Loop De Shoop♪ - Blog Posts
Starting 2025 by drawing about my comfort movie
we need eve and alien!reader smut so baddd ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)
CW. NSFW, yandere!reader, wlw, aggressive oral, overstimulation, choking.
The room was dim, lit only by the soft hum of ambient light filtering through the clouds outside the window. You sat perched on the bed like a queen, long limbs sprawled in lazy confidence, watching Eve pace the room with that signature scowl and arms crossed like she was trying to hold herself together.
She was frustrated. Again.
“You don’t listen to anyone,” Eve snapped, stopping mid-step, pink eyebrows furrowed. “You don’t understand boundaries. You—!”
You tilted your head slowly, like you always did when she got like this. Curious. Patient. Just a little amused.
“You angry?” you asked, voice smooth and low, like honey poured over a blade. “You want me... far?”
Eve froze, eyes narrowing, face flushing. “Don’t twist this! I’m serious!”
You rose to your feet in one fluid motion, the fabric of your loose shirt falling off one shoulder. Eve's breath caught. You closed the space between you slowly, hips swaying in that inhuman, seductive grace that made everything feel like a hunt.
“Eve...” you purred, circling her. “Why you always red when I close?”
“I’m not red!” she protested, but her voice cracked halfway through. “I’m just—!”
You slipped behind her, arms curling gently around her waist, pulling her back into your chest. Your lips brushed the shell of her ear as you whispered, “Liar.”
Eve shivered.
You moved one hand up to rest over her heart, the other trailing down her waist. Her breathing hitched.
“You say no,” you whispered, “but body says yes.”
“I—” Her voice was breathless now. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“You want I stop?” you murmured, voice all velvet and smoke.
Silence.
Then a weak, “No.”
A smirk spread across your lips. You turned her around and kissed her—slow at first, tasting her hesitation, then deeper, hungrier, tongue pushing past her lips with a kind of wild, invasive passion. She whimpered into your mouth, knees nearly giving out as you held her steady. You pulled back just enough to whisper:
“You soft. Sweet. I don’t want stop touching you, Eve.”
Her hands fisted in your shirt.
“Then don’t,” she whispered, eyes glazed, lips parted.
“You mine?”
She didn’t answer at first.
Then she mumbled, “Yeah... I’m yours, alien freak.”
You grinned like a predator, kissed her cheek, and curled protectively around her.
Eve’s voice was long gone — shredded hours ago — leaving only those raw, cracked little sobs that couldn’t even form words anymore.
You were still perched on her face like some starved beast, hips grinding in frantic, wet circles, that inhuman snarl tearing from your throat every time she so much as twitched her swollen lips against your cunt.
"More," you growled, fangs bared, the muscles in your thighs trembling as you shoved her deeper, suffocating against the plush mound of your pussy. Your claws left crescent-shaped dents in the headboard as you forced yourself down harder — riding her face with violent, animalistic need. "Guh— deeper. Lick."
Eve’s hands clawed weakly at your thighs, her face a mess of slick and spit, red hair matted to her flushed, tear-streaked cheeks. She was trying to push, trying to get air — but you didn’t care. Your cunt clenched too tight around her tongue, throbbing as another gush spilled, messy and hot, all over her nose and chin.
Her eyes rolled, glazed and fluttering, lashes soaked. Her body jolted once under you, chest arching like she was going to pass out.
And fuck — that just made you grind down harder.
"Mine," you snarled, voice guttural now, pupils blown wide like some feral thing. Your hips slapped down with a brutal smack, smearing more of your slick against her face as you rode her mouth like a rutting animal. "I said— mine, Eve."
Your claws grabbed fistfuls of her hair, yanking her face tighter against your dripping core. Her nose bumped against your swollen clit just right, and your back arched with a sharp, broken cry — vision blurring at the edges as you squirted again, flooding her mouth.
Eve’s body convulsed. Hands went slack.
"Ohhh," you hissed, body trembling. "You're sleep now? Hahh— pretty Eve... so pathetic now…"
But you didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Your hips were moving on their own now, chasing that raw, desperate friction as your swollen folds ground against her mouth, her chin, her slack tongue. Each roll made filthy, wet squelches fill the room, slick pouring down her throat while she lay helpless, body twitching under you.
"Your place is right here." Your voice cracked into a dark, shuddering moan, drool dripping from your open mouth as you fucked her face like a woman possessed. "You're mine. No running away now."
Your hips stuttered. Vision went white.
And with one last violent slam of your pussy against her face, you came again — harder than before, screaming as your slick gushed out in thick spurts, soaking her completely.
The bed creaked. Your claws tore holes in the sheets.
And as you finally slumped forward, panting over her limp form, you growled softly into her ear — voice hoarse but smug:
"...Told you. You stay red when I'm close."
— MASTERLIST ☆
— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆
max to kimi: "I can't believe you have all the equipment and the radio there" 😭
“it has to be so painful for the colorado fans watching this”
eat my ass
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ fem!reader dating both thunderbolts!bucky and thunderbolts!yelena ˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚
lil galentines treat
Inferno :: abandon all hope, ye who enter here
I CANNOT stop thinking about getting pounded against the wall by pyramid head, the only thing keeping you still against it so you don't fall is his big strong hand choking your neck soo tight that you could barely even breathe while your leg is wrapped around his hips and he's pistoling his fat veiny cock so deep inside of you with every hard thrusts, his tip kissing your cervix and exploring your tight walls with every rut of his hips against you, oh and it's big, it's long and so fucking thick it stretches your cunt so wide and open around him. He fucking ruins you and obliterates your poor little hole for anyone else that's gonna have you next so the only thing that your pussy would be useful and good for is his cock and his cock only, that's how much he stretches you and craves your hole, into a perfect match for his girth.
You're moaning and screaming but what's the point? It's not like anyone can hear you, you should’ve never let your curiosity get the best of you because who knows? Maybe no one is ever gonna see you again because he's gonna keep you there with him and fuck you and use your (his) tight hole whenever he fucking wants and feels like it to please himself, your his little plaything now, his little cum dump to fuck and fill with his load over and over again.
challengers (2024) // bones and all (2022) dir. luca guadagnino
+
i cant stop thinking about heavyyyy masochist nogogglesvincible like i already know that man LOVES getting slapped and degraded and it just turns him on even more. god i need that freak 🙂↕️
oh absolutely. this freak is definitely a switch all the way through. him and his version of reader have a weird relationship that nobody bothers to question. it started out as hate fucking at first, and then it turns into reader being the only one he can get it on with. it’s an unusual attachment, really, like a stray cat latching onto a random stranger and following them around. it’s not sweet. . . but it’s not all hate either. whenever he tops, he likes to admire the scratches left on his shoulders and back in the mirror. when he bottoms, he eggs them on to choke him, bite at him, curse him while his eyes roll into the back of his head at the feeling. he is such a LOSERRR UGH
no goggles mark likes being choked while you ride him. that’s it.
˚｡⋆୨୧˚ he lets out these little giggles and has that stupid sadistic grin plastered on his face, and god he’s so impossibly hard. He keeps telling you to squeeze his neck harder, while your losing yourself on his cock.
˚｡⋆୨୧˚ and although he knows you couldn’t harm him even if you tried and wanted to, he still gets off to it.
˚｡⋆୨୧˚ to him, there’s literally no better feeling than your hands wrapped around his neck, squeezing as tightly as you possibly could, as urged you to squeeze tighter, until he struggled to breathe.
˚｡⋆୨୧˚ he’s just a sick freak LMFAO.
— NO GOGGLES MARK IS A N⛧STY BASTARD !
cw. +18, smut, minors dni, fem!reader, obsession, sadomasochism, body horror, pervert!mark, mark is freaky and kinda disgusting. mark is portrayed as an utterly depraved, unhinged, and feral menace with zero boundaries and no concept of morality.
No Goggles Mark who wants to live inside you. Not just be close to you, not just hold you—he wants to be underneath your skin, inside your muscles, crawling through your veins, living inside your bones. He tells you this while holding you close, his breath shaking, his hands trembling against your body, his eyes wild and desperate. He wants to tear you open and crawl inside your ribcage, wrap himself around your heart so he can hear it beating for him and only him.
No Goggles Mark who wears your panties as a mask. He steals them straight out of your laundry, rubs them against his face, breathes you in like it’s the only air he’s ever known. He wears them while he sleeps, fights, eats, touches himself—he wears them like a second skin, because he wants you against him at all times. If you ever catch him? He doesn’t stop. He just grins, drags his tongue over the fabric, and asks if you’re gonna take them off his face yourself.
No Goggles Mark who jerks off to your voice. It doesn’t matter what you’re saying—you could be scolding him, cursing him, telling him you hate him—it only makes him harder. He closes his eyes, fists his cock, and moans your name, imagining your lips whispering filth into his ear, spitting on him, degrading him, breaking him apart.
No Goggles Mark who licks your toothbrush after you use it. He doesn’t even hesitate—as soon as you set it down, he grabs it, shoves it in his mouth, moaning as he drags it over his tongue. The taste of your spit, the remnants of your breath—it’s better than any drug, better than any high, better than any orgasm. If you ever catch him? He just stares, grinning around the toothbrush, sucking on it like he’s trying to absorb every part of you into himself.
No Goggles Mark who wants to chew on you. Not just bite—chew. He wants to sink his teeth into your shoulder and gnaw, leave indentations, bruises, proof that he was there, that he marked you, that he tasted you. He fantasizes about it when he’s alone, his fingers in his mouth, pretending they’re your flesh, pretending he’s eating you alive, pretending you’re letting him.
No Goggles Mark who keeps your hair in his mouth. If he finds a strand of your hair? It goes straight between his lips. He chews on it, rolls it over his tongue, swallows it down so you can be inside him forever. He doesn’t care if it’s weird, if it’s disgusting—it makes him feel closer to you, like he’s absorbing a piece of you into himself.
No Goggles Mark who wants to cut you open just to see what you look like inside. He doesn’t want to hurt you—he just wants to know. He wants to see what your muscles look like when they stretch, what your bones feel like under his fingers, what your insides smell like when they’re raw and open for him. He tells you this while holding you in his lap, his fingers tracing over your stomach, his breath hot against your neck, whispering how beautiful you must be underneath all this skin.
No Goggles Mark who wants to replace the air in your lungs with his breath. He kisses you so deep, so desperately, so hungrily that he wants you to choke on him. He wants your lungs to be filled with him, wants every breath you take to be something he’s given you. He kisses you so hard your lips bruise, your jaw aches, your body trembles—because if he could crawl inside your mouth and live there, he would.
No Goggles Mark who wants to be the only thing inside you. No food, no water, no air—just him. He wants you so full of him that you can’t think, can’t move, can’t exist without him. He wants his fingers, his tongue, his cock, his very existence buried so deep inside you that even if you tried to rip him out, you couldn’t.
No Goggles Mark who cums to the sound of your heartbeat. He loves pressing his head against your chest, feeling the rhythm of your pulse, knowing that your body is alive, that you are real, that you belong to him. And when you’re asleep? He jerks off to it. He strokes himself slow, groaning into your skin, matching his pace to the beat of your heart, imagining his cum soaking into your very existence.
No Goggles Mark who licks your sweat straight from your skin. He doesn’t care if you’re overheated, exhausted, drenched from the summer sun—he’s got his tongue dragging along your neck, your stomach, the dip of your spine. He groans against you, grinding his cock against your leg like a bitch in heat, smearing himself all over you.
No Goggles Mark who would shove his fingers into your mouth just to feel your teeth on him. He watches your lips wrap around them, his pupils blown wide, his breath coming out in shudders as he imagines those teeth digging into his cock, those lips sucking him raw, those soft noises muffled by his fingers pressing against your tongue.
No Goggles Mark who would fuck your thighs like a desperate animal. He doesn’t even need to be inside you—just the feeling of your soft skin, your warmth, your scent surrounding him, trapping him, ruining him—it’s enough. He ruts against you, his hands gripping your hips, his cock rubbing between your thighs, his moans loud and shameless as he fucks himself against you until he spills hot and thick all over your skin.
No Goggles Mark who would fuck himself with your underwear. If he can’t have you? He’ll make do with what he has. He takes your panties, wraps them around his cock, thrusts into them like a fucking maniac, his breath ragged, his moans broken, his eyes rolling back because the thought of your scent, your warmth, your essence surrounding him is driving him insane.
No Goggles Mark who wants to make you cry during sex. Not from pain, not from fear—from being so overwhelmed by pleasure, by love, by him. He wants to see the tears spill down your cheeks, wants to kiss them away, wants to feel them on his tongue as he whispers, “Shhh, shhh, let me take care of you.” But it only gets worse when you do—because seeing you so broken, so vulnerable, so utterly his? It makes him cum on spot.
No Goggles Mark who gets off on overstimulating you until you’re shaking. You say you can’t take anymore? He doesn’t care. He’s still touching you, still licking, still thrusting, still rubbing, watching as your body spasms, as your voice breaks, as you sob from the pleasure that won’t stop. He holds you down, pressing kisses to your ear, whispering how much he loves you, how good you are, how beautiful you look when you’re falling apart for him.
No Goggles Mark who would fuck you while you’re asleep. Not in a cruel way—but in a desperate, aching, worshipful way. He can’t help himself. You’re so warm, so soft, so perfect. He grinds against you, his breath shaky, his hips rolling slow, his cock pressing between your legs as he whimpers against your ear. If you wake up, if you catch him—he’ll only beg for more as he keeps moving, burying himself deeper, moaning about how he needs you, how he can’t live without this, without you.
No Goggles Mark who has a thing for your period. The second he catches the scent of it, his pupils blow wide, his breath stutters, his body shakes because he knows. He knows. He groans just thinking about it, about the way your body is raw, aching, open, needing him. He begs for it—pleads, whimpers, claws at you, his voice broken, desperate, because he wants it, needs it, craves it like he’s starving. If you let him? He moans against you, his eyes rolling back, his body trembling like he’s reached nirvana. He tells you you’ve never been more beautiful, never been more perfect, never been more his.
No Goggles Mark who wants you to hurt him. Scratch him, slap him, choke him—make him bleed, make him feel it, make him remember that he belongs to you. He laughs when you hit him, moans when you dig your nails into his flesh, shudders when you sink your teeth into his skin. He begs for more, begs for you to ruin him, begs for you to make him suffer because he wants it, he loves it, he craves it. If you ever whisper sweet things to him after? He breaks. He cries, shakes, whimpers into your chest like a ruined, pathetic thing.
No Goggles Mark who wants to drink your spit. He opens his mouth, sticks out his tongue, tells you to spit in it like he’s a dog waiting for a treat. He wants it, all of it, every last drop. He moans when he swallows, rolls it around his tongue, sighs like it’s the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted. If you ever call him disgusting? He just grins, licks his lips, and tells you that he’d drink your bathwater too.
No Goggles Mark who wants to be your personal punch bag. He wants you to use him, break him, push him past the point of no return. He wants you to drag your nails over his chest until it’s raw, bite his neck until it bruises, kick him away just to pull him back. If you punch him, slap him, spit in his face? He moans. He laughs. He grabs your wrist and shoves your hand back, begging you to do it again, harder, worse, meaner, because he loves it, he lives for it, he needs it.
No Goggles Mark who wants you to mark him. Not just hickeys or scratches—he wants scars. He wants to be ruined by you, wants to carry your violence like a badge of honor, wants to feel the sting of your love in every movement. If you ever cut him open, ever sink your nails deep enough to draw blood, ever slam him into a wall so hard he sees stars? He smiles, whispers ‘thank you,’ and kisses you like you’re his god.
No Goggles Mark who wants to be your favorite toy. Not your boyfriend, not your lover—your toy. Something to play with, to use, to throw away when you’re done. He wants to be on his knees for you, under your foot, bruised and battered and desperate, because he doesn’t want to be your equal—he wants to be owned. If you ever ignore him, ever tease him, ever dangle what he wants just out of reach? He whines, begs, claws at your clothes, presses himself against you like an animal in heat, because nothing is worse than being without you.
No Goggles Mark who wants to melt into you. He wants his skin to fuse with yours, his bones to dissolve into your body, his soul to entangle with yours so completely that you’re no longer two people—you’re one. He whispers this against your lips, his voice shaking, his body trembling, his fingers digging into your flesh like he’s trying to hold himself together, because the thought of not being part of you is worse than death.
Because you are his.
Forever.
— MASTERLIST ☆
— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆
Bring back 2012 avengers fan fics but with the thunderbolts
the power of friendship defeating depression is mcu canon now
kimi has no idea what’s going on or what he’s supposed to do he’s SO ENDEARING just wanna put him in my pocket
Kimi Antonelli getting his first pole and breaking the youngest pole sitter record by 2 years and then GETTING THE HELMET STUCK ON HIS HEAD AS DRIVERS COME YO CONGRATULATE HIM AND HE ASKS THE PIRELLI GUY FOR HELP 😭😭😭
oscar going "pleasee" because lando rang the bell without consulting him first 😭😭
I love how in the espn transmission they hate the ferrari/hp livery as much as anyone.
"They dont commit to it, go full blue and white"
"It looks like half of a car and half of another car"
"Look at the williams/hp of montoya" favorite one, that car look nice
𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐏 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐒𝐎𝐖.
m.list | next
Warnings: mentions of miscarriage, black market, mentions of depression. Tell me if there is more
Dinas hands are stained with the powder white of flour, the pale dust clinging to her skin as she kneeded the dough. Her fingers worked in a rhythm only she knows while humming a tune like a songbird. Pressing, folding, and rolling as the yeast rose beneath her warm hands working skillfully. The bread brought a sweet scent into the house giving it the aroma of a bakery—it would've gave her mother a large smile as she joyfully watched with her eyes sparkling. But today, Dinas mother was in her room weeping, the house so silent the only thing she could hear was the crackling of the fire.
As Dina continued to knead her mind kept wandering to the black market, knowing she would have to trade a loaf for atleast a pound of cheese cloth to finish her reaping dress. Food went for higher value in district twelve than any fabric that had been used before the dark days happened. But she couldn't complain—she couldn't afford to. Not with everything crumbling before her eyes.
Meanwhile, across the street at the millers carpenters shop, Ellie was working, the rhythmic sound of a hammer striking wood echoing in the air. Dina often caught glimpses of her during her bread making through the window—the way her strong, muscular arms moved with precision, the way her leather apron fit her like a second skin. Ellie was more muscular than other working women in the district, Dina only having slight muscles because of kneading bread dough from 6 am to 8 pm—but that didn't phase her much because of how scarce food is and having someone to fix something for you was.
Ellie worked hard, some people say she worked harder than others. Her chisels, and hammers always in motion, creating whatever was necessary to trade for food. She was the one who kept a watchful eye out, the one who made sure Dina didn't take too much risk with her dealings in the market. But as much as she cared for Dina, Ellie never sugarcoated the truth about the reapings, trading, or the hunger games.
When the pairs lunch break came, Dina walked over to the millers shop, wiping flour off her shoulder as she knocked on the door frame. Ellie barely looked up as she grabbed a few pieces of wood to sand, the noise of the shop humbling their conversation to a hushed murmur.
"Got bread for the trade today" Dina said leaning against the doorframe holding up her sack holding the loaf.
"Good." Ellie muttered, her eyes narrowing on the wood as she carefully smoothed the surface. " you know that black market guy isn't gonna give you anything decent for it, right?"
Dina placed the bread parcel down and shrugged, trying to hide the way the thought weighed heavy against her chest. "We need the cloth and my mother's not... Well." she trailed off, glancing back towards home. "She's not getting any better."
Ellie nodded, finally stopping the sanding to look at Dina. Her gaze softened, just a fraction. “I know. I know.” She exhaled, then turned her head slightly toward the front door, eyes distant. “I still can’t believe the Reaping’s so close. They say the Capitol’s watching even more closely this year. You think one of us is gonna get called?”
Dina hesitated, the words on the tip of her tongue, but not enough courage to speak them aloud. " I don't want to think about it" her voice got low, making Ellie almost nearly miss it.
Ellie let out a quite snort. "Well, you'd better start thinking about it, because when your name gets drawn, you can't exactly just walk away from it. Someone's got to step up, Dina."
Dina didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. The unspoken truth between them was heavy enough. Both of them had been close to the edge for years, but the Reaping always felt like a final straw they could never seem to escape.
Later that afternoon, Dina made her way to the black market, clutching the still—warm bread wrapped in the parcel she just had shown Ellie earlier today. The stall she approached was tucked between two crumbling buildings, hidden away from prying eyes. A rough man with a scar on his neck and hands like calloused leather leaned against a table stacked with old goods from smugglers from the Capitol.
"You got the bread.?" he grunted, eying her warily
Dina nodded, holding it out carefully " I need cheesecloth."
The man grinned, showing a row of crooked teeth. “You know the price. For fresh bread, I’ll give you half a roll of cloth."
Dina bit back her frustration. She’d hoped for a little more. “Half a roll? It’s not enough to finish both dresses. I need enough to make a full dress for myself"
His eyes glinted with amusement. “You’re a girl who knows what she wants, huh? That’ll cost you double. I’m giving you a good deal, girl. Take it or leave it.”
Dina’s stomach turned. She had no other choice. She nodded, handing over the bread.
When she returned home, she found her mother sitting at the table, eyes vacant as she stared at the half-empty plate of food in front of her. The sight broke Dina’s heart every time, but she had no time to linger on it. There were dishes to wash, firewood to gather, and a hundred other things waiting to be done. She could hear the faint sound of her mother’s sobs from the next room as she fed her, spooning soup into her mother’s mouth as she barely managed to swallow it.
When Dina finished, she hurried to get ready for the Reaping. The tension in the air was unbearable, thick and choking like smoke. Even though the draw was still hours away, it felt as though everyone in the district could sense what was coming. The Reaping was always a grim affair, but this year, it felt heavier.
Dina sewed the last buttons to her dress, standing back to take a good look she sighed—not because it looked bad, but only because it was a inch shorter than how she wanted it. But she couldn't care, because at 1pm she'd have to be dressed and ready for the reaping.
The day of the Reaping arrived, and the air was thick with dread.
Dina stood beside Ellie in the town square, surrounded by hundreds of others who were trying to pretend they didn’t feel the cold, suffocating weight of the Capitol’s presence looming over them. The announcer’s voice crackled through the speakers, calling for silence, and everything stopped.
The names were drawn.
" DINA WOODWARD"
Dina looked around, her heart beating in her cheat and a stone in her throat. She couldn't believe it but she had to, she needed to go.
Walking towards the stage to the pale makeup Capitol lady she stood looking at the other tributes, they paid her respects to her by placing three finger to their lips and up towards the sky.
" now for the one boy tribute"
" ELIJAH MADISON"
she knew Elijah, he was just a meekly 12 year old boy. She couldn't believe it, a choked up sob almost came from her throat but she had to suppress it.
" I volunteer."
She heard from the crowd, district twelves searching around trying to figure out who the words came from.
Until Ellie walked up towards the stage standing beside Dina staring towards the crowd. That was against the rules but Dina didn't want to say anything until one of the Capitol announcers denounced this volunteerism.
The final goodbyes were harder than Dina had imagined.
Ellie was already in her room, while Dina was isolated in hers looking out the window. Her door opened as she saw her mother crying in tears speaking in the language only both of them could only understand.
Her mother’s lips trembled. “Dina…” Her voice cracked. She took one step forward, then two, and then she was in front of her daughter, kneeling awkwardly, as if her bones no longer trusted her weight. “My girl.”
Dina felt something snap inside her chest. “Don’t cry,” she whispered, even though her own eyes were welling up. “Please don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” her mother breathed, reaching up to cradle Dina’s face with both hands. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Dina shook her head, eyes burning. “Mom—”
“No, let me say it.” Her mother’s voice broke. “You’ve been taking care of me since… since I lost the baby. And I—I didn’t mean to leave you alone like that. I just…” She let out a slow, aching sob. “I was drowning. And I didn’t even see how much you were carrying.”
Her mother nodded slowly, her thumb brushing a tear from Dina’s cheek. “You didn’t deserve that. You’re seventeen. You’re still a child. And I let grief steal you from me. I should have been there for you.”
“You’re here now.” Dina’s voice cracked as she gripped her mother’s wrists gently. “You didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I know that.”
Her mother leaned forward, resting her forehead against Dina’s. “I just got you back, and now—
“I’ll come home,” Dina said, though she didn’t know if it was true. She needed her mother to believe it. Maybe she needed to believe it too. “I’ll come home. I’ll fight.”
Her mother wept into her shoulder, her hands still gripping Dina like she was afraid to let go. “Promise me you won’t lose who you are in there.”
Promise me you’ll eat. Promise me you’ll try to get better. Even if I don’t come back. Please.”
Her mother swallowed hard, like the words were cutting her throat on the way out. “I promise.”
They sat like that for a long moment—two broken hearts holding each other in the silence between everything they’d said and everything they hadn’t. And when the Peacekeeper came to announce the time was up, Dina didn’t want to let go.
But she did.
Ellie paced the length of the goodbye room, jaw tight, fists stuffed into the pockets of her worn jacket. The Capitol had dressed her in nicer clothes, but she still wore her own—scuffed boots, threadbare hoodie, sleeves stained with sawdust and grease. She didn’t want to look like a tribute. Not yet.
The door opened, and Joel stepped inside.
He filled the room with his presence. Broad shoulders, sun-weathered face, and eyes that had seen too much. He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, arms crossed like he always did when he was trying not to feel too much.
Ellie froze, then gave a shaky exhale. “Hey.”
Joel’s jaw twitched. “Hey, kiddo.”
She tried to crack a smile. “You pissed?”
“Should I be?”
“I mean… you always told me not to be stupid.” She tried to shrug it off, but her voice caught halfway through. “Volunteering for a twelve-year-old isn’t exactly smart, right?”
Joel walked toward her and stopped just a foot away. He looked at her like he was trying to memorize every inch of her face. “It was the right kind of stupid.”
Ellie’s eyes dropped. Her throat tightened. “He was just a kid, Joel.”
“So are you,” he said quietly. “Doesn’t mean I ain’t proud of you.”
That made her look up. “Yeah?”
Joel nodded. “You did what I would’ve done. What your mom would’ve done.”
A long silence stretched between them, thick and quiet and full of everything they didn’t know how to say.
Joel sighed, then placed a calloused hand on the back of Ellie’s neck, pulling her into a hug. “You listen to me, alright?” His voice dropped low, steady and warm like an anchor. “You get in there, and you don’t lose your head. You don’t start fights unless you know how to finish ’em. You don’t trust anyone unless they’ve bled for you.”
Ellie swallowed hard, pressing her face against his shoulder. “What if I can’t—?”
“You can.” Joel’s voice cut through the air like steel. “You’re the toughest kid I’ve ever met. You’re sharp. You’re scrappy. And you’ve got more heart than half the bastards who walk this earth.”
Ellie sniffed. “Kinda sounds like you’re saying goodbye.”
“I’m not.” Joel pulled back just enough to look her in the eyes. “I’m saying—no matter what happens—you ain’t alone. You carry me in there, you understand? You fight like I’m right behind you, watching your back. ‘Cause I am.”
Ellie’s lips trembled. She nodded once, then twice.
Joel pulled something from his coat pocket—a simple, worn carving knife. “Keep this with you. Not for show. For survival. You’ll know when to use it.”
She took it silently, fingers curling around the hilt like it had always belonged there.
A knock at the door made them both flinch.
Joel stepped back slowly. “Make me proud, Ellie.”
“You already are,” she whispered.
And then the door opened again, and the goodbye was over.
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