’re running, but out comes a thin, black belt to keep the pants from moving too much.

She gives you a thin, faded, blue-grey shirt, “Must be hot.” is all she says. Next is a jacket, which is also thin, but it’s white and has a hoodie attached. You pull on a pair of skin-tight socks. You do a series of motions, being sure that they won’t slide down. They don’t, but you pull them all the way up anyway.

The shoes are black boots, which you tie the laces tight. Once you’re sure that it’s not cutting off circulation, you make sure it all fits. You zip up the jacket halfway, not wanting it to get in the way of running. You have to go to the cornucopia, whether you like it or not. It’ll just be a whole lot easier if you get there first.

“Feels comfortable?” Laurel asks, you nod. Finally, she pulls out your mother’s ring and slips it onto your finger.

She offers food again, and you ask for water. The two of you sit on the couch together in complete silence. You fidget with the ring, rub your hands against the jeans to get the sweat off of your hands. You’ll be fine, all you have to do is breathe.

This must be how all the tributes before you felt. How everyone after you will feel, too. Absolute terror of the unknown. The second you’re raised and the gong sounds, it’s fair game. Anything can happen. It’s like what you told Reed; the arena is unpredictable. One second you could be fine, the next you could be covered in injuries and fighting for your life.

“I want to go home.” you suddenly breathe out, tears gathering in your eyes, “I just want to go home.”

“And you will.” Laurel says, she’s extending an arm over your shoulder, pulling you into her side and rubbing your arm. This brings a whole new wave of sadness. It’s the exact move your dad did after announcing your mom was dead, “You’re a fighter, (Y/n). You’ve beaten the odds so far, what’s a little more?”

It’s not little, though. You want to tell her that, but all you do is nod. It’s not a little. You have weeks in front of you. Events around every single corner if the arena is boring for longer than a die.

Then, a female voice is saying it’s time to prepare for launch. You take a deep breath, clearing your eyes of the tears. You and Laurel head over to the metal plate. Before you step inside, she’s readjusting your clothes, fixing your hair. It’s such a motherly thing to do. To fuss over things she won’t be able to control in a moment.

“I know you’re not with Finnick.” She says, “So be careful with the careers. You don’t know them as well as you think you do. They can act on whims, and bad thoughts will lead to bad moves.”

You nod, “I know.”

“Good.” she hugs you a final time, you can feel the butterflies start to swarm your stomach and begin to suffocate for you, “I can’t bet on you, (Y/n). But the prep team and I will be cheering you on, okay?”

You step onto the metal plate, “Thank you, for everything.”

The glass cylinder comes down from the top, slowly beginning to encase you. It’s like shutting the lid on the coffin. You wonder if your dead parents are watching you, right alongside your brothers, sister, and family friends. You wonder if they have the same feeling of impending doom dawning on them.

You hold back the tears, wave goodbye to Laurel, and then you straighten up, chin high. You have to look bold for Reed. No matter how awful you’re feeling, you have to pretend right now. You can’t screw up the chance you got, because it’s all you have.

Soon, you’re encased in pure darkness.

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