gogobootz1

[gogobootz1]

Bridgerton Masterlist

Benedict:

An American in London

Dog Day Afternoon

[gogobootz1]

Dog Day Afternoon

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: New to town but oh-so sought after, a few stumbles might just lead you to love

Word Count: 3k

Dearest Gentle Reader,

Today, I write with news from the North. The reclusive Duke of Devonshire has come to London. It seems that after the death of his younger brother some time back, he is determined to find his eldest daughter, the new heir, a husband. The lady is supposedly very beautiful and will no doubt consume all of the attention of eligible young bachelors. I only bid good luck to her competition, as they will surely need it.

The fluffy tails of your two best friends could not keep still. The black Newfoundlands you had trained from puppyhood loved carriage rides, mostly because they loved meeting the horses before and after. You were sure they'd grow even more excited when you arrived at the park.

As the carriage slowed, you smiled, eager to get them some exercise. Your maid stepped out first, and you momentarily handed her both dogs' leads. Accepting a hand down from a footman, you turned to take them back when they broke free of her grasp entirely. Worse yet, they took off at a run.

You called after them, then whistled, but they were determined. Usually, they didn't give you any trouble with recall. Reaching for the dog whistle you kept on your person, you found nothing.

Without a second thought, you took off after them.

"My Lady!" Your maid called from behind you, panicked. You paid her little heed, anxious to have your babies back safe.

Park patrons stood as your dogs, followed by yourself, ran past. They gawked openly at the strange scene put on by an unknown young lady.

You were relieved when they slowed, but it didn't take long for them to sprint off again. They rounded a corner, quick as lighting. You kept after them, unable to see the obstacle around the bend.

Crashing right into someone's back, the two of you stumbled. The poor gentleman in front of you took the brunt of the impact, but you didn't have time to stay and make a formal apology. Staggering a bit, you resumed your chase.

"Sorry!" You yelled over your shoulder.

"Wait! Miss," the man called after you but gave up as you ran further away.

When your dogs ran off the path and into a clearing where people were picnicking, you grew really worried. Chasing after them on a trail was one thing, but ruining the outings of fellow nobility would be an altogether worse embarrassment.

You stopped in your tracks when you realized who the boys were scampering up to: your little sister. Abigail sat on a blanket with a girl who looked to be about her age. In her mouth was the dog whistle. You tended only to use that whistle when you took them out in the woods, and you'd trained them to run back to you at the sound of it. It gave you peace of mind knowing that you could call them back at any time if they went too far off in the forest or on one of your walks.

Abigail seemed pleased to see the two of them. A surprised grin graced her face as she patted them. They were even happier to see her, showering her in kisses. "Hoo-y? Moo? What are you doing here?" She giggled.

Her laughter stopped when she saw you stalking over. Thoroughly out of breath, you crossed your arms when you reached them. The three of them looked guiltily up at you. With a snap, your dogs came to sit on either side of you. Although your countenance was thoroughly enraged, scratching behind both dogs' ears decreased your intimidation factor.

"Why on Earth did you steal that?" You nodded toward your whistle.

"I think it makes for a chic necklace," Abigail said defensively. You stuck a hand out, and she reluctantly placed the whistle she'd put on a chain in it.

"And why on Earth were you using it?" You asked expectantly.

She held her hands up in surrender, "Miss Hyacinth was skeptical that the whistle could not be heard with human ears. I was simply showing her how it worked." Abigail was clever- you'd give her that. You could hardly scold her in front of her companion, and you wouldn't dream of scolding the other young girl for something so clearly not her fault. Using her as a human shield was a cowardly tactic by your sister, however. "And I thought you weren't arriving until later!"

"They were antsy. I figured I could abandon the harp in favor of allowing them some exercise," you explained, then glared at her, "This was not the type of exercise I had in mind."

"But Hoo-y and Moo love running free," she pouted at you.

"They are not allowed to run free in public spaces where I must chase after them!" You snapped at her. Crouching to get closer, you reached into your purse and gave both dogs a scrap of jerky. "Huginn and Muninn are both well-behaved gentlemen, and you may have tarnished their good names by causing this wild romp!"

"Huginn and Muninn? Does that make you Odin?" A deep voice called from behind you. You rose and turned to see a tall, handsome gentleman with dark hair.

His question took you by surprise. Most people did not understand their names. You blinked for a second before collecting yourself, "No." It was hardly a smart reply, but it was the most you could manage after chasing your dogs a few hundred meters. You shook your head a little, vaguely embarrassed by your answer, before turning back to the girls.

"Would you please excuse Lady Abigail, Miss Hyacinth?" The bright young lady nodded at you with a pleasant smile before you even finished speaking, "The least she can do after causing such trouble is help me walk the dogs." You directed the last part toward your sister, who reluctantly stood. Taking one of the leads from your hand, she bid goodbye to her companion before walking off. You nodded at the young lady and the handsome stranger before following after her.

Benedict watched you walk away from his sister's picnic spot, only slightly removed from the rest of the family's. He collapsed down next to Hyacinth and stole a grape from her plate, "Who was that?"

"My new friend, Abigail," she replied, smacking his wrist. He ate the grape anyway.

"And the older one?"

"Her sister," Hyacinth looked at him skeptically, "why do you ask?"

Benedict thought of how you'd practically pushed him to the ground in the middle of the walkway, then ran from the scene. "No reason," he shrugged.

——————————————

The first ball you'd be attending was later that evening, and you were incredibly nervous. Sat on the floor of the library, you brushed through Muninn's coat in an attempt to calm your nerves. Waiting for your father to finish changing was making you even more anxious, the dread just building up in your body.

"Why are you on the floor?" His voice finally came from the doorway.

"His coat needed brushing," you shrugged innocently. The Duke waved at you to come join him, and you stood, brushing some fur off yourself. Muninn stood, too, and closely followed as you joined your father.

"You're only lucky he didn't slobber on you," your father shook his head at you fondly, offering his arm.

Taking it, you made one last bid to skip the event, "Remind me why we are attending this?"

"A future Duchess needs a husband," he said simply.

"Does she really?" You asked wryly.

"No," your father answered seriously, causing you to stop. "Well, only if she should like a Duke or Duchess of her blood to follow in her footsteps," he tugged on your arm to keep you walking.

That only made you feel worse. While before you felt nervous, guilt was now in the mix. What if that didn't happen?

"If you never marry, I will not love you any less," he revealed. "I only ask that you try," your father asserted, "but if there is nary a man up to snuff, I would have you die a spinster." You laughed at that, feeling some pressure relieved. He joked with you for the duration of the carriage ride and up until you were announced at the ball.

"Now presenting; His Grace Daniel, Duke of Devonshire, and his daughter Lady-"

The entire company of the room turned to watch the two of you descend the stairs.

"What? Is there something on my face?" Your father whispered to you jokingly.

"Oh, only that awful mustache," you whispered back playfully. You caught the corner of his lip twitching as he tried not to laugh at the jab at his expense.

A few more seconds of staring had you whispering to him again, "I see now why you never leave the house." That earned a huff of a laugh from him.

"Let us thank our host, then visit the refreshments," he relayed the plan.

"Excellent idea," you replied quietly as he dragged you toward a finely dressed older woman.

"Lady Danbury," your father nodded at her in greeting.

"Lovely to see you again, Your Grace. It's been quite some time," she smiled at him knowingly.

"Indeed it has," he laughed, "may I present my daughter?" You smiled then, giving her a polite nod as well.

"My, how you've grown, my lady. The last time I saw you, you were far shorter than me," she chuckled, and you laughed politely with her. Unfortunately, you had no memory of that meeting. It must have been a long time ago, and she must have visited your home at Chatsworth House.

It was only a few more moments of small talk before your father excused the two of you, under the guise of not impeding her from talking to other guests.

He fixed you both a glass of lemonade at the refreshments table before he was pulled away. As much as he hated socializing, people loved him. He sent you an apologetic glance as he left. You only shook your head at him, smiling.

You took a brief glance around the room, noticing a few debutantes conversing near you. You sent them a smile, but they sneered in reply and closed ranks. Stunned at their response, you didn't quite know what to do.

"They can be rather mean," you turned to find a young red-headed woman beside you. "Not to mention jealous," she said helpfully.

"Jealous?" You were confused. They hadn't even met you. "Of me?"

"Oh, yes," she laughed a bit. "Haven't you read Lady Whistledown?"

You were embarrassed to have no idea of what she spoke, "I haven't met her. Is she in attendance?" That got an even greater laugh from your companion.

"Lady Whistledown is a gossip columnist and a rather popular one at that," she informed you, and you felt foolish for your last comment. "She wrote about you in her latest issue."

"Really?" You were stunned, as you'd only recently arrived in London.

"She predicted you'd steal the attentions of every available gentleman away from your fellow debutants," she nodded.

"No wonder they hate me," you sighed, sorry to have made a bad impression on the debutants before making their acquaintance. "Oh, I'm sorry, I still haven't introduced myself!" You were eager to make at least one good first impression.

"I'm Penelope Featherington," she said with a smile.

"I must admit, Miss Featherington," you shook your head, "I think Lady Whistledown's prediction will prove incorrect." She tilted her head and gestured for you to go on, "I've not been approached by a single gentleman."

Penelope took a quick look around the room, accidentally meeting a few pairs of eyes. Plenty of people had already been looking in your direction. She smiled a bit at your obliviousness, "I think perhaps they're just intimidated."

"Oh no," your eyes widened, "have I done something wrong?"

"Not at all," she assured you, "I think it's just... no one wants to take the first shot at a great stag and miss."

"I'm not sure I like being prey in this metaphor," you deadpanned, causing her to laugh once again.

It seemed one young gentleman mustered the courage to be the first to approach, and he really was young. "Good evening, ladies," he greeted you both, then offered you his hand, "would you care to dance?"

You placed your hand lightly in his but sent Penelope a look as he led you off. She giggled as you went. From there, you were off to the races. Dance after dance, gentleman after gentleman, you were exhausted.

"Please excuse me, sir, I'm feeling rather parched," you did not even recall this one's name.

"Oh no, please, my lady, I shall fetch a beverage for you," he nodded, "stay right there! Don't move!" He kept eye contact with you as he walked backward a few paces. You couldn't help but walk backward away from him, and you continued to do so even after he'd scurried off.

In fact, you retreated so far back that you retreated right into someone else's back. You both turned.

“You rather love bumping into me,” the gentleman you’d seen earlier said.

“Excuse me?” You certainly hadn’t seen him before this morning, so you had no idea what he meant by that smart comment. Your offense at his statement outweighed the sway of his good looks, unlike earlier.

“This makes twice,” he insisted, “once chasing after your ravens and once just now.”

It took you a second to catch up, “It was you I knocked over in the park earlier?!” Embarrassment rolled over you like a wave. “Oh God,” this was awful, “I am so incredibly sorry. Truly, I am mortified. And I would have apologized earlier, I-“

He only laughed a bit, “It’s quite alright. I got the sense you were in a rush.” His teasing tone brought a smile to your face.

“They’re usually so well-behaved,” you assured him, “I’m afraid my sister was behind the debacle.”

“Oh, yes, she was sitting with Hyacinth, was she not?”

“You know Miss Hyacinth?”

The gentleman grinned and bowed, “Benedict Bridgerton, her brother.”

“Very nice to meet you,” you smiled, “officially.”

“I’m not sure I caught your name,” right as he asked, you heard it being called.

“My lady?” You whipped around, and spotted the gentleman you’d abandoned searching for you. Wincing, you scuttled toward the closest pillar and ducked behind it. Benedict stayed put, but watched you run off with great amusement. After a moment, he chose to follow you.

“Are you hiding?” He teasingly asked.

You peered around the pillar, hoping the man had walked away. When you saw he hadn’t, you ducked away again, “yes!”

Benedict blinked at you, smiling, “Why?”

“My feet hurt,” you confessed, “I have danced every dance. I haven’t sat down in hours. Frankly, I’m surprised so many are interested after my jaunt through the park.”

“Perhaps they were impressed by your display of athleticism,” a crooked grin crossed his face. You leveled him with a look.

“There you are, my lady,” you jolted at the foreign voice, and Benedict had to clap a hand over his mouth to muffle his laughter. “I could not find you, so I’m afraid I drank your lemonade as well,” you could see Benedict’s shoulders shake with laughter, “Are you ready for our next dance?”

A look of pure horror must have crossed your face, because Benedict finally intervened, “I’m afraid she’s promised the next dance to me.” He pulled a pencil from a pocket in his jacket and outstretched one hand to you. You held out the arm your dance card was attached to, “In fact, I’ve very generously been granted all her remaining dances.” He winked at you as he filled in the four remaining spots. You fought off a grin.

“I see,” the man you interrupted you said sourly. He turned on his heel and marched away. Neither you nor Benedict could stop your laughter at his reaction.

“It is not my intention to further burden your feet,” he assured you after a moment, “I only hoped to dissuade him.”

“You did a fine job,” you grinned at him, “you have my gratitude.”

“I think I rather scandalized him,” Benedict chuckled, and you shook your head.

“It seems rather easy to scandalize this lot,” you said.

“Well, you’re right about that,” he nodded.

You sighed, “I think they’re all so concerned with presenting themselves as proper and important they forget to consider anyone else. Not one man I danced with asked me about myself.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Benedict shook his head, “I hope the rest of your evening is more relaxing.”

“Thank you,” you nodded at him, “at the very least, I know my dogs will listen to me when I return to them.”

Benedict laughed at that and slightly bowed towards you again, “It’s been a pleasure meeting you, my lady. I hope to bump into you again soon.”

Your eyes widened, “Maybe not bump.”

“Goodnight,” he smiled at you and nodded before leaving you free to go find somewhere to sit.

Soon enough, you father found you relaxing on a chaise lounge in a nearby study. He only shook his head, and offered you his arm to depart.

——————————————

The next morning brought with it house calls. You’d been hoping to spend a quiet morning working on a new piece for the harp, as you’d forgone practice the day before. But, much to your chagrin, you were forced to dress and be presentable within only ten minutes of your waking.

It didn’t take long for the sitting room to be bombarded with interested parties, though none were interested enough to truly speak with you. Each brought with him a new bouquet of flowers, and you soon grew worried you’d start sneezing uncontrollably. Eventually, you became so overwhelmed that you bribed poor Abigail to keep them occupied while you disappeared.

The only question she had for you was if you cared what she did to them. You’d given her free rein. With one look at her wicked grin, you fled the room.

Quickly turning the corner to another hallway, you quite nearly crashed into someone.

“That was almost three,” Benedict joked with you.

“Almost,” you highlighted, “but only a close call.”

“True,” he nodded.

"What brings you here?"

Benedict smiled, "I had hoped to call on you. Have I caught you at a bad time?"

"Not at all," you shook your head jovially.

"Excellent! I brought a gift," he produced a brown paper bag. You were slightly confused but glad for something other than flowers.

"Thank you," you reached for it, but he pulled it back.

"Not for you," he shook his head. You blinked back at him, wide-eyed. "Unless you have a proclivity for raw steak." Benedict laughed at the shock on your face, "I thought Huginn and Muninn might enjoy a treat."

A surprised smile eased onto your face. Your eyes sparkled as you looked at him, "I'm sure they'll appreciate it."

"Do you think they might also appreciate a walk in the park?" He asked, "A chance at redemption?"

"I think they'd like that," you grinned widely as Benedict smiled and offered you his arm.

---------------------------------------------------------

He didn't ask a single question! And he was wearing these- FUGLY jeans

Lol I've been toying with this idea since S3 part 1 came out, hope you liked it! I let her live in 2005 Mr. Darcy's luxurious mansion so you're welcome

(sorry for obscure norse mythology references)

[gogobootz1]

i stayed up til 2am binge reading the mentor last night, it’s so good😩😩😩

This is such a high compliment 😭<3 thank you so much!!

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor Pt. 9

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: The tributes of the 75th Hunger Games take one punch after the next, leaving you to wonder how long they can stay standing.

Warnings: literally the hunger games idk what to tell you

Part 8

You gnawed at your lip as you watched tributes sail through the water and up toward the cornucopia. Only, your tribute splashed more than sailed. In fact, it was a miracle she was even floating. Darla was never a strong swimmer, and when she dragged herself up onto the rocks, it was her bad luck to find Enobaria a few paces in front of her. Thoroughly unprepared for that fight, Darla turned tail and booked it for the beach.

Your eyes quickly flicked to another video feed. Just in time to see Katniss aim at Finnick. Your breathing stopped.

"Good thing we're allies, right?" He asked pointedly, smirking at her after a second. He flashed the gold bangle Haymitch had passed off to him the night before.

"Where did you get that?" Katniss eyed him skeptically, her arrow still locked on its target.

Finnick's face dropped when he saw movement from over her shoulder, "Where do you think? Duck!" With one swift move of the arm, he launched his trident. The man behind Katniss fell, his knife clattering to the rocks of the island.

From the ground, Katniss gaped at the corpse with wide eyes. Finnick tugged his trident free of the man's chest, "Don't trust One and Two. I'll take this side- you hold them off. I'll go find Peeta!"

For a moment, she only stared after him, stunned at how quickly he killed and how easily he walked away from it.

"Haymitch," the look on her face made you nervous, but you couldn't tear your gaze from the screen.

"It's fine," he assured you, gruffly. Sure enough, the girl was up the next minute and firing at Enobaria. You silently cursed when she missed.

"Katniss," Finnick drew her attention, "Mags found him, he's over here." The two ran towards the old woman, who desperately pointed toward a podium where Peeta grappled with someone in the water.

In under a second, Finnick was in after them. He cut through the water like he was born swimming, showing off his agility for the second time in five minutes. He had been first to the cornucopia, no surprise. But by the time he'd reached where Peeta and the other tribute had gone under, the District 12 boy had already resurfaced.

From the corner of your eye, you saw the tension melt from Haymitch's shoulders.

The two made it back to dry land and started off toward the woods with Katniss and Mags. Only then did you feel any relief. But your most pragmatic self told you the worst was yet to come.

You scanned the various feeds playing simultaneously and honed in on Darla. She was hurtling through the thick brush when her foot got snagged on a rock. She stopped only to prevent herself from falling.

"Fuck," she heaved, curling forward to rest her hands on her knees.

Darla dropped her butt to the grassy floor, catching her breath, "All alone in the jungle." She took a look around, "Great!"

After a few more breaths, she let her head fall on her knees, "I fucking hate the jungle." Her bereaved whisper made you laugh.

You plopped down on the side of the couch opposite Haymitch, grabbing your tablet.

"I was worried you'd never sit down," the older man snarked, "Thought you might crawl through the screen to go help." You felt it better not to dignify him with a response, opting instead to throw a cashew at him from the bowl on the table.

He flinched when it made contact with his forehead. You quickly averted your gaze to the tablet and blinked at the number that stared back at you. It was an insanely large amount that was only increasing. Apparently, the Capitol had liked Darla's snarky comment, too. You shouldn't have been surprised, though, her wit and relatability made her a fan favorite last time. In fact, it had practically won her the games with the amount of help you sent her way.

As you customized her first gift, you prayed this time would be no different.

Darla lifted her gaze from the ground below when she heard a chime. The sight of a silver parachute brought a smile to her face, and she jumped up to snatch it from the air. Cracking the canister open, she first took the time to read the note you'd attached.

pleasure to serve you, Queen of the Jungle

Her nostrils flared as she huffed a laugh at your teasing. Darla tossed the scrap of paper aside to free her prize from its prison.

She unraveled the brand-new whip with ease, not even bothering to admire it before giving it a try.

An incredible crack filled the air, scaring birds from their trees. It turned some heads, too, not that Darla would know it from where she stood. Various video feeds showed some tributes momentarily puzzling at the noise. They all dismissed it, much to your relief. It seemed she'd been too far to distract Katniss and Co. from whatever spat they were having. You scowled at their distance, having hoped it wouldn't take Darla long to find her allies.

Darla grinned at her new toy and was even happier to spot something else in the canister. She eagerly tugged the flask out and unscrewed it, tilting her head back to take a long drink. She seemed surprised at the taste but happily took a second sip.

"You think booze will help with dehydration?" Haymitch asked skeptically from his side of the couch.

You glared at him, "It's lemonade." He scrunched his nose once proven wrong.

"Not very practical, is it?" He couldn't help himself.

"If you don't like my gifts, then send your own," you snarked.

"Fine," he bit back. "Let's see... what should I send my dear children?" He scrolled aimlessly on his tablet while the game makers highlighted the footage of the Four/Twelve alliance.

"Haymitch," you tried to grab his attention, to no avail. "Haymitch!" You leaned over to hit his arm just as Peeta was launched away from the forcefield. The District Twelve mentor sprang up, stepping toward the screen. You barely caught a glimpse of Finnick starting CPR before Haymitch eclipsed your view entirely.

Meeting Haymitch where he stood, you did your best to pull him away. "You can't crawl in there and save him yourself," you spoke quietly, lightly leading him back by his elbow. Once he was back on the couch, you tried to reassure him. "He can do it," Finnick had saved people from drowning before, why would this be any different? You sincerely hoped it wouldn't be, or this whole operation could go down the gutter.

Finally, a meek voice came through, "Careful. There's a force field up ahead." Relieved laughter came happily from Haymitch, and you cracked a smile. Katniss was especially grateful, kissing Peeta firmly before fawning over him as she brought him to stand.

Your gaze went to Finnick, as always, and you caught him blink at the hug the two shared. Katniss' hands shook as she held her 'husband' tight. You couldn't help but think the two of you would look similar when reuniting.

________________________

As the sun set, you were happy to see Darla settled in for the night. She had climbed a tree, using the gifted whip to secure herself to the trunk. You were also glad to see Johanna and Blight working with the District Three tributes. From what you'd gathered, they'd play a crucial role later on.

The other group you kept an eye on wasn't so peaceful.

You sighed when you saw Katniss and Finnick were at each other's throats yet again.

"If I'd wanted to kill either of you, I would have done it by now," he seethed, thoroughly frustrated. He'd saved Peeta's life and was still getting glares from the girl. You could tell he was at his wit's end. Covered in sweat from lugging an extra ninety pounds of Mags through the jungle. Not to mention extremely dehydrated.

It was true, too. Finnick would've had Katniss when her back was turned at the cornucopia. He could've killed her as easily as the man who came up behind her. And while the tribute Peeta had killed struggled against him in the water, Finnick would have had no such difficulties. If he was playing to win, it would've been a different game.

When the anthem came on, you turned to Haymitch, "How about some water?"

He nodded, focused on the slideshow of fallen tributes, "Yeah, I'll take a glass."

"For them," you spat, and he snapped out of his stupor.

"Right," he tapped a few things on his tablet before setting it aside. You only half-watched the slideshow, having taken careful notes on the deaths all day, but perked up when you heard a chime.

"Hey," Katniss noticed the parachute first, sliding downhill a bit to collect it. Finnick was quick to follow. "Drink up?" She read the note, confused.

"What is it?" Finnick's voice sounded from over her shoulder.

"It's from Haymitch," she shook her head, turning the metal device over in her hand. "I think it's a spile," she said, standing from her crouch.

"A what?" Finnick asked, turning his head to track her fast footsteps. When she started hammering it into a tree, he came to her side, as did Peeta.

There were smiles all around when water came pouring out.

"You're kidding me," Finnick laughed, "you're kidding me!" His big grin inspired one of your own. He encouraged Peeta to have some water before he greedily lapped up his own. He wiped his face, too, before attempting to fetch some water for Mags.

"Nice work," you praised Haymitch, "that's a consistent source."

"You might even call it... practical," he said jokingly. Your smile dropped.

"Last time I compliment you, old man," you sneered.

________________________

Haymitch retired back to his suite on the earlier side. You promised him you'd keep an eye on things, and that's exactly what you'd been doing. Along with Finnick and Katniss, you noted the twelve chimes when they went off and the lightning that followed. Darla slept right through both.

You cursed when blood started smothering Johanna's crew. Poor Blight died the same way Peeta would've gone. Clearly distraught and still half-blind, Johanna had managed to lead the District Three tributes out of the ghastly downpour.

Your stress only multiplied when the game makers chose to highlight Katniss's feed again. They only did that when they were sure something interesting was about to happen, as they had earlier when Peeta was heading straight for the forcefield.

Katniss perked up when the constant hum of the jungle was snuffed out. She looked up to find white, billowy fog moving in. Reaching out to the tendril that reached for her, she howled in pain when it made contact, snatching her hand back to find boils plaguing her skin.

"RUN! Run! The fog is poison!" She managed to warn her allies and took off away from the danger.

You leaned forward, eyes nervously darting across the screen as Finnick rushed Mags onto his back. The four raced away from the fog, coming up ever quicker at their heels. Your eyes grew glassy as you watched them fall and cry out from the pain. It swarmed them from all directions, and you stood when Finnick stumbled, screaming. You watched with bated breath as he managed to recover, taking Mags to reconvene with Katniss and Peeta.

"I can't carry him," Katniss cried, looking hopelessly at Finnick. His face dropped, and a pit formed in your stomach. When Mags grabbed his shoulder, you clapped a hand over your mouth. You knew they'd all promised to give their lives for Katniss and Peeta if it came down to it, but you also knew Finnick was determined they'd never get to that point. But Mags had made the decision for him, giving him a kiss and running headfirst into the fog.

You flinched when the cannon went off and felt hot tears spill down your cheeks as Finnick cried out for his mentor. Katniss stopped him from running after her, and together, they managed to drag Peeta away.

Gasping as they fell down a steep hill, you could only hope the fog would pass over. It proved not to be an issue when it met an invisible wall and rolled up that instead of onto your tributes. You could only sigh in relief when Katniss found that water sapped the gas trapped in her boils. Though you nearly cried again hearing Finnick's screams of agony when they dragged him into the pond.

It wasn't long before they faced yet another obstacle from the game makers. Pairs of glowing yellow eyes surrounded their position in the water. Finnick noticed first, nudging Katniss by the arm and nodding toward them. His eyes scanned around, assessing just how many they'd have to face. He didn't hesitate to grab his weapon as they continued to move in.

The first of the monkeys attacked when Peeta joined them, and the three made an impressive show of putting down one after the next. You were glad when they started moving, sure that the game makers had an endless supply of replacements at the ready.

As they ran, however, a monkey managed to pin Peeta. He only escaped when one of the District Six tributes tackled it off him, earning herself some nasty wounds in the process.

"Who is that?" Katniss asked him.

"A Morphling," he rushed out, "help me get her!" The two dragged the woman's body toward the beach, leaving Finnick to swat and stab at monkeys alone.

He took the chance to run after them when he managed to swing one monkey right into its companion. They were right at his heels, though, and one managed to scratch along his Achilles tendon as he leaped for the beach. Finnick quickly rolled over and stabbed his trident at the creatures who seemed unable to pass the tree line. As they retreated back into the brush, he tilted his head in confusion and adjusted his grip on his weapon.

You cringed when you noticed the blood leaking from his leg and staining the white sand. Clearly, the adrenaline prevented him from feeling the extent of the wound. He only looked away from the tree line when the canon from the tribute Peeta was cradling went off. Both Twelve tributes returned to the sand before the plane came to pick up the body.

After it departed, Finnick stood to head toward the water. He only then seemed to realize he was hurt. With one step, he was hissing in pain, glancing down to discover the wound. Grimacing, he dropped back to the sand.

You gnawed on the inside of your cheek. Obviously, some of the other Four victors could send him something. Sponsors would be lining up to help him out. And yet, you eyed the tablet Haymitch had abandoned when he turned in. A District Ten gift to tributes from Four and Twelve would seem suspicious. But a District Twelve gift to be shared with their ally.

Casting a swift glance over your shoulder, you lunged for the other tablet. Opening it up, it was clear Katniss and Peeta weren't hurting for sponsors. Money was currently coming into their account too- people were impressed at their performance. Certainly, Haymitch wouldn't miss some that he'd never realized he had.

You selected a large jar of salve, applicable to cuts and to soothe any leftover chemical burns from the acid fog. Along with some bandages, it'd make a fine gift. With the advancements in Capitol medicine, they'd all be good as new within a few hours.

The chime drew the three tributes' attention. Katniss stood from the sand to catch it as it sailed down. She cracked it open, briefly glancing at the medical supplies before picking up the note.

"Sharing is caring," she read aloud.

Peeta laughed a bit, "Look at Haymitch getting sentimental." Katniss didn't seem to find the same humor he did.

"Right," she said flatly, barely quirking a brow. Why didn't Haymitch sign this one?

Tension melted from your shoulders as you watched them pass around the salve. They let Finnick go first and use the gauze and bandages to wrap his lower leg. You were happy to see the three of them on the mend.

________________________

The sun was rising when Darla awoke, though she felt like it’d been beating down on her. With the amount of sweat dripping off of her, she was surprised it hadn’t been daylight for hours. The heat was so stifling, in fact, that she was actually finding it hard to get air.

Darla quickly untied herself from the tree, clambering down it with just her whip and flask in hand. 

The many supplies that she and the rest of the tributes lacked struck you. You couldn’t imagine why Snow and Plutarch wouldn’t want to keep their stars shining, a nice long and entertaining games with all of their favorite players would surely make the Capitol happy. Or maybe Snow just wanted Katniss in the ground as fast as possible. Either way, supplies only would’ve slowed Darla down in her climb.

You shifted uncomfortably when she didn’t seem to find any relief on the ground either. Having just seen Finnick flee poison fog and fend off monkeys, you were almost certain this was the start of another challenge from the game makers. Although, that struck you, too. Why go through all this trouble when bloody hand-to-hand combat would bring in better ratings? Who would want to see Darla sweat to death? Her fans would certainly rather see her die on her feet, fighting valiantly until her fight was done, though the thought sent shivers down your spine.

The same went for Finnick. Why force him to stab monkeys when they just as easily could’ve nudged his alliance toward potential adversaries?

Perhaps Plutarch thought confrontations would accidentally clue Katniss into the plan happening around her, without her. Seeing allies die for her would eventually arouse suspicion. That made sense, at least, but, unfortunately for him, it was already happening. Mags first, your throat clenched at the thought, and the District Six woman that jumped out of hiding for Peeta. It was a miracle they had yet to catch on, especially considering Finnick had saved Peeta's life twice.

Darla still didn’t seem to be doing great out in the jungle. She was sweating bullets, but it was only accumulating. No doubt the humidity in the dome was something fierce. She seemed to be heading for the beach but soon started swaying. Close after, she stumbled into a tree and propped herself up on it with an arm. She was still nowhere near the water of the beach.

You nervously bit at your cuticle as you watched her slide down that same tree a minute later. She was looking worse and worse, thoroughly exhausted. Darla managed to uncap her flask and finish off the lemonade, holding the bottle to her forehead to try to cool down. She set it on the ground after a moment, and her eyelids began fluttering only a moment later.

Now you were really concerned. If another tribute stumbled onto her in this state it’d be bad news. She was clearly suffering from heat exhaustion, and, despite having the rest of the lemonade, she would be deeply dehydrated. While the rest of the tributes seemed hot, she was the only one suffering like this.

Eventually, Darla shifted in her heat-induced slumber, and her hand grazed the metal container. She bolted straight up with a hiss, rubbing at her palm. Nervously, she poked at the flask quickly. The thing was red-hot, warmed from its contact with the ground. She made a face, finding it suspicious, but not surprising.

You were glad to see her awake again, seeming a bit sharper. And you were even happier to watch her hear water rushing, then discover a small brook. Darla gulped some up, then sunk into it like a bird in a fountain. It clearly brought her hot skin some relief.

Her peaceful moment was not meant to last long, however, and she looked up to find the source of a noise. You grimaced when the game makers chose that moment to highlight her video feed. The angle they chose came from behind Darla, her shoulder framing the entrance to a shadowy cave.

She tilted her head when she noticed it- the cave in the jungle. That noise she’d heard surely had to come from it. The low growl could’ve been whatever power the Capitol was using to run this place, but she knew better. Keeping her eyes locked on the cave, Darla felt around for her weapon. It didn’t take long to unravel the whip and perch on a rock along the stream. The fast move gave her a bit of a head rush. She determinedly blinked it off, and braced herself for whatever she was about to face.

The great hulking bear didn’t waste any time, it came hurtling from the dark opening at a sprint. Darla didn’t hesitate to crack the whip against the ground in front of it. The noise startled the creature enough to buy her a few seconds, but her own heat exhaustion ate them right back up. Her vision blurred as she stood, and she misstepped poorly enough to go stumbling downhill. She stopped rolling when she smacked back-first into a large rock.

You flinched at the impact, sure that if she hadn’t broken some ribs, she’d bruised them. Worse yet, her whip was sent flying from her hand. It landed against another rock further downhill.

While gravity worked fast, so did the beast. Its abnormally long legs and lengthened snout set it apart from the average bear. No doubt, the game makers had taken great pains crafting it. The thing caught up to her quickly.

Darla rolled onto her hands and knees before it could disembowel her. But she wasn’t fast enough to escape the attack entirely. One paw, practically the size of her back, pinned her to the jungle floor.

She cried out as her nose cracked against the ground, making her skull throb even worse. Head forced to one side, grass scratched lightly at her face as blood poured from her nostrils. All those issues faded away when the creature’s muzzle came into view. It sniffed right at her face, clearly interested in the blood, and she came to realize her window was closing. When it got just a centimeter closer, she stabbed her thumb into its eyes as hard as she could.

You couldn’t tell if it was black blood or motor oil that dripped from the knuckle of Darla’s thumb all the way down her forearm, but the squelch that came from her freeing her hand made you gag.

In an instant, the bear stumbled back, freeing her from its clutches. Darla practically dove down the hill, desperately trying to reach her whip. Jagged rocks scraped her legs and torso on the way.

Though disoriented, the scent of more of her blood was enough to have the beast righting itself. It ambled towards her, only too late. With a thundering crack, Darla landed a hit on its back. The beast tossed its head and howled out in pain. She refused to let up, sending the thing stumbling with a tug at its leg. And with a strong final throw, the whip wound itself around the abomination’s neck. Throwing the switch she’d found on the handle the night before, Darla could only pray that whatever surprise was in store would be enough to incapacitate it.

She smirked when it lit up a burning white, melting straight through the not-bear’s flesh. The smell of singed fur permeated the air as the thing’s head rolled to her feet. She looked down smugly and powered down her weapon.

“Fuck yeah!” You shouted at the screen and startled when you heard clapping behind you.

“I take it I didn’t miss much?” Haymitch asked sarcastically, seemingly stunned in the doorway.

________________________

You were a little concerned for Darla’s mental state when she chose to travel with the bear head. Haymitch assured you that you only had to intervene if she started talking to it.

When she stumbled onto the beach, Darla reared her arm back and chucked the head as hard as she could into the saltwater. It made a large splash out by an abandoned podium, and quickly sunk.

“Darla?” Came Finnick’s shocked voice.

“WHAT?!” She screamed back, causing you and Haymitch to wince. It took her a minute to realize who had spoken, and by then Finnick had already made his way over. She spun suddenly towards him and stumbled, dazed from the last hour and change she’d lived through. He was quick to steady her.

“Are you alright?” She glared back at him, feeling the answer was obvious. Mockingly, she shook her head, which only caused further aching.

Finnick winced and crouched down to give her a hug. Lightly, Darla hugged him back, accidentally wiping some of the black liquid onto his wetsuit. She shoved him away when he tried to soothingly pat her back.

“Watch it! A bear just stepped on me,” she scolded him.

“What?!”

Darla heaved a sigh, “Just- take me to your camp and get me water.”

Finnick blinked but chose not to argue. He guided her by the elbow back to where Katniss and Peeta sat, both on high alert.

"I guess we're at four again," Peeta whispered to Katniss as the two came closer.

Moving Darla by the shoulders, Finnick guided her to take a seat on the log he'd moved earlier. He snatched the spile from the sand along with the small basket he'd been weaving and made for a tree.

Darla silently addressed the District Twelve tributes sitting across from her. "Mags?" She asked them quietly, hoping Finnick was still out of earshot. They shook their heads in unison, and she nodded sadly. "What have you been facing?"

"Fog," Katniss supplied shortly, "monkeys." Darla seemed entirely unfazed by her attitude.

Peeta half-grimaced at her tone and tried to be more cordial, "How about you?"

"Well, I feel like I've been through hell and back," She snarked, scratching at her chin. Flecks of dried blood fell off as she did.

"Looks like it," Katniss mumbled, but not quietly enough. A wide smile split Darla's face at the comment, displaying the blood that had even coated her teeth.

"Aren't we a jolly crew?" She mocked. Peeta heaved a sigh, foreseeing Katniss bickering with yet another ally. Maybe Darla's presence would bring her around on Finnick. " 'Can't blame you," she shrugged, "I'd be mad too if I was in here and knocked up. You just can't win."

Katniss's jaw fell to the floor, and Darla turned smugly to Peeta. "But to answer your question," she started, "I was oven-baked to make a better snack for the giant mutant demon bear." She smiled again, expression lacking all joy. You couldn't blame Peeta for seeming a little scared.

Finnick chose that moment to return, "Sounds like they've put you through the wringer, too." He handed her the small basket filled with water and sat next to her on the log as she gulped its entire contents.

"Got any food?" Darla asked when she came up for air. Finnick's shoulders dropped.

"You just missed the fish," Peeta smiled sympathetically.

Darla turned instantly to the District Four tribute, "Catch me another?" It was more demand than question, and Finnick glared at her. "Come on," she sing-songed, "she wouldn't want me going hungry." Displeased but convinced, Finnick stood with a huff. He dramatically grabbed his trident from Darla when she held it out for him.

Watching him slowly limp toward the water, you shook your head at her. "Of all the lowdown ways..." Haymitch chuckled from beside you. Grabbing your tablet, you navigated to the food selection. After she took down that bear, you could have sent them a whole feast. You got pretty close, too.

Finnick heard the chime just as he began scanning the water. He smiled a bit and turned back toward camp, "Looks like she really didn't want you going hungry!"

He grabbed the gift where it landed in the sand, and happily lugged it back to their circle of logs. It was heavier than he'd expected, but that was a welcome surprise. Finnick placed it in the sand at Darla's feet and gestured for her to open it. He plopped down, eager to see what you'd sent.

The smell of breakfast hit his nose, and he just about groaned. A grin cracked Darla's face as she took a deep whiff, and she picked up the message that accompanied it.

bear-y impressive

Her grin dropped, and you snickered. She turned to Finnick, holding up the slip of paper, "I'll kill her." The snarl only made him grin, and he stole the message from her hands. It earned a strong chuckle at her expense, and she snatched it back. "You're insufferable, the both of you."

"You couldn't live without us," he grinned back cheekily, and Darla only glared.

She portioned out plates (you'd sent those too) for everyone, including eggs, potatoes, biscuits, sausage, and bacon. The plate she held out to Katniss was piled high, a helping larger than the boys got.

At her confused glance, Darla only shrugged, "You're eating for two." Finnick nearly choked on the eggs he'd been wolfing down. Katniss took the plate with a wry smile. "I only ask that you take the name of a great woman who once shared her breakfast into consideration."

"We will," Peeta nodded, smiling. Finnick practically shoved an entire biscuit in his mouth to muffle his laughter.

"A very humble woman, too," Katniss mumbled, taking a bite.

When the four finished eating, they packed up the leftovers. A semi-awkward silence took over for a while until they heard a cannon. A giant wave accompanied it, crashing in toward the cornucopia from across the arena. All of them stood as they watched the plane pick up another dead tribute.

Katniss's gaze slipped across the beach, "Someone's here." She was quick to draw an arrow and crouch out of sight. Peeta followed her lead, and Darla took a step back into the tree cover.

Finnick, the closest of them all, peaked around the leaves. "Johanna," he breathed, relieved to have found yet another of his friends. "Johanna!" He started jogging toward her. Darla wasn't far behind him.

"Finnick!" The woman cast her arms out wide and let out a great, relieved laugh. She hugged him happily, and pulled away to find her ex-girlfriend not far behind.

"Jo," Darla gave her a nod, with a small smile. You could tell she was happy to see the axe-wielding woman.

"Dee," Johanna greeted in turn, giving her a once over. "What the hell happened to you?" The blood from her nose had dripped off of her chin and onto her wetsuit earlier, leaving a nice stain behind on the grey part of the fabric.

"I could ask you the same," she narrowed her eyes.

Johanna didn't need to be asked twice, "Well," she heaved, "I got them out. We were all the way deep into the jungle, where I thought it was gonna be safe." Finnick winced at her tone, but it only got worse, "That's when the rain started. I thought it was water- it turned out to be blood. Hot. Thick. Blood. That was coming down," she pushed Wiress off of her and barreled on, "it was choking us."

You winced at the laugh of disbelief Johanna let out. It certainly hadn't been a pretty sight, and you could hardly imagine the feeling of living through it.

"We were stumbling around gagging on it blind," Johanna seethed. "That's when Blight hit the force field," she closed her eyes and tilted her head back. Taking in a breath, she centered herself, "He wasn't much, but he was from home." The whole time she had been ranting, Wiress had been chanting. It was getting hard to ignore.

"What's wrong with her?" Katniss asked, and Beetee responded as Finnick helped him stand from the sand.

"She's in shock," he replied, "dehydration isn't helping." The older man took his glasses off, "Do you have fresh water?"

Wiress seemed more determined than ever, taking Johanna by the shoulders and getting in her face, "Tick tock! Tick tock!"

"Listen!" Johanna was fed up, "Stop it!" She spun the older woman, attempting to free herself from her grasp.

"HEY! Lay off her," Katniss approached, furious, as Wiress stumbled to the sand. She shoved Johanna back at her neck, and in less than a second, Darla was yanking Katniss away by the arm.

"Don't fucking touch her," she snapped. Finnick could only put out one fire at a time, trying to prevent Johanna from getting a hit back on Katniss.

"What's your problem?" Johanna called at her, ignoring Finnick's attempts to shush her. "I got them out for you!"

Both you and Haymitch hissed at that. Johanna had always been straightforward, and that was the most overt indication of the plan that Katniss would probably get. Katniss freed herself from Darla's grip.

"Hey, hey, hey," Finnick seemed more keen than ever to drag Johanna off, "it's okay, it's okay."

"Let me go!" Johanna tried tugging out of his grasp.

"For me?" Katniss asked, confused, "What does that mean?"

"Maybe it means you shouldn't be so hostile to your allies," Darla spat from behind her, stalking off to join her friends.

"You did want Three as allies," Peeta offered, coming up beside Katniss. Katniss only shook her head and approached Wiress.

"Let's get you cleaned up," she offered, escorting the older woman into the water.

Katniss worked on scrubbing the blood from Wiress's hair as Johanna cleaned her axe. The two discussed Beetee and his wire, before Johanna got fed up with Wiress's mumblings again.

"Have fun with Nuts!" She called to Katniss as she trudged from the water.

Katniss ignored her but dipped her own head in the water as Wiress kept mumbling, "Tick tock!"

At the same time, lightning struck the tree again.

You blinked, "Holy shit."

"What?" Haymitch asked, confused. His eyes followed as you rose to your feet and walked at the screen.

"Tick tock," Wiress kept saying, and you pointed at her face.

"They're in a clock," he only squinted at your realization. "The wedges in the water, the many challenges they've faced," you shrugged, "Haven't you been wondering why the action has come from the arena and not from tribute conflict?"

"Now that you mention it-"

"They don't care that no one has killed each other since the bloodbath because it's not part of their theme," you posited. "This is great! We have to tell them," you lifted your tablet, ready to send something random just to get a message across.

"You really think that'll fly?" Haymitch's tone was judgmental, and it stopped you in your tracks. He was right, of course, the game makers wouldn't just let a gift message spoil their fun.

"So what then?" You huffed, falling back onto the couch. "We just sit on this?"

He nodded silently.

"What if I'm subtle?" You tried again.

Haymitch rolled his eyes, "You can try." You grabbed your tablet before he changed his mind and tried to stop you. Sending a bottle of pain pills, you could only hope they'd put two and two together.

________________________

Darla reached up to grab the parachute as it fell, tugging it into her lap. You'd really been going ham with your gifts- not that she was complaining.

Opening the gift drew Johanna's attention, and she raised a questioning brow.

Darla held up the pill bottle, "Painkillers."

"Nice," Johanna nodded, going back to drawing in the sand with a twig. "I might need one if she keeps at it." Johanna had gone as far from Wiress as possible, and yet the woman's mad ramblings were still annoying her

Darla set the jar aside and reached for the note.

LISTEN!

"'The hell is that supposed to mean?" Her face scrunched as she read the message. Pausing a moment, she then held the pills up to her ear and shook them

You clutched your brow, "Goddamnit, Darla."

Johanna seemed amused at her confusion, "What'd she say?"

Darla opened her mouth to reply, but Wiress took that moment to increase in volume.

Whipping around to glare at the older woman, Johanna shouted, "Would you SHUT IT?!"

Darla made a face and looked back at the note you'd sent her. "Wait," she murmured, standing from the log. She walked determinedly toward Wiress, Johanna hot on her heels.

"Wiress?" At the sound of her name, the woman looked up at the two younger tributes. She grabbed a handful of sand and let it pass through her fingers. "Can you repeat that?"

"Tick tock," Wiress smiled up at them, glad someone was finally taking an interest.

"Tick-tock," Darla nodded at her, still not getting it. She was sure, however, that this is what you'd meant. If you wanted her to relax and listen to the waves lapping at the shore, you would've just said so. She turned to Johanna, whispering, "What does tick-tock mean?"

Johanna only blinked at her, clearly angry to be entertaining the woman at all.

"Please?" Darla pleaded with her. The District Seven tribute rolled her eyes, but was unwilling to deny the request.

"We're... running out of time?" She tried. Her mood quickly soured when she felt it wasn't going anywhere, "It doesn't take a genius to see that. This is a death trap."

Darla huffed, losing hope, too. She perked up when she heard Wiress start humming. An old nursery rhyme she couldn't quite remember. Johanna had already started to walk away, but she caught her by the arm. "Do you recognize that?" Darla asked hurriedly.

"Hickory Dickory Dock?" Johanna asked failing to see the relevance.

"The mouse," Darla muttered the words to herself, and Johanna nodded along, "ran up," both of their heads snapped up, "the clock!"

"Yes!" You cheered from the edge of the sofa.

"Oh my God!" Johanna shouted, eyes wide.

"Don't tell me you're fighting already!" Finnick called at them from up the beach.

Darla pulled Wiress up and dragged her toward him and the rest of their camp, "You'll want to hear this!"

Haymitch let out an impressed sigh, "I really wasn't expecting that to work."

"You should know by now not to underestimate me," you shrugged smugly.

________________________________________________

Was it a fever dream to think I could fit the whole games in this chapter? Yes. So I didn't <3

(sorry for any editing mistakes im dead tired)

taglist: @emerald-09 @iwantmyredvelvetcupcake @daixylie @fandomhopped

@axelinchen

@whens-naptime

@avoxrising

@erindiggory

@commanderfreethatdust

@blackdxggr

@maxinehufflepuffprincess

@iheartspderman

@slytherinfolk25

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@mushy-mushroom04

[gogobootz1]

can i just say I LOVEEE THE MENTOR. Could you pretty please give a hint of what to comeeee <3

TYSM! And if you insist <3 here's a tiny preview:

You scanned the various feeds playing simultaneously and honed in on Darla. She was hurtling through the thick brush when her foot got snagged on a rock. She stopped only to prevent herself from falling.

"Fuck," she heaved, curling forward to rest her hands on her knees.

Darla dropped her butt to the grassy floor, catching her breath, "All alone in the jungle." She took a look around, "Great!"

After a few more breaths, she let her head fall on her knees, "I fucking hate the jungle." Her bereaved whisper made you laugh.

You plopped down on the side of the couch opposite Haymitch, grabbing your tablet.

"Thought you'd never sit down," the older man snarked, " 'Figured you might crawl through the screen to go help." You felt it better not to dignify him with a response, opting instead to throw a cashew at him from the bowl on the table.

He flinched when it made contact with his forehead. You quickly averted your gaze to the tablet and blinked at the number that stared back at you. An insanely large amount- and it was only increasing. Apparently, the Capitol had liked Darla's snarky comment, too. You shouldn't have been surprised, though, her wit and relatability made her a fan favorite last time. In fact, it had practically won her the games with the amount of help you sent her way.

As you customized her first gift, you prayed this time would be similar.

Darla lifted her gaze from the ground below when she heard a chime. The sight of a silver parachute brought a smile to her face, and she jumped up to snatch it from the air. Cracking the canister open, she first took the time to read the note you'd attached.

pleasure to serve you, Queen of the Jungle

(the rest is coming soon- I promise!!)

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor: the cleanup

Finnick Odair x Reader

note: Not necessarily part of the series- could be read as occurring in the time gap or just an au. Enjoy this while I try to fit the whole 75th Hunger Games in part nine <3

warnings: murder, faked suicide

Pushing the heavy door of your penthouse open, you let out a huff. Capitol life was exhausting. When you weren't 'working,' you were expected to socialize and be everyone's favorite sweetheart. You had shrugged off your coat and draped it over the table in the entryway when you finally realized your phone was ringing. You jogged over to pick it up.

"I didn't mean to," Finnick's voice came softly through.

You slipped off your kitten heels, "What?"

"I didn't mean to do it," he said again, voice shaky. You didn't often hear him like this.

"You'll have to be more specific, Fin," you said, now a little worried.

"She was choking me, and for a second, I was back there," he hissed. Oh God. "And now she's..." When he trailed off, you realized how bad this was. "I don't know what to do."

Taking in a sharp breath, you asked, "Where are you?"

He rattled off the name of the building, one you were familiar with, and an apartment number.

"Wait there," you instructed, slamming the phone down.

--------------------------------------------------

"I'll fix it for you," your eyes were still locked on the woman's body, but your voice was sure.

Her tinted-green skin seemed pale somehow, and she was stiff on the floor. Finnick stared at her, too. He looked small, curled up on the floor. The woman's phone was still locked in his hand.

"You don't have to-"

"Isn't that why you called me?" Your voice finally wavered. "To fix it?"

Finnick didn't respond, and you met him on his level. Crouched beside him, you peeled his clammy hand off the glossy receiver. Cradling that hand in yours, you stared at him until he finally met your eyes. Only then did you stand, tugging his hand to encourage him to follow.

"Go home," you impressed quietly, "forget this."

He whispered your name, and you felt his hot breath on your face. You could smell the liquor on his breath. His eyes were glassy, with not a trace of their usual sharpness. You swallowed.

"Go back to your apartment," you tried again, leaning in, "she canceled. You weren't here." His blank gaze scared you. "Finnick!" With a few blinks, some clarity returned, "You. Weren't. Here."

"I was never here," he said blankly.

"Right," you nodded, "so you need to leave." Stepping away, you snatched his coat from where it had been draped over a chair. You held it out for him to shrug on, but when he didn't move, you grabbed his limp left arm. You shimmied it onto him, then maneuvered his right arm into the other sleeve. Finally, you popped the collar, doing your best to cover his face.

You looked him over and found him too recognizable. While it could've been your uncanny ability to find him in any crowd talking, you weren't taking any chances. Unwinding your scarlet scarf from around your neck, you wrapped it around his, carefully covering his mouth and nose.

"Take the stairs," you grabbed his limp arm yet again, this time pressing your umbrella into his hand. "When you leave out the side exit, take the first right turn. Walk straight the rest of the way back."

He nodded absentmindedly.

"Yes?" You asked, voice low.

"Yes," he breathed, turning and quietly slipping through the front door in the other room.

You sucked in a deep breath. Fuck was this bad. Stopping to take in the room, you tried to come up with a plan. It was unlikely she had any rope. Not that you knew how to tie a noose. Why'd he have to strangle her?

Your breath stopped for a second. He really killed this woman. No arena necessary. You shook the thought off. It was an accident, surely, and the arena's fault, anyway. But sometimes you forgot how dangerous victors were. Finnick's raw strength didn't typically intimidate you. Not until now, at least, seeing what he did with his bare hands. And sometimes when you let Darla sharpen your cooking knives, she would get lost in them. It was scary. You were all scary. That's what they'd made you. A perfect set of killers. Or, more accurately, a tamed pack of savage beasts.

Snapping out of your own thoughts, you found yourself facing the balcony. Well, that was one way of handling things. And it was the only idea writhing around in your currently-barren brain.

Biting your cheek and letting out a huff, you dragged her toward the sliding glass door by her wrists. You were suddenly happy to have been wearing gloves. Just as you were about to tug on the handle, you realized her neck might bruise. If it was disguised... and her body looked gruesome enough, maybe no one would notice.

Rifling through the woman's vanity, you grabbed her vial of foundation and a dense brush. Briefly, you wondered if you shouldn't try color correcting, but you had no clue how to compensate for her greenness. Once you deemed your work satisfactory, you got back to your original task.

Lugging her onto the balcony, you draped her over the railing by the waist. Then, steeling yourself, you lifted her ankles high enough for gravity to do the work for you.

Leaving no trace, you'd slipped from the room entirely before the sickening crash halted the street below in its tracks.

--------------------------------------------------

SWEETHEART TURNED SLUT?!?!

You took a sip of your orange juice to stop your smirk at the headline. The distraction you cooked up had worked nicely. A surprisingly flattering photo of you in just a bra and miniskirt took up half the front page. In it, you looked frazzled, like you'd just come from a secret rendezvous. Your wide-eyed shock at the barrage of camera flashes hid the tiny fact that you'd bumped into a few Capitolites on your way out the door of the neighboring penthouse building, hoping someone would alert the press.

A chair scraping across from you caught your attention. Your gaze met Finnick's over the newspaper. The two of you had agreed on breakfast a few days prior, and you wanted to promote normalcy as best you could. Setting the paper down, you leaned back in your seat.

"Good morning," you nodded casually at him. His face was serious, and you had no idea how much he remembered.

"I think I owe you a thank you," he said softly, "for last night." You only stared for a few seconds before fixing your face.

"What?" You smirked, folding the paper to only show the headline and picture, "Was seeing this that much of a favor?"

Finnick squinted, confused, "No, I meant..." He trailed off, unable to truly articulate it in public. "The other thing."

You raised your brows, setting the paper down again, "What other thing?"

He blinked a few times, "You know what I mean."

"I'm not sure I do, Finnick," you shook your head. You didn't necessarily like doing this to him, but swearing you'd never breathe another word of it was the only thing that got you through the night before.

"Yes," he insisted, "you do."

A confused laugh bubbled from your throat. Leaning forward, you lifted your hand to his brow, "Are you feeling alright?" He swatted your hand away. "Touchy!" you quickly retracted it.

"I saw you last night," he gritted out.

"Well, that's interesting," you hummed, "I haven't seen you since last Tuesday." Finnick reeled back at that, thoroughly stunned. You just stabbed a piece of the melon on your plate with a fork, "Nice to know you're thinking of me, though." You waved the business end of the utensil in his direction.

He growled your name.

"Dreaming of me, actually," you amended playfully. You took a quick glance at your thin wristwatch, "Look at that, I've got a meeting to get to."

Standing, you gathered your coat and purse. "Raincheck on breakfast?" You clapped his shoulder as you lifted the newspaper from the table.

"W-" You were halfway to the door before he could finish the thought. Scanning the print on the page, you found what he'd been talking about. The real remnants of your evening activities.

Socialite Commits Suicide: Page 3

You tossed it in the nearest bin, eager to never think of the incident again.

-----------------------------------------------------------

Kind of dark- sorry 😬

Also- can you say gaslight, gatekeep, girl boss?

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oh my gosh I love the mentor so much!!! please continue writing, I can’t imagine not finishing it!!

Part 9 is in the works!! 😆!! I really appreciate all the love everyone has shown this series- I'll do my best to give it a suitable ending in these last two or three parts <3333

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor Pt. 8

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Tribute interviews only heighten the stakes, and the 75th annual Hunger Games begin.

Part 7 | Part 9

You straightened Darla’s skirt one last time before you had to join the audience. The behind the scenes folks were already a little miffed, insisting you shouldn’t have been back there at all. None of them would’ve dared try to escort you out, however, so you had as much time as you wanted. 

“Remember what we talked about? Okay?” You checked in quietly, and she nodded once again. Darla was pretty sure you had asked a hundred times already. 

“I’ve got it,” she told you, vaguely mocking. But she tried not to make too much fun of you, she knew you only fretted like that because you cared. 

You took a step back, sighing, “Alright.” You got the message, but couldn’t quite help it. “Just be your charming self,” she rolled her eyes at the words she’d heard before, “they adore you.” 

“Thanks, Mom,” she mocked, and nodded towards the door. Knowing full well she could handle herself, you shook your head as you turned to leave the backstage area.

You settled into a free seat on an aisle with a good view of the stage. Taking a quick look around, you spotted Haymitch a few seats down in the aisle behind you. Other familiar faces were peppered in the audience, and it certainly was a full house. Now you could only watch what your fellow victors had in store. 

The careers went first, and, surprisingly, seemed to be making their own bids at cancellation. Betee followed suit, though more overtly. But the audience was unswayed, and seemed somewhat to be saving their applause.

“Finnick,” Caesar began, and was quickly interrupted by the loudest raucous heard yet. That’s who they’d been waiting for. Desperate screams cried out through the audience, including the woman right behind you. You flinched when she jumped to her feet, wailing. 

He put on a gracious smile for the audience, giving them a slight bow. 

“I understand that you have a message for somebody out there. A special somebody,” Caesar chuckled, though the cheers from the audience let up. Finnick must’ve asked for the prompt beforehand somehow- Caesar wouldn't have asked that himself. So what was he playing at? “Can we hear it?” 

Finnick nodded only once before looking out into the audience. “Well, Sugar,” he started with a laugh, and you instantly perked up. 

“I’m not quite sure how we got here, but I know you ran off with my heart a long time ago. Everything we’ve shared since,” he said sincerely, cutting himself off when he got choked up. “If I die in that arena, I want you to know… you’ve made it all worth it. And you’re clever enough to know just what I mean.”

You did, too. For about a minute, you sat frozen. Staring up at the stage with wet eyes. Neither of you had ever said it, but you’d just heard it. In every word he said. I love you. 

For a while now you’d suspected he felt the same, but public words of adoration were very different. And they certainly crossed the fine line you’d both drawn unspokenly. 

You only hoped you could talk to him about this before he went into the arena. 

The interviews continued without your attention, however, and you eventually tuned back in for Johanna’s. 

You had to muffle your laughter at her interview. God you adored her. The outrage coming from around you didn’t help, nor did Jo's angry stomping. Luckily, you managed to hold yourself together. 

But eventually came the interview you were most nervous for. 

“Now Darla,” Caesar began, and you drew in a deep breath. “Last time I was interviewing you on this stage… you were late.” 

The audience laughed, and you internally commended Caesar for his impressive influence over them. He laughed with both them and Darla, “Don’t think I forgot!” 

Once the crowd had died down, she smiled and nodded, “Oh believe me Caesar, I remember too. Only I didn’t quite tell you the truth that night.” 

Your brow furrowed. Where was she going with this? Caesar seemed intrigued too, “No?” He wanted more, and so did the audience. 

“Well, when I told you my mentor was busy fussing over me, that was the truth. Only, she was worried about me, not my appearance.” Caesar leaned forward, and the audience seemed to as well. 

“You see, I had the worst case of stage fright. I was so nervous to come out here and see you, Caesar,” The interviewer gave her a gentle smile, and the audience let out some soft ‘awww’s. You couldn’t help the way your eyes welled up at the memory of the night. “She had to come all the way from the training center in her pajamas, with hair all wet from the shower,” you smirked wryly as the audience gave some good natured chuckles, “just to pick me up and dust me off.” 

“Isn’t that sweet?” Caesar asked. “Well, I, for one, have loved seeing you two over the years,” the audience cheered at that. “What was it you called her that night? Your mother hen?” 

Your gaze flicked to Finnick at that, and the look on his face told you he remembered too. 

Darla chuckled a bit before nodding, “I did, but she’s a lot more to me. She’s been there for me through so much, and I am so lucky to have her in my life. This time around, Caesar, I’m fighting to go home to my sister, so we can spend the rest of our lives in peace.” And you thought your eyes were watery before. 

“You volunteered for her,” Caesar said, pushing for more. 

“I’d do it a million times,” Darla nodded, “If she has to watch her only living mentee die, then I regret that. But knowing she’s safe is enough to outweigh any fear I might have going into the arena. She cares so much for everyone around her. But I don’t think she knows how much we care too.” 

A camera cut to you, then, and caught the tears slipping softly down your cheeks. You quickly wiped them when you realized what was happening, flashing the camera a bashful and watery smile. You turned your attention to the stage, and blew Darla a kiss. Love you, you mouthed, bringing your hand to your heart. 

She just smiled back at you, shaking her head. 

“Well, let’s show them both how much we care,” Caesar told the audience, and was met with booming applause. You were impressed, Darla’s angle was even better than your own. But more than that, you knew she meant every word. 

Katniss’s display was impressive, of course. The dress her wedding gown had burned to reveal was stunning, if not shocking. You just knew Snow would be stewing at home. Good. 

But it was soft-spoken Peeta who took you by surprise. He was stellar at playing to the crowd, and he had everyone on the edge of their seats towards the end of his time. 

“If it weren’t for…?” Caesar wanted the answer badly, it could have certainly been a home run for him to end the show on. 

“If it weren’t for the baby,” he rushed out, looking sad. Your eyebrows skyrocketed up, eyes going wide. The audience was in an uproar. All at once, everyone was on their feet. You joined them, eager to keep the stage in sight. From the corner of your eye, you caught Haymitch still sitting, snickering to himself. He raised his flask, almost in toast. 

It didn’t take you long to catch on. Fucking brilliant. The kid had played them all, and the entire audience began calling for a cancellation. A home run indeed. Caesar, for the first time since you’d known him, looked panicked. He truly did not know how to handle this. A crowd had never turned to this degree, there had been no problem he couldn’t mend with charisma. But not this time. 

The tributes on stage held each others hands, and raised them for the audience to see. Pulling out all the stops. The room went pitch black, and a few dramatic Capitolites screamed. It didn’t take long for the lights to come back on, but a curtain had fallen in front of the stage. 

——————————————

Darkness consumed the stage, and Darla took the opportunity to turn around. It was a happy coincidence for District Ten to be directly in front of District Four.

"Nice work, loverboy," Darla teased, quietly.

"Yeah, yeah," Finnick whispered out, sounding bashful, "I try."

Darla giggled, and she thought she heard some quiet laughter coming from Mags. If the Games had done nothing else, they’d shaken things up.

——————————————

After the whirlwind interviews, you and Darla took the chance to relax. There would only be one more day before the games and there would be no more calm moments when they began.

“I’m going to bed,” Darla said after she got out of the shower. You couldn’t help but smirk at her.

“Get some rest, Granny,” you nodded sagely. She had often made fun of you for the “old woman-bed time” you employed. She grabbed a pillow from a decorative chair and hurled it at you. You managed to dodge it, snickering at her as she stomped off.

Your mood quickly soured after her departure, however, as early nerves crept in. Walking the various floors of the center did not help as much as you had hoped, but you kept at it.

Eventually, you reached the ground level. The bar you’d spoken to Haymitch in went by on your left. Past it, and further down the hall, you came upon an indoor pool. Peering in, you spotted a familiar head of sandy blond hair. Quietly, you pushed the door open at were met with the smell of chlorine.

“Is that nickname gonna stick?” You asked from just beyond the doorway. Finnick was sat at the edge of the pool, moving his legs through the water. He shot a quick glance over his shoulder, relaxing a bit when he realized it was only you. 

It took him a second to reply, “Not sure yet.” His gaze went back to the water as you settled down next to him. Your long pajama pants kept you from dipping your feet in too. Instead, you curled your legs up to your chest, resting your chin on your knees. 

“Right.” It was quiet for a second. 

“I think I need something more unique,” he finally decided, “I have to set myself apart from other interested parties” 

 “You don't have to worry about them” you smiled, shyly, "I’ve only ever been interested in one party."

“A very lucky party, I’m sure,” he nodded. 

“I’d like to think so,” you replied. “And I’d like to think that party is only interested in me.”

“He is,” Finnick nodded quickly, but paused, unsure if he’d further upset the careful balance of not quite discussing your clearly mutual feelings. 

You laughed a little, but stopped yourself. “When do you think it’ll be time to stop dancing around each other?” 

He smiled gently, “When I make it back to you.” 

“I see,” you nod, seriously, “I think I can wait that long.”

“Well, I’d hope so since we’ve both waited this long,” he shrugged.

You took in a sharp breath, “Just make sure you do come back.” 

“Oh, it’s a done deal now,” he deadpanned, “all I needed was a little motivation.” You laughed quietly, shaking your head. You stood to walk away before stopping yourself.

Crouching down again, you wrapped your arms around him and set your chin on his shoulder.

“I’ll be seeing you,” you whispered with a quiet confidence. He turned his head, trying to glance at you from the corner of his eye. You bumped your temple to his before pulling away and leaving him to his thoughts.  

——————————————

The next day was all lounging and eating and watching trashy Capitol-made programming. You periodically interrupted a busy schedule of relaxing with strategy talks. Darla seemed displeased, but they were discussions you needed to have.

“If you can’t find any allies straight out the gate, I want you to go off on your own,” you said seriously over lunch, and Darla’s face scrunched up.

“Can we not?” She took a big bite of her sandwich.

You shook your head, “We’ve got enough sponsors that I can send you a weapon right away, you wouldn’t even have to bother with the Cornucopia. Scope it out first and make your choice in the moment.”

Darla swallowed harshly, and set her jaw. You could tell she wasn’t happy about these conversations. She was more the act first-think later type.

“Fine,” she said, finally. Darla moodily picked up her sandwich again.

“You know I’ll be watching the whole time, right?” You took a breath. “Even if things go wrong, I’ve got you,” you promised, “okay?”

Some of the tension in her shoulders eased at that, “okay.”

“Good,” you smiled, “let’s go eat on the couch.” Darla was happy to oblige to that request.

The two of you were parked on the couch well into the evening, laughing and talking and trying to make the most of what could be your last night together.

——————————————

You woke up to some rustling, a little groggy. It was still dark out, and for a second you couldn’t place where you were. Still on the couch, you realized. Your vision cleared up when you rubbed your eyes, blanket falling from your shoulders. When did that get there? 

Artificial light came shining in from the hall, and you realized what you had awoken in time for. 

Just as Darla was about to step through the doorway, you called out to her. 

“Hey,” she spun quickly, “don’t die.” 

“That’s your big advice?” Her tone disguised her clear amusement. 

“I am an expert,” you said, voice was still scratchy from sleep. She only smiled and shook her head, walking through the doorway before she could beg to stay. 

The sun rose, and light crept into the roomy penthouse as you stayed frozen, staring at the door. You only looked away when the TV clicked on and the hour-long pre-Games broadcast began.

It took half that time for you to get dressed and another few minutes to find a quiet lounge in the lobby. Not that you could settle comfortably into it. It didn't escape your notice that your hands were already shaking with nerves. You took to pacing as a distraction.

"If you stress too much now you won't have enough left for later," A gruff voice chimed from behind you.

"I've got stress to spare," you shot back, still pacing. As much as his comment annoyed you, you were glad Haymitch was there. His presence would certainly ground you, and remind you that you weren't the one back in the games. You were safely in the Capitol, though if all went according to plan you wouldn't be for long. Not that anything within the Games ever went according to plan.

The start of the countdown pulled you from your thoughts, and you stopped in place. Wide-eyed, your gaze was locked on the screen.

5

4

3

2

"Salud," Haymitch said, raising his glass and taking a drink. When he had fixed it for himself, you weren't sure. You snatched it from his hand as the cannon went off.

Fear iced your fingers as you watched the tributes dive in. You couldn't help but take a sip yourself.

———————————

This is much later than I wanted it to be y'all - sorry shit's been stressful <3 thx for reading

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I'm so glad you liked it 🥹

An American in London

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: One of Benedict's old schoolmates enlists his help with wooing his American penpal, but when Benedict (literally) runs into her travel companion, things take a turn

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: blood (nosebleed)

"Why, exactly, have you dragged me here?" Benedict bemoaned, looking around the nearly empty hotel bar. There were plenty of better places to drink in the city.

"Because tomorrow morning we are meeting my hopefully lovely pen pal here," came the arrogant voice of one of Benedict's old school friends. Charles had made no effort to continue their friendship into adulthood until earlier that day.

"We?" Benedict asked, skeptically as they sat.

"Yes, we," Charles nodded, motioning for drinks to be brought over. "You are to help me impress the girl and play chaperone."

Benedict squinted at him, "Why would I do that?"

"Do you have anything better to do?" Charles shrugged. Benedict blinked at him for a minute. The truth was, after dropping out of the academy, he did not. He had actually been rather bored as of late.

"Fine," he swallowed bitterly.

"Excellent!" Charles sprang up from his seat, "I'll be by Bridgerton house at ten tomorrow to pick you up."

"Where are you going?" Benedict asked as the man began walking off.

"I have an appointment," Charles called back, and Benedict rolled his eyes. He polished off his drink before putting some money on the table. Of course, Charles had left that to him. He made quickly for the side exit and frustratedly shoved the door open.

A pained cry drew his attention as he stepped out, and he found a young woman with her hand clapped over her nose. All previous annoyance seeped from him instantly. Guilt and shame flooded into its place as he rushed to check on you.

“Are you quite alright miss?”

“Not quite,” the muffled American accent caught him off guard.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he rushed out, eyes full of earnest regret. He grabbed the handkerchief from the pocket over his chest and reached toward your face with it. You reared back, hand still firmly covering your nose, though he swore he could see deep crimson starting to leak out.

“Will you let me have a look?”

“Oh, no,” you firmly shook her head, laughing without any humor, “I have had enough embarrassment for one night. I will not end my evening by bleeding on some random English gentleman.”

You began walking in the opposite direction, but he was quick to follow.

“Please, allow me to make amends, I feel at fault for-“

“You are at fault!” You stopped in your tracks to fix him with a glare.

He blinked back at you, “Well, yes, but I-“

“Unless you’d like to ram a door into your own nose, I’ve seen more than enough of you tonight, thank you,” you snapped, turning to leave. Before you could, you felt a drip of blood fall from your hand onto your dress. You let out a frustrated groan and turned back toward the stranger, snatching his still-outstretched handkerchief. 

Working fast, you wiped your bloody palm, then your face. All the while, the concerned gentleman looked on in worry. Once you’d wiped the excess, you held the cloth up to your nose to catch any more.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” He nervously straightened his jacket.

“Perhaps not,” you shook your head, “if you introduce yourself we might just meet again, and you should pray for that not to happen.”

You might’ve laughed at his expression if your nose didn’t ache like hell. “Goodnight!” You said with faux cheer, as you left him standing in confusion.

“Goodnight?” You hardly registered his weak reply.

----------------------------

Benedict woke up on the floor after being violently tugged off the small sofa in his room. He'd been so absorbed with his sketch he hadn't even made it to bed last night.

"Come on then, Bridgerton," Charles' voice taunted from above him, "up and at 'em."

Benedict rolled his eyes as he pushed himself off of the floor, catching sight of the prior night's labors as he stood. A pair of intense eyes stared back at him, and since you'd kept the rest of your face closely covered, a swath of ruby replaced everything below the bridge of your nose. He tried to casually cover the piece before Charles could butt in and ask about it.

"I thought we agreed upon ten," Benedict told the man, stifling a yawn.

"It is ten," Charles snapped, and Benedict winced.

"A moment, then," he requested.

Charles rolled his eyes, "Make it fast, Bridgerton." Benedict rushed to dress in fresh clothing and fix his hair as quickly as possible. Being late would be an early point against him in making both England and Charles seem appealing. Not that those were easy tasks to begin with.

Luckily, he managed a quick turnaround, and a carriage waited outside for them. The grey sky, however, promised rain, yet another factor working against him.

Thanks to a hefty tip to the driver, the men were no more than five minutes late.

"Remind me of her name again," Benedict asked as the two exited the carriage.

Charles glared at him, "I swear to God if you-"

"Just tell me her name," they breezed through the door to the cafe within the hotel.

"Sarah," Charles said, scanning the room, "Sarah!"

A young woman had raced over, and likely would have embraced Charles had she not been held back by the elbow. The woman who prevented the social faux pas was instantly familiar to Benedict when he met the same pair of fierce eyes he'd stayed up too late sketching. Then took the time to examine the rest of your pretty face, though it was marred by a bruised nose. He had to hold back a wince at his own accidental handiwork.

When Charles elbowed him in the ribs, he tuned back into the conversation. Charles not-so-subtly nodded towards Sarah.

"Very fine to meet you, Sarah," he said, hoping he'd assessed the situation correctly. Pleased laughter from the lady told him he had.

"And you," she nodded, "I'd like you both to meet my dearest friend." Sarah introduced you, nudging you forward a bit.

You smiled reluctantly, "Nice to meet you, gentlemen." When you locked eyes again, your smile grew wider yet more mocking. Charles dipped his hat, but Benedict bowed to kiss your hand. Doing everything possible to enter your good graces couldn't hurt.

"Might I ask how you injured your nose?" Charles ventured. Benedict tensed and he saw your jaw clench.

Sarah, however, laughed good-naturedly, "Oh, you'll laugh at this Charles," she turned to you, "go on."

"Silly me, I walked right into a door," you said, tone bordering on teasing. To anyone else, it might’ve come off as humorously self-deprecating. Anyone else might’ve thought you clumsy or perhaps a little ditsy, but Benedict knew better. Benedict could see the threat behind your eyes.

"Well, that's not funny," Charles admonished Sarah, "I'm sorry you're hurt." Sarah seemed surprised but mildly impressed. You, too, seemed content with his answer. One point for Charles.

"Are you in much pain?" Benedict asked, hoping the answer would be no.

You blinked at him, mischief sparkling in your eyes. "Only when I breath," you nodded, deadly serious, but he saw the way your mouth fought a grin.

"That's awful," Charles said, sympathetically. "You couldn't find some medicine or some powder to cover the bruise?" He asked that to Sarah, and Benedict saw your expression shift. One point against Charles.

"I wear my wounds with pride," you challenged. Benedict was once again reminded that your wound was his fault while Charles seemed to struggle for a reply.

"Shall we sit?" Your well-mannered question seemed to Benedict to be the first victory of inevitably multiple challenges to Charles. He wondered if that was your purpose in accompanying Sarah from the States- to determine if Charles was up to snuff.

The four of you were nearly finished enjoying tea and scones when you pulled out the handkerchief you'd taken last night. It was pink, presumably from you trying to wash out the blood. Benedict choked on his sip of tea as you wiped the crumbs from your lips with it.

"When did you buy that?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, I'm only borrowing it until I get the favor I'm owed," Benedict gulped at that. You weren't kidding last night when you said he should hope to never run into you again. Though he did have trouble agreeing at the moment, and somehow, even still.

Sarah easily dismissed your comment and reengaged Charles in conversation. Benedict's attention remained on you, however, and you cheekily tilted your head at him.

Your eyes remained locked with his before you started speaking, "Perhaps you two would like to take a stroll of the hotel gardens before we leave for whatever plans you've made for the day."

Charles nodded at this, "An excellent idea." He walked around the table to offer Sarah a hand. When the two were out of hearing range, Benedict turned back to you.

"Will this favor earn me your forgiveness?" He asked, "Because I really do feel terribly about-"

"Stop," you said, "It's fine. Sarah had no problem believing I still have sea legs and tripped into a door."

Benedict's shoulders drooped as he breathed in relief. "But are you in pain? I couldn't tell if you were serious earlier."

Your expression became softer, "Only a little." He was relieved by that answer. "But I wasn't kidding about the favor," you reminded, sternly.

He froze, "And what favor do you require?"

"I'd like a full report of Charles' background, personality, what he does in his free time," you listed off, "anything of the like."

The questioning glance he gave you encouraged you to elaborate.

"Look," you said with a huff. "Sarah's mom is over the moon about this. Marrying her daughter off to an English lord will boost her social status by leaps and bounds. Her father, however, is not so convinced. Mr. Du Pont has always been kind to me, so when he asked me to assess this potential marriage, I gave him my word."

Benedict nodded, "And you'd like me to inform you on Charles, so you can inform Mr. Du Pont on Charles."

"Exactly," you said simply.

"That's rather funny, you know, Charles asked me to help woo Sarah and convince her he's worth a permanent trip across the Atlantic," he said, and you raised a brow.

"Are you trying to repent for hitting Charles in the face with a door?"

Benedict blinked, "What would you do if I said yes?"

"Help me," you snarled.

He raised his hands defensively, "All right! How am I meant to do that?"

"Have pertinent information sent to my hotel suite," you shrugged.

"Fine," Benedict assented after a minute.

"What's fine?" Sarah asked, having just returned with Charles. Her tinkling voice took him by surprise, and he laughed nervously.

"These biscuits," he said, standing, "they're very fine, I may even take some to go." Benedict stuffed two of the shortbread biscuits into his pocket and regretted it soon after. He regretted it even more after catching Charles' nasty glare at him.

Taking a sharp breath, he turned to offer you his arm, "Shall we?"

You politely took his arm, repressing your laughter. As Sarah and Charles walked on ahead, you leaned in, "Save one for me." Benedict lightly snorted before catching himself, but you seemed pleased at his laughter.

----------------------------

As weeks began to pass, notes from Benedict began to pile up. They were originally only about Charles, but as you started sending replies, the notes grew more conversational.

Sarah certainly only grew more besotted with time, and you were beginning to worry she'd rubbed off on you. The more time you spent with Benedict by way of monitoring Sarah and Charles, the more you found him positively charming.

His good looks were apparent from the beginning and made the door incident all the worse for you, but you'd recently grown fond of his personality.

Last week's art gallery found you admiring him while he spoke passionately of the use of light in one of the paintings you'd come across. You'd only snapped out of it was he asked your thoughts on the piece. The most you could muster up was that you absolutely agreed.

As the two of you chaperoned countless walks and lunches, you conversed about any and everything. Benedict told you of his artwork and promised to eventually show you some of it after you asked a few times. You told him of your own passions, and how they were often trampled by society's expectations. He confessed that since both his older and one of his younger brothers had been recently married, his mother had been nagging him about finding someone.

"I think it's important to be comfortable alone," you'd told him on one particularly breezy walk. "You shouldn't make do with someone else's life when you can't be content with your own."

"Come again?"

"I only mean it's unfair to put certain expectations on a spouse," you shrugged, "No one is who anyone else wants them to be, and trying to force people to be what they are not leads to unhappy marriages."

"In that case, I'm glad no one expects a thing from me," Benedict said.

You laughed a little, "I don't think people expect much of me either. At least we won't let anyone down."

"Setting the bar low," he nodded, smiling, "I like it." Your laughter drew a smile to his face.

----------------------------

A few months had gone by, and Benedict was overjoyed when Charles proposed to Sarah. He was happy for the two of them, sure, but mostly, he was glad your stay had been extended. You'd become such a fixture in his life that he struggled to imagine a time after your visit.

Your return tickets were canceled. Instead, Sarah's parents had booked their spots on a ship sailing over to England. They wanted to plan their daughter's wedding and see her well-adjusted in her new homeland.

"What will your first report to Mr. Du Pont entail, then?" Benedict asked you. The two of you had been tasked with greeting Sarah's parents upon their arrival, and you sat opposite each other in a carriage.

"What makes you think this will be my first report?" You raised a brow at him.

"You've been exchanging letters across the Atlantic about Charles? He's nowhere near interesting enough for that," Benedict told you, inspiring a grin.

"They're mostly about mine and Sarah's time here. She's not great at staying in touch- yet another reason they sent me along," you said. "But you're right, I have yet to form a full opinion on Charles. I go back and forth, but I trust your judgment."

Benedict's eyes widened at the admission as you pulled up to your destination. He exited the carriage first to helpfully offer you his hand. To his displeasure, you pulled away all too soon when you saw the Du Ponts.

Mrs. Du Pont cheerfully called your name as you rushed excitedly towards them. Benedict smiled as he watched you greet the older couple. They were clearly quite fond of you.

It took a minute before they registered his presence.

"Where is Sarah? And who is this gentleman?" Mrs. Du Pont asked you, trying to lower her voice for the latter question.

You perked up, "This is Mr. Benedict Bridgerton." You grabbed his forearm and pulled him closer to the conversation. "He's a friend of Charles. They've both been showing us the best of England!"

"So this is Benedict!" Mr. Du Pont said happily, "I've read a lot about you."

Benedict shot you a questioning look as he shook the older man's hand, "You have?"

"Oh yes," the man nodded despite you shaking your head at him. When Benedict turned to you again, you stopped and let an angelic smile grace your face. His smirk told you you'd been caught. Oh well, if he asked, you'd simply tell the truth. He was by far the most interesting part of Great Britain.

----------------------------

Wedding preparations had been running smoothly, and soon enough Benedict was out with a group of high society men to celebrate the impending nuptials.

The men were a few drinks deep when Charles made a toast, "Soon, lads, I will no longer be a free man, so you best believe I will enjoy it while it lasts."

Benedict was not sure he appreciated that sentiment, but let it pass as his other companions gave cries of, "Here, here!"

Drinking eventually turned to debauchery, and Benedict soon felt crowded at the table slowly attracting more women of the night. He excused himself to find another drink. Upon his return, however, he found Charles happily skipping off with one of them.

"Charles?!"

The man's attention turned to him, "Don't wait up, Bridgerton!" Charles laughed, and Benedict felt his face drop.

"Don't tell me..."

"Oh lighten up mate," Charles shrugged, "it's not like it counts."

Benedict blinked as his old school friend sauntered off with the woman. Every time he drank with men of the ton, it became more apparent that Violet Bridgerton's parenting methods were not widespread.

----------------------------

When he woke up in the hotel suite the next morning, Benedict spent a few blissful moments without the memory of the prior night. When he did remember, he tried to brush it off as a drunken illusion. Only, logic won out in the end. He hadn't drunk that much, and he had very clearly seen the scene with his own eyes.

Why did Charles have to go and make a mess of things? Everything had been going swimmingly. Now, just because the man couldn't keep it in his pants, countless hours of wedding planning would go down the drain. Sarah would be inconsolable, her parents would be furious, and they'd all be going back home. You'd be going back home. Shit.

He agonized over the situation, pacing the floor for an hour before Charles waltzed in.

"Are you only now getting back?" Benedict asked him, taking in the disheveled clothing Charles had been wearing the night prior.

"What can I say? I certainly enjoyed myself," Charles said smugly. He walked off, presumably to freshen up, but Benedict called after him.

"Charles?" The man turned, "You wouldn't... engage in that sort of behavior as a married man?"

Charles chuckled a bit, "Bridgerton, prostitutes don't count," that was concerning, "That sort of revelry was a one-time thing." That was... a bit better? Benedict let out a miserable groan.

----------------------------

Your bright eyes at the wedding rehearsal made him briefly forget his troubles. Once you were both in the proper position, Benedict didn't bother to pay attention. In fact, he pretty much just stared at you from across the altar. You looked good up there. He liked seeing you at the altar. He liked being across from you at the altar.

He was in trouble.

You whispered to him as he escorted you back down the aisle when the faux-service was over. Being best-man did afford him some benefits. "Guess what?"

"What?" He smiled down at you.

"The Du Ponts are thinking of staying indefinitely," you said, secretively, "they bought a house here. They've invited me to stay with them."

"Oh," he said, sense suddenly knocked back into him.

"It's looking like I might be in your hair a while longer."

Benedict quite nearly told you to stay in his hair as long as you cared to but felt it might be too forward. He also felt you'd make a lice joke at his expense. Your sharp sense of humor was one of the many things he found charming about you and one of the many reasons he did not want to let you go.

But if Charles and Sarah were getting married, you were staying. The Du Ponts were staying.

Just how bad was some debauchery at a stag party, really? In the grand scheme of things?

"Oh, how was the gentlemen's party?" You asked, excitedly, "I hope none of you behaved too poorly."

A nervous laugh bubbled from his mouth, "No. No, just the usual level of poor behavior." Fuck.

"Glad to hear it," you nodded. "Was Charles drunk out of his mind?" You laughed a bit.

"Quite possibly," Benedict said, smiling uncomfortably. The man was definitely out of his mind. Whether it could be attributed to the drink Benedict wasn't sure.

"Well, thanks for keeping an eye on him," you said, giving his arm a squeeze.

He was in big trouble.

----------------------------

On the morning of the wedding, Benedict was jittery. In a hallway of the church, he kept nervously adjusting his collar. A steady pair of hands pulled his away, and he looked up to find you fixing his collar.

"Stop touching it," you told him as you worked, "it looks good."

"Right," he breathed stiffly.

"And try not to look like you're attending a funeral," you reminded him, smirking. "Oh! I have something for you," you pulled the handkerchief he'd given you when you first met out of a small bag. Pressing it into his hand, you smiled up at him, "favor complete. Consider us even."

He could only nod at you as you began to retreat.

"I'm off to help Sarah. See you soon!"

Benedict gazed after you, guilt creeping in.

"I'm relieved she's kept such a close eye on Sarah," Mr. Du Pont suddenly appeared beside him, "but I should've expected it. The two have been like sisters ever since..."

"Since?' Benedict asked him curiously while straightening his bow tie.

"Well, we took her in some years back when her family passed," the older man explained.

As much as Benedict thought he'd gotten to know you, it seemed you'd yet to feel comfortable enough to tell him that, "I hadn't known."

"No," Du Pont shook his head, "she doesn't like to talk about it. Hates having to bear people's pity."

That, Benedict could understand. He had found that to be one of the worst parts of the aftermath of his father's death.

"But it's been a pleasure to have her in our family. I'm only happy it's expanding! Hopefully, she'll have nieces and nephews soon," Sarah's father looked around before leaning in a bit, "I'm hoping for lots of grandchildren. I'll be perfectly happy when both my girls have good, loyal husbands at their side. It seems we're almost there!" With a pat on Benedict's shoulder, Mr. Du Pont walked off, "I'll see you in there."

Benedict nodded absently. Oh. He had mucked things up. He had really, really mucked things up.

Benedict paled a little. In his bid to keep you by his side as long as possible he'd neglected all other considerations. Including the life and happiness of your sister in all but blood. This wedding was very real and very imminent. And despite the time he dreamt it was the two of you getting married, his feelings were not nearly the most important of those involved.

Sarah was about to marry a man who had cheated on her only two nights prior.

But Charles had said it was a one-time thing. A last hooray before settling down. He'd said that prostitutes do not count anyway and- oh.

Benedict sharply inhaled when he realized his own foolishness. How had he not seen this? The bars they'd visited in the past months were all down the street from the one they'd entered two nights ago- the one next to the brothel. Each time he would excuse himself to retire to his home, Charles had stayed.

A fool, indeed. He'd been so enamored and distracted with you that his spy work on your behalf was entirely lackluster. Worse yet, when he did find pertinent information out, he had lied.

He had to make it right.

Benedict raised his fist to knock on the door of the room Sarah had taken over. Before he could, it swung open. You smiled at him, a little confused.

"You know you're only supposed to escort me down the aisle," you joked, "You don't have to start this far back."

He shook his head grimly, and your face fell. "I need to talk to you," he looked up to find Sarah behind you, "both of you."

You stepped aside and let Benedict in, nervous at his shift in attitude.

"You cannot marry him," Benedict had summoned all of his nerve to say the words and looked Sarah square in the eye when he did so. She deserved that much. She deserved the truth.

"What?" Sarah asked skeptically. She was already in her wedding gown. She had no idea what was happening.

"Benedict, what are you talking about?" Your question was quieter, but you were deadly serious. As soon as he said it you knew something was wrong, and he was right in bringing it to Sarah.

He swallowed when he looked into your eyes, "I lied to you." You felt like he'd just slammed a door in your face again. "Charles did behave poorly the other night. In fact, I think he's been behaving poorly for months and I've been too blind to see it."

"What? He was drinking?" Sarah asked, "I knew that would happen."

"No," Benedict shook his head, "He was with- with other women."

And with that, Sarah was out the door. You, however, could not bring yourself to follow. You were frozen to the floor, looking at the man you'd trusted with glassy eyes.

"You lied to me," you whispered.

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head, laughing a little. The sound was sad, "I guess I broke my own rule." His eyes pleaded with you, but it was far from enough, "I expected too much from you. You couldn't help but let me down." His heart sank.

Finally, you turned to race after Sarah. Benedict was hot on your trail, "Please-"

"Oh, this is not over," you called over your shoulder, "but we have more pressing matters to deal with."

You stopped dead in your tracks after rounding a corner. It was so abrupt that Benedict could not slow his own pace enough not to bump into you. You both stumbled a bit but recovered in time to see Sarah slap Charles in the face. She then marched out of the church with her head held high.

Mrs. Du Pont followed her straight away. And Charles rushed after them both. Mr. Du Pont stopped only to briefly speak to you, "Would you both be so kind as to handle-"

"Consider it done," Benedict said. You sent him a sidelong glance before begrudgingly nodding at the man who had taken you in. Mr. Du Pont left to chase after his wife and daughter, leaving you and Benedict to dismiss guests and try to cancel vendors.

----------------------------

A long and tiresome day of working to undo weeks of wedding planning and avoiding the sad blue eyes that followed your every move ended in your hotel's garden. More specifically, eating the wedding cake that could not be returned in the hotel garden. You had very generously given most of it to the hotel staff. But you saved the top tier for yourself.

Draped across a bench, you stabbed into it with a fork. As you did, the charming figurine of Sarah and Charles fell from its place. You did not hesitate to grab the miniature and toss it into some shrubs.

"Rather harsh, don't you think?" A familiar voice drew your attention. You huffed when you saw who it was.

Benedict Bridgerton slowly made his way over to your bench. He gestured towards your legs, silently asking you to make room for him on the bench. When you didn't move, he simply sat himself parallel to you on the gravel floor.

"I am sorry," he said after some silence, looking straight ahead.

"I know," you nodded, not yet looking at him, "I suppose I am too."

"Whatever for?" Benedict's surprise broke the quietness of the moment, and he gazed at you questioningly.

You shrugged, still not looking at him, "I should have known better than to think you'd prioritize me over him. Charles is your friend."

"Maybe," he spat defensively, "but you're-" He cut himself off.

"What am I? To you?" You asked, now looking intently into his eyes, trying to discern his thoughts.

Benedict inhaled a large breath before telling you the God's honest truth, "When I realized what Charles was doing, I also realized that you would leave England with Sarah almost as soon as you found out. And I wanted you to stay." He paused, " I want you to stay."

Your lips parted as if to say something in return, but he barreled on, "I behaved selfishly, and I am a beast for it, but you were always my priority. Do not dream of thinking otherwise."

You swung your legs off of the bench and leaned forward towards him. Stabbing a bite of cake with your fork, you stuck it out to him in a gesture of peace. He cautiously ate the cake from your fork, waiting for you to say something. You took another bite before you did.

"A ship sets sail tomorrow," you said lightly, "back across the Atlantic." And with it, his hopes would sink. "I secured three tickets on it this morning."

Benedict blinked. That didn't add up right. "Is Mr. Du Pont stay-"

You quickly shook your head, and things started to click in place for him.

"Mrs. Du Pont?"

Your smirk started to grow.

"Sarah?"

"Now you're being deliberately obtuse," you mocked.

He grinned up at you, "Then...?"

"The Du Ponts need someone to mind their new manor in the English countryside. Who better than their favorite non-daughter?" You shrugged happily.

"Will you not get lonely in such a large estate out in the country?" Benedict asked teasingly.

You smiled playfully at him, "Then I should hope someone will be kind enough to call on me." Benedict looked rather self-satisfied at that. "I should only hope they clean up before they do."

His confusion was answered when you took a handful of cake and smeared it down the left side of his face. He stuck his tongue in his cheek to try not to laugh. It was well-played and deserved.

"Now we're even," you whispered close to his face before standing and walking away.

"Jokes on you," he shouted after you, "it tastes better like this!" Your laughter filled the night air, and he was happy to have made such sweet amends.

--------------------------------------------------------

I love Benedict sooo much!!! I wrote this super quick after watching the new season, so sorry if anything didn't make sense

Thanks for reading <3

(also sorry for any historical inaccuracies or whatever but this is Bridgerton we're talking about )

[gogobootz1]

An American in London

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: One of Benedict's old schoolmates enlists his help with wooing his American penpal, but when Benedict (literally) runs into her travel companion, things take a turn

Word Count: 5k

Warnings: blood (nosebleed)

"Why, exactly, have you dragged me here?" Benedict bemoaned, looking around the nearly empty hotel bar. There were plenty of better places to drink in the city.

"Because tomorrow morning we are meeting my hopefully lovely pen pal here," came the arrogant voice of one of Benedict's old school friends. Charles had made no effort to continue their friendship into adulthood until earlier that day.

"We?" Benedict asked, skeptically as they sat.

"Yes, we," Charles nodded, motioning for drinks to be brought over. "You are to help me impress the girl and play chaperone."

Benedict squinted at him, "Why would I do that?"

"Do you have anything better to do?" Charles shrugged. Benedict blinked at him for a minute. The truth was, after dropping out of the academy, he did not. He had actually been rather bored as of late.

"Fine," he swallowed bitterly.

"Excellent!" Charles sprang up from his seat, "I'll be by Bridgerton house at ten tomorrow to pick you up."

"Where are you going?" Benedict asked as the man began walking off.

"I have an appointment," Charles called back, and Benedict rolled his eyes. He polished off his drink before putting some money on the table. Of course, Charles had left that to him. He made quickly for the side exit and frustratedly shoved the door open.

A pained cry drew his attention as he stepped out, and he found a young woman with her hand clapped over her nose. All previous annoyance seeped from him instantly. Guilt and shame flooded into its place as he rushed to check on you.

“Are you quite alright miss?”

“Not quite,” the muffled American accent caught him off guard.

“I’m terribly sorry,” he rushed out, eyes full of earnest regret. He grabbed the handkerchief from the pocket over his chest and reached toward your face with it. You reared back, hand still firmly covering your nose, though he swore he could see deep crimson starting to leak out.

“Will you let me have a look?”

“Oh, no,” you firmly shook her head, laughing without any humor, “I have had enough embarrassment for one night. I will not end my evening by bleeding on some random English gentleman.”

You began walking in the opposite direction, but he was quick to follow.

“Please, allow me to make amends, I feel at fault for-“

“You are at fault!” You stopped in your tracks to fix him with a glare.

He blinked back at you, “Well, yes, but I-“

“Unless you’d like to ram a door into your own nose, I’ve seen more than enough of you tonight, thank you,” you snapped, turning to leave. Before you could, you felt a drip of blood fall from your hand onto your dress. You let out a frustrated groan and turned back toward the stranger, snatching his still-outstretched handkerchief. 

Working fast, you wiped your bloody palm, then your face. All the while, the concerned gentleman looked on in worry. Once you’d wiped the excess, you held the cloth up to your nose to catch any more.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself,” He nervously straightened his jacket.

“Perhaps not,” you shook your head, “if you introduce yourself we might just meet again, and you should pray for that not to happen.”

You might’ve laughed at his expression if your nose didn’t ache like hell. “Goodnight!” You said with faux cheer, as you left him standing in confusion.

“Goodnight?” You hardly registered his weak reply.

----------------------------

Benedict woke up on the floor after being violently tugged off the small sofa in his room. He'd been so absorbed with his sketch he hadn't even made it to bed last night.

"Come on then, Bridgerton," Charles' voice taunted from above him, "up and at 'em."

Benedict rolled his eyes as he pushed himself off of the floor, catching sight of the prior night's labors as he stood. A pair of intense eyes stared back at him, and since you'd kept the rest of your face closely covered, a swath of ruby replaced everything below the bridge of your nose. He tried to casually cover the piece before Charles could butt in and ask about it.

"I thought we agreed upon ten," Benedict told the man, stifling a yawn.

"It is ten," Charles snapped, and Benedict winced.

"A moment, then," he requested.

Charles rolled his eyes, "Make it fast, Bridgerton." Benedict rushed to dress in fresh clothing and fix his hair as quickly as possible. Being late would be an early point against him in making both England and Charles seem appealing. Not that those were easy tasks to begin with.

Luckily, he managed a quick turnaround, and a carriage waited outside for them. The grey sky, however, promised rain, yet another factor working against him.

Thanks to a hefty tip to the driver, the men were no more than five minutes late.

"Remind me of her name again," Benedict asked as the two exited the carriage.

Charles glared at him, "I swear to God if you-"

"Just tell me her name," they breezed through the door to the cafe within the hotel.

"Sarah," Charles said, scanning the room, "Sarah!"

A young woman had raced over, and likely would have embraced Charles had she not been held back by the elbow. The woman who prevented the social faux pas was instantly familiar to Benedict when he met the same pair of fierce eyes he'd stayed up too late sketching. Then took the time to examine the rest of your pretty face, though it was marred by a bruised nose. He had to hold back a wince at his own accidental handiwork.

When Charles elbowed him in the ribs, he tuned back into the conversation. Charles not-so-subtly nodded towards Sarah.

"Very fine to meet you, Sarah," he said, hoping he'd assessed the situation correctly. Pleased laughter from the lady told him he had.

"And you," she nodded, "I'd like you both to meet my dearest friend." Sarah introduced you, nudging you forward a bit.

You smiled reluctantly, "Nice to meet you, gentlemen." When you locked eyes again, your smile grew wider yet more mocking. Charles dipped his hat, but Benedict bowed to kiss your hand. Doing everything possible to enter your good graces couldn't hurt.

"Might I ask how you injured your nose?" Charles ventured. Benedict tensed and he saw your jaw clench.

Sarah, however, laughed good-naturedly, "Oh, you'll laugh at this Charles," she turned to you, "go on."

"Silly me, I walked right into a door," you said, tone bordering on teasing. To anyone else, it might’ve come off as humorously self-deprecating. Anyone else might’ve thought you clumsy or perhaps a little ditsy, but Benedict knew better. Benedict could see the threat behind your eyes.

"Well, that's not funny," Charles admonished Sarah, "I'm sorry you're hurt." Sarah seemed surprised but mildly impressed. You, too, seemed content with his answer. One point for Charles.

"Are you in much pain?" Benedict asked, hoping the answer would be no.

You blinked at him, mischief sparkling in your eyes. "Only when I breath," you nodded, deadly serious, but he saw the way your mouth fought a grin.

"That's awful," Charles said, sympathetically. "You couldn't find some medicine or some powder to cover the bruise?" He asked that to Sarah, and Benedict saw your expression shift. One point against Charles.

"I wear my wounds with pride," you challenged. Benedict was once again reminded that your wound was his fault while Charles seemed to struggle for a reply.

"Shall we sit?" Your well-mannered question seemed to Benedict to be the first victory of inevitably multiple challenges to Charles. He wondered if that was your purpose in accompanying Sarah from the States- to determine if Charles was up to snuff.

The four of you were nearly finished enjoying tea and scones when you pulled out the handkerchief you'd taken last night. It was pink, presumably from you trying to wash out the blood. Benedict choked on his sip of tea as you wiped the crumbs from your lips with it.

"When did you buy that?" Sarah asked.

"Oh, I'm only borrowing it until I get the favor I'm owed," Benedict gulped at that. You weren't kidding last night when you said he should hope to never run into you again. Though he did have trouble agreeing at the moment, and somehow, even still.

Sarah easily dismissed your comment and reengaged Charles in conversation. Benedict's attention remained on you, however, and you cheekily tilted your head at him.

Your eyes remained locked with his before you started speaking, "Perhaps you two would like to take a stroll of the hotel gardens before we leave for whatever plans you've made for the day."

Charles nodded at this, "An excellent idea." He walked around the table to offer Sarah a hand. When the two were out of hearing range, Benedict turned back to you.

"Will this favor earn me your forgiveness?" He asked, "Because I really do feel terribly about-"

"Stop," you said, "It's fine. Sarah had no problem believing I still have sea legs and tripped into a door."

Benedict's shoulders drooped as he breathed in relief. "But are you in pain? I couldn't tell if you were serious earlier."

Your expression became softer, "Only a little." He was relieved by that answer. "But I wasn't kidding about the favor," you reminded, sternly.

He froze, "And what favor do you require?"

"I'd like a full report of Charles' background, personality, what he does in his free time," you listed off, "anything of the like."

The questioning glance he gave you encouraged you to elaborate.

"Look," you said with a huff. "Sarah's mom is over the moon about this. Marrying her daughter off to an English lord will boost her social status by leaps and bounds. Her father, however, is not so convinced. Mr. Du Pont has always been kind to me, so when he asked me to assess this potential marriage, I gave him my word."

Benedict nodded, "And you'd like me to inform you on Charles, so you can inform Mr. Du Pont on Charles."

"Exactly," you said simply.

"That's rather funny, you know, Charles asked me to help woo Sarah and convince her he's worth a permanent trip across the Atlantic," he said, and you raised a brow.

"Are you trying to repent for hitting Charles in the face with a door?"

Benedict blinked, "What would you do if I said yes?"

"Help me," you snarled.

He raised his hands defensively, "All right! How am I meant to do that?"

"Have pertinent information sent to my hotel suite," you shrugged.

"Fine," Benedict assented after a minute.

"What's fine?" Sarah asked, having just returned with Charles. Her tinkling voice took him by surprise, and he laughed nervously.

"These biscuits," he said, standing, "they're very fine, I may even take some to go." Benedict stuffed two of the shortbread biscuits into his pocket and regretted it soon after. He regretted it even more after catching Charles' nasty glare at him.

Taking a sharp breath, he turned to offer you his arm, "Shall we?"

You politely took his arm, repressing your laughter. As Sarah and Charles walked on ahead, you leaned in, "Save one for me." Benedict lightly snorted before catching himself, but you seemed pleased at his laughter.

----------------------------

As weeks began to pass, notes from Benedict began to pile up. They were originally only about Charles, but as you started sending replies, the notes grew more conversational.

Sarah certainly only grew more besotted with time, and you were beginning to worry she'd rubbed off on you. The more time you spent with Benedict by way of monitoring Sarah and Charles, the more you found him positively charming.

His good looks were apparent from the beginning and made the door incident all the worse for you, but you'd recently grown fond of his personality.

Last week's art gallery found you admiring him while he spoke passionately of the use of light in one of the paintings you'd come across. You'd only snapped out of it was he asked your thoughts on the piece. The most you could muster up was that you absolutely agreed.

As the two of you chaperoned countless walks and lunches, you conversed about any and everything. Benedict told you of his artwork and promised to eventually show you some of it after you asked a few times. You told him of your own passions, and how they were often trampled by society's expectations. He confessed that since both his older and one of his younger brothers had been recently married, his mother had been nagging him about finding someone.

"I think it's important to be comfortable alone," you'd told him on one particularly breezy walk. "You shouldn't make do with someone else's life when you can't be content with your own."

"Come again?"

"I only mean it's unfair to put certain expectations on a spouse," you shrugged, "No one is who anyone else wants them to be, and trying to force people to be what they are not leads to unhappy marriages."

"In that case, I'm glad no one expects a thing from me," Benedict said.

You laughed a little, "I don't think people expect much of me either. At least we won't let anyone down."

"Setting the bar low," he nodded, smiling, "I like it." Your laughter drew a smile to his face.

----------------------------

A few months had gone by, and Benedict was overjoyed when Charles proposed to Sarah. He was happy for the two of them, sure, but mostly, he was glad your stay had been extended. You'd become such a fixture in his life that he struggled to imagine a time after your visit.

Your return tickets were canceled. Instead, Sarah's parents had booked their spots on a ship sailing over to England. They wanted to plan their daughter's wedding and see her well-adjusted in her new homeland.

"What will your first report to Mr. Du Pont entail, then?" Benedict asked you. The two of you had been tasked with greeting Sarah's parents upon their arrival, and you sat opposite each other in a carriage.

"What makes you think this will be my first report?" You raised a brow at him.

"You've been exchanging letters across the Atlantic about Charles? He's nowhere near interesting enough for that," Benedict told you, inspiring a grin.

"They're mostly about mine and Sarah's time here. She's not great at staying in touch- yet another reason they sent me along," you said. "But you're right, I have yet to form a full opinion on Charles. I go back and forth, but I trust your judgment."

Benedict's eyes widened at the admission as you pulled up to your destination. He exited the carriage first to helpfully offer you his hand. To his displeasure, you pulled away all too soon when you saw the Du Ponts.

Mrs. Du Pont cheerfully called your name as you rushed excitedly towards them. Benedict smiled as he watched you greet the older couple. They were clearly quite fond of you.

It took a minute before they registered his presence.

"Where is Sarah? And who is this gentleman?" Mrs. Du Pont asked you, trying to lower her voice for the latter question.

You perked up, "This is Mr. Benedict Bridgerton." You grabbed his forearm and pulled him closer to the conversation. "He's a friend of Charles. They've both been showing us the best of England!"

"So this is Benedict!" Mr. Du Pont said happily, "I've read a lot about you."

Benedict shot you a questioning look as he shook the older man's hand, "You have?"

"Oh yes," the man nodded despite you shaking your head at him. When Benedict turned to you again, you stopped and let an angelic smile grace your face. His smirk told you you'd been caught. Oh well, if he asked, you'd simply tell the truth. He was by far the most interesting part of Great Britain.

----------------------------

Wedding preparations had been running smoothly, and soon enough Benedict was out with a group of high society men to celebrate the impending nuptials.

The men were a few drinks deep when Charles made a toast, "Soon, lads, I will no longer be a free man, so you best believe I will enjoy it while it lasts."

Benedict was not sure he appreciated that sentiment, but let it pass as his other companions gave cries of, "Here, here!"

Drinking eventually turned to debauchery, and Benedict soon felt crowded at the table slowly attracting more women of the night. He excused himself to find another drink. Upon his return, however, he found Charles happily skipping off with one of them.

"Charles?!"

The man's attention turned to him, "Don't wait up, Bridgerton!" Charles laughed, and Benedict felt his face drop.

"Don't tell me..."

"Oh lighten up mate," Charles shrugged, "it's not like it counts."

Benedict blinked as his old school friend sauntered off with the woman. Every time he drank with men of the ton, it became more apparent that Violet Bridgerton's parenting methods were not widespread.

----------------------------

When he woke up in the hotel suite the next morning, Benedict spent a few blissful moments without the memory of the prior night. When he did remember, he tried to brush it off as a drunken illusion. Only, logic won out in the end. He hadn't drunk that much, and he had very clearly seen the scene with his own eyes.

Why did Charles have to go and make a mess of things? Everything had been going swimmingly. Now, just because the man couldn't keep it in his pants, countless hours of wedding planning would go down the drain. Sarah would be inconsolable, her parents would be furious, and they'd all be going back home. You'd be going back home. Shit.

He agonized over the situation, pacing the floor for an hour before Charles waltzed in.

"Are you only now getting back?" Benedict asked him, taking in the disheveled clothing Charles had been wearing the night prior.

"What can I say? I certainly enjoyed myself," Charles said smugly. He walked off, presumably to freshen up, but Benedict called after him.

"Charles?" The man turned, "You wouldn't... engage in that sort of behavior as a married man?"

Charles chuckled a bit, "Bridgerton, prostitutes don't count," that was concerning, "That sort of revelry was a one-time thing." That was... a bit better? Benedict let out a miserable groan.

----------------------------

Your bright eyes at the wedding rehearsal made him briefly forget his troubles. Once you were both in the proper position, Benedict didn't bother to pay attention. In fact, he pretty much just stared at you from across the altar. You looked good up there. He liked seeing you at the altar. He liked being across from you at the altar.

He was in trouble.

You whispered to him as he escorted you back down the aisle when the faux-service was over. Being best-man did afford him some benefits. "Guess what?"

"What?" He smiled down at you.

"The Du Ponts are thinking of staying indefinitely," you said, secretively, "they bought a house here. They've invited me to stay with them."

"Oh," he said, sense suddenly knocked back into him.

"It's looking like I might be in your hair a while longer."

Benedict quite nearly told you to stay in his hair as long as you cared to but felt it might be too forward. He also felt you'd make a lice joke at his expense. Your sharp sense of humor was one of the many things he found charming about you and one of the many reasons he did not want to let you go.

But if Charles and Sarah were getting married, you were staying. The Du Ponts were staying.

Just how bad was some debauchery at a stag party, really? In the grand scheme of things?

"Oh, how was the gentlemen's party?" You asked, excitedly, "I hope none of you behaved too poorly."

A nervous laugh bubbled from his mouth, "No. No, just the usual level of poor behavior." Fuck.

"Glad to hear it," you nodded. "Was Charles drunk out of his mind?" You laughed a bit.

"Quite possibly," Benedict said, smiling uncomfortably. The man was definitely out of his mind. Whether it could be attributed to the drink Benedict wasn't sure.

"Well, thanks for keeping an eye on him," you said, giving his arm a squeeze.

He was in big trouble.

----------------------------

On the morning of the wedding, Benedict was jittery. In a hallway of the church, he kept nervously adjusting his collar. A steady pair of hands pulled his away, and he looked up to find you fixing his collar.

"Stop touching it," you told him as you worked, "it looks good."

"Right," he breathed stiffly.

"And try not to look like you're attending a funeral," you reminded him, smirking. "Oh! I have something for you," you pulled the handkerchief he'd given you when you first met out of a small bag. Pressing it into his hand, you smiled up at him, "favor complete. Consider us even."

He could only nod at you as you began to retreat.

"I'm off to help Sarah. See you soon!"

Benedict gazed after you, guilt creeping in.

"I'm relieved she's kept such a close eye on Sarah," Mr. Du Pont suddenly appeared beside him, "but I should've expected it. The two have been like sisters ever since..."

"Since?' Benedict asked him curiously while straightening his bow tie.

"Well, we took her in some years back when her family passed," the older man explained.

As much as Benedict thought he'd gotten to know you, it seemed you'd yet to feel comfortable enough to tell him that, "I hadn't known."

"No," Du Pont shook his head, "she doesn't like to talk about it. Hates having to bear people's pity."

That, Benedict could understand. He had found that to be one of the worst parts of the aftermath of his father's death.

"But it's been a pleasure to have her in our family. I'm only happy it's expanding! Hopefully, she'll have nieces and nephews soon," Sarah's father looked around before leaning in a bit, "I'm hoping for lots of grandchildren. I'll be perfectly happy when both my girls have good, loyal husbands at their side. It seems we're almost there!" With a pat on Benedict's shoulder, Mr. Du Pont walked off, "I'll see you in there."

Benedict nodded absently. Oh. He had mucked things up. He had really, really mucked things up.

Benedict paled a little. In his bid to keep you by his side as long as possible he'd neglected all other considerations. Including the life and happiness of your sister in all but blood. This wedding was very real and very imminent. And despite the time he dreamt it was the two of you getting married, his feelings were not nearly the most important of those involved.

Sarah was about to marry a man who had cheated on her only two nights prior.

But Charles had said it was a one-time thing. A last hooray before settling down. He'd said that prostitutes do not count anyway and- oh.

Benedict sharply inhaled when he realized his own foolishness. How had he not seen this? The bars they'd visited in the past months were all down the street from the one they'd entered two nights ago- the one next to the brothel. Each time he would excuse himself to retire to his home, Charles had stayed.

A fool, indeed. He'd been so enamored and distracted with you that his spy work on your behalf was entirely lackluster. Worse yet, when he did find pertinent information out, he had lied.

He had to make it right.

Benedict raised his fist to knock on the door of the room Sarah had taken over. Before he could, it swung open. You smiled at him, a little confused.

"You know you're only supposed to escort me down the aisle," you joked, "You don't have to start this far back."

He shook his head grimly, and your face fell. "I need to talk to you," he looked up to find Sarah behind you, "both of you."

You stepped aside and let Benedict in, nervous at his shift in attitude.

"You cannot marry him," Benedict had summoned all of his nerve to say the words and looked Sarah square in the eye when he did so. She deserved that much. She deserved the truth.

"What?" Sarah asked skeptically. She was already in her wedding gown. She had no idea what was happening.

"Benedict, what are you talking about?" Your question was quieter, but you were deadly serious. As soon as he said it you knew something was wrong, and he was right in bringing it to Sarah.

He swallowed when he looked into your eyes, "I lied to you." You felt like he'd just slammed a door in your face again. "Charles did behave poorly the other night. In fact, I think he's been behaving poorly for months and I've been too blind to see it."

"What? He was drinking?" Sarah asked, "I knew that would happen."

"No," Benedict shook his head, "He was with- with other women."

And with that, Sarah was out the door. You, however, could not bring yourself to follow. You were frozen to the floor, looking at the man you'd trusted with glassy eyes.

"You lied to me," you whispered.

"I'm sorry."

You shook your head, laughing a little. The sound was sad, "I guess I broke my own rule." His eyes pleaded with you, but it was far from enough, "I expected too much from you. You couldn't help but let me down." His heart sank.

Finally, you turned to race after Sarah. Benedict was hot on your trail, "Please-"

"Oh, this is not over," you called over your shoulder, "but we have more pressing matters to deal with."

You stopped dead in your tracks after rounding a corner. It was so abrupt that Benedict could not slow his own pace enough not to bump into you. You both stumbled a bit but recovered in time to see Sarah slap Charles in the face. She then marched out of the church with her head held high.

Mrs. Du Pont followed her straight away. And Charles rushed after them both. Mr. Du Pont stopped only to briefly speak to you, "Would you both be so kind as to handle-"

"Consider it done," Benedict said. You sent him a sidelong glance before begrudgingly nodding at the man who had taken you in. Mr. Du Pont left to chase after his wife and daughter, leaving you and Benedict to dismiss guests and try to cancel vendors.

----------------------------

A long and tiresome day of working to undo weeks of wedding planning and avoiding the sad blue eyes that followed your every move ended in your hotel's garden. More specifically, eating the wedding cake that could not be returned in the hotel garden. You had very generously given most of it to the hotel staff. But you saved the top tier for yourself.

Draped across a bench, you stabbed into it with a fork. As you did, the charming figurine of Sarah and Charles fell from its place. You did not hesitate to grab the miniature and toss it into some shrubs.

"Rather harsh, don't you think?" A familiar voice drew your attention. You huffed when you saw who it was.

Benedict Bridgerton slowly made his way over to your bench. He gestured towards your legs, silently asking you to make room for him on the bench. When you didn't move, he simply sat himself parallel to you on the gravel floor.

"I am sorry," he said after some silence, looking straight ahead.

"I know," you nodded, not yet looking at him, "I suppose I am too."

"Whatever for?" Benedict's surprise broke the quietness of the moment, and he gazed at you questioningly.

You shrugged, still not looking at him, "I should have known better than to think you'd prioritize me over him. Charles is your friend."

"Maybe," he spat defensively, "but you're-" He cut himself off.

"What am I? To you?" You asked, now looking intently into his eyes, trying to discern his thoughts.

Benedict inhaled a large breath before telling you the God's honest truth, "When I realized what Charles was doing, I also realized that you would leave England with Sarah almost as soon as you found out. And I wanted you to stay." He paused, " I want you to stay."

Your lips parted as if to say something in return, but he barreled on, "I behaved selfishly, and I am a beast for it, but you were always my priority. Do not dream of thinking otherwise."

You swung your legs off of the bench and leaned forward towards him. Stabbing a bite of cake with your fork, you stuck it out to him in a gesture of peace. He cautiously ate the cake from your fork, waiting for you to say something. You took another bite before you did.

"A ship sets sail tomorrow," you said lightly, "back across the Atlantic." And with it, his hopes would sink. "I secured three tickets on it this morning."

Benedict blinked. That didn't add up right. "Is Mr. Du Pont stay-"

You quickly shook your head, and things started to click in place for him.

"Mrs. Du Pont?"

Your smirk started to grow.

"Sarah?"

"Now you're being deliberately obtuse," you mocked.

He grinned up at you, "Then...?"

"The Du Ponts need someone to mind their new manor in the English countryside. Who better than their favorite non-daughter?" You shrugged happily.

"Will you not get lonely in such a large estate out in the country?" Benedict asked teasingly.

You smiled playfully at him, "Then I should hope someone will be kind enough to call on me." Benedict looked rather self-satisfied at that. "I should only hope they clean up before they do."

His confusion was answered when you took a handful of cake and smeared it down the left side of his face. He stuck his tongue in his cheek to try not to laugh. It was well-played and deserved.

"Now we're even," you whispered close to his face before standing and walking away.

"Jokes on you," he shouted after you, "it tastes better like this!" Your laughter filled the night air, and he was happy to have made such sweet amends.

--------------------------------------------------------

I love Benedict sooo much!!! I wrote this super quick after watching the new season, so sorry if anything didn't make sense

Thanks for reading <3

(also sorry for any historical inaccuracies or whatever but this is Bridgerton we're talking about )

[gogobootz1]

𝐈𝐌 𝐀 𝐐𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐃

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: nami thinks theres so much of you wrapped up in all of her, that not even distance or time could change the way she feels.

or in which three little bits of you now make up the patches of nami's person

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: nami x f!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, reader once had long hair

Hair.

Nami watched you braid your long, long hair, seated on the bed behind you with her legs crossed, hands in her lap. Her head tilted to the side to catch a glimpse of your face in your mirror, her hair brushing against her chin in the process.

How did you deal with it being so long? Nami could never, she thought, with the life she lived. Working for Arlong meant she had to be quick, agile, and always ready to attack. Hair down to her hips, as pretty as it was, would only hinder her survival.

"You're staring," you hummed softly, Cheshire grin catching her off-guard. Nami blinked quickly, blushing from her nose to her neck as she chuckled, averting her gaze.

"Was not."

She shifted as you tied off the braid and moved to sit next to her, taking her cold hand in your ever-warm one. "Sure."

Your thumb rubbed loop-de-loops on the back of her hand, and she swore she could sit like that forever. But the sun was rising, and Arlong was waiting. Your eyes found the window as the first few rays of sunlight bled into the room.

"Do you have to go back now?" The question left a gaping wound on Nami's heart, because you both knew the answer.

Still, she gripped your hand back with more gentleness than she thought she was able. Nami smiled, half heart, half hopeless. "Not just yet. He can wait."

The feel of your chest at her back as you laid down with her a few moments longer was worth any consequence Arlong subjected her to.

Nicknames.

Nami trudged into your home just as the clouds turned gray and rain started to pour down from the heavens. The storm reflected her own sour mood, her every sigh echoed by the thunder.

You stood at the counter boiling tea, gaze lifting to greet her. "Hey, Sweetness."

She sat at your table and propped her chin on her hand. "Hey, yourself."

"You don't look too hot," you lamented, lips pursed as you poured two cups and brought them over, going back for a jar of honey a moment later.

Only when you were sat across from her did she dollop a bit of sweetness into her tea, warming her hands on the cup. "Had a long day."

"Tell me about it."

"I won't busy your pretty head."

"But I'm asking you to."

Nami didn't know why you called her sweetness. In a world so bleak, you were the only sweet thing Nami knew. How she managed that, Nami didn't know, and she didn't bother trying to find out.

So she told you about her day, and you hung on every word, joking here and there, calling her sweetness and filling her heart with honeyed words and warm touches.

Tarts.

If Nami had to look at one more tangerine, she might just explode. They were everywhere, planted all around her childhood home, leaving no room for escape.

All they did was remind her of Bellemere, and she tried not to think about her mother too often. It only made her sad, and she didn't have time for that.

So Nami went where she always went when sad; she went to find you.

Unfortunately, you quite liked the tangerines from Bellemere's orchard, and a basket of them sat on your kitchen table when Nami stepped over the threshold.

She glared at the fruit. "I'm sick of tangerines."

You stood from where you were kneeling to place a pan of tangerine tarts in the oven, a mirthful grin on your lips as you slipped off the oven mitts. "So you won't be eating any tarts, I assume?"

Nami didn't answer, not even when the sweet scent of baking crust filled her nose. You giggled and went to rub your warm hand over her shoulders. "More for me then."

She cast the basket a swift glance and dropped her head to your shoulder. "I guess I'll have one or two."

You ran your fingertips over her back till Nami thought she might just fall asleep in your arms. You led her to a chair and moved to sit flush at her side. "I made extra, so you can take them with you."

Nami took a sack full of tarts in the morning, one stuffed in her mouth as you swiped away the crumbs on her chin. Nami liked tangerines more than she let on, partly because they reminded her of her mother, no matter how sad it made her.

Mostly, though, because you liked making Nami tarts. And who was Nami to deny free deserts?

જ⁀➴

Looking out over the sea, Nami's hair brushed her bare hips, the sun warming the skin she had exposed. She tucked some of it behind her ears, briefly reminded of a girl who used to do such elaborate braids in minutes.

Perhaps Nami should try to plait her own hair, now that it was long enough to do so.

A brief pitter patter across the deck and Chopper stood beside her, going on his tip toes to gaze upon the waves as well. He barley reached the top of the railing, though, and Nami smiled as turned to face Usopp, who was across the deck. "Hey! Bring me that stool!"

Grumbling, Usopp slowly did as he was told, handing Nami the stool with a roll of his eyes, muttering something about princesses, and went back to his task.

Nami set the stool in front of the railing, smiling as how Chopper's ears flicked curiously. "Here, Sweetness. So you can see."

He gave an awkward little smile, hopping up to stand on the perch beside her. “Thanks, Nami.”

She scratched the fur between his ears, revealed with his hat busy being cleaned by Robin. Nami had just got comfortable leaning against the ship’s railing when Sanji surfaced from the belly of the ship, charismatic grin slid across his face as he zeroed in on her.

“Dearest,” he sang, sauntering over with a plate on his arm. “As requested, tangerine tarts.”

She spun around quickly, face illuminated as she rushed to take one, wasting no time in taking a bite. Through a mouthful she managed a grin. “Thank you. Will you save a few for later?”

Though his brows met, he nodded instantly. “Always, but why?”

Nami turned to gaze back at the sea, where a tiny speck of land appeared far in the distance. “For when we get there.”

Sanji followed her gaze with a fond sort of look, and he swore he’d do anything to make sure she looked that happy for the rest of her days. Even if he wasn’t the reason for such happiness. “I’ll make fresh ones once we reach the island, darling. Have as many as you’d like now.”

She only pursed her lips for a moment before taking another tart and shooting him a thankful smile, returning to the railing as a soft breeze blew in from the sea. With every moment passed that island grew closer and closer, and Nami’s heart to greater and greater heights.

Someone called her name from the hatch to the underdeck, and she swiveled to find Robin holding up a little transponder snail. Her gaze held that air of teasing that told Nami exactly who was on the other end. “It’s for you.”

She shoved off the railing, passing Chopper her uneaten tart, and swept toward the older woman with a skip in her step. Never had the crew seen Nami so… elated before. It left all of them on edge, eager to reach their destination and finally meet the cause.

Little snail in hand, Nami headed for the afterdeck, taking a seat against the planter box of the center tangerine tree, taking comfort in its shade. She took a claming breath before she put the earpiece in and waited.

Nami once heard that everyone is just a culmination of the people they’ve known and loved. If that were the case, she was a product of the love you selflessly shoved her way. She wondered if you had been standing at the shore, impatiently watching for their ship.

She sighed a little too loud, her own impatience getting to her, and there was a shuffle on the other end of the line. 

“Sweetness?”

The brightest smile split onto her face. “I’m here.”

You relaxed at the sound of her voice, shoulders slumping, feet digging into the sand as the water lapped up to meet you. Talk of about nothing passed between you, rabbit-trail stories about nonsense slipping easily from your mouth, until you stopped and shifted on the sand. 

“Did you think about what I asked, when you left?”

Nami’s cheeks burned suddenly, her tongue passing over her bottom lip. “I did.”

When she said nothing more, you could only murmur back, “Okay.”

She could feel your mixed confusion and disappointment through the transponder, but she really didn’t know how to answer.

Vivid as the day it happened, Nami recalled how you’d asked a very special question right before she sailed off to be a pirate, leaving you in Coco Village. You had your own adventure, setting off the next day to track down the fishman who killed your parents. Your paths diverged that day, but now, the One Piece was found, a new Pirate King reigned, and a fishman lay dead at the bottom of the sea—your lives were crossing once more, at very long last.

But there was a question lingering, one Nami had a clear answer to. An answer she’d known since the very day you’d asked. She slipped the ring out of her pocket, admiring how the golden band glimmered in the sun. 

“Okay,” she sighed, opting to change the subject there, heart hammering in her chest as she begged the ship to travel just a bit faster. The sooner she saw you, the sooner she could return the question, and finally have the life you both deserved. 

And then luffy officiated the marriage (with sanji’s guidance; there were so many rabbit-trails) and they lived happily ever after on the sea. The end :)

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @100520s

[gogobootz1]

The Mentor Pt. 7

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Your Hunger Games strategy goes off the rails when a friend comes to you with a plan

Part 6 | Part 8

“Look kid, this isn’t like last time, you’re not on a level playing field here.” 

Katniss crossed her arms as she leaned back into the couch of District Twelve’s Capitol penthouse. 

“These are Capitol darlings, lethal weapons, murderers one and all, gathered neatly together for an All Stars round. Of these stars, you are space dust. Recency may be on your side, but little else. They are older, stronger,” 

Peeta effectively interrupted, “Who are they?” 

“What?” Haymitch blinked. 

“Take us through them. Surely you can offer some insight, after knowing them all these years,” he shrugged. 

“I’ll ignore the fact you just called me old,” the older man walked off to grab the tablet that controlled the TV. District by district, he took his tributes through their competition. 

When he got to District Four, Katniss beat him to it, “Finnick O’Dair, right?” 

“Yes,” Haymitch confirmed, “he won his games at fourteen. Youngest ever. Extremely humble.” The image of the tall, bronzed man sauntering across their screen seemed to disagree. 

“You’re kidding,” she deadpanned. 

“Yes! I’m kidding,” Haymitch snapped. “He’s a,” he dramatically moved his hair, “peacock. A total preener. But he’s the Capitol Darling, they love him here. Charming, smart, and very skilled at combat. Especially in water.” 

“What about weaknesses?” Peeta leaned forward. 

“One,” Haymitch confirmed, “Mags. She was his mentor and basically raised him. If he’s trying to protect her in any way it exposes him.” 

“A guy like that has to know she’s not gonna make it. I bet when it really comes down to it he won’t protect her,” Katniss shrugged. 

“Well, Katniss,” Haymitch said, “I just hope when she goes she goes quickly. She’s actually a wonderful lady.” 

Katniss blinked guiltily at his statement, and Peeta leaned back into the couch. 

“But if he does ally with her it’ll make him less of a threat,” Peeta offered. 

Haymitch let out a sour little laugh, “Oh, we’ll get to his allies.” 

Peeta winced when Haymitch later marked the intimidating young woman from District Seven as one, and was surprised at the lack of others. 

By the time he got to Ten, Katniss was antsy, “Can we wrap this up?” 

“Sure if you want to ignore a huge fucking threat,” Haymitch shrugged. 

“It looks like a strong gust of wind would blow him over,” Katniss complained. 

“Not him,” her mentor snapped, clicking forward, “Darla Kennedy.” 

Their attention went back to the screen when another young woman appeared, stepping forward and giving an assured nod to the cameras. 

“Darla is young, well connected, and deadly with a whip,” Haymitch began. 

“Who’s that behind her?” Peeta interrupted, noticing the woman peace keepers were escorting off stage.  

“Well, since you mentioned it,” he rewinded the feed to when the young women were standing next to each other. “That,” he pointed to the one they weren’t familiar with, “is Darla’s mentor. One of the most popular tributes to ever come out of the games, and maybe the best mentor I’ve ever met.” 

“How do you mean?” Peeta pressed.

“She saved Darla’s life about four times during her games with just wit and a warm smile,” he shrugged, “if she wanted a sponsor there’d be twenty knocking down her door. Kid’s a magnet, and a brilliant strategist. Not to mention, a great drinking buddy,” Haymitch finished. 

“Not helpful,” Katniss griped, and the man rolled his eyes. 

“Point is, if you don’t think she’s calling on every favor she’s owed and pulling every string in her arsenal to save that girl, you’re dead wrong. Darla’s practically all she has left,” Haymitch elaborated, “but both Ten ladies are good friends with Finnick.” 

“Finnick?” Peeta asked, surprised. 

“Not that he’d need the help with sponsors,” Haymitch shrugged, “but no doubt it’ll be a scary alliance. One you might consider joining.” 

“No way,” Katniss scoffed. 

“Like I said, I’m friends with their mentor, I could hook you up,” he doubled down. 

“Not interested,” she grunted. 

“Look,” Haymitch sat on the coffee table across from them, “you’re starting at a disadvantage. Most of these people have been friends for years.” 

“That just puts us higher on their kill list,” Katniss snapped, crossing her arms. 

“Do it your own way,” Haymitch shrugged, “but I know these people. You go it alone, their first move is gonna be to hunt you down. Both of you.” He left the room before his words even sank in. 

————————————

Your fingers twitched while you waited for Darla to wake up. Sometimes you cursed yourself for being an early bird, but after your games you couldn’t help but get up with the sun. Some lasting self-preservation instinct had always been your theory. You had a plan for her, not that she’d like it. 

Shuffling from the hall caught your attention, and you perked up to see her walking toward the breakfast table half-awake. 

“Morning,” you said, quickly. She just grunted as she poured herself some coffee. “I want to run something by you.” 

She took a sip of coffee, placing pastries from the breakfast spread onto her plate. When she realized you weren’t still talking she looked up, and gestured for you to go on. 

“I want you and Finnick working together,” you started. 

Darla interrupted, mouth full of croissant, “Obviously, that was just a given.” 

You clenched your jaw a bit, but barreled on, “and I want the two of you working with Johanna and-“ 

“No!” She cut you off, nostrils flared. “That’s a recipe for disaster, and you know it.” 

“It’s the best plan I’ve got,” you fired back, “the Capitol knows the two of you were together. They’ll eat your dynamic right up, and keep you alive long enough for you to keep making good television.”

She looked indignant, but you doubled down, “Johanna is a strong fighter, and with Finnick distracted protecting Mags you’ll need to beef up your alliance. If Blight comes with her, the five of you can square off evenly against the careers.” 

“We’re sure Finnick won’t want to join the pack?” Darla raised a brow, and you blinked at her in surprise. 

“You really think he’d do that?” You asked, voice light. Would he? You were so certain of his character you hadn’t even considered the possibility. But the games always changed things- changed people. When she made a face at you, you shook it off, “You know he loves Mags, he wouldn’t just leave her. And the careers are too pragmatic to take on someone they see as dead weight.” 

“Good thing I’m not pragmatic, then,” Darla said wryly, taking a bite of a fruit tart. 

Pragmatic, no. Entertaining, yes. Watching Finnick care for Mags would melt hearts across the nation, and they wouldn’t be able to turn the cameras away from two bickering exes. Putting on a show was the first step to a one way ticket out of the arena. You just didn’t want to think about which one of your friends would be the one to take it.

Your strategy started as soon as the train pulled into the station. Walking onto the platform with an arm over Darla’s shoulder, and big smiles on both of your faces. If there was ever a time to appeal to the audience it was now. Normally you’d shy away from questions, but with a few cameras you were eager to assert your tribute early. 

“We’re always happy to visit the Capitol! You all make us feel so welcome here!” Darla assured a reporter. So she had taken your strategy briefing to heart.

“While we wish we could be seeing you under better circumstances,” you jumped in, “we’re certainly going to make the most of our time here. You might just get sick of seeing us!” You laughed with the reporter, touching her wrist lightly. 

From there you were off to the races, starting a campaign of phone calls in the car. Scheduling an appearance on daytime TV to talk up Darla, conversing with the connections you’d made over the years, and making appointments for drinks or coffee occupied your afternoon. 

Darla took the time to settle in to the space, flicking through magazines on the couch as you talked your throat dry. After hanging up on another Capitolite, you scratched some more notes on the meticulous schedule you’d started. 

“Time for a break?” Darla asked from the other room after a minute of silence.  

“Time for a drink,” you complained, but caught a glimpse of the time. “Shit!” 

“What?” She asked as you ran to the room you’d stayed in during your annual visits. 

“I’m meeting Mrs. Montgomery for dinner!” You shouted back. 

“Who?” 

Within ten minutes you stumbled back out in a short, but stylish cocktail dress. 

“How do I look?” You asked, shoving your feet into a small pair of heels as you smeared lipgloss on your mouth. 

“Stellar,” Darla assured you, not bothering to look up from her magazine. 

You were busy clipping your hair up, assessing your appearance in the microwave’s reflection. “Really?” You fretted, finally turning toward her. 

“Absolutely!” She said enthusiastically, still not looking up. 

Your shoulders dropped, “Fuck off!” Grabbing your purse, you headed for the door. 

“Love you too! Thanks for all you do for-“ 

The slamming door cut her off, and she snickered. 

Mrs. Montgomery was over the moon that’d you’d asked her out to dinner, and recommended her favorite spot in the city. Luckily it was only a few blocks away, and with some extra incentive your driver floored it. You walked into her embrace right on time, and successfully reminded her of how much she adored you for an hour.  

Long ago you had learned just how much Capitolites liked to talk about themselves, and you used it to your advantage more often than not. Questions like, “How are your students? I so regret I haven’t been able to visit recently!” Were unbelievably well received, and further endeared you to the very wealthy woman who sat across the table. 

Finally, she came to address the elephant in the room, “I’m sure it’s hard for you to be here under these circumstances.” 

You nodded, “It is. This is my home away from home, but I can’t help but worry for Darla.” She nodded sympathetically, you had her hooked, but it was time to reel her in, “She’s so so capable, and I know she’ll go far, but I need her to come home.” 

Mrs. Montgomery reached across the table for your hand, “We’ll be happy to sponsor Darla.” She spoke on behalf of herself and her ultra-rich husband, who you’d have the displeasure of meeting as a client. 

“It would mean so much to me to have yours and Mr. Montgomery’s support. Please tell him I asked after him, by the way,” you squeezed her hand gently. You might come to regret it later, but what was the point of being forced to have a roster if you couldn’t put them to good use. The man was richer than God, and had requested your company on multiple occasions. An appeal to his wife and to him, though indirectly, would go far. You could face any consequences later. 

You paid for dinner yourself, though Mrs. Montgomery did protest, earning even more points towards your cause. A warm goodbye hug marked your departure, and soon enough you were B-Lining to the hotel bar in the lobby of the training center. 

—————

“If it isn’t my favorite District Twelve victor,” an airy voice pulled Haymitch’s attention from the glass of bourbon he’d been swirling. Pleasantly surprised to see you, he turned the futuristic stool next to him in your direction. 

“Well, have a seat, your highness,” he invited, and you settled in at the bar. “What are you drinking?” 

“Surprise me,” you set your purse on the counter. He slid you his untouched glass of bourbon. “Lazy,” you complained, before taking a sip. 

“You’re just the gal I’ve been wanting to see,” a small smile spread across his thin lips and raised alarm bells in your mind. 

“Why’s that?” You asked cautiously. 

“Let’s go for a walk,” he stood from his chair, but you shook your head. 

“Let’s not,” you weren’t aiming to be associated with Twelve right now. If Capitolites saw the two of you on the street and got to talking, it could be bad for business. Katniss and Peeta made for a good show, but with your finger on the pulse of the Capitol, you could tell when Snow was displeased. That wasn’t an obstacle you currently needed in your way. 

Haymitch put his hands up in surrender, “Then I’ll mix you something better.” He winded around to the other side of the bar. Stopping in front of you, he snatched the glass of bourbon back and polished it off. Where the bartender had run off to, you couldn’t say. 

“What do you want?” 

“Your ear,” he crushed some mint at the bottom of a new glass. “I just don’t want you to waste your efforts.” 

Your brow furrowed, he was crazier than you thought if he was asking you to back off, “I spend my energy carefully, thank you.” 

“Then spend it on this,” he plopped a mojito in front of you, “your girl makes it out and so does mine.” 

You raised a brow, inspecting both him and your drink, “You know that can’t happen.”  

“If you pretend we’re flirting while I lean in to tell you the plan it can,” you blinked for a second before meeting him halfway. 

“A transport is coming from District Thirteen to pick up Katniss and anyone aiding her from the arena. They want her for the rebellion,” Haymitch breathed into your ear. Pretending you hadn’t just heard literal whispers of treason involving a long-dead district was difficult, but you managed to swallow your shock. 

“When?” If true, this would change everything. Your moves would need to incorporate Katniss and Peeta, your endgame would be totally different. But first you had to determine the chances of this going wrong. 

“I don’t know yet,” Haymitch whispered. 

“Give me something here,” you pleaded, “I can’t work with nothing. How could I trust a pretty promise?” 

“Don’t get your panties in a twist,” he warned, and you angled your head enough so he could see your glare. “You know very well I’m too chicken to take anything less than a sure bet.” 

“You’re awful at gambling, and you’re a reckless old drunk,” you snarked quietly back, this wasn’t a risk you could take lightly. 

“I’m telling you this because I need your help, and Darla’s, and Finnick’s, and Johanna’s,” he went on, but you cut him off. 

“You’re assembling a team of political defectors?” 

Haymitch’s nostrils flared, but went on before you could protest further, “We need to keep Katniss alive until Plutarch can get her and her allies out of that arena.” 

“Plutarch?” That caught you off guard, and you reeled back. Your volume clearly bothered him, though the bar was empty. Haymitch clapped a hand over your mouth. 

“Yes,” he confirmed quietly, scanning the room, “though this is all meant to be secret!” 

You smacked his hand away, “Then what is my part in your lovely little treason plot?” 

“You need to recruit the others,” Haymitch nodded. 

“Excuse me?!” 

“Well, as helpful as you’ll be pulling strings from behind the scenes, Katniss needs allies in the arena,” he said. 

“You really think they’d commit treason because I asked nicely?” You were skeptical. 

“Yes,” he nodded, and you gaped. 

Shaking it off, you kept pushing, “What makes you think they’ll work with her? What makes you think she’ll work with them?” 

“She doesn’t know about this,” he said sharply, “and she can’t. All they have to do is not kill her, and eliminate those tributes who might.” 

“The careers, then,” you tilted your chin up. 

“Bingo.” 

You took a sip of the now slightly watered mojito, “So what does she know?”

“What you did when you won,” he offered, “shoot to kill, play to win.” 

“Will she take any allies?” You asked, taking a deep breath, “You know that’d make things easier.” 

“I’m working on it,” he shook his head. 

“Yeah, that’s a no,” you huffed a laugh, astounded by the turn of events. Never in a million years would you have seen this coming. You knew Katniss had stirred something up, but had not foreseen a full fledged rebellion on the immediate horizon. 

“She needs time,” Haymitch insisted, “Peeta will help her see the logic behind strong allies.” 

“And how much does he know?” You set your glass down with a clink. Haymitch just shook his head. Sighing, you barreled on, “I don’t like this, you know?” 

“I know,” he nodded, eyes clear and serious. You weren’t sure you’d seen him quite like this before. “But you’ll do it. You don’t want to have to choose between Finnick and Darla.” 

Tightening your grasp around the glass, you ran your tongue across your teeth. Fuck if he didn’t have you pinned. If there was even a slight chance you could save them both, you’d take it. Just when Haymitch had realized how deep your affection for Finnick ran, you had no clue. Suddenly, you hoped you weren’t a chatty drunk. 

“Your lives will all be better for it,” Haymitch said, “we’ll all be free.” You met his gaze head on, and were surprised to find hope lying in them. 

“I’ll talk to D tonight,” you nodded once, “and I’ll get to Fin and Jo.” Haymitch’s shoulders sagged with something like relief. When you clocked Peeta walking in from the other side of the room, you knew it was time to wrap things up. You leaned in close, again. 

“But don’t think I’m doing all your dirty work, Old Man,” you said lowly, with a coy grin, “I’m sending them your way!” You planted a quick kiss on his cheek, leaving behind a lip stick print. Quickly grabbing your purse, you sprung off your stool. 

With some manufactured pep in your step, you walked towards the blond boy. “Don’t let him fix you a drink, Peeta,” you said, conversationally, “for a drunk, he’s piss poor at it!” The last part was directed at your old pal, who’d now placed the lot of you in a precarious spot. 

“I missed you too, Sugar!” He yelled back, wide grin on his face as you sauntered toward the elevator. 

Peeta looked at him, amused, but skeptical, “What’d she want?” 

“A piece of this!” Haymitch gestured dramatically toward himself, and picked up the glass you’d left behind. Polishing it off, he choked a little at the taste. You’d been right, of course, he was a little rusty at bartending. 

——————————

You tugged at the shoulder of Darla’s tribute outfit. When you’d suggested leather to the stylist, this wasn’t what you’d meant. Skin tight, black patent leather reflected sunlight into your eyes. You let your hand come to your brow as you shook your head. 

“What?”

You raised a brow at the stylist, one of Darla’s.  

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“You don’t think it leans a little… kinky?” You shrugged, frustrated. 

“Well, you said leather,” the stylist defended themself. 

“And you took that as BDSM?” 

Darla threw her hands up in the air at your comment, tired of being examined, and wandered off. 

You sent the stylist away before they could argue any further. This parade was already a mess. Your plans to put Darla on horseback, to harken back to her first parade, were ruined by Darby’s apparent inability to ride a horse. There was no way you could put her on horseback if those poor creatures were pulling a cart as well. You pet one of the horses that would be pulling the Ten tributes, and the action calmed you a bit. Only, your peace was disturbed when you saw Finnick putting the moves on Katniss. 

Of the ways to piss off the standoffish girl you’d been charged with helping protect, he had to pick this one. It took about ten seconds for you to march over and fix it. 

“I’m sorry you had to cancel your wedding. I know how devastating that must be for you,” you overheard. His voice oozed with sarcasm and you rolled your eyes. 

“Is this strange man bothering you, Katniss?” You didn’t wait for a response before dragging him off by his ear. 

“Hey, now,” he complained, but kept at your side. “Peeta,” Finnick tried for a dignified nod as you passed him, but came up short. 

“Finnick,” he nodded back, gaze turning to you. 

“Bye, Peeta!” You waved with your free hand. 

“See ‘ya, Sugar,” he waved back, kindly. 

Finnick planted his feet, freeing himself in an instant, “Sugar?!” He stood to his full height and shot the Twelve tribute a sour look. You rolled your eyes and started dragging him by the wrist instead. While you were going to correct Peeta, you no longer saw a point. 

“Sugar?” Katniss questioned too, a skeptical look on her face. 

“Is that not her name?” Peeta was confused. “That’s what Haymitch called- oh,” he seemed to have answered his own question, and Katniss let out a small laugh. 

“What was that?” You asked Finnick, when you’d finally pulled him to a secluded area. 

“What? I was just being nice,” he defended himself, about to pop a sugar cube in his mouth. You plucked it from his hand and tossed it over you shoulder. Finnick blinked. 

“So I was trying to sus her out,” he shrugged, “big deal. If the Capitol finds out their romance is a lie, their support goes up in flames… like her little dresses.” 

You rolled your eyes. If you were still playing to win, you would’ve liked his angle, but as it was, you had to steer the ship back on course. “Play nice with her, would you? I’m working on something.” 

“You’re working on something that includes the girl on fire?” 

You grabbed his wrist, “Keep it quiet and come find me later. Find Haymitch too!” Sensing the parade was about to start, you turned to go. 

“Some greeting,” he complained, moodily. You stopped in your tracks, and turned again to face him. 

“Did I forget to say hi to you and your abs and your skirt?” You asked facetiously.

“You did” he nodded, “we were offended.” Rolling your eyes amusedly, you stepped up close to him. 

“Hello Finnick,” you said, meeting his gaze. “Hi Finnick’s abs,” your gaze moved down as you went, “hi Finnick’s skirt.” You couldn’t help the grin that tugged at your lips as you looked back up at him. “Happy?” You asked. 

“Very,” he nodded, soundly. 

“Good,” you nodded back. 

 “I missed that smile.” He said lowly, leaning in a bit. You were really fighting against your grin, now.

“It missed you too,” you said, refusing to make eye contact. 

“Really?” His eyes sparkled as he looked down at you. 

“Don’t you have a populous to charm?” You tilted your head.

“I’ve got a you to charm, first,” he blinked, innocently. When he reached out to tug on a strand of your hair, you’d had enough. 

You lightly swatted his hands away and skittered back, “Go! … Do your parade prep,” you sputtered. 

Finnick tried to conceal his laughter at your reaction. He just loved to see you flustered. “If you insist,” he bowed his head and began to trot off. But he couldn’t resist throwing a melodic goodbye over his shoulder and taking one last glance to see you hurry off. 

————————————

Finnick wouldn’t see you again until later, though he did try. He eventually found you at a party that night, a young Capitol socialite you were both familiar with was throwing a celebration in honor of the games. 

When he saw Darla tearing up the dance floor, he had no doubt that you were behind the appearance, and started scanning the rooms in the penthouse. Finally, he found you hidden away in a quiet spot, typing away on a tablet. 

Hard at work securing sponsors, no doubt. If he was lucky, he’d be reaping the rewards of Darla’s 101 sponsor gifts. Maybe you’d even deign to send him a little something. He called your name to pull you from your work. 

You looked up from your tablet, curiously. His hand tensed. When did you start wearing glasses? How did they make you look even more- 

“Finnick?” You arched a brow. 

“Yup?” He said, shoving both hands in his pockets. 

You blinked at him from your spot on a couch, “Spaced out there for a second?” 

“Yup,” he nodded. You rose to meet him when you noticed he wasn’t moving to sit beside you. He watched the slinky black dress graze your thighs as you walked. 

“Are you alright?” 

“Yup,” he said, a little breathy. 

“Okay,” you said, skeptically, “So in terms of-“ 

“Sorry,” he interrupted, swallowing, “when did you start wearing glasses?” 

“What?” You asked, not quite following his train of thought. 

He inched closer and adjusted the frames on your nose as you blinked up at him, “When did this become a thing?” 

“I-“ you floundered. Was he blushing? 

“Okay, lovebirds,” Johanna breezed into the room. You jolted and Finnick snatched his hands away from your face in surprise. “Wrap it up, I want to hear this brilliant plan of yours.” 

She directed the last part towards you. You had found her earlier and told her essentially the same thing you’d said to Finnick. Johanna was surly, sure, but had a soft spot for you. She’d won the year after Darla, and you eventually took her under your wing as well. Not in time to warn her to take Snow’s threats seriously, but soon enough to comfort her before she could spiral too badly. 

You tried to shake off the confusing last few moments, “Alright, well, marketing it as my plan was maybe a little disingenuous.” They both seemed confused at your words. “But if it’s the plan I think it is it’s a plan I can get behind,” you rushed out

“Are we throwing a surprise party? What the hell are you talking about?” Johanna asked. 

“Look, I,” you did a quick glance around the room, and motioned for them to follow you. They both did, but it only further soured Johanna’s mood. When you found a private enough corner, you told them what Haymitch had told you. 

“So what? We have to protect pretty little princess for a free ticket out of here?” Johanna spat.

“Basically,” you nodded. Looking over at Finnick, you tried to gauge his reaction. He hadn’t said anything, and still seemed deep in thought.

You knew neither of your friends were fond of the Capitol. They had both lost more than they’d care to admit to these people, but you couldn’t begrudge them for trying to think this through. You’d spent a few hours doing the same before you brought it to Darla last night, and she had to sleep on it. 

“Look,” you tried again, “the reality is, she probably won’t ally with you. I still think the smartest thing to do would be to bring both your district partners and Darla into an alliance of five. If you can manage to knock out some threats to her, you can bide your time until the free plane ride.” 

They both seemed to relax a bit at that, but there was still some hesitance. “You really think throwing Darla and I together is a smart move?” Johanna asked smartly. 

“I don’t take this lightly,” you said with an air of scolding, “I’m trying to keep you safe. Right now, the only way I know how is asking you to watch each others backs in the arena while I watch yours from here. Can you trust me to do that?” 

“Yes,” Finnick chimed in seriously, speaking for the first time in minutes. 

Johanna was silent for only a few seconds longer, “Yes. But don’t expect me to be nice to her.” 

You weren’t quite sure if she was talking about Katniss or Darla, but either way it didn’t surprise you. You only shrugged at her before she walked away. 

“So,” you turned casually back to Finnick, “where were we?” You gave him a quick once over, and he seemed to tense up. 

“I think I might turn in,” he nodded quickly, brow furrowed. When you titled your head and shot him a confused glance he barreled on, laughing awkwardly, “Big day tomorrow, super tired, goodnight!” He took smell steps backward with every word before practically bolting. 

He breezed past Darla, face a little flushed. She smirked a little at his quick pace, and shook her head as she approached you. “What was that about?” She laughed. 

“Beats me,” you shook your head, confused and a more than a little disappointed at his departure. After all, you hadn’t seen him in a few months. Most of your phone calls had circled back to the quell, and you would’ve liked some time together. At least the escape plan had made you more optimistic about your chances of seeing him again. 

————————————

“Answer me this,” Darla’s voice startled him the next day at training. “Why’d you leave the party in a rush?” 

“Sorry?” Finnick remembered it well, but in the light of day was better able to keep his cool. Damned glasses. 

Darla rolled her eyes, “Why don’t you tell me after I kick your ass?” She gestured toward the mats set up in an alcove and started walking that way. He followed her lead and took on a fighting stance. 

She started to throw out guesses as he dodged her jabs. “Indigestion?” He blocked a punch. “Had to vomit?” Blocked a kick. “Left the oven on?” Sidestepped a hit. Her barrage continued until he swept her legs out from under her. 

Darla landed on the mat without complaint, more concerned with him than with training. “Then what sent you running from my lovely mentor?” 

Finnick offered her a hand up, but she swept his legs out too. Lying in opposite directions on the floor, he made his first verbal defense. “What, you don’t get sick of those parties?” 

She propped herself up on her elbows and sent him a glare. It was intimidating too, but Darla had learned from the best. “Cut the crap, I know there’s a reason. No way she could fathom being rude to you, so that’s out.” Finnick rolled his eyes as sat up. “And she’s got no game so no way she made you blush.” 

“Come on,” he said, defensively, pushing to his feet, “don’t insult her.” 

Darla perked up at this, and accepted the hand he had once again offered, “Wait, it was really her that made you blush? What on Earth did she say?”

“Drop it, D,” he warned, stalking off. 

“I am so getting to the bottom of this!” She chirped, smiling at his departing figure. 

Darla gave him some space for a while, flitting around the various stations. The practical skills called out to her, no use practicing with weapons when she was already as good as she’d get.

When she saw Finnick bothering Katniss she made her way over to intervene. He’d tied a noose around his neck, the cheeky bastard. Just when he held it out for Katniss to take, Darla snatched it and pulled him away. 

She heard him wheeze and let up on her grasp. “Fuck,” Finnick choked out as loosened the rope from around his neck. “Darla!” He scolded her once he was properly free. 

“Don’t antagonize the girl,” she said, stopping once they were out of ear shot, “and don’t act like you’re not spoken for.” 

He didn’t bother replying to the first part, “I’m not spoken for.” Darla shot him a glare, saying you’re really going to pretend I’m wrong? with just her eyes. When he glared back she only shrugged.

“You could be,” she sassed, and he took a sharp breath. 

“I don’t think now is the time to-“ 

“If not now then when?!” Darla whisper-yelled, “Newsflash buddy, you still might die. So do you want to die sad and alone… or spoken for?” 

“Do I really come off as sad and alone?” Finnick blinked. 

“Only to those who know you,” she shook her head. 

“Gee thanks, Darla,” he said flatly. 

“It’s my pleasure,” she gave him a friendly yet exaggerated shoulder bump. “Come on, let’s catch the show.” Finnick followed her off to join the crowd forming around Katniss’s simulation session. 

Darla could see the faces of the other tributes drop as Katniss put down figure after figure. They were nearly all modeled after the rest of them, and featured their signature weapons at the very least. She clenched her jaw when Katniss shot the female figure holding a whip straight through the face. No mistaking who that was meant to be. She saw Finnick twitch when Katniss shot the figure with a trident through the chest. By the end, it was clear that the girl was absolutely on the level of every person there. If luck was on her side, and she wanted to, she could likely kill each one of them. 

Wiress started clapping, and it killed some of the tension in the air. But the quell was getting more interesting by the minute. 

——————-

The four of you sat in silence in a both in the empty lounge within the training center. You traced the rim of your drink, hoping Haymitch would arrive soon since he asked you all to meet him there. The casual conversation had died out a bit ago, having run out of outfits to make fun of to keep the conversation light. It was hard not to think about your immediate circumstances. 

You shivered a little, still unused to the central air the Capitol pumped through all their buildings. Finnick caught your eye and nodded his head in the other direction, inviting you to scoot closer to him. You would’ve shaken your head if you hadn’t put on a tank top earlier, but you were chilly enough to press up against his side in a bid to steal body heat. 

Finnick raised a hand to wave to Haymitch when he saw the older man scanning the place. He settled the arm over your shoulder when he was done. Behind your head, he caught Darla narrow her gaze at him and sent her a look of warning. 

“What’s the update?” He asked Haymitch as the man slotted into the space at the edge of the curved booth. 

“Well, Katniss is not keen on allies,” he said, instantly off to a bad start, “though she is interested in the District Three Tributes.” 

“Excuse me?” Johanna asked. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, “Wiress and Beete.” 

“You mean she wants Nuts and Volts for allies?” Darla asked, and heard Johanna try to muffle a snicker. She tried not to smirk at the sound. So much for ‘not understanding her’ or whatever Jo had said during their breakup. 

“Look, don’t shoot the messenger,” he defended himself. 

“Maybe we should if the message is dumb,” Johanna snarked, crossing her arms. 

“She said she liked them,” Haymitch repeated, and the whole table winced. Maybe as people, Darla thought, though even that might be a stretch, but as allies? In terms of physical game it’d be like tying a brick around your ankle. Hadn’t the girl seen anyone else at work? Johanna’s axe skills? The second time she and Finnick had sparred? 

“Anyone else?” You tried, hoping for a better result. Haymitch thought for a second before snapping his fingers. 

“Yeah, Mags!” Darla groaned, make that two bricks. Finnick used the arm he’d draped across your shoulders to flick Darla in the ear. 

“Mags and I are a package deal,” Finnick asserted. Not a chance in hell he’d trust someone else to protect Mags. 

“Then my bet would be no deal from the girl on fire,” Haymitch shrugged. 

“Ok, so we’re keeping Katniss alive, but Three too?” Darla asked. 

“Haven’t we established-?” 

“We’ve got it,” you reassured him, and Finnick and Johanna nodded.

“Good,” Haymitch saidd. “We’ll,” he nodded in your direction, “keep in touch through sponsor gifts. But it’ll have to be subtle, so keep your thinking caps on.” 

“Is that it?” Johanna asked, bored. 

“No actually,” he went on, “when the time comes you’ll have to cut out your trackers and one of you will have to get Katniss’s.” 

“Shit,” Darla said. 

“Squeamish?” Johanna taunted her from the other side of the table. Haymitch interrupted before a fight could break out. 

“Before then,” he said, firmly, “I’d recommend making a big show of the interviews. Last chance to drum up public outrage at this, maybe get it cancelled.” Johanna scoffed at that, but Haymitch kept on, “At the very least it’ll be good for sponsors.” 

“He’s right about that,” you nodded, already thinking up possible interview angles for Darla. 

Haymitch grinned, “I’ll see you all there.” He pushed away from the table, heading back to his own tributes, no doubt. 

Johanna walked away next, and Darla popped up to follow her. 

“Think they’ll kill each other before the games start?” Finnick asked, angling his head to look at you. 

You let out a chuckle, still tucked under his arm. “Let’s hope not. I’m counting on those repressed feelings to bring in sponsorships,” you replied, watching the two walk off. He grinned, shaking with a bit of laughter. When you looked up to catch his gaze, you realized how close you were. 

“They sure are powerful,” Finnick said, holding your gaze. 

You blinked at him, “Sorry?” 

“Repressed feelings,” he clarified, doing his best to look innocent. You elbowed him and scooted away from his grasp and out of the booth. You’d been dancing around your feelings for him for so long you didn’t know how to do anything else. 

“Goodnight, Finnick!” You called over your shoulder as you marched away. He sighed as he watched you go, a small smile working on his face. Maybe Darla was onto something.  

------------------------------------------------------

Hope you enjoyed <3333 next part coming soon! That one will cover the interviews and the start of the games at least

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[gogobootz1]

The Mentor Pt. 6

Finnick Odair x Reader

Summary: Five more years of victordom have passed, but the Capitol is still throwing surprises at you.

Part Five | Part Seven

A/N: SURPRISE! This is coming back because I felt like it and some lovely folks left comments recently ♥️ we can blame my absence on this semester, but thank putting off a 14 page final paper for this bout of productivity! (Also I was going for a ranch vibe with this pic? I'll start putting his face back on these soon lol)

Warnings: description of blood

Tears welled in your eyes as you finished dicing yellow onions, and you wiped your face with the back of your arm as you turned to scrape them into the pot. Caesar Flickerman’s voice floated in from your living room, the TV playing in the background so you could keep an eye on the quarter quell special. Count on Caesar to draw the whole thing out, emphasizing the significance of the anniversary and whatnot. You couldn’t help but be curious, though. The last quarter quell had fifty tributes, and you weren’t even alive to see it. You had, however, seen its effects on your occasional drinking buddy, so you were certain this year would be a doozy. 

It seemed Caesar was finally getting to the point as you began chopping a red pepper. He introduced the President, and your hand tightened around the knife as Snow began his address. That voice haunted your dreams, and hearing it at home was far more unpleasant than anywhere else. You did your best to tune him out. That was, until he announced it. 

“As a reminder that even the strongest cannot overcome the power of the Capitol, on this, the third quarter quell games, the male and female tribute are to be reaped from the existing pool of victors in each district.” 

Your ears began to ring, and suddenly, you couldn’t hear the rest. Existing pool of victors. Existing pool of victors. Sharp pain brought your vision back into focus, and you blinked to find blood from the backs of your knuckles spilling over your pepper. Though your brain stopped moving, your hands hadn’t. 

You took a silent step back from the counter, staring at the ruined cutting board. Tearing your gaze away, you started rifling through cupboards trying to find a towel. The ironclad grip your dominant hand kept on the knife wasn’t helping, but it certainly hadn’t occurred to you to let it go. Out of options, you shoved your hand under the faucet and watched water carry excess blood away.

Vaguely, you registered the pain in your hand as your water heater got to work, but your eyes stayed locked on the drain. A loud ring of the phone startled you out of your reverie, to the point where you’d launched your still-dirty kitchen knife into the wall next to it. But it pointed you in the direction of some towels, at least, and you snatched a clean one from the laundry basket on the stairs. 

Sat on the second to last stair, you hunched over to wrap your hand. The world felt surreal as you stared at your shoddily covered wound, only looking up when your door burst open. You weren’t surprised to see Darla. Her scraped knees, bloody nose, and breathlessness didn’t shock you either. She probably fell when running over, but you were sure you looked just as frazzled. Grabbing her a towel from the basket, you nudged her with it before she could sit. 

“Answer Finnick.” 

She picked the phone up from the receiver, doing a double take when she registered the kitchen knife. 

“Howdy,” she huffed, licking her top lip and clearing some blood. 

You could barely hear Finnick’s resigned tone from the other end. “Hey, D,” he breathed. “How’s…” he trailed off. 

“Well, there’s blood on the cabinets,” your head popped up when she said it. You hadn’t even noticed the trail you’d left in your wake, “Water on the floor, and a knife in the wall.”

The faucet was still on, too, and you definitely hadn’t turned off the stove. It was a relatively generous assessment from her. 

“Will you put her on?” 

Darla stuck the phone straight in your face. When you grabbed it she reached for another towel, and pushed it along the floor with her foot. 

“Finnick,” your tone was almost too even for the circumstance. 

“Don’t do it,” Finnick warned, knowing you far too well. 

“Save it,” you shot right back, “I know you’re thinking it too.” 

“I don’t have a choice,” he said firmly. "They all have kids. Who would I be if I didn’t?” 

Though Darla was busy cleaning up after your spell, you weren't stupid enough to think she wasn't listening. “You know I feel similarly,” you chose your words carefully. 

Finnick did know, he’d seen what you’d given up for Darla. How you’d put yourself through the wringer for years just to spare her. He had no doubt you’d act just the same now. Only he didn’t want you to. He would’ve hated seeing Darla in there, but he’d be a dead man if you were in the arena with him. Your stubbornness didn’t stop him from making a final plea. 

His soft call of your name cut your heart worse than you’d cut your hand. Suddenly, you could no longer bear speaking to the man who’d been your constant for the past five years. “I’ll talk to you soon. I’ll see you soon, Fin. Take care of yourself.” You stood and shoved the phone back on the receiver before he could say another word. Talking to him, thinking about him, neither would help you hold yourself together. 

You stepped away from the phone, but stopped in your tracks to look at the knife. Some of your blood still lingered. 

“Leave it,” Darla called from the kitchen, “it’s a bold new piece of decor.” She’d taken up interior design in the wake of her victory. You shook your head with a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your lip. 

Coming to her side, you both looked down into the pot she’d taken off the stove. Burnt onion wouldn’t make much of a base. “There’s leftover pasta in the fridge,” you offered, sadly. 

“Yes please,” she nodded quietly. You passed behind her to heat some up, and she settled onto one of the stools at your counter. It took you a minute one-handed, but Darla seemed too absorbed in quiet reflection to care. 

She dug in as soon as you slid her a bowl, but you stopped short before sitting down with your own. She raised a brow. 

“I’ll be back,” you shook your head, taking your dish and slipping on shoes. The wind whisked straight through your clothes as you crossed the street. 

Darby had never been close with you, nor Darla. He was there when she won, and you could tell he was somewhat relieved to only bring home one casket. But you weren’t close enough for him to tell you that, because he wasn’t your trainer.

He wasn’t even there when you’d won. The story was that Darby was too ill. It was true, only the illness was drug induced. District Ten had only one trainer that year. 

The woman who had trained Darby had trained you, and you were the last District Ten victor she’d lived to see. Sam was kind but incredibly sharp. Gentle, yet challenging. Observant and astute, she’d assessed you for all you were and marketed a more palatable version to the good citizens of the Capitol. Beyond helping you survive the games, she helped you navigate the aftermath. Without Sam and without your Nana, you wouldn’t have lasted a month outside the arena. She picked you up and dusted you off again and again like your mother had when you were a girl who thought she was invincible. No time had hurt as badly as losing your first tributes, though, but Sam saw you through that too. 

Before your second try at mentoring, however, she’d died. A horseback riding accident was the official story, but Sam had left the leather watch she loved at your house just before. She insisted on doing the dishes after you’d made dinner, and you later found it by the sink. Sometimes you swore you caught glimpses of her long silver braid. Each time it happened, you opened the drawer of your nightstand to stare at her watch.

Her death hit Darby hard, they’d been the only two Ten victors for a while. He hardly held it together during Darla’s games. Afterwards, he fell apart.

You’d been mentoring with Darla ever since, comforting her with each loss as Sam had with you. But you knew Darby had seen this announcement, and everyone in the district knew what it meant. 

You stood at his door a few minutes after knocking. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you felt compelled to come over anyway.  

A blue eye peaked from where the door had finally opened a crack. You held up the still-steaming bowl as an offering. Darby pulled the door fully open and stalked off into his house. Trailing after him, and closing the door behind you, you noticed how skinny he’d gotten since you’d last seen him. 

“Thanks,” he said, raspy, when he took the bowl from you finally. You could only nod. 

“I’m sorry,” you offered, knowing full-well how little it meant. Darby only sighed and shook his head. 

He shrugged, stabbing a fork firmly into the bowl. “I always had that feeling,” he shook his head. Your brows furrowed in confusion, and he went on, “that it wasn’t over. Don’t tell me you’ve never thought about it. They own us, of course they’d want us back.” 

His passe tone rattled you. You nervously wiped your non-covered palm on your pants, “Right.” You looked around his dusty home awkwardly, “Well, see you soon.” Trying to leave him in peace and for your own, you made for the exit. 

“I’ll say hi to Sam for you,” he said from behind you, mouth full. It stopped you in your tracks. You couldn’t even look back at him. 

“Thanks.” 

————————

The months leading up to the reaping were hellish, with you and Darla trying to shed your rustiness. You insisted you both throw your all into prepping for this, but that was mostly a ruse. Volunteering for her had been your plan since the announcement. At the very least, you enjoyed your time at home with her. You hadn’t gotten any calls about trips to the Capitol, and Finnick told you he hadn’t either. At least they were letting you enjoy your last few months alive. 

As Winter went, and Spring too, the day had finally come. Off to die for the second time. 

You zipped the fly on a pair of jeans you hadn’t ever worn. Your stylists had shoved them in your closet a long time ago- since they looked exactly like the ones you’d won in. The head gamemaker your year had a background in fashion, and gave tributes plenty of chances to change dirty or worn clothes in for unique ones.  People loved the look so much that denim had been a brief Capitol fashion trend. You figured it’d send a message to anyone who knew. After all, you’d cheated death in these once, you could do it again. 

You were up early, and since you and Darla had agreed to arrive separately, you took a long walk around your home district. Your long lap, with sights you’d grown up loving and smells you’d always scrunched your nose at, was met with a few pitying glances. Eventually, it lead you to the Justice Building, and you took an extremely early seat. People took their places as the hours passed. 

"Remember, it’s just for show," Sam’s voice rang in your head. It was the last thing she said to you before you entered the arena. 

“Hey,” your head snapped to your right where Darla took her seat. She looked tense. You took her hand and squeezed it, a silent reassurance. It’s not you. You’ll be ok. I’ll miss you. 

The district filed in for the ceremony, unusually unorganized. The only people the Peacemakers were concerned about policing, however, were already on stage. 

Your annoyingly vibrant district escort began the ceremony, and you ignored her for as long as you could bear it. “Ladies first,” you blinked to attention, head held high. This was it. Dug your nails into your palm to stop your hands from shaking. You swallowed. I volunteer as tribute. You willed the words to the front of your brain, hopefully convincing your mouth to form them when the time came. 

But you didn’t have to. She had called your name. You willed your face to remain impassive as you squared your shoulders. You forced yourself to take a proud step forward. Perception was everything here. You couldn’t look weak, not to the capitol, and not to your fellow tributes. 

“I volunteer as tribute!” 

Your well-crafted mask fell with the words. Shoulders sank as you turned to her in shock. Not once did you think she’d volunteer for you. But you could almost hear Finnick’s voice reminding you how similar you were. It was why you got along like a house on fire. Only, this time you had been so recklessly loyal to her you’d miscalculated. And it would almost certainly cost your tribute her life. 

“Darla,” you breathed, quiet enough for only her to heard, and sharp enough for it to come across as scolding. 

She didn’t even turn your way. 

You were escorted straight to the train before Darby could even be picked by default. The new (old) District Ten tributes were escorted straight to the train as well. Only then could you confront your mentee. 

“What the fuck was that?!” You stood in a rage. She walked right past you toward the couches, but you caught her wrist.  

“You don’t get to scold me for saving your life,” she shook her head, and tugged her wrist free.

“Sure I do, when you’ve acted like a fool! It was random, D! We agreed to let it be random!” 

“Oh, that’s rich!” She scoffed. 

“Excuse me?!” 

“You’re still lying! You really think I didn’t know you were going to volunteer for me?” Darla asked, throwing her hands up in frustration. She fell back onto the couch. 

You stepped back, anger fully dissipated. “What?” 

“You hung up on Finnick nearly every time I’d walk in,” she shrugged, “you’re brave not subtle.”

Your shoulders sagged, and you lowered yourself onto the luxurious Capitol sofa next to her. For a second, you let your head fall into your hands. 

“Still,” you persisted, looking straight ahead, “it was going to be me. You didn’t have to-“ 

“I know what all you’ve done for me,” she said simply. You sat straight up, finding her face with wide eyes. No.

“Finnick?” He wouldn’t. 

“Johanna,” she shook her head. Your shoulders sagged. It made sense that Johanna knew, she was almost in the same situation. And you wouldn’t have expected them to keep things from each other, not before they broke up at least. 

“Darla,” you started. Why hadn’t she confronted you when she found out? How long had she been holding on to this knowledge? Did she think differently of you? 

“You’ve been falling on your sword for me for five years,” Darla said solemnly, “it’s high time I took it away from you.” 

Your stomach ached, and tears blurred your vision, “D.” 

She pulled you in for a hug when your voice broke. “You gave me my life back,” she whispered, “I’m only doing the same.” 

You pulled away from her, wiping vigorously at your face. “I won’t watch you lose.” 

She sniffled a wry laugh, “then make me win. Maybe this time it'll stick.” 

————————————————————

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Sorry if you no longer want to be tagged and sorry for this formatting (Tumblr is confusing and it's the only way the tags would work?) ! Let me know and I'll remove you from (or add anyone who wants to be on) the list

[gogobootz1]

AAAAAAA TYSM!!!! Percy is so funny and I LOVE Mamma Mia I'm so happy you caught that 😭♥️

At War

Luke Castellan x Reader [fem!daughter of Apollo]

Summary: There's nothing like some friendly competition, but when planning rival parties, you and Luke are a little less than friendly.

Word count: 2k

Every year, there came a time for the retreats- a chance for children of the gods to bond and have some special fun. One big retreat seemed pointless, so camp faculty allowed two. The two retreats accidentally split the boys and girls, and naturally, they turned into an (unofficial) competition. As one of the oldest and most experienced campers- you’d been volunteering to champion a retreat for years. Traditionally, you’ve hosted a slumber party equipped with PJs, dancing, games, movies, braid trains, nail polish, and basically anything anyone could want. You also, of course, have the best food. Each year, it’s been a hit, and it’s only gotten better with time. 

The only problem is that you have tough competition. The day after the retreats, you always hear about what happened at the other one. Paintball, camping, fishing, mad romps through the wood, scary stories- barbecue. Everyone loved it. And every year, you’ve had to quietly conceal your anger and jealousy. It pains you to admit that Luke sure can throw a party (maybe even better than you can). But this year, you are more determined than ever to outdo him. 

The two of you have long been in competition, and things have only escalated. As hilarious as Mr. D found both your antics last year, Chiron was extremely unhappy about the fact the two of you had exceeded the budget by miles. He’d told you both to reign it in this year or no more retreats. When he felt that didn’t sufficiently move you, he threatened to let other people plan them. You both caved and vowed to stick to the budget this year. 

You’re always a little frantic the day of, and today is no different. To your chagrin, Luke is cool as a cucumber. It pisses you off to no end. 

“Nervous?” A smug voice voice asks from behind your back. You drop the spoon you were using to push mashed potatoes around your plate. 

You turn slowly on the bench, “Why should I be?"

“Usually, you’re pulling out your hair before the retreats,” he says skeptically, “perfectionism taking its toll.”

“Yeah? Well, my perfectionism makes my parties perfect,” you flaunt. The few sisters that can stand to be around you when you’re stressed roll their eyes. It’s clear to them this is escalating. 

“What about when Susie vomited in your bouncy house last year?” He taunts, and you glare at him. That girl should not have been jumping after four bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and two Redbulls- it was hardly your fault. 

“How about when Aidan got a concussion after falling off the mechanical bull?” You snap back. 

You don’t notice Luke’s shadow until he pipes in, “Are these people okay?” 

“They signed waivers!” You say at the same time, and the new Poseidon kid takes a defensive step back. You send Luke a glare when you realize you spoke in sync. He huffs before smirking at you. 

“Good luck with your sleepover,” he mocks, “You’re gonna need it.” Before you can reply, he marches away, protégée in tow. 

“Eat shit!” You call out after him. 

“That was weak, girl,” one of your sisters says.  

“Shut up, I know,” you shake your head at her, “now come help me set up.” You drag her up by her elbow to make your sacrifices, then get to work. 

Five hours later, the main hall looks great. Your disco ball is glimmering, the mini photo booth is equipped with feather boas and pink cowboy hats, the food is all laid out, and the stage you bribed some Hephaestus kids to build looks great. 

“Perfect,” you whisper, pleased at your surroundings. 

“Fucking finally!” Your sister throws her hands up and walks away. You’ve very likely driven most of your half-siblings insane today. 

“Thanks for your help!” You call after her, and as she goes, you spot some prying eyes through the window. Percy, you think his name is, looks afraid now that you’ve caught him peering in through the window. In a few swift moves, you leave the room and block his exit from the patio. 

“Can I help you?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Just admiring your excellent disco theme,” he says, putting an ultra-sweet smile on his face. As charming as the boy is, you take your retreat very seriously and feel a deep-seated urge to protect it from potential sabotage. 

“Mhmmm,” you nod, “and you wouldn’t happen to be reporting back to anyone about what you’ve seen?” 

“Whaaaaaat?” Percy asks, awkwardly chuckling. 

Your shoulders drop, of course, Luke would stoop to employing spies. You dig into your pocket and pull out a ten-dollar bill, “I’ll give you this if you act as a double agent.” 

He eyes your money suspiciously, “Do you really think I can be bought?” 

You roll your eyes and pull out another bill, “How’s twenty?” 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he grabs both bills from your hand and shakes it. Percy happily walks past you, shoving his new earnings into his pocket. 

You grin, “Make sure he hears all about how awesome my party is!”

“I’m on it, boss,” he calls over his shoulder. After a short walk, he’s back to the boathouse lounge where Luke has been waiting for his report. 

“Well?” The older boy asks him, jumping up from his spot on the couch. 

Percy shakes his head solemnly, “Bad news, boss.” 

“What?!” He asks, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me she went over budget. She didn't get another mariachi band, did she?” Percy shakes his head and files this new information away. With what he’s been hearing about the last few retreats, he’s almost sad to have missed them. 

“No, but it does look super cool,” he nods, and it really wasn’t a lie- he saw a chocolate fountain on that snack table. 

“Damn,” Luke’s face twitches in annoyance. 

“But your party will be great too, I’m sure,” he smiles, nodding reassuringly. 

“Of course, it will,” he says defensively, “make sure you check back in over there from time to time. I want to know how it’s progressing.” 

“Sure,” Percy nods, but his concern at the competitiveness underlying this event grows. He wonders just how bad this will get tonight. But check back in he does, and he won’t deny he enjoys himself at the sleepover. Every time he visits, you give him a new sparkly mocktail, and the Aphrodite girls give him a new feather boa. At one point, he’s wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and eating some cake. He was very impressed when M&Ms fell out of the middle as you cut it. Apparently, it’s also one of your newest sisters’ birthdays- he’s heard whisperings of some big special present for her yet to come. 

Each time Percy returns to the other retreat, he can see Luke get a little more tense. The fact that he’s exaggerating doesn’t help either. When he tells the older boy that you have an ice sculpture spitting Dr. Pepper, he thinks he sees steam pour from Luke’s ears. It’s not like people aren’t enjoying his party, but Percy can that Luke wants to one-up you and feels like he’s falling short. 

“And I’ve heard she has a special surprise in store for Sophie since it’s her birthday. Apparently, she’s the newest addition to their cabin, so she wants to do something special,” Percy nods at him, eating a taco he had brought back from your party. Luke cuts him off by grabbing the taco from his hand just as he’s about to take another bite. “Hey!” He protests when Luke puts it right in the trash. 

“When is this surprise?” He asks the twelve-year-old. 

“The Aphrodite girls told me I should be back in like twenty minutes so I wouldn’t miss it,” Percy tells him. 

“And when was that?” 

“Like twenty minutes ago,” he shrugs, and Luke just stares at him. “Ohhhhh,” he says when he realizes how long it’s been. 

“Come on,” Luke shakes his head and starts out the door, Percy in tow. They can hear the surprise before they see it, an ABBA song blasting out of the building. Only, they don’t realize who's performing it until they walk in. Along with two of your musically-inclined Apollo sisters, you’re dressed in bell bottoms and sleeves. And you look like you’re having the time of your life- until you spot them, that is. 

“Look, look, look, look,” you pull the microphone away to mutter to Tanya. Her shock is visible, but you both keep performing anyway. The crowd goes wild at the end, and Sophie runs up on stage to give you a big hug. You let Tanya take over host duties and make your way through the crowd to the party crasher. 

“That was,” Luke starts, but you are not keen to hear whatever he has to say about your outfit, or your performance, or your party. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

His expression instantly sours, “I wanted some Dr. Pepper from your ice sculpture, where is it?” 

“What are you talking about?” You’re highly confused until Percy gives you the cut-it-out motion from behind Luke’s back. “We put it back in the freezer,” you say, and Percy gives you the thumbs up. No matter what you think of him, Luke’s not an idiot. He turns around in time to spot Percy’s gestures. 

“Wait a second, are you two colluding?” He looks between the two of you in shock. 

“You were colluding with him first,” you shrug, crossing your arms. “You really earned that twenty dollars, by the way,” you compliment the kid, and he gives you a pleased nod. 

“Dude,” Luke turns toward Percy, betrayed. 

“She outbid you,” he shrugs. “Hey, what if you guys just went to each other’s parties?” 

You both eye the boy suspiciously, “Why would we do that?” You ask him, and Luke nods in agreement.

“Well, you’re both so desperate to know about the other’s party, so why don’t you just experience it for yourselves?” Percy asks, and when he feels you aren’t sufficiently moved by it, he tries again. “If you attend both parties, you can decide who wins.” 

“Good enough for me,” Luke wanders off into your party.

“Yeah, okay,” you head for the door. 

“Hopeless,” Percy mumbles, shaking his head. 

An hour later, you and Luke meet in the middle of your respective parties. You stare at each other for a minute before you admit in sync, “I had fun.” 

“We have to stop doing that,” you shake your head. 

“Agreed.” 

You’re both silent again for a minute. “The slip and slide was a good idea,” you say reluctantly, soap still in your hair, “low budget but lots of fun. Tubing was good too. And the campfire.” You had changed out of the disco attire and into shorts and a T-shirt over your swimsuit. 

“Did you try-“

“Chris can really grill,” you nod. After some hesitance, you finally choke out a confession, “I am very displeased to call you the winner.”

“No way,” he shakes his head. 

“What?”

“You totally won,” he shrugs, “the disco was killer.” You only now realize he changed into pajamas. 

“You actually embraced the sleepover?” 

He flicks some grass off your shoulder, “You gave my party a fair shot.” That’s true, and you nod, looking away for a second. “The chocolate fountain was a nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

“And I was trying to tell you earlier, but your performance was really cool,” he admits. 

“Yeah?” A genuine grin grows on your face at this. Most everyone in the Apollo cabin loves music, but some of your half-siblings are more keen to perform than you. Hearing this, and from him especially, means a lot. 

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling now too. “You’re the winner here.” 

“Let’s call it a draw?” You offer, and he nods. 

“What if we just worked together and planned one party next year?” He asked, and you pretend to consider it for a moment. 

“That could be cool,” you nod, “imagine what we could do with the combined budget.” 

He grins and scrunches his nose, “How about we enjoy this year’s party until then?”

“We could do that,” you nod, “where to?”

He swiftly wraps an arm over your shoulder and starts guiding you back to your party, “Let’s boogie.” You laugh, and he thinks it’s a sound he could get used to. 

-----------------------------------------

I've been awake for too long so idk if this is coherent but I had fun <3

[gogobootz1]

THANK YOUUUUU <3

At War

Luke Castellan x Reader [fem!daughter of Apollo]

Summary: There's nothing like some friendly competition, but when planning rival parties, you and Luke are a little less than friendly.

Word count: 2k

Every year, there came a time for the retreats- a chance for children of the gods to bond and have some special fun. One big retreat seemed pointless, so camp faculty allowed two. The two retreats accidentally split the boys and girls, and naturally, they turned into an (unofficial) competition. As one of the oldest and most experienced campers- you’d been volunteering to champion a retreat for years. Traditionally, you’ve hosted a slumber party equipped with PJs, dancing, games, movies, braid trains, nail polish, and basically anything anyone could want. You also, of course, have the best food. Each year, it’s been a hit, and it’s only gotten better with time. 

The only problem is that you have tough competition. The day after the retreats, you always hear about what happened at the other one. Paintball, camping, fishing, mad romps through the wood, scary stories- barbecue. Everyone loved it. And every year, you’ve had to quietly conceal your anger and jealousy. It pains you to admit that Luke sure can throw a party (maybe even better than you can). But this year, you are more determined than ever to outdo him. 

The two of you have long been in competition, and things have only escalated. As hilarious as Mr. D found both your antics last year, Chiron was extremely unhappy about the fact the two of you had exceeded the budget by miles. He’d told you both to reign it in this year or no more retreats. When he felt that didn’t sufficiently move you, he threatened to let other people plan them. You both caved and vowed to stick to the budget this year. 

You’re always a little frantic the day of, and today is no different. To your chagrin, Luke is cool as a cucumber. It pisses you off to no end. 

“Nervous?” A smug voice voice asks from behind your back. You drop the spoon you were using to push mashed potatoes around your plate. 

You turn slowly on the bench, “Why should I be?"

“Usually, you’re pulling out your hair before the retreats,” he says skeptically, “perfectionism taking its toll.”

“Yeah? Well, my perfectionism makes my parties perfect,” you flaunt. The few sisters that can stand to be around you when you’re stressed roll their eyes. It’s clear to them this is escalating. 

“What about when Susie vomited in your bouncy house last year?” He taunts, and you glare at him. That girl should not have been jumping after four bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and two Redbulls- it was hardly your fault. 

“How about when Aidan got a concussion after falling off the mechanical bull?” You snap back. 

You don’t notice Luke’s shadow until he pipes in, “Are these people okay?” 

“They signed waivers!” You say at the same time, and the new Poseidon kid takes a defensive step back. You send Luke a glare when you realize you spoke in sync. He huffs before smirking at you. 

“Good luck with your sleepover,” he mocks, “You’re gonna need it.” Before you can reply, he marches away, protégée in tow. 

“Eat shit!” You call out after him. 

“That was weak, girl,” one of your sisters says.  

“Shut up, I know,” you shake your head at her, “now come help me set up.” You drag her up by her elbow to make your sacrifices, then get to work. 

Five hours later, the main hall looks great. Your disco ball is glimmering, the mini photo booth is equipped with feather boas and pink cowboy hats, the food is all laid out, and the stage you bribed some Hephaestus kids to build looks great. 

“Perfect,” you whisper, pleased at your surroundings. 

“Fucking finally!” Your sister throws her hands up and walks away. You’ve very likely driven most of your half-siblings insane today. 

“Thanks for your help!” You call after her, and as she goes, you spot some prying eyes through the window. Percy, you think his name is, looks afraid now that you’ve caught him peering in through the window. In a few swift moves, you leave the room and block his exit from the patio. 

“Can I help you?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Just admiring your excellent disco theme,” he says, putting an ultra-sweet smile on his face. As charming as the boy is, you take your retreat very seriously and feel a deep-seated urge to protect it from potential sabotage. 

“Mhmmm,” you nod, “and you wouldn’t happen to be reporting back to anyone about what you’ve seen?” 

“Whaaaaaat?” Percy asks, awkwardly chuckling. 

Your shoulders drop, of course, Luke would stoop to employing spies. You dig into your pocket and pull out a ten-dollar bill, “I’ll give you this if you act as a double agent.” 

He eyes your money suspiciously, “Do you really think I can be bought?” 

You roll your eyes and pull out another bill, “How’s twenty?” 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he grabs both bills from your hand and shakes it. Percy happily walks past you, shoving his new earnings into his pocket. 

You grin, “Make sure he hears all about how awesome my party is!”

“I’m on it, boss,” he calls over his shoulder. After a short walk, he’s back to the boathouse lounge where Luke has been waiting for his report. 

“Well?” The older boy asks him, jumping up from his spot on the couch. 

Percy shakes his head solemnly, “Bad news, boss.” 

“What?!” He asks, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me she went over budget. She didn't get another mariachi band, did she?” Percy shakes his head and files this new information away. With what he’s been hearing about the last few retreats, he’s almost sad to have missed them. 

“No, but it does look super cool,” he nods, and it really wasn’t a lie- he saw a chocolate fountain on that snack table. 

“Damn,” Luke’s face twitches in annoyance. 

“But your party will be great too, I’m sure,” he smiles, nodding reassuringly. 

“Of course, it will,” he says defensively, “make sure you check back in over there from time to time. I want to know how it’s progressing.” 

“Sure,” Percy nods, but his concern at the competitiveness underlying this event grows. He wonders just how bad this will get tonight. But check back in he does, and he won’t deny he enjoys himself at the sleepover. Every time he visits, you give him a new sparkly mocktail, and the Aphrodite girls give him a new feather boa. At one point, he’s wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and eating some cake. He was very impressed when M&Ms fell out of the middle as you cut it. Apparently, it’s also one of your newest sisters’ birthdays- he’s heard whisperings of some big special present for her yet to come. 

Each time Percy returns to the other retreat, he can see Luke get a little more tense. The fact that he’s exaggerating doesn’t help either. When he tells the older boy that you have an ice sculpture spitting Dr. Pepper, he thinks he sees steam pour from Luke’s ears. It’s not like people aren’t enjoying his party, but Percy can that Luke wants to one-up you and feels like he’s falling short. 

“And I’ve heard she has a special surprise in store for Sophie since it’s her birthday. Apparently, she’s the newest addition to their cabin, so she wants to do something special,” Percy nods at him, eating a taco he had brought back from your party. Luke cuts him off by grabbing the taco from his hand just as he’s about to take another bite. “Hey!” He protests when Luke puts it right in the trash. 

“When is this surprise?” He asks the twelve-year-old. 

“The Aphrodite girls told me I should be back in like twenty minutes so I wouldn’t miss it,” Percy tells him. 

“And when was that?” 

“Like twenty minutes ago,” he shrugs, and Luke just stares at him. “Ohhhhh,” he says when he realizes how long it’s been. 

“Come on,” Luke shakes his head and starts out the door, Percy in tow. They can hear the surprise before they see it, an ABBA song blasting out of the building. Only, they don’t realize who's performing it until they walk in. Along with two of your musically-inclined Apollo sisters, you’re dressed in bell bottoms and sleeves. And you look like you’re having the time of your life- until you spot them, that is. 

“Look, look, look, look,” you pull the microphone away to mutter to Tanya. Her shock is visible, but you both keep performing anyway. The crowd goes wild at the end, and Sophie runs up on stage to give you a big hug. You let Tanya take over host duties and make your way through the crowd to the party crasher. 

“That was,” Luke starts, but you are not keen to hear whatever he has to say about your outfit, or your performance, or your party. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

His expression instantly sours, “I wanted some Dr. Pepper from your ice sculpture, where is it?” 

“What are you talking about?” You’re highly confused until Percy gives you the cut-it-out motion from behind Luke’s back. “We put it back in the freezer,” you say, and Percy gives you the thumbs up. No matter what you think of him, Luke’s not an idiot. He turns around in time to spot Percy’s gestures. 

“Wait a second, are you two colluding?” He looks between the two of you in shock. 

“You were colluding with him first,” you shrug, crossing your arms. “You really earned that twenty dollars, by the way,” you compliment the kid, and he gives you a pleased nod. 

“Dude,” Luke turns toward Percy, betrayed. 

“She outbid you,” he shrugs. “Hey, what if you guys just went to each other’s parties?” 

You both eye the boy suspiciously, “Why would we do that?” You ask him, and Luke nods in agreement.

“Well, you’re both so desperate to know about the other’s party, so why don’t you just experience it for yourselves?” Percy asks, and when he feels you aren’t sufficiently moved by it, he tries again. “If you attend both parties, you can decide who wins.” 

“Good enough for me,” Luke wanders off into your party.

“Yeah, okay,” you head for the door. 

“Hopeless,” Percy mumbles, shaking his head. 

An hour later, you and Luke meet in the middle of your respective parties. You stare at each other for a minute before you admit in sync, “I had fun.” 

“We have to stop doing that,” you shake your head. 

“Agreed.” 

You’re both silent again for a minute. “The slip and slide was a good idea,” you say reluctantly, soap still in your hair, “low budget but lots of fun. Tubing was good too. And the campfire.” You had changed out of the disco attire and into shorts and a T-shirt over your swimsuit. 

“Did you try-“

“Chris can really grill,” you nod. After some hesitance, you finally choke out a confession, “I am very displeased to call you the winner.”

“No way,” he shakes his head. 

“What?”

“You totally won,” he shrugs, “the disco was killer.” You only now realize he changed into pajamas. 

“You actually embraced the sleepover?” 

He flicks some grass off your shoulder, “You gave my party a fair shot.” That’s true, and you nod, looking away for a second. “The chocolate fountain was a nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

“And I was trying to tell you earlier, but your performance was really cool,” he admits. 

“Yeah?” A genuine grin grows on your face at this. Most everyone in the Apollo cabin loves music, but some of your half-siblings are more keen to perform than you. Hearing this, and from him especially, means a lot. 

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling now too. “You’re the winner here.” 

“Let’s call it a draw?” You offer, and he nods. 

“What if we just worked together and planned one party next year?” He asked, and you pretend to consider it for a moment. 

“That could be cool,” you nod, “imagine what we could do with the combined budget.” 

He grins and scrunches his nose, “How about we enjoy this year’s party until then?”

“We could do that,” you nod, “where to?”

He swiftly wraps an arm over your shoulder and starts guiding you back to your party, “Let’s boogie.” You laugh, and he thinks it’s a sound he could get used to. 

-----------------------------------------

I've been awake for too long so idk if this is coherent but I had fun <3

[gogobootz1]

At War

Luke Castellan x Reader [fem!daughter of Apollo]

Summary: There's nothing like some friendly competition, but when planning rival parties, you and Luke are a little less than friendly.

Word count: 2k

Every year, there came a time for the retreats- a chance for children of the gods to bond and have some special fun. One big retreat seemed pointless, so camp faculty allowed two. The two retreats accidentally split the boys and girls, and naturally, they turned into an (unofficial) competition. As one of the oldest and most experienced campers- you’d been volunteering to champion a retreat for years. Traditionally, you’ve hosted a slumber party equipped with PJs, dancing, games, movies, braid trains, nail polish, and basically anything anyone could want. You also, of course, have the best food. Each year, it’s been a hit, and it’s only gotten better with time. 

The only problem is that you have tough competition. The day after the retreats, you always hear about what happened at the other one. Paintball, camping, fishing, mad romps through the wood, scary stories- barbecue. Everyone loved it. And every year, you’ve had to quietly conceal your anger and jealousy. It pains you to admit that Luke sure can throw a party (maybe even better than you can). But this year, you are more determined than ever to outdo him. 

The two of you have long been in competition, and things have only escalated. As hilarious as Mr. D found both your antics last year, Chiron was extremely unhappy about the fact the two of you had exceeded the budget by miles. He’d told you both to reign it in this year or no more retreats. When he felt that didn’t sufficiently move you, he threatened to let other people plan them. You both caved and vowed to stick to the budget this year. 

You’re always a little frantic the day of, and today is no different. To your chagrin, Luke is cool as a cucumber. It pisses you off to no end. 

“Nervous?” A smug voice voice asks from behind your back. You drop the spoon you were using to push mashed potatoes around your plate. 

You turn slowly on the bench, “Why should I be?"

“Usually, you’re pulling out your hair before the retreats,” he says skeptically, “perfectionism taking its toll.”

“Yeah? Well, my perfectionism makes my parties perfect,” you flaunt. The few sisters that can stand to be around you when you’re stressed roll their eyes. It’s clear to them this is escalating. 

“What about when Susie vomited in your bouncy house last year?” He taunts, and you glare at him. That girl should not have been jumping after four bags of Flamin’ Hot Cheetos and two Redbulls- it was hardly your fault. 

“How about when Aidan got a concussion after falling off the mechanical bull?” You snap back. 

You don’t notice Luke’s shadow until he pipes in, “Are these people okay?” 

“They signed waivers!” You say at the same time, and the new Poseidon kid takes a defensive step back. You send Luke a glare when you realize you spoke in sync. He huffs before smirking at you. 

“Good luck with your sleepover,” he mocks, “You’re gonna need it.” Before you can reply, he marches away, protégée in tow. 

“Eat shit!” You call out after him. 

“That was weak, girl,” one of your sisters says.  

“Shut up, I know,” you shake your head at her, “now come help me set up.” You drag her up by her elbow to make your sacrifices, then get to work. 

Five hours later, the main hall looks great. Your disco ball is glimmering, the mini photo booth is equipped with feather boas and pink cowboy hats, the food is all laid out, and the stage you bribed some Hephaestus kids to build looks great. 

“Perfect,” you whisper, pleased at your surroundings. 

“Fucking finally!” Your sister throws her hands up and walks away. You’ve very likely driven most of your half-siblings insane today. 

“Thanks for your help!” You call after her, and as she goes, you spot some prying eyes through the window. Percy, you think his name is, looks afraid now that you’ve caught him peering in through the window. In a few swift moves, you leave the room and block his exit from the patio. 

“Can I help you?” You ask suspiciously. 

“Just admiring your excellent disco theme,” he says, putting an ultra-sweet smile on his face. As charming as the boy is, you take your retreat very seriously and feel a deep-seated urge to protect it from potential sabotage. 

“Mhmmm,” you nod, “and you wouldn’t happen to be reporting back to anyone about what you’ve seen?” 

“Whaaaaaat?” Percy asks, awkwardly chuckling. 

Your shoulders drop, of course, Luke would stoop to employing spies. You dig into your pocket and pull out a ten-dollar bill, “I’ll give you this if you act as a double agent.” 

He eyes your money suspiciously, “Do you really think I can be bought?” 

You roll your eyes and pull out another bill, “How’s twenty?” 

“Pleasure doing business with you,” he grabs both bills from your hand and shakes it. Percy happily walks past you, shoving his new earnings into his pocket. 

You grin, “Make sure he hears all about how awesome my party is!”

“I’m on it, boss,” he calls over his shoulder. After a short walk, he’s back to the boathouse lounge where Luke has been waiting for his report. 

“Well?” The older boy asks him, jumping up from his spot on the couch. 

Percy shakes his head solemnly, “Bad news, boss.” 

“What?!” He asks, eyes wide. “Don’t tell me she went over budget. She didn't get another mariachi band, did she?” Percy shakes his head and files this new information away. With what he’s been hearing about the last few retreats, he’s almost sad to have missed them. 

“No, but it does look super cool,” he nods, and it really wasn’t a lie- he saw a chocolate fountain on that snack table. 

“Damn,” Luke’s face twitches in annoyance. 

“But your party will be great too, I’m sure,” he smiles, nodding reassuringly. 

“Of course, it will,” he says defensively, “make sure you check back in over there from time to time. I want to know how it’s progressing.” 

“Sure,” Percy nods, but his concern at the competitiveness underlying this event grows. He wonders just how bad this will get tonight. But check back in he does, and he won’t deny he enjoys himself at the sleepover. Every time he visits, you give him a new sparkly mocktail, and the Aphrodite girls give him a new feather boa. At one point, he’s wearing heart-shaped sunglasses and eating some cake. He was very impressed when M&Ms fell out of the middle as you cut it. Apparently, it’s also one of your newest sisters’ birthdays- he’s heard whisperings of some big special present for her yet to come. 

Each time Percy returns to the other retreat, he can see Luke get a little more tense. The fact that he’s exaggerating doesn’t help either. When he tells the older boy that you have an ice sculpture spitting Dr. Pepper, he thinks he sees steam pour from Luke’s ears. It’s not like people aren’t enjoying his party, but Percy can that Luke wants to one-up you and feels like he’s falling short. 

“And I’ve heard she has a special surprise in store for Sophie since it’s her birthday. Apparently, she’s the newest addition to their cabin, so she wants to do something special,” Percy nods at him, eating a taco he had brought back from your party. Luke cuts him off by grabbing the taco from his hand just as he’s about to take another bite. “Hey!” He protests when Luke puts it right in the trash. 

“When is this surprise?” He asks the twelve-year-old. 

“The Aphrodite girls told me I should be back in like twenty minutes so I wouldn’t miss it,” Percy tells him. 

“And when was that?” 

“Like twenty minutes ago,” he shrugs, and Luke just stares at him. “Ohhhhh,” he says when he realizes how long it’s been. 

“Come on,” Luke shakes his head and starts out the door, Percy in tow. They can hear the surprise before they see it, an ABBA song blasting out of the building. Only, they don’t realize who's performing it until they walk in. Along with two of your musically-inclined Apollo sisters, you’re dressed in bell bottoms and sleeves. And you look like you’re having the time of your life- until you spot them, that is. 

“Look, look, look, look,” you pull the microphone away to mutter to Tanya. Her shock is visible, but you both keep performing anyway. The crowd goes wild at the end, and Sophie runs up on stage to give you a big hug. You let Tanya take over host duties and make your way through the crowd to the party crasher. 

“That was,” Luke starts, but you are not keen to hear whatever he has to say about your outfit, or your performance, or your party. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” 

His expression instantly sours, “I wanted some Dr. Pepper from your ice sculpture, where is it?” 

“What are you talking about?” You’re highly confused until Percy gives you the cut-it-out motion from behind Luke’s back. “We put it back in the freezer,” you say, and Percy gives you the thumbs up. No matter what you think of him, Luke’s not an idiot. He turns around in time to spot Percy’s gestures. 

“Wait a second, are you two colluding?” He looks between the two of you in shock. 

“You were colluding with him first,” you shrug, crossing your arms. “You really earned that twenty dollars, by the way,” you compliment the kid, and he gives you a pleased nod. 

“Dude,” Luke turns toward Percy, betrayed. 

“She outbid you,” he shrugs. “Hey, what if you guys just went to each other’s parties?” 

You both eye the boy suspiciously, “Why would we do that?” You ask him, and Luke nods in agreement.

“Well, you’re both so desperate to know about the other’s party, so why don’t you just experience it for yourselves?” Percy asks, and when he feels you aren’t sufficiently moved by it, he tries again. “If you attend both parties, you can decide who wins.” 

“Good enough for me,” Luke wanders off into your party.

“Yeah, okay,” you head for the door. 

“Hopeless,” Percy mumbles, shaking his head. 

An hour later, you and Luke meet in the middle of your respective parties. You stare at each other for a minute before you admit in sync, “I had fun.” 

“We have to stop doing that,” you shake your head. 

“Agreed.” 

You’re both silent again for a minute. “The slip and slide was a good idea,” you say reluctantly, soap still in your hair, “low budget but lots of fun. Tubing was good too. And the campfire.” You had changed out of the disco attire and into shorts and a T-shirt over your swimsuit. 

“Did you try-“

“Chris can really grill,” you nod. After some hesitance, you finally choke out a confession, “I am very displeased to call you the winner.”

“No way,” he shakes his head. 

“What?”

“You totally won,” he shrugs, “the disco was killer.” You only now realize he changed into pajamas. 

“You actually embraced the sleepover?” 

He flicks some grass off your shoulder, “You gave my party a fair shot.” That’s true, and you nod, looking away for a second. “The chocolate fountain was a nice touch.”

“Thank you.”

“And I was trying to tell you earlier, but your performance was really cool,” he admits. 

“Yeah?” A genuine grin grows on your face at this. Most everyone in the Apollo cabin loves music, but some of your half-siblings are more keen to perform than you. Hearing this, and from him especially, means a lot. 

“Yeah,” he nods, smiling now too. “You’re the winner here.” 

“Let’s call it a draw?” You offer, and he nods. 

“What if we just worked together and planned one party next year?” He asked, and you pretend to consider it for a moment. 

“That could be cool,” you nod, “imagine what we could do with the combined budget.” 

He grins and scrunches his nose, “How about we enjoy this year’s party until then?”

“We could do that,” you nod, “where to?”

He swiftly wraps an arm over your shoulder and starts guiding you back to your party, “Let’s boogie.” You laugh, and he thinks it’s a sound he could get used to. 

-----------------------------------------

I've been awake for too long so idk if this is coherent but I had fun <3

[gogobootz1]

THIS IS SO SO KIND THANK YOU😭😭😭😭😭♥️♥️♥️

Taking anti-depressant pills?? Seeing a therapist??? Journaling??? No need babe, my fav writer just dropped another x reader fic.